#I’m waiting to find a time to go with a friend or something

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

[wqnwoos]

⇢ pairing. chwe vernon x reader ⇢ summary. vernon loves music, and you love vernon. ⇢ genre. fluff, bffs2lovers, college!au ⇢ word count. approx. 2k ⇢ author’s note! happy (early) valentine’s day! i unfortunately wrote this last week which means it came so close to deletion at least 10 times, and so im posting it now to prevent that. thank you to alta @haologram for helping me brainstorm the playlist, i truly believe u are a gift to this world.

playlist. love language, kehlani / jasmine, dpr live / want u around, omar apollo & ruel / like i want you, giveon / thinkin bout you, frank ocean / best part, daniel caesar & h.e.r.

It’s closing in on two in the morning when you finally leave the library. Your phone’s been on do not disturb since you got there at seven, which feels like forever ago — as you exit, casting a sympathetic glance at the remaining two students still glued to their textbooks, you scroll quickly through your notifications. Two emails, a follow request, and a passive-aggressive threat from Duolingo.

You pull your coat tighter around you as you finally emerge through the last set of double doors — it’s freezing, and you’re just about to stow your hands deep into your pockets when your phone buzzes.

[2:03am] vernon 👽🖤 yo [2:03am] vernon 👽🖤 ur prob asleep but i made u smth [2:04am] vernon 👽🖤 https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4grGIbqG5VSvNpDLuwdG7X

Instinctively, you smile. You and Vernon have a bunch of playlists. A collaborative one, for when you’re together, driving or hanging out or whatever. Then he has one for you with all the songs he thinks you’ll like, and then you have one for him for the same reason. 

[2:05am] you another one?  [2:06am] vernon 👽🖤  yooo why are u still up dude [2:06am] you hypocrite 🫵 [2:06am] you but i’m walking home from the library rn

vernon 👽🖤  is calling . . .

“Dude,” he says, by way of greeting, and he doesn’t sound impressed.

“Dude,” you mimic exactly, biting back a smile at the sound of his voice.

“It’s two in the morning,” he sighs, and you can hear sheets rustling in the background. “Why are you walking home alone?”

“It’s not far, Vernon.” 

“It’s dark and it’s been snowing. You should have called me,” he reprimands without any heat. “I would’ve picked you up.”

“Well, it is two in the morning.” You cross the road, stepping over a patch of snow. “I assumed you’d be asleep, not curating another playlist.”

“Oh. Yeah, that — that was — have you opened it?” Vernon’s words trip over each other, and your lips turn up ever so slightly. God, he’s so sweet.

“What, are you nervous?” you tease, unable to resist. “I have, like, fifteen of your playlists saved already.”

“You haven’t opened it,” he infers, and exhales a little. “Okay, um, maybe you should… wait. Until the morning or something.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “I’m listening to it now! It’s going to keep me company on my way home. Talk to you later!”

And you hang up before he can protest, already scrolling to find the link he sent you.

The first thing you notice is the name — Love Language. Which makes your heart twist a little, until you realise it’s the name of the first song, and anyway, you and Vernon have made this joke a hundred times. His love language is making playlists, he does it for his friends all the time. You included — you especially. Like the time he’d eaten the last slice of a cake you’d bought, apparently because he thought it was free-for-all. You’d given him the silent treatment for a day and a half before he’d texted you a playlist link: 

I AM (IVE)

really (mimi bay)

Sorry (Justin Bieber)

About (SoKuen)

EATING (Sukihana)

The Cake (John Powell)

I Will (Remastered 2009) (The Beatles)

Buy (Cousines like Shit)

You (Basil Valdez)

MORE (j-hope)

Please Please Please (Sabrina Carpenter)

Forgive Me (Chloe x Halle)

It made you laugh, because Vernon always makes you laugh. A few months and a few playlists later, you were harbouring the biggest crush known to mankind.

That was three years ago. You and Vernon are seniors now, set to graduate next summer, and what was meant to be a harmless crush on a friend has turned into being completely, totally in love with your best friend. It wasn’t that serious until it suddenly was. It was butterflies in your stomach when you saw him, at first. Now it’s like a sigh of relief. It's more coming home. Which is a lot more dangerous, and a lot more painful.

You handle it, most days, but sometimes he’ll do something or say something that completely throws your perfectly regulated emotions into overdrive. He’ll laugh at a stupid joke you make, or he’ll grab your hand to make a point or he’ll tell you that you’re pretty, and your heart swells until it presses painfully against your ribs, hot and slippery and aching. Those days, you mostly go home just to lie on the floor, listen to the only playlist of yours that Vernon hasn’t seen.

The second thing you notice about the playlist Vernon made you is the cover. It’s you, you know it immediately, and you know exactly which day it was taken. You just didn’t know it was taken. But your best friend must’ve snapped a photo when you weren’t looking, because the cover is you, looking up at the cherry blossom tree that the two of you stumbled on during a late-night walk. It was maybe a little under a year ago, it was the night you realised you loved him, and it was the night you almost kissed.

You don’t know if he remembers it the same way you do. To you, that’s your biggest what if? moment. To him, it’s probably just another fun memory with his friend. His best friend, if you’re lucky.

It takes you a second, but you finally click play on the playlist — but the picture stares back at you, practically taunting you with the memory.

The two of you had been walking for twenty minutes, sharing airpods, until you’d seen the tree and gathered a pile of pink petals to dump over Vernon’s head; he’d realised what you were doing just a moment too late. Asshole, he’d said smilingly, brushing the petals off with two hands. Everything that happened next was cliché. He’d missed a spot, one pale petal still clinging to his hair; you reached your hand up to get it, and lingered a little too long, a little too close. You don’t think you’ve ever held eye contact for so long — it felt like forever and then some.

Until his eyes flicked downward. Only for a split second: if you’d blinked, you would’ve missed it, but you saw it, and it was enough to have you taking a step back. Not like this, you’d thought to yourself. You wouldn’t do anything like that. You wouldn’t throw years of friendship and an extended period of pining away so easily — you wouldn’t risk it over an impulse that Vernon was experiencing. If you couldn’t have all of him, you refused to even take one night. You’d rather not know than live with the memory.

You’re halfway through the second song when you finally snap out of the memory, and you can actually take a moment to glance at the rest of the playlist. To your surprise, it’s short — it’s only six songs — and more interestingly, you know all these songs. And Vernon knows you know them; some of them you recommended to him, some of them he’s sent to you already, and you’re still wondering what he’s thinking as the third song ends. 

Despite you claiming to be his best friend, you don’t always understand Vernon. Sometimes it’s little things, like how he fist bumps the cat on the street corner of his apartment. Sometimes it’s bigger, like the girl he dated last year. You didn’t understand that — or maybe you didn’t want to, because yes, you were well on your way to being in love with him, but he also didn’t tell you. You found out from Seungkwan (who was kind of triumphant about it, because he was always vying for the position of Vernon’s best friend, and he finally knew something you didn’t).

Mina was lovely. As if Vernon would date someone not lovely — he brought her to movie night after a month or so of them seeing each other, and she met your group of friends, and everyone loved her. Even you. And honestly, after excusing yourself to the bathroom to blink away your watery eyes, you convinced yourself that it was for the better: that this would be how you officially got over your best friend. So when Soonyoung asked you to go on a blind date with one of his friends the next week, you said yes. You and Wonwoo saw each other for about a month before you broke it off, and about a month after that, Vernon showed up at movie night without his girlfriend, and casually mentioned that they’d broken up.

Even the news of that didn’t do much to soothe you, because you’d quickly come to a conclusion while dating Wonwoo: that it would not be easy to get over your best friend. You knew you loved him now. You’d come to that realisation under the cherry blossom tree, a few months after both of your breakups, a year after you realised that you liked him like that in the first place. It’s been well over two years since you first fell for him, and you’ve been stuck there ever since — falling deeper and deeper because you refuse to pull yourself out.

Sometimes, on your most hopeful nights, you think that maybe Vernon could feel something too. Some nights he looks at you with a certain shine in his eyes, or when he hugs you he makes it last a little longer than usual. Some nights he opens his mouth to say something and the words get stuck in his throat, and he waves it off like nothing happened. Symptoms that are all too familiar.

Those nights are even worse, the ones where you go home and read too much into his every move, try in vain to stifle the hope that insists on clawing its way to your chest. Those nights are getting more and more frequent, and you don’t know how much longer you can handle it. Those nights, something in you is convinced he feels something, that maybe he could like you — on the very worst, you think he might even love you. But by the next morning, you’re dead certain that all you’ll ever be is a friend to him.

But now — today — you’re eight minutes away from home and nearly five songs in when it starts snowing, and at the same time, the cogs in your mind slowly start turning. You love these songs, Vernon knows you love these songs. You’re pretty sure they’re some of his favourites too; he’s always listening to them. And you’re so preoccupied with the realisation that’s sinking in, that same traitorous hope you’ve always shoved down stirring again in your chest, you barely even notice the snowflakes settling around you.

Because maybe you don’t always understand Vernon, but most of the time you do, even if it takes a little while — even if he has to spell things out for you, like his stupid cake playlist. Because that’s what he’s doing, you realise with a sudden jolt, looking at your favourite songs. Your favourite love songs. He’s spelling it out for you. That this is his love language; that he wants you; that he thinks about you; and as the last song finishes, just as you turn onto your street — if you love me, won’t you say something?

When you finally look up, you think you’re hallucinating. Because Vernon’s standing in front of your apartment building, holding an umbrella, and it startles you so much you actually stop in your tracks a few metres from him, blinking idiotically.

Vernon gives you a shy smile, charming and awkward. Your heart does the thing it always does when he looks at you like that; stutters, skips a beat, clenches tightly.

“You stopped replying to my texts,” he says, and the street’s empty enough that you can hear him, even from where you’re standing. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You don’t say anything because what can you even say? Where do you even start? You don’t have words — but you tap quickly at your phone with a sudden idea, and you hear the ping of Vernon’s phone from where you’re standing. You move closer anyway, smiling at the familiar furrow of his brow as he glances between you and the phone he digs out of his pocket. And you see the exact moment he registers what you’ve sent him, the smile that spreads across his face.

[2:39am] you https://open.spotify.com/track/5oO3drDxtziYU2H1X23ZIp [love on the brain - rihanna]

You and Vernon first met at a party. Seungkwan had promised both of you, separately, that it wasn’t a party, more of a small gathering between his friends, but of course, Seungkwan’s definition of small doesn’t match yours. And so you were kind of hiding in a corner, nodding your head and mouthing subconsciously to Rihanna’s Love on the Brain; you’d turned your head a few inches, and Chwe Vernon was standing a few metres away, doing the exact same thing. You guys had accidentally made eye contact and split into matching embarrassed smiles, until he’d sat next to you. He’d offered you possibly the most awkward fist bump ever, pairing it with an even more awkward, “So, uh, got love on the brain?” You’d laughed, and that was it — the beginning of you and Vernon.

Now, he pockets his phone again, but holds the umbrella out over both of your heads, which only makes you giggle. “You brought an umbrella?”

“It’s snowing,” he shrugs, but his smile is wide, “It’s just like��� colder rain.” 

“Stupid.” What’s more stupid is the smile you can’t peel off your face. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” he counters, and you tilt your head with a sheepish smile. So many reasons, but one look at him and you forget them all.

“So,” he murmurs, slipping his free hand around your waist, “got love on the brain, hm?”

“Something like that,” you agree, and after three years of wanting and waiting, you finally kiss him.

a/n i linked the playlist vernon made at the top (yes i dug up one of my very old spotify accounts to do this). i have very mixed feelings about this one. it's kind of cheesy but so is most of my work, and anyway it's valentine's day!! so who cares!!! also once again this got a banner bc once again this picture inspired the whole thing. also wtf is up with tumblr ruining image quality!!!

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud

@tokitosun @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin

@icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars

@immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya

@yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9

@lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

@iamawkwardandshy @twilghtkoo @yuuyeonie @lllucere

@pearlesscentt

@sourkimchi @porridgesblog

[capquinn]

hello my favorite writer on this app.. after your quinn thot today I was curious if you would write husband!quinn and reader doing the challenge where you go to dinner and first one to mention the kids loses.. maybe a little fun time ensues after 🫣

(quinn would definitely lose and talk about bug within 10 mins)

LOVE this idea. like, absolutely obsessed with it. quinn is struggling bc literally everything reminds him of bug and cub. the music playing in the restaurant? cub babbles along to it in the car. the couple at the next table? bug told him the other day she’s going to marry her best friend from daycare. he’s doomed from the start <3

“Let's play a game,” you announce, setting your menu down and leaning in conspiratorially. “First one to mention the kids loses.”

Across the table, Quinn smirks, tipping his beer to his lips.

“What do I win?”

You blink. “What?”

“If I win.” He raises an eyebrow, expression calm, but you know him too well — there’s mischief brewing under the surface. “What do I get?”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “What do you want?”

Quinn hums, pretending to mull it over, gaze flicking over you like he’s debating his options. He sets his beer down, lazily tracing the condensation on the glass with his fingers. Then, with a slow smirk, he shrugs.

“Dunno. Guess I’ll decide when I win.”

You scoff, nudging his shin with the toe of your shoe under the table. It’s not a hard kick — just enough to make him smirk, to let him know you’re onto him.

“Oh, you’re feeling confident.”

“I’m always confident.”

The game starts off easy. You talk about work, a movie you want to see, the couple at the table next to you who are clearly on a first date. Quinn teases you about how you always take forever to pick what to eat, while he’s already placed his order in record time.

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair.

“Sorry for wanting to make an informed decision.”

Quinn rests his chin in his palm, watching you with barely hidden amusement.

“You just read the whole menu, pick something, then change your mind three times before the server even gets here.”

“That is a gross exaggeration.”

He hums, a little too smug. “I just think it’s funny how you panic-order every time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Keep talking and I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

Quinn grins, kicking back slightly in his chair. “Go for it, baby. I’m winning this bet either way.”

You scoff, shaking your head, but before you can fire back, the server appears to take your order. You do exactly what Quinn predicted — debate between two options, panic last second, and pick something you weren’t even originally considering.

Quinn just smirks as he hands the menus back. “So predictable.”

“I’ll remember this when your food looks boring and you're begging for a bite of mine.”

Quinn just chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches across the table, fingers lazily finding yours. He doesn’t say anything at first, just traces slow, absentminded patterns over your knuckles, his thumb brushing over your wedding ring, turning it slightly like he always does. It’s quiet, easy — one of those moments that doesn’t need filling, just the two of you sitting there, comfortable in the silence.

Then, after a beat, he smirks. “This game is so easy, huh?”

You huff out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you squeeze his fingers. “Yeah, piece of cake.”

But as the minutes tick by, you start running out of steam. Every topic feels like it inevitably leads back to the two tiny humans you’re both very obviously not allowed to mention. You talk about a book you’ve been reading, but Quinn doesn’t read fiction. Quinn brings up hockey, but you hear enough about it during the season. The conversation starts circling the drain, filled with long pauses and raised brows, both of you waiting for the other to slip up.

And then — like it’s a reflex — you both reach for your phones at the same time.

You freeze. Quinn freezes. Fingers hovering over the screen, neither of you daring to move.

Quinn tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, voice slow and suspicious. “What are you doing?”

You sit up straighter, phone still suspended midair, blinking at him like you’ve been caught red-handed. “What are you doing?”

His lips twitch. “Just checking something.”

"Me too," you reply, maybe a little too quickly. A beat of silence. The tension thickens, the air between you charged with the weight of realisation.

Quinn’s gaze flickers toward you, sharp and knowing. “Are you checking the baby monitor?”

Your jaw drops, betrayal and horror mixing into one. “Are you?”

Quinn exhales, dragging a hand down his face, already defeated. “Damn it.”

Your shock melts into pure glee. You throw your hands up, phone clattering against the table as you burst out laughing. “Oh my God! I won!”

Quinn groans, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

“Unbelievable.” But there’s a fondness in his voice, even as he shakes his head, even as he reaches for his water like he needs a moment to process his loss.

You grin, all smug and triumphant. “Feels good to be a winner.”

Quinn shoots you a look, all playful warning.

“Guess we should just finish up and head home to —” He catches himself, groaning. “I almost did it again.”

“Tough loss.” You grin, voice full of fake sympathy as you rest your chin on your palm. “So, what do I win?”

Quinn watches you for a long moment, his eyes glinting with something warm, something teasing, something just a little dangerous. He leans in, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against your wrist where his hand has found yours again.

“You won. You call it," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

You hum, tilting your head, dragging it out just to watch him squirm.

“Hmm… I could ask for something small,” you muse, tapping a finger against your chin. “Or… something big.”

Quinn exhales, amused. “You're ruthless.”

“You knew that when you married me,” you counter sweetly.

His thumb strokes idly against the inside of your wrist, his gaze flickering between yours, a tension so thick and warm settling between you in the low candlelight.

Then, smirking, you lean in, all smooth confidence as you murmur, “I think I’ll decide when we get home.”

[ruinix]

Quinn, eating your pussy at his own pace, for hours.

Hello, lovely. I didn't expect to receive another ask for another drabble. I am not ready (actually panicked when i received this). Anyways, I may have gotten overboard with the details before what you requested. Once more asking you to put the bar down🧎🏻‍♀️because.... i'm crying 😭😭😭

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Lots of kisses, Oral (fem receiving...as requested), Q just wanna eat you up--🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️

Count: 1,491 words | Masterlist

You’re a treat. A fucking delicious one. Every time Quinn looks at you, his mouth instantly waters.

He always makes sure that you’re not doing anything that could be dangerous like chopping vegetables, cooking, or hopping over the counters to reach the highest cabinets. He will never endanger you. Though, work calls, phone calls with your friends or family, watching TV, watering plants, on your way out for errands, walking around the house because of boredom…those things aren’t dangerous. Important, sure but those can wait, right? You just look so delectable. Like a treat that’s just for him.

Quinn is sane enough to be wary, yet he could barely control himself when he pulls you for a kiss, pushing you against the nearest surface—the wall adjacent to your home office. He must kiss you and taste you mixed with your flavored lip balms. It's vanilla. Fuck. His. Life.

It would always be, “Oh, Quinn. I need to answer this call.” “Quinn. Sweetheart, I’m busy.” “Quinn, I need to go out.” “Quinn, we need to finish doing the laundry.” “Quinn, I need to do the dishes.”

Right now, it's, "I'm waiting for a call, Quinn."

Bla-fucking-bla. Everything can wait.

Quinn needs you. He’s always so fucking busy with hockey—practice, media, the games. He wants to be with you and taste you whenever chance he gets. And it’s now, now, and always now. It doesn't matter if he has an optional skate that he must prepare for. It doesn't fucking matter.

So, he kisses you deeper, holding your cheeks after he turns off your phone, relishing on your taste, making sure to deepen the kiss so both of you forget when one starts and one ends.

Do you know he could still taste the gum you chewed on an hour ago? Do you know he could still taste the caramel lollipop you were sucking on just now? God, he wants to taste everything mixed with you. You’re his favorite flavor. He wants something more. By the way you’re panting and grinding against his thigh, you want it too.

He’s getting drunk on your tongue, your taste, your touch that he could barely lead you to your bed. When you two part, a string of saliva connects you. Your eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown. Your lips are red and swollen. Your hair is fanned out beneath you like a halo. He nearly shudders when your hands find his cheeks.

“Can I?” he asks, while your thumb traces along his lower lip.

“Yes,” you would reply without hesitation, already knowing what he’s craving.

That’s all he needs. He’s kissing you again. Your lips. Your chin. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your earlobe. Your neck, taking his time to suck the fading kiss marks. Your collarbones. He almost tears your shirt open—too many buttons, fuck he just wants to touch you—but he knows better. For every inch of skin he exposes, he kisses and licks.

So divine. You smell like him. Fuck, you used his body wash again.

This is unfair. He feels like he’s losing and falling into your trap. Quinn wants that though. He wants to be trapped with you and nothing else. He wants it so fucking badly.

He could feel your silent chuckle, could feel the scrape of your nails on his scalp. You’re laughing at him, so he pulled down your bra. His lips find your nipple. He sucks, turning your laughter into tiny gasps. That’s it. He can’t have you laugh at him. Not right now.

He takes his time teasing your pretty nipples, licking and sucking your breasts’ undersides from time to time. Relishing his smell on you. His sweet treat. You make him so fucking hard. He knows he’s leaking—pre-cum staining his gray sweatpants—for you. All for you.

Your whines and pleas only make him want to tease you more. Your hips keep pushing up, thighs squeezing around his torso. Your hands that were busy tugging at his hair are now pushing down on his shoulder. You need more. Quinn knows that, but the taste of sweat on your skin is making him hold onto you tighter, making him lick every bead of your skin. Just a few more taste of your skin.

You’re trembling now. The first time you tremble when he touched you, he panicked. But now, he understands your body like the back of his hand. It’s your anticipation, isn’t it? You want all his marks. You want him. You need him. He understands that. Oh, so well, because he feels the same.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin, his eyes flicking to yours.

Your cheeks are flushed as you bite your lips. Your eyes shine with tears. Your eyebrows drawn together. Sweat drips down from your temple. “I love you,” you whisper.

Quinn swore his heart skips a beat. His stomach flips. Hearing those three words always makes him fall for you harder.

He almost drops this, like he could just appease his craving by kissing you. He could be satisfied with that. However, the moment his fingers slip over your panties, feeling how soaked you are, he can’t just stop. He yearns for your pussy. So, he continues. He goes down and down and down, hands expertly removing your skirt—which looked heavenly on you, by the way.

Now you’re just left with nothing. Totally bare. You look so majestic. All spread out for him. He sees your quivering hole, your arousal oozes, almost dripping.  What a sight. A delicious sight.

Quinn just dives for it, tongue licking from entrance to clit, making you mewl. He can’t stop the moan that escapes him. You taste so divine. His favorite aphrodisiac. His elixir.

Lick after lick, he revels in your taste. Your arousal coats every swipe of his tongue. It’s making his head spin, his cock aching. Yet he’s only tasting. Just tasting. Nothing more. Nothing yet. He has time. He has to savor this.

Fuck, he’s so hard. So fucking hard that when he dipped his tongue in your quivering hole, he almost comes as your wall tightens. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel it through his cock. It’s always like this. It’s like you’re fucking him when he only has his tongue in you.

Your taste. Your smell. Your wetness. Quinn needs all of it.

He grips the back of your thighs, making you rest them over his shoulders, as he feasts on your pussy, hips rutting into the bed. Everything feels so good for him. The feel of your thighs squeezing his head, threatening to asphyxiate him on nothing but your pussy. That's one way to die, isn't it? Quinn doesn't have any complaints. As long as he's tasting you. As long as your pussy clenches around his tongue. He could just die like that.

When his nose grazes your clit, he feels your pussy throb, squeezing so tightly. Yes. Fuck yes. You’re cumming around his tongue, your thighs quivering, your hands ruthlessly tugging on his hair, your hips grinding on his face. Quinn firmly held you, slurping and sucking your cum. Tastes so fucking good. He holds your hips down. He doubles his efforts, devouring everything you have given him.

“Quinn,” you pant, trying to push him off. “'m sensitive.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He shamelessly doesn’t care. More. He needs more. You can give him more.

Your curses for him to slow down stutters when he sucks around your clit, his fingers replacing his tongue. He could feel your surrender as you grind against him, back arching when he hooks his fingers to your sweet spot. Your whines get louder. So much louder because you’re coming again and Quinn is already there, tongue deep inside your pussy, taking everything. So exquisite.

He takes and takes until you come down from your high, panting and quivering, but Quinn still wants more. He fucking needs it. He wants your taste to last until the next day. He wants to feel you come again and again around his tongue. It’s not fucking enough.

“Quinn,” you say in a broken plea.

“One more, baby,” is all he says. “One more.”

You answer with a whimper, head nodding.

You both know he’s a liar.

It’s never ‘one more’. Never even when he gets you to come twice more. Even when he comes in his pants—cum making the gray dark which only makes him more feral. Even when you get overstimulated as well as his dribbling cock. Even when his phone rings for that fucking optional skate. Even when you two are dripping with sweat. Even when exhaustion takes hold of you.

He would just slow down, but never part from you like your pussy is the only thing keeping him alive. It fucking is.

Quinn would eat you out for hours. He could do it for days, but you would always slap him off you after two hours. But today, he’ll go for three.

[myjjongie]

❋ HEALING IN HIS ARMS ── p. sunghoon

IN WHICH: your best friend sunghoon is your emotional anchor through everything. so when he wipes your tears away once again. things this time feel different.

PAIRING: best friend!sunghoon x best friend!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, friends to lovers, fluff so much fluff, skinship, topics of parental issues (they just suck) WORD COUNT: 1.7k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: going two for two with another one shot this week. i actually wanted to post a different hoon one shot. but i'm not gonna lie. i plan for it to be like half angst. instead i'm gonna post this first and then the second one i'll post some time in the future :3

you always hated arguing with your parents. you hated the screaming matches paired with slamming doors. you hated the silence at the dinner table hours after. even after moving out for college, you still hated it the most.

your parents weren’t abusive or negligent. they just cared about you, even though they went about it wrong. they love and support you but always knew you could do so much more with your life. despite their opinions, you were satisfied with where you were.

you lived in an apartment close to campus while attending an outstanding university. on top of that, you were in one of the most popular cities in the country. yet they always found something to complain about, making you still feel like that little girl under their roof.

“dad. i’m telling you for the last time. i’m happy with where i am. i’m sorry it’s not the college and city of your choice. but im happy shouldn’t that be enough?!” you groaned out rubbing your hand down your face. you paced back and forth in your living room as you once again argued with your father.

“well honey i just think you would be doing better at the college your mother and i originally suggested is all.” his voice was stern yet charismatic like always.

you rolled your eyes at the lack of acceptance from him.

“dad. it’s been three months just drop it please…” this time you pleaded with him inches away from just hanging up the phone.

“fine. we’ll talk more later. your mom wants to go out for dinner. love you.”

“love you too…” finally finishing the call you put your phone down. slumping into the couch your hands covered your face fighting back the tears forming in your eyes.

you just never understood why your parents, mostly your father consistently fought with you about your life. patting around mindlessly on the couch cushions you grabbed your phone. hovering the light overhead you instinctively called up sunghoon.

sunghoon was one of your closest friends in high school. he lived a bit down the street from you. which meant you always walked to and from school together. as you both got closer, sunghoon was the only one that knew about the issues between you and your parents.

no matter the day, weather, or time he was always at your side. his unconditional support for you made you yearn for him. it was in a way where you began to fall in love with him. but the idea alone made you miserable in some ways. if sunghoon was to find out about the way you felt it was over for you both.

so to help keep your friendship safe you swallowed any type of romantic feelings you felt for him. it became harder recently since sunghoon followed you to the same college. he felt deep down that he couldn’t bear to be apart from you. at the same time it was perfect since the university you applied too had an outstanding ice skating scholarship.

so here you were dialing up his number waiting for him to pick up right away like he always does.

“hey yn what’s up?”

the tightness in your chest loosened the moment sunghoon’s voice reached your ears. like a soothing melody that quelled the brewing storm in your heart.

“hi hoon.” your voice was unsteady with an additional sniffle of your nose.

sunghoon was silent on the other end of the line. once he spoke his tone now had that familiar soft comfort you cherished.

“was it your parents again?”

sunghoon immediately knowing the cause of your problems made the dam blocking your tears collapse. you couldn’t help but curl into yourself. hugging your knees as you sobbed into the phone.

“hoon. i just. i don’t understand why they can’t let me do what i want. are they not happy for me?” your sniffles turned into deep breathes, the build up of snot clogging your nostrils.

sunghoon stayed silent as he listened to you attentively like he always did. even if he didn’t say much you always knew he paid attention to everything you had to say.

“i know they love me. but the way they go about it. it hurts. i still feel like a little girl trapped under their roof.” your voice cracked as you wiped at your wet cheeks.

“i wanna feel happy. but whenever they judge my life for not meeting their expectations. i feel miserable.” you stopped talking as you continued to sob. your heart ached at the recollection of how your parents constantly made you feel. silence soon taking over the phone call.

“they’re happy for you. they just don’t show it in the best way. they can’t help but pester you cause they still want what’s best for you.” sunghoon’s voice spoke on the other line. his soft voice easing away all the stress in your body.

“so don’t say that yn. if you ever doubt how your parents feel. just know i’m always proud of you. you’re doing so well i hope you know that.” you could make out a faint laugh from the tone of his voice. that alone made the corners of your lips turn up slightly.

“i really wish you were here right now. i would do anything for a good park sunghoon hug.”

“then open your door.”

“what?”

“open your door.”

without anytime to think you dropped your phone on the couch bolting to the door. the moment you swung the door open, relief washed over you. there stood your best friend at your door way. your arms engulfed his neck as you hugged him tightly. his arms found its way around your waist hugging you just as tight.

“thank you hoon.” you whispered into his ear melting into his embrace.

after the long hug you parted away to let sunghoon inside. before even making it past the entry way, sunghoon stopped you. his fingers anchored at the bottom of your chin guiding you to look his way. his dark eyes, the same ones you found comfort in studied your tear stained face.

sunghoon raised his hand to wipe away a stray tear from the corner of your eye. you expected sunghoon to pull away after. but he never did. his fingers still lingered against your cheek. you noticed the way his jaw tightened as his brows furrowed as if he debated something.

“hoon?” you murmured, your voice still shaky from the crying.

his hand that lingered on your cheek moved away. but at the last minute sunghoon changed his mind as his hand now cupped your face.

“i’ve been wanting to do this for so long yn.” his voice was barely above a whisper.

before you could even question him, he leaned in. his soft lips brushed against the damp corner of your eye. the feeling felt gentle, more so perfect. sunghoon couldn’t help but still for a moment. as if waiting for you to pull away, to tell him to stop.

yet you didn’t.

noticing this he continued on. his actions were still slow and hesitant, afraid you’d pull away at any moment. his lips trembled as he kissed away your tears. be it the ones that clung to the corner of your eyes. or even the ones that streamed down your cheeks to your jaw. he made sure to kiss all your tears away.

“hoon.” your tone sounded hesitant causing him to pause.

sunghoon pulled away the moment you called his name. you could see his face twisted in a scared yet nervous look. sunghoon feared he may have crossed a line with you.

“i just can’t stand to see the girl i love be in constant sorrow.”

your eyes widened at his words. did you just hear him right. did sunghoon say what you think he did? he loved you? you stood there dazed, trying to gather your thoughts together.

“i know now isn’t a good time to tell you how i feel. but forcing myself to not want to comfort you like this is harder than it looks. i’m sorry if this is sudden.” sunghoon’s hands that rested at your waist now held your shoulders firmly.

“i. i should go. i messed up. yn please don’t let what your parents say bother you okay?” before you could let sunghoon finish his words you cut him off.

“i’m in love with you too!” your words came out louder than you anticipated. but as long as you got your point across you didn’t care.

now sunghoon was the one standing there like a deer caught in headlights. ever since the first day he met you he couldn’t help but fall in love with you. through out all these years he knew you loving him back wouldn’t happen. yet here you were confessing your love for him as well.

“i’m not dreaming right. this is real. please tell me this is real..”

“yes hoon it’s real.”

before you could react, sunghoon’s arms wrapped around you lifting you up effortlessly. a surprised laugh bubbled out from you at his strong embrace.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been wanting to tell you how i felt.” sunghoon held a soft smile across his lips as he looked up at you.

“you’re telling me. i wasn’t sure if you would remotely feel the same way.” a gentle laugh left your lips.

“how could i not fall in love with someone like you?”

your hands found its way to sunghoon’s face. gently cupping his cheeks to help support yourself for what you’d do next. leaning your head down you planted your lips on top of sunghoon’s.

the moment your lips met his it felt as if sparks ignited from you both. your fingers tingled as you melted into the kiss. your body twitched at the feeling of sunghoon’s teeth nibble at your bottom lip. you immediately parted from the kiss staring at him in shock.

“woah not so fast now.” you eyed sunghoon’s seemingly innocent expression as he acted confused.

“what are you talking about?” he let off a soft pout already missing the feeling of your lips.

“you are so sly, you know that?” you replied back kissing sunghoon’s lips again.

perm taglist ( open! send a ask to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

©myjjongie 2025

[bcksbarnes]

some assembly required

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: you move into a new apartment and need bucky to help build a piece of furniture

word count: 1.2K

genre: fluff, laughing!bucky

a/n: trying to get back into writing so enjoy this little one shot

“there you are.” you huff as the door swings open. bucky stands on the other side, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’s been inconvenienced by waiting for you to answer. 

“you told me to be here at eight, i’m five minutes early.” he mutters, shaking his head as he drops his arms to his side, his hands resting on his hips. “do you need my help or not?” 

you can tell he’s joking, and you roll your eyes dramatically, making sure he sees the smile on your face as you take a step back so he can walk through the door and into your apartment.  

it was fate that you found this place a few weeks ago, a new apartment, a new start, but the moving process has been slow. finding time to unpack and decorate between working has been a total nightmare and the mere thought of taking time to put together furniture has your head in a tizzy. that’s how you roped bucky into helping you. a few texts and a few pouting photos was enough for him to reluctantly agree. 

“did you bring the tools?” you ask as you lead him further into the apartment near where your couch was.  

“who moves into an apartment without tools?” bucky asks as he holds up the toolbox you had requested. “you’re an adult, you should own these things.” 

“and miss out on quality time with you, buck? i don’t think so.” 

you manage to make him roll his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile as he does. the two of you were close, closer than he’d ever admit to, and you knew that even without begging bucky would have been there in an instant to help you out. the begging was just fun. 

the two of you take some time to get everything organized, bucky mutters some curse words under his breath as he sees how many small pieces there are and how intricate of a job this will actually be. you read the instructions while he places everything into neat piles.  

what’s the worst that could happen? 

well ... it only takes an hour into building, and a few missing pieces, before you two are bickering with each other. 

“put your back into it!” bucky says as you now had the screwdriver while he held a piece of the wood in place. “the screw isn’t going to catch if you keep doing this half-assed.”  

“i’m not doing it half-assed!” you shriek, letting out a breath that blows a piece of hair out of your face. 

“yes, you are! you’re not even trying. push harder!” he snaps back, though there’s no real bite to his words. 

you try once again and the screw gives no way, not catching onto anything in both an attempt to mock you as well as make you look like a total idiot in front of him. 

you hear bucky mutter a give me that before he takes the screw driver from you and begins to screw it in himself. of course it works when he does it.  

maybe it’s the way he furrows his brows while he’s deep in concentration, or the way that his biceps pop out of that too tight shirt that he’s wearing but you catch yourself staring at him. it was unfair how attractive he was.  

“you’re staring.” he mutters as he now flips through the instruction manual, a small smile on his face as he does so. 

“i’m admiring. much different.” 

but, he was right. you were staring.  

there was a complicated history there between the two of you, one that you both liked to ignore in favor of how close of friends you were. in the beginning there was mutual attraction, both of you always finding yourselves standing shoulder to shoulder at events or when your fingers would accidentally brush up against one another's a spark that would light you up from head to toe. it only took one date to realize that it wasn’t exactly what the two of you wanted, though part of you always felt that it was just too formal and that’s what felt wrong. 

a romantic dinner? not something either of you would have planned but steve had set the whole thing up and neither of you were going to tell him that’s not what you wanted. 

“admiring?” his voice snaps you back into reality again, your thoughts of him subsiding for a moment. he’s tightening another bolt that you screwed in, obviously deeming it inadequate for his tastes. you can see the smirk on his face and it makes you blush a bit. 

“shut up.” you mumble standing up to help him, your arms brushing against one another and oddly enough that spark happens once more. you try to ignore it. you really do. there’s just something so warm and inviting about him that you can’t seem to get enough. 

“you’re really bad at this.” bucky says a while later once the two of you are finally done, both nursing an ice cold beer as you sit on the couch next to each other. “i knew you didn’t have much experience fixing things, i didn't know you’d be totally incapable even with an instruction manual.” 

the two of you laugh at that, the outside of his eyes crinkling softly as he shakes his head thinking back at how frazzled you were. the piece isn’t perfect, the bookcase now pressed up against your wall, but the both of you must admit that you both �� well, bucky – did a great job. 

“you know, if i wanted someone to come over and help me, insult me and drink my beers, i would have just called sam.” 

“but you didn’t.” his eyes trail over your features, a smirk on his face as he holds back a chuckle. “you called me. you’re welcome, princess.” 

you playfully hit his shoulder, shoving it slightly as you let out a laugh, though it doesn’t do much as he doesn’t even flinch. his laugh matches yours, his hand reaching out to grip your wrist and pull you in closer to his side, a smile still on his lips. 

“if i wasn’t here it would have taken you ten hours to finish page one.” his hold isn’t tight, it’s just enough to keep you in place, your eyes searching his face as you both seem to feel the electricity between the two of you. 

“oh thank you, bucky barnes, my savior of all things bookcase related.” you tease. 

“you’re welcome.” he repeats himself, pulling you in a bit closer. you can smell the beer on his breath, it’s mixed with the scent of his cologne. “next time, you’re not allowed to touch anything.” 

“who said i’m inviting you over for next time?” 

“me.” he holds up his beer. “as much as i’d love to watch you be an adult and figure this out on your own. my skin is crawling at the idea of you ever holding any of those tools ever again.”  

“you have no faith in me, buck.” 

“nope.” he shakes his head, taking a sip. “not even an ounce.” 

you wonder if things would have been different if that date never went the way it did. if it didn’t feel so stuffy and out of character. he releases your wrist and you both sit in silence. wondering if the bookcase will hold together until the morning and of all the things that could have happened. 

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Found You First

Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff & humour with a slight side of angst. kind of a slow burn.

Word Count: 17K

Warnings: adult language. alcohol and food mentions galore. Hoshi meddles and creates more problems for everyone involved. reader’s size is not specifically mentioned, but Jihoon and she fit into each other’s clothes. one mention of “daddy” as a joke.

[best friends to lovers!AU] For years you’ve hated Valentine’s day, convinced you’d never find a love worth celebrating. Maybe this year you’ll see that what you needed has been right in front of you all along.

♡ This fic is a part of @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab! Please check out the other writer's works as well! They're all so good and we've all worked so hard!! ♡

[Still don’t know what to get your loved-one for Valentine’s day? We’ve got you covered!]

You stared at your phone, almost praying it would blow up and disappear along with the message. Unfortunately, you still needed your phone and the universe knew it. You sighed and deleted the message.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so bitter every February if the world was a little kinder to single people. After all, at least half the people in the world must be single – whether by choice or not. And yet it seemed that everything in the world was keen on reminding you of how entirely single you specifically were, your sister included.

She all but wrestled the phone out of your hand. “That’s it. I’m signing you up for dating apps.”

“Please don’t,” you replied with only half your usual annoyance and enthusiasm. Maybe a part of you thought this was exactly the push you needed. 

Already nose-deep in the app store, she didn’t even bother to pretend to hear you. 

“This one has good reviews–” she mumbled to herself as if it was her phone all along.

You only hugged a cushion to your chest and stared at the TV. Whatever romantic film your sister had chosen to watch today was not helping your problem. 

“What’s the point? Maybe Soonyoung’s right.”

“Who?” She finally glanced up.

“Soonyoung.”

She blinked. “Is this Soonyoung cute?”

“Can you please stop trying to set me up with every guy you hear about?” You rolled your eyes. “He said that the key to finding love is to first love yourself.”

“That’s, like, basic philosophy,” she replied easily and turned back to your phone. “I need your email and a password– Oh, wait, I can just make something up.”

You were fairly certain she wasn’t listening to a word you were saying but you were past the point of caring. At least talking to a person who isn’t listening is a (small) step above talking to the lonely snake plant on your windowsill. 

“Maybe I should take some time to just find myself,” you contemplated out loud. “I could try a new hobby. Or a new style. Find new books to read. Maybe then I won’t even care that I’m single.”

Still not looking up from the app she had newly installed on your phone, your sister hummed. “One of my friends did say that fictional boyfriends are better than real ones.”

So maybe she was better at multitasking than you had thought.

You put the cushion away and leaned closer to her. “What are you doing on my phone anyway?”

Proudly, she turned the device for you to see. “Ta-da! Your first ever dating app profile!”

A shiver of fear ran up your spine. “You signed me up for a dating app?”

“And you’re not allowed to delete it until you find a boyfriend,” she declared. “And if you do, I’ll just download it again.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Whatever,” she laughed and handed you back the phone, picking up her own from the coffee table. “Oh, I should get going.”

You couldn’t help but pout. “Already? Why?”

She rolled her eyes and went to pull on her coat. “Because, unlike you, I have a boyfriend who wants to take me out on a date. In fact,” she was practically beaming and you felt the ugly green tentacles of jealousy crawling up your leg already, “he’s taking me on a date every day until Valentine’s day.”

A pause. With a startle, you soon realised she was expecting you to cheer for her. You tried to find words that weren’t as bitter as you were feeling. “Oh, that’s so sweet of him.”

It was the right answer. She actually squealed as she confirmed, “Right? He’s such a romantic.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper as she leaned closer to you over the back of the sofa. “I think he’s going to propose on the big day.”

You almost sighed in despair. “I hope so! You deserve that ring.”

“You are so right,” she agreed and opened her mouth to say something more when the door suddenly opened. 

You tilted your head to see who had intruded. It was Jihoon, black hat covered in white snow and a takeaway bag in his hand. He blinked at the sight of your sister before smiling and waving. “Hi. I didn’t know you had visitors.”

“I do have friends other than you, Hoon,” you informed him. “Also, I do have a working doorbell.”

He gave you a funny look. “And I have your spare key.”

It was clear you had made a mistake when you awarded him the honour. Now you were stuck dealing with him even when you didn't want to.

“I’ll leave you two,” your sister announced and left, not before whispering something in Jihoon’s ear in the passing.

Jihoon’s ears turned red as he cleared his throat and set the takeaway bag on the table. 

“What did she tell you?” you asked him with a groan. You knew your sister better than anyone – there was no way she hadn’t told him something so embarrassing you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes for weeks to come. “Lay it on me.”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” His reply was just a little bit too quick and wavering, but you decided to let it go this once. “I brought you some leftovers.”

You raised a brow. “Leftovers?”

“They ordered too much food to the studio today, so I brought you the extras,” he told you almost timidly, gesturing to the bag like it was no big deal and had required zero thought from him. He was a strange man but maybe that’s why you liked to keep him around. “Can’t let the good food go to waste. Besides,” his eyes seemed sharp all of a sudden, “have you eaten at all today?”

He didn’t need an actual answer – you both knew the truth.

“I’ll be sure to savour it,” you told him with a joking salute. “Want to join me for a movie?”

His nose scrunched up at the mention. “I wish. I promised to help Seungkwan set up for the party tonight.”

Right. The party. Seungkwan’s “Jeonghan’s party”. In three hours. You had forced yourself to forget about it. 

Jihoon pursed his lips in thought, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “But we could always pretend we got kidnapped by a serial killer.”

“Sounds like too much work.”

“We escape to Iceland, become anonymous sheep herders and no one ever hears from us again,” he then suggested, snapping his fingers for emphasis and raising his brows as he waited for your reaction.

But as tempting as that sounded… “Seungkwan would find and skin us in fourteen days flat.”

He groaned and threw his head back. “Then I guess we have no choice. We must commit a crime so vile they give us a life sentence.”

“He’d just bring the party to the jailhouse,” you laughed. “And we wouldn’t even be able to sneak out.”

He took a deep breath and straightened back up. “Well, I’m out of ideas. Just plain suffering it is then.”

You glanced at the clock. “It’s not too late to fake our deaths.”

Jihoon snorted a laugh. “You just said that pretending to get kidnapped would be too much work.”

“Faking deaths is different! Or! We could summon a freak storm that would leave us stranded here,” you suggested. 

“How?”

“I’m sure there’s a good Youtube tutorial somewhere.”

He giggled at the idea. “You really don’t want to go to the party, huh?”

You could only sigh and wish for the plush green fabric of the sofa to swallow you whole. “There’s definitely going to be so many couples there, all dressed in matching outfits and giggling and making out. And I’ll be all lonely and miserable, quietly downing all of Seungkwan’s wine.”

When you looked at Jihoon, he was smiling at you almost fondly. He was silent for a while. Then he spoke again, “I’ll keep you company. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not the same,” you whined like a little brat even as his promise made you feel a tiny bit gooey and soft inside. 

“I’m sorry?” He just laughed again and shook his head, the remnants of snow falling onto the floor. “I’m bringing those muffins you like so much.”

You felt yourself perk up immediately. “Muffins? Why didn’t you just say so?”

He laughed harder but said nothing else as he turned and left. You would’ve been upset if you didn’t know him better. 

Your phone chimed with a new notification. 

[Claim your Valentine’s day coupon now and surprise your partner with a free tour of the museum!]

You groaned but didn’t delete the message.

[HOON: if you want to match with someone, I’m wearing red today]

You groaned harder and shut off your phone.

It wasn’t that you actually disliked these parties. You quite liked them, really. Seungkwan had figured out the perfect balance of socialising, snacks and music. It was a joy to be present, hanging out with your friends as you forgot about the problems of the week. 

The only problem was that ever since Seungcheol and Chan had introduced the idea of an annual friendly “Party King” competition, the number of parties you were gently blackmailed to attend had doubled. And, frankly, your social battery was due for an upgrade that never came.

You suspected the same went for Jihoon.

Clad in his dark red hoodie, he joined you on the sofa the moment his eyes caught yours. Sipping his soda and softly singing along to the music, he completely ignored your personal space and made himself comfortable by your side.

“No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend,” Seungkwan joked when he walked past the two of you, a box of party games in his arms. His smile was blinding as he told you, “Your guard dog’s going to scare all of the guys away.”

You blinked in confusion. He nodded to your side. Following the gesture, you found yourself face to face with Jihoon. A groan left your mouth.

“What?” Jihoon wondered. 

“Seungkwan says you’re the reason I’m single.”

He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the fact. “Well, if they want to date you, they have to impress me first.”

You almost felt a little fond of him, appreciating his protectiveness. But you also knew your Jihoon and you knew he wasn’t finished yet.

Under your warning eyes, he took a sip of his soda before smirking. “God knows you wouldn’t recognise a red flag if it slapped you in the face.”

Glancing down at his clothes, you snorted a laugh. “You’re literally dressed as a red flag yourself. I should be avoiding you of all people.”

“No, I’m just warning other people that you are a red flag,” he replied effortlessly, cutting your laugh short. Sensing he was now in real, actual danger, his eyes widened. “That was a joke. Just a joke. I’m sorry–”

You smacked him upside the head and shook your head. “Did someone mix alcohol into the soda? You’re so mean today.”

He blinked once. Twice. Looked into his soda cup. And then cursed. “I knew it tasted funky! Yoon Jeonghan!”

You could only laugh harder as he jumped up from the sofa and ran into the kitchen with fury that could not be matched. Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. Which is precisely why you hardly drank anything at these gatherings. 

Jihoon returned less than two minutes later, two unopened colas in hand. There was still an attitude to his foot stomps and a glint of annoyance in his eyes, but he opened one of the cans before handing it to you like he always did. 

“Not even Jeonghan can tamper with closed cans,” he reasoned almost bitterly. “Who mixes vodka into soda?”

“Lots of people,” you told him with a chuckle and a gentle pat to his shoulder. “It’s called mixing a cocktail.”

He rolled his eyes. “Rude of them to not consider people who don’t drink alcohol.”

“Kind of like it’s rude of them to not consider the single people here,” you half-joked in camaraderie. “Have you noticed they’ve only been playing love songs tonight?”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “Have they?”

You nodded towards the speakers that were blasting Love Me Right. “The last two songs were Lover and Steal the Show.”

He grimaced. “There’s still 12 days left until Valentine’s day. Are they insane?”

“Probably.” You rested your legs onto his lap. “I guess I’ll just be extra bitter and lonely this year then.”

“No shot at romance?”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “You literally just said you’re wearing red to warn others how much of a red flag I am. And now you want me to find romance?”

“I have mixed feelings about you dating,” he told you honestly – a little too honestly, if the red tint of his ears was anything to go by. He cleared his throat. “I should start checking the drinks for alcohol before I drink them.”

Pretending not to notice, you took a sip of your cola. “I keep thinking about what Soonyoung said yesterday. About loving myself before I can find someone.”

“Isn’t that just social media nonsense?” Jihoon wondered quietly, resting his free hand on your knee. His thumb rubbed little circles onto your skin, comforting you.

“What if he’s right?” you continued. “What if I love myself so little that I simply cannot be loved?”

Frowning, Jihoon let out a sharp noise of protest. The gentle touch of his thumb turned into a warning pinch between his fingers. “You are loved! Who put this dumb thought into your mind?”

“... Soonyoung?” 

“I’ll beat him up on Monday,” he half-heartedly promised, a heavy look still on his face. Softening his voice, looking straight into your eyes, he spoke, “Don’t you dare think you cannot be loved. You are loved.”

“By whom?”

He looked away and didn’t say. 

“Whatever,” you sighed once the silence became too much. The speakers began playing Die With a Smile. You sighed once more. “Can’t they play something less romantic? I’d kill for a dumb, mindless party song right now. Do you think you could ask Jeonghan to play something else? He scares me–”

But it seemed that Jihoon was still stuck on the last topic. “What are you doing for Valentine’s day this year?”

“... Aside from crying myself to sleep after watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before for the 15th time?”

“You don’t think you love yourself enough to be loved by someone else,” he echoed your earlier words, his eyes stuck on something in the distance, “so why not change that? Treat yourself to something good this year. No sad movies and ice cream,” he finally looked at you again, “just do something you’ve always wanted to do.”

You knew he was right – he always was right. “But it’s boring to do that alone.”

“Then I’ll come with,” he decided after a moment of thought. A small smile appeared on his face. His thumb finally resumed its circles on your knee. It was sweet. Until he opened his mouth again, repeating the words playing on the stereo: “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

To the sound of his giggles, you snorted and slapped his hand away. “You’re awful.”

“I’m serious–”

“Aren’t you two just the cutest!” Jeonghan interrupted your banter with a childish pout on his rosy lips as he leaned against the wall across from the table. Soonyoung was smiling brightly at his side. “Are you dating yet?”

You wondered if he was done asking that at every party yet. It’s not like it was ever going to change (no matter how much he, Soonyoung, and your mother hoped it would).

Jihoon sat up, narrowed eyes settling on Jeonghan as if he was the devil himself. “Did you mix vodka into the soda?”

“Maybe,” came the reply with a shrug and a wicked giggle. 

“I could get you a boyfriend for Valentine’s day,” Soonyoung suddenly said, his brown eyes set on you. There was that glint of mischief again. You realised you feared this man more than you feared bears, and not for the usual reasons.

Even so, you laughed. “Soonyoung, if you were any good at being a wingman, Jihoon wouldn’t be single right now. In fact, you’re, like, the number one reason why he’s single.”

Forgetting his own argument with Jeonghan, Jihoon seemed to take offense to your statement. He let out a noise of hurt before pinching your knee once again.

“Au contraire, my friend,” Soonyoung argued and leaned so close that you could smell the raspberry-flavoured liquor in his breath, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”

You raised a brow. “Remember, just last week you told a girl Jihoon’s not into women when she asked if he was single.”

“I was drunk,” he told you, wearing a mask of nonchalance. “I don’t remember much from that night.”

“Or the time I got a girl’s number but you stole it and dropped it in the pool,” Jihoon pointed out with a smile that seemed almost venomous. You had no doubt he’d hold that mishap over Soonyoung’s head for the rest of their lives – you almost hoped he would.

Soonyoung had the decency to look a little deflated at the mention, at least. But even so there was no stopping him. Mumbling under his breath, he repeated himself, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”

You shared a look with Jihoon and mutually decided to forget this exchange.

When you were sixteen, Jihoon’s dad let you in on a little secret. He had peeked out of the kitchen to make sure his son wouldn’t hear and then he’d told you that Jihoon had set his phone up so that he would never miss your calls. He thought it was the most adorable thing, and so did you. 

You hadn’t even realised your phone’s Do Not Disturb setting had an option to do so but suddenly you were giddy, excited to set your phone up in a similar manner. And when you didn’t quite manage to figure it out, you decided to compromise and just make his ringtone the loudest one you could find. It worked just the same for you.

You’ve had many phones since then, but the ringtone never changed. 

Though you were no longer sure if it was the obnoxiousness of the ringtone itself or the muscle memory of answering so many calls from him late at night, it never failed to wake you up when he needed you. 

Once again you woke up to the noise, hand automatically reaching for your phone even though your eyes were still closed and your mind was still halfway lost in dreamland. 

“Jihoon?” you mumbled his name as if his ringtone hadn’t been burnt into your memory.

The other line was silent for a moment. Then you heard a soft sigh. “Sorry. Did I wake you up again?”

“No,” you lied, dragging the vowel out as much as you could to loosen up your vocal cords. “What’s up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare, stress or boredom?”

“... All three?”

“You have to pick one.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

He groaned but it was soon followed by a soft laugh. “Do you remember when we were kids and I threw that ball into Mr Yang’s window?”

Weird change of topic, you thought, but Jihoon did love to reminisce. So you humored him. “You mean the time he yelled at you so hard that you cried?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “And then you told me he deserved to have his window broken. And you built a pillow fort in your closet for me to hide so my parents couldn’t find and scold me.”

“It had world-class security,” you joked. “Buddy and I were a trusty team.”

But it was like he hadn’t heard your interjection, too lost in his own memory book. 

“You hid in there with me and hugged me when my mom came to get me,” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “You know, she wasn’t even that mad at me. I only had to do the dishes for a week.”

“You were just a kid and she knew that,” you spoke so softly that you wondered if he even heard you this time. The shared memory of the day ran in front of your eyes. It was a simpler time but even back then you had been ready to do anything for him.

Silence engulfed the two of you, only the gentle static of the phones reminding you of the other still being there. Ten whole minutes went by like this and for a moment you wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“I should go to sleep,” you spoke low in case he really was asleep. “I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

He hummed. “Why?”

“I’m going to a museum and I want to leave by 10. So I should get up before 9. And it’s already almost 3 am, so you know…”

“Since when is 9 am early?” he half-joked before suggesting, “Just go later.”

“I’m a woman of principles, Lee Jihoon. When I have plans, I see them through.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Liar. Remember that novel you said you were going to write?”

“No clue what you’re talking about,” you feigned innocence, “and you have no proof.”

His laugh sounded like he was sitting right next to you. You silently thanked the wonders of modern technology. 

As you prepared to say good night, you heard his voice again. “You remember the thing Soonyoung said yesterday? About finding you a boyfriend?”

You scoffed. “You don’t think he was serious about that, right? He was just joking, being Soonyoung.”

“Right. Right…” He sounded distant again, like he was in a daze, as he spoke, “Do you think– Have you ever wondered if—” He groaned and you could practically see him scrunching his eyes shut in frustration. “Nevermind, it’s dumb. Sleep must be sneaking up on me.”

You hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath. It came out in a not entirely genuine laugh. “Maybe we should both go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. “You’re right, like always.”

“Always?” you teased.

“... Well, maybe not always.”

“You can’t take it back now,” you whined through laughter. “You almost never compliment me or my choices.”

He took a breath like he was about to say something. But nothing came out. Only a sigh. Then the phone call ended without another word – the way Jihoon liked it.

You rolled over to your side, reaching to put your phone away again when it buzzed. The screen lit up with a message. 

[Hoon: if I complimented you and all of your good choices, it would take forever.]

Crawling out of the comfort of your bed on one of your few days off, you wondered if the art of loving yourself was really worth the effort. 

As usual, half an hour was spent on reading the news and watching videos you weren’t entirely interested in. Another half an hour went by as you stared at the ceiling and contemplated your life decisions until you finally found the willpower to shower, get dressed, and eat a quick breakfast.

By 10, you were starting to feel like a human-being again, so you grabbed your keys and bag, and you walked out of your apartment. 

“You said you wanted to leave by 10,” Jihoon’s voice nearly shocked you into running back to your room. He was the dictionary definition of nonchalance as he stood in front of your door, barely even lifting his head, trying to read something off his phone. “It’s already 10:04, slowpoke. Are you ready to go yet?”

You stared at him for a while. Why was he here? Had you invited him along? No, you were sure you hadn’t. And then your jaw dropped as his words sunk in. “You’re the reason I stayed up until 3!”

“And to make up for it, I already sacrificed my arm by cleaning the snow off your car. You’re welcome. Let’s go.”

He never once looked up from his phone as he headed back down the stairs. You could only laugh in disbelief and lock your door before following after him. 

“Why are you here anyways?” you finally asked when the two of you reached your car which had, indeed, been brushed clean of snow. “I was going to go alone.”

Jihoon shrugged. “I was bored.”

“You were bored and just invited yourself along?” You wished you had that kind of audacity. 

The car seemed to be colder than the weather itself. You involuntarily shivered as you pulled the door closed behind yourself. Jihoon let out a noise of complaint as he settled into his usual spot in the leather passenger seat. Envy filled you as he adjusted himself and burrowed further into his warm fleece jacket. 

In an act of something akin to revenge, you tossed him your phone. “Read the directions. If I miss a turn because of you, I’m making you pay for my coffee.”

“Yes, captain,” he joked and turned the heat up to the maximum. One could only pray that your car’s battery would survive the trip. “Are we making any stops on the way?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You really weren’t. It was just a 70-minute drive to the museum – adding to the duration really wasn’t on your bucket list – but knowing Jihoon, not stopping for snacks was simply not an option. The deepening pout and his wide eyes were enough indication that you were right to assume so – he only ever used his cuter side to win. A deep sigh bubbled in your throat. Through gritted teeth you spoke, “But I suppose we could squeeze in a quick stop.”

He let out the tiniest cheer and happily gave the first instruction: “We need to go right, turn left at the intersection and then–” A noise of curiosity. “A Hyunjin wants to know if you have any pets? I guess?”

You frowned. There wasn’t a single Hyunjin you could think of. “Hyunjin?”

“That’s what it says,” he told you with a shrug. “He also wants to know how you feel about… ferrets.”

You weren’t entirely sure what that was about. “Just ignore it. Where to next?”

“Uh,” he vocalised, “right again.”

“Why did we even turn left then?” 

He chuckled. “I’m just telling you what the app says.”

“Whatever. Next?”

“Just keep going straight. We should reach the highway in, like, fifteen minutes.” 

Fifteen minutes straight through the busiest part of the city? You regretted your museum plans already. Should’ve just stayed at home and watched Youtube the whole day. There was a sneaking suspicion that even if you had watched traffic camera livestreams, you would’ve seen fewer red lights.

While you painstakingly stared at the lights, praying for them to turn green already, you noticed Jihoon happily scrolling through your phone. Your hand rose and somewhat forcefully landed on his thigh in a warning gesture. “Stay out of my private messages, creep.”

“Why would I want to read your private messages?” he half-joked and made a face that made you roll your eyes. “By the way, your mom said to bring tiramisu cake to dinner on Friday.”

Defeated, you sighed. “Tell her I’ve got it covered. What’s the occasion?”

“She wouldn’t tell.”

“You’re chatting with her right now?”

He smiled at you like it was obvious. “She’s my mother too.”

“Stop. That’s gross.”

“Also, who’s Andrew?” he then asked, smile dropping.

Another name you weren’t sure could be associated with yours. “Who?”

“An Andrew Johnson,” he slowly read the screen. “He wants to know what your favourite colour is.” His head whipped up just as you pressed the accelerator. “What’s with all these weird chats? You don’t seem to know these people?”

Desperately, you tried to recall a Hyunjin or an Andrew. You had no recollection of either. And somehow the list only seemed to grow with Jihoon calling out a new name and question at what felt like every minute: “Jongho just sent the cringiest pick-up line I’ve ever read”, “Joshua wants you to know that you have a typo in your profile”, “Minjae asked if you prefer walks on beaches or forest hikes”. 

Each notification made you more confused than the one before and soon you felt your brain would melt.

You finally had enough of the confusion when he said, “Turn right. I want a burrito. Also, Chanyeol says you look hot in your profile picture.”

“What profile picture?” you nearly cried out as you slammed the brakes in front of the gas station. “What is going on?”

Jihoon looked just as disheartened and puzzled as you felt, if not even more so. He unbuckled his seatbelt like it had been trapping him and threw your phone back to you for inspection like it was burning hot. He was already halfway through the door when you caught your bearings again. “You want anything?”

“Just a coffee,” you told him, barely paying half a mind to the conversation as you scrolled through your notifications. 

You barely noticed he left when you tapped on one of the notifications showcasing an unfamiliar name, a message and a photo of a handsome man. The screen opened on an app you had barely any recollection of ever downloading. A familiar ‘swipe left or right’ homescreen made you groan and shut your eyes as you locked the phone and tried your hardest to pretend this wasn’t real. 

Minutes passed in blissful almost-ignorance. You felt at almost-peace. It was almost nice.

Until Jihoon arrived once again, two burritos, a water and a coffee in hand, and a scowl on his face. 

“Did you figure out who those guys are yet?” he asked and for a moment you thought he sounded bitter. 

You didn’t have any sighs left in you, so you just grabbed a burrito and the coffee. “Yep.”

He raised a brow while he silently took the burrito back and handed you the other one instead. “So?”

You frowned at his actions. “Did you just swap the–”

“You wouldn’t like this one,” he said and took a pointed bite out of the burrito. “So, the mystery men?”

There it was: the last sigh you could force out of yourself. It didn’t feel anywhere as freeing as you hoped it would. “My sister got a hold of my phone the other day and downloaded a dating app. I think she might’ve messaged a few guys she thought I’d like.”

“You don’t seem happy about it.” You barely understood his words with his mouth so full of food. 

“I don’t really believe in dating apps working, you know,” you told him honestly and took a bite of your own burrito. Your eyes closed in bliss – you should’ve trusted Jihoon’s judgement from the start. “This is so good.”

“I know,” he replied with a knowing half-smile that disappeared as fast as it appeared. “If you don’t believe in the app, just delete it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Made a promise to not uninstall it.”

Your phone made the executive decision to light up with another notification just then. Jihoon tilted his head to read it and carefully voiced out the message: “Seungho says your eyes look as pretty as the starry night sky– Okay, that’s just cheesy.” 

Brows furrowed and nose scrunched up in disgust, he grabbed the phone, unlocking it with ease (you had only half a memory of ever giving him the password), and scrolled through the apps until he found the culprit. 

“I’m uninstalling it,” he told you when he felt your curious eyes on him. 

Your eyes widened at their own accord. “You can’t. I promised my sister–”

“Lucky for you, she’s not my sister,” Jihoon says as he swiftly uninstalled the app and brought peace into your life once again. His frown turned into a proud smile as he handed the phone back to you. “You’re welcome.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, confused. “Did you really just–?”

“Anything for you.” He said it with the uttermost seriousness. “If she tries that again, tell her she’ll have to deal with me first.”

Shaking off the odd wave of appreciation you felt for this man – your best friend, you reminded yourself –, you settled back down in your seat. You stared out the window for a while, slowly devouring your burrito. 

Head whipping around to stare at him in disbelief, you jolted upright again. “Wait, so my mom is your mom, but my sister is not your sister?!”

He was too busy enjoying his food (and accomplishments) to ever reply.

The banners of the café were mocking you.

Bright reds and pinks snickered as you walked past. Papers cut into perfect little hearts flew past your head, giggling as if they were better than you.

“Happy Valentine’s day!” they all said, side-eyeing you while you resisted the urge to commit your first arson. 

“When was the last time you ate something other than candy?” is all that Jihoon said in reply when you told him such. 

You spared a glare at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “You just tend to get a little…” he hummed in thought, glancing up at the sky as if he was expecting a dictionary to drop from a cargo plane any second now, “imaginative when you’ve had too much sugar.”

“I’m always imaginative.”

“It was not a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes in response and opened the door. “You can say what you want but I know for a fact that this whole holiday was invented to make fun of me.”

It didn’t take much to figure out that the pensive scrunch of his nose, the narrowing of his eyes and the tilt of his head meant that he was holding back a question that would probably end with one of you in the ER and the other in a police car. You decided the look alone was enough to warrant slamming the café door closed in front of his face and marched up to the register. His loud laughter taunted you as you did so; not even the thick walls of Soonyoung’s mother’s café could muffle the sound.

You didn’t bother to turn around to look at him as the bell chimed and Jihoon walked right up, taking his usual spot next to you, the remnants of laughter still on his tongue. “I will never get your deal with Valentine’s day, I swear.”

“There’s no deal. Only hatred. Even loathing, if you will.”

“I’ll make sure to ask Soonyoung to make your coffee as dark as your soul then,” he promised with a cheeky grin. The list of crimes you wished to commit on this day was growing by the second – he knew damn well to not come between you and your vanilla mocha latte.

“Anyways,” you sighed theatrically, “can’t Valentine’s day be over already?”

“I sure hope not,” Soonyoung’s bright voice sounded as he practically danced out of the backrooms, “our sales are always the best on Valentine’s day. So, what can I get you two?”

Why did everything have to be Valentine’s themed anyway? And so expensive? The new higher price of the chocolate muffins had you absolutely appalled.

Your bitter thoughts were interrupted by a nudge to your side. “What do you want?”

A new wave of confusion hit. “Since when do you ask that?”

“You’re acting like I order at random,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “They don’t have your usual waffles.”

You were even more appalled. Absolutely horrified, really. “They don’t have waffles?! What kind of a café doesn’t have waffles?!”

“We have waffles!” Soonyoung seemed offended by your best friend’s claim, a pout on his lips as he stood at the counter in his red apron (and was his name tag heart-shaped? (You could’ve sworn it was just a rectangle last week)). 

Who were you supposed to believe? Soonyoung who worked at the café and was too earnest to ever really lie to you? Or Jihoon who sometimes lied to you just to have a laugh? You were leaning towards the former, and Jihoon could read it from your face.

He groaned. “Fine, I’ll get you your pink heart-shaped waffles.”

The use of emphasis was not accidental and his brows rose in challenge, daring you to agree to his absolutely horrifying order.

“Heart-shaped?” You prayed he was joking. 

Turning to face Soonyoung, you found yourself disappointed to realise he wasn’t. With a bright, proud smile on his face, Soonyoung nodded. “We’re switching up the menu for the holiday.”

Single and lonely as you were, you could think of few things less appetizing than pink heart-shaped waffles. Biting back a whine of frustration, you leaned your forehead onto Jihoon’s shoulder and mumbled, “Just get me anything but that.”

You realised your mistake almost as soon as you said those words. Eyes widening, you pushed yourself back upright and tried to stop him as he placed an order for cinnamon rolls and a Nuts About You praline latte with a wicked grin on his face. You both knew exactly what he was doing and he found great amusement in your misery.

“Perfect–,” Soonyoung started, already clicking away to add your order.

You interrupted with a rather loud, “I do not want that!”

Jihoon’s lips quirked. “Why not? Too nutty for you?”

“I just don’t want it,” you declared, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “Just because.”

He pretended to roll his eyes before turning to Soonyoung again, “She’ll have a Cupid’s Special Never Bean Kissed instead.”

“We’re no longer friends, Lee Jihoon.”

The stupid smile didn’t leave his face. “You don’t want me to pay for lunch?”

Second mistake of the day. You groaned and his laughter filled the store as you did so. 

“Your food should be ready soon. Are you paying together or separately?” Before you could answer, Soonyoung added – and you could’ve sworn his eyes glinted with something not entirely wholesome –, “If you say you’re a couple, I can give you a 20% discount and two slices of cake for free. This goes until February 15th.” 

You and Jihoon stared at him dumbfounded. 

He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to assume.”

“What about this–” Jihoon widely gestured to the both of you, appearing equally baffled, “–says ‘might be a couple’?”

Soonyoung shrugged once more and put on a wide smile. “Are you?”

“No!”

“Worth a shot,” he sighed, his smile never fading. “You two could pull off being a couple though.”

“Why are we friends with you again?”

“Because you love me.” Your scrunched up face must have seemed doubtful enough because he soon added, “And my mom makes me give you employee discounts.”

“Exactly why does he keep offering us the couples’ discount every year?” Jihoon wondered under his breath two minutes later while practically throwing himself onto the chair across from yours. “He knows we’re both single.”

“Maybe he’s trying to play matchmaker,” you joked, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the plate he’d placed on the table. “You know, to set us up or something.”

Jihoon caught your eyes. A moment of silence passed as you contemplated your words. 

Then he shook his head and huffed. “He’s not dumb enough for that.”

“No, you’re right.” You took a bite and almost moaned at the taste – Soonyoung’s mother had a knack for baked goods. “God, this is so good– Besides,” you quickly returned to the topic, “I think he might have been right last time.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the whole ‘you have to love yourself to be loved by someone else’,” you reminded him with a shrug. “I’ve been trying to do things for myself this week and it’s actually been so nice.”

“Things like what?” he wondered, grabbing a cinnamon roll as well.

“Well, the museum visit, for one. I got a text about it and thought ‘I don’t have anyone to take with me, but I might as well go for myself’, so I went and it was actually really nice,” you pointed out. “Freeing, in a way.”

He blinked. “I was literally with you the entire day.”

“You’re practically attached to me,” you joked with a dismissive wave of your hand. “It doesn’t count.”

“Your coffee’s ready!” Soonyoung appeared at the table with two cups. He placed one in front of you, keeping the other in a flimsy grip in his other hand as he did so. 

Before you could comment on it, the other cup dropped from his hand with a loud gasp and an apology.

“I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung was reaching for tissues before you could even comprehend what had happened. 

Then you felt your suddenly cold button-up shirt press and stick to your skin. Glancing down, you cursed under your breath and reached for a handful of tissues of your own, starting to dab away at the spots of coffee on your white shirt.

“Should’ve known something like this would happen,” you spoke through gritted teeth as Soonyoung’s lips kept spilling apologies after apologies. “This is why I never wear white.”

Jihoon sat frozen on his chair, wide eyes wildly switching between you trying to clean your shirt, and Soonyoung, practically on his knees, wiping the floor. Eventually, he settled on watching you.

Your desperate clean-up attempt soon slowed. It was no use. You didn’t possess the magic necessary to get an iced americano out of the white fabric. 

“Can I do anything…?” Jihoon asked softly.

“Nothing short of finding me a new shirt to wear,” you told him with a laugh that had no joy in it. You still had four hours of work left and you were certain your boss would have a word with you for the accidental dress code violation – wearing clean clothes was, after all, written in bold on the first page of the employee handbook.

He frowned. “I could give you my hoodie to cover-up?”

You perked up at the idea. “Would you?”

He snorted a laugh. “Is that really a question?” 

Without another word, he sat upright and pulled on the hem of his black hoodie, revealing a grey t-shirt under it. It took him a few seconds and some noises of struggling (that you suspected he only made to cheer you up), and then he handed the hoodie to you. 

It was warm to the touch and smelled like your best friend when you pulled it over your head. Your day was better immediately.

“It feels like a hug,” you mumbled without really meaning to.

Jihoon’s breath seemed to get caught in his throat at that exact moment. He coughed twice before humming, “You say the weirdest things.”

Thursdays are movie nights. No matter the situation, no matter your feelings, Jihoon and you would buy copious amounts of snacks and gather at either of your apartments to watch a movie together.

“We’re not watching The Lion King,” he declared while hauling your giant grocery bag up the stairs (he’d insisted it was easier to just stuff everything into a giant bag than to carry several bags; who were you to try and stop him?). “I don’t feel like crying today.”

“You never cry anyway,” you grumbled and supported the bag from underneath. There was just the tiniest tear in its side and you were growing wary. There was only one more flight of stairs to go.

He stopped and turned his head to glare back at you. “Are you suggesting I’m a monster? Who doesn’t cry during The Lion King?”

“You,” you supplied with an innocent smile and pushed at the bottom of the bag to urge him forward. “If you don’t want to watch The Lion King, then pick something better. I dare you.”

“Captain America.”

“I’m locking you outside,” you replied with a scoff. “You can sleep on the doormat, or maybe Ms. Kim will be merciful and give you one of her dog beds.”

“Can you stop acting like you don’t enjoy Marvel movies?” he wondered. “Or would that break your programming?”

As you arrived on your floor, you told yourself it was not worth the fight. You reached into your pocket to pull out the keys, ignoring Jihoon’s groans of exhaustion as you slowly and meticulously pressed the key into the hole. But when you began to turn it, the door handle tilted downwards and the door opened.

You blinked in surprise as Yoon Jeonghan gently ushered you out of the way so he could leave. He wore a pleasant smile as he opened the door wider to let you into your own apartment. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you found your voice again.

He shrugged. “Wanted to see if you had any of that good ramyeon.” When you lifted a puzzled brow, he victoriously held up three packets of your favourite ramyeon. “I’ll be taking these. Thank you for being such a good friend!”

While you searched for words to say, he rushed down the stairs. He was still in hearing range when your brain kicked into gear and you called out, “How’d you get inside?!”

“Stole Jihoon’s key!” came a joyous reply from three stories below. 

Beside you, Jihoon let out a loud groan of frustration, brows knitted and nose scrunched. “That son of a bi–.”

“I was looking forward to that ramyeon!” you whined and stomped into your apartment, pulling your best friend after you by the sleeve.

Lost in noodle-grief, you burrowed into the sofa cushions as he placed down the bag and began rummaging through the two drawers you had so kindly surrendered to him and his clothes. You watched as he closed the drawers with a defeated short hum and opened your closet instead. It didn’t alarm you – it hadn’t in years. 

“Why are your shirts so much nicer than mine?” he suddenly asked, pulling off his crispy black button-up shirt to replace it with your favourite white t-shirt.

Momentarily you were brought back to reality just to reply with a short and simple: “Because I actually pay attention to what I buy from the store?”

His head turned just to give you good-natured glare. It soon gave way to a mischievous smirk – one crafted to annoy you. “Why would I do that when I can just borrow your clothes?”

“One day I’m going to take away your closet privileges,” you lazily vowed. 

He stuck his tongue out. You always did bring the more mature side of him out.

As you turned on the TV – one that came with your studio apartment and would have been entirely useless if not for the movie nights –, Jihoon threw himself into the cushions next to you.

Taking advantage of your state of not-quite-being-there, Jihoon stole the remote. When you whined and tried to get it back, he laughed and pushed you away with his free hand. While you fought to get the remote, the TV began playing yet another Marvel movie. 

The opening credits began playing and you only knew it was Iron Man because he’d made you watch this movie a thousand times. You wanted to argue but the movie nights had one unbreakable rule: once a movie starts playing, there’s no changing it. 

“Seriously?” you groaned and threw your head back against the backrest of the sofa. 

Like the TV, the green sofa had also been in the apartment for as long as you knew. You had always thought it to be a rather cosy and perfect lounging spot. Slowly, however, you were realising it had its flaws, the worst one being that with Jihoon’s manspreading habit, there simply wasn’t enough space.

“Move,” you nudged his leg that was leaning too close to yours for comfort. “Hoon, you’re on my side of the sofa.”

He only nudged your leg back with a laugh. “Since when?”

“Since ten minutes ago,” you declared, pushing back harder. “And stop manspreading. That’s rude. You’re taking up all of the space.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice to guests?” he teased, leaning even closer with his whole body now until his chin rested on your shoulder. 

You found yourself pleasantly surprised by his warmth. It was cold outside, you reasoned with yourself, of course you were enjoying any warmth you could get your hands on. Besides, it wasn’t often that Jihoon burrowed this close to you. You were bound to find joy in his rare act of affection.

Your joy was short-lived though because it was only now that you noted (with slight to moderate annoyance) that he had stolen a coke from your fridge. You scoffed.

“You’re hardly a guest. A parasite is more likely.”

As more and more of his weight pressed onto you, you groaned in pain. He only laughed at your misery. 

“You steal my clothes. You steal my space. You use me as your personal cushion,” you counted. “Does your audacity have no limits?”

He paused, lips pursing as he thought for a moment. Then he smiled brightly. “No.”

It took all your strength to push him off you. He had the gall to giggle the whole way, and you soon found yourself laughing along with him. 

“You’re awful,” you told him with an affectionate grin. Your efforts of moving him were in vain and he happily rested his head on your shoulder, occasionally slurping his (formerly your) coke. You tried really hard not to think of how awfully domestic this position would’ve looked to a stranger.

“You’re not allowed to complain,” he eventually told you. “You’re the one that stole my hoodie yesterday.”

You gasped, appalled by his accusation. “You offered!”

“I was practically blackmailed,” he spoke loudly as if announcing it to a theatre of people. “What choice did I have?”

“Maybe I need to do this self-love journey just so I’ll have someone who actually loves me and isn’t faking it to be a drama queen,” you concluded with a theatrical sigh. 

Jihoon laughed and nudged your side. “No way. You’re stuck with me no matter what.”

And you appreciated that. You really did. But. There was always a but.

“How am I supposed to learn to love myself more anyway?” you wondered, leaning into the cushions as well as his warmth, angling your body to enjoy the benefits of both. “I socialised at Seungkwan’s party. I went to a museum. I feel like I love myself enough. What else can I do?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something that says I’m unapologetically me,” you said thoughtfully, trying to think of something. You weren’t entirely sure it had anything to do with self-love. Really, it was probably more-so to avoid your loneliness on Valentine’s day. “Something I’ll enjoy but find a little challenging, so when I’m done with it I’ll feel pride.”

“You could order your own coffee for a change.”

Dreams shattered, you let out a scoff. “I would but you never let me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed readily, “you always get the same thing anyway.”

“Well, what if I wanted to try something different?”

“You snooze, you lose. Just be glad I pay for your lunch.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

Silence. Long and awkward (just how you liked it) as you watched his reddening face with a wicked grin. This is what he got for being mean and useless. Finally, he ran a rough hand over his face and declared, “That’s it. You can pay for your own lunch from now on.”

“Oh no, how will I live,” you bemoaned, fully aware that he’d never let you pay for your own meals. “I’m still open to ideas though. I need something to do.”

Jihoon offered a mocking smile. “Well, you didn’t like my idea, so–”

“Please,” you begged, tugging at his shirt with one hand. “Anything. Please. Tell me to read The Odyssey. To start a charity. To paint an overcomplicated mural–”

Clearly uninterested in the topic at hand, he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “Is it just me or is it cold in here?”

Now that he mentioned it, your hands were feeling a little freezing. Just a bit. And your toes felt like they’d been on an ice block this whole time.  You frowned. 

“No, you’re right,” you realised and jumped up to check the thermostat. It proudly showcased the number 10. You hurriedly set it to a higher heat. 10 degrees was not enough to keep you alive, you feared. 

“Someone’s messed with my thermostat,” you told him as you returned to the sofa. “This old building gets cold so fast.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed in thought. “You don’t think…”

“What?” you wondered, pressing closer to him in an effort to get warm again. The world off the sofa was far worse than you had anticipated and now you were forced to shiver as you waited for Jihoon’s natural warmth to reach you as well. You felt your eyes widen as the pieces clicked into place. “Jeonghan?”

“He was acting suspicious,” he confirmed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you closer. 

Though you found yourself wanting to purr in bliss, you told yourself he only did so because he felt sorry for you – you never were built for the cold climate. Making a mental note to fight Jeonghan the next time you saw him was the best distraction you had.

Minutes passed in silence, par the movie playing in the background. You weren’t sure either of you were focused on it. But the rule stood and neither of you dared to be the first one to break it. So you remained right there, in his arms, unable to think about anything other than your vengeance plan and Jihoon’s embrace.

It was warmer now. Whether it was the doing of your apartment’s heating or Jihoon holding you like you were his lifeline, you were too comfortable to contemplate. The soft chimes of dreamland were calling you now.

“You know,” Jihoon spoke, voice low and gravelly, “they say cuddling helps to preserve heat.”

You knew it was just a dumb excuse. You knew you should’ve poked his side and made a joke about him using you for his personal gain. But as you pressed your cheek against his chest and wrapped your arms around his frame just a little tighter, you forgot all about it. 

By the time you remembered to argue, you felt your eyes getting heavy and his heartbeat slowing down under your ear. 

You hadn’t disliked Seungkwan’s parties all that much last week or the week before that. But this was getting excessive – even Seungcheol had said so, but Seungkwan listened to no one. Seungkwan, you see, had a goal and no one could dissuade him from reaching it.

“I think at this point they have no choice but to crown him the party king,” Jihoon mused, once again sitting by your side on the sofa as the two of you watched the party host gloat about his impeccable party streak. “It’s quantity over quality.”

Taking a sip from your soda, you hummed in agreement. “If nothing else, they should crown him for all the effort alone. Have any of the others even planned any parties yet?”

“I think Seungcheol’s planning the Valentine’s day Party with Soonyoung.”

You nodded. “I’m definitely going to be sick for that one.”

“You’re going to have to pick a different excuse,” Jihoon pointed out with a chuckle. “You’ve pulled the flu excuse four times already this year. They’re getting suspicious.”

“Join me in becoming sheep farmers in Iceland?”

“If Seungkwan would find us in 14 days, Seungcheol would find us in half that,” he told you and you weren’t entirely sure he was joking. 

You sighed. “Do you have to ruin all of my dreams?”

He laughed and nudged your shoulder. It was only recently that you’d noticed how often he did that. You hadn’t seen him do it to his other friends, now that you thought about it. It was always him and you. Perhaps, you thought, you had finally discovered his love language.

You noted with glee that he did it again, this time so slightly you almost didn’t feel it. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” you wondered, unable to think of anything you had done to warrant those words.

The room seemed to get brighter, lit up by a radiant magical glow, as his face broke out into a wide smile. “For staying sober with me. I think I’d go insane here if you didn’t.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic. You’d live,” you told him and took a sip of your cola as you surveyed the room, taking note of your friends’ antics. “I’m not entirely sure about the others, but you would live.”

He burst out laughing at your words as if it was the funniest joke in the world (it really wasn’t; you had elicited far colder responses to far funnier jokes but you appreciated the enthusiasm). “You’re probably right. But still,” he took a calming breath, a bright grin still on his face, “I’m glad to have you with me. I can’t imagine you have much fun sitting here with a sober me when you could be doing drunk karaoke with Joshua and Jihyo.” 

You were about to tell him there was no place you’d rather be when Vernon appeared from what you could only assume was the shadows and gave the two of you that blank helpless wide-eyed look of his. 

You and Jihoon sighed in unison.

“What is it this time?” he wondered, already adjusting his sleeves and flexing his fingers in preparation for whatever herculean task awaited him.

The reply was short and laconic. “The fridge is being weird.”

Jihoon offered you a look that told you he couldn’t have cared less about the decade-old fridge Jeonghan had wrestled out from some old lady’s hands at the second-hand store. It wasn’t his property. It had, in fact, absolutely nothing to do with him because he didn’t live here. 

“Just go,” you laughed and waved him away, earning a look of betrayal. “The child won’t leave you alone if you don’t help him.”

“I’m not a repair guy,” he told you with a mild glare before groaning once more and finally getting up. From his new higher vantage point, he could look right into your empty cup and roll his eyes as if he didn’t want to say the words he’d utter next: “I’ll get you a new drink while I’m gone.”

You sent him off with a grateful smile and a plan to conquer the space he’d left behind. Your feet would thank you for the gentle stretch of being rested on the sofa and you could already practically hear the odes they’d sing to you. But then, as fast as the spot beside you became empty, it immediately was filled again. 

“I’m sorry if this upsets you,” a girl you vaguely knew by the name of Yeonmi spoke as she slumped into the free space Jihoon had left, slurring her words, “but I’m going to marry him.”

You quirked a brow. “Who? Vernon?”

“No!” She pointed at your best friend. “Him! Jihoon!”

You suddenly wondered if you were hallucinating this entire interaction. You blinked once, and then once more, before turning your head to look. Certainly Yeonmi was drunk off her ass and had mistaken him for someone else! Or maybe you yourself were drunk – who’s to say Jeonghan hadn’t mixed vodka into the soda once again? He’d done it before, more than twice.

But then you saw: Jihoon stood at the kitchen aisle. Laughing at what appeared to be the funniest joke in the world, he passed bottles of water around for his drunk friends. One by one, they accepted their bottles with grateful glee and promises to never drink again. 

Then, whining something about how he’s not that drunk yet, Seungcheol tried to push the bottle away and your best friend’s grin morphed into a short-lived frown as he smacked him across the back of his head with the very same bottle and forced it into his hand. Just like that Jihoon’s smile returned as Seungcheol’s pout only pursed out more.

As you began to laugh at the scene, you suddenly remembered why you’d looked over in the first place. Brows furrowing, your head snapped to glare at Yeonmi once again. “You want to marry him?!”

You weren’t entirely sure why the idea irritated you as much as it did. Maybe Jeonghan actually had mixed something into the soda. You certainly had no other reason to be so irate by the concept of Jihoon marrying someone. 

“Absolutely,” Yeonmi mumbled, gaze stuck as if Jihoon was a beautiful mirage that would disappear if she took her eyes off of him. She took a sip of her cocktail, unaware of the scathing look of disapproval she was on the receiving end of. “Isn’t he just perfect?”

Fighting to keep your irrational temper in check, you took a deep breath. “Since when do you like him like that?”

“Today.”

“What?”

Yeonmi must have taken the growing volume of your voice for a sign of excitement because she quickly added, “I think we’ll get married tomorrow.”

“You can’t marry him,” you told her without as much as a scoff. It wasn’t a joke. It was not a threat. It was a clear-cut fact of life. To you it was anyway.

Finally, Yeonmi tore her attention away from him and stared at you, blinking her saddened puppy-dog eyes. “Why not?”

You didn’t have a reason. Not a very good one anyway. “You just can’t.”

“But I want to!” She continued pouting. You noted with glee that it was the alcohol talking. Sober Yeonmi would never do this to you. But sober Yeonmi was far gone – six beers deep gone. “Why can’t I marry him?”

Unfortunately, drunk Yeonmi was far less reasonable than you knew sober Yeonmi to be. You had to think long and hard about your words if you wanted to put this conversation to rest soon. “Because he–”

“Who’s marrying who?” Seokmin stumbled into the conversation and onto the sofa, settling right between the two of you like a rather ill-fitting puzzle piece. A drink in his hand, a backwards cap askew on his head, and a comically large tiger plushie under his arm (one you could practically hear Soonyoung already frantically searching for), he stared at you two in child-like excited wonder. 

You almost had a spark of hope – could this be your saving grace? your ticket out of this conversation that was irritating you for reasons outside of your comprehension? – until you realised that Seokmin was almost certainly just as drunk – if not more – as Yeonmi. You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned.

“I’m marrying Jihoon,” Yeonmi declared all too proudly, her pout turning into a bright smile that could rival the sun. For a moment you found yourself almost bitterly thinking she was exactly the pretty kind of girl your best friend deserved. Then she just had to open her mouth again: “Tomorrow. I’m marrying him tomorrow, for sure.”

Her words were met with a dramatic gasp and a matching bright smile. “You are?”

“I am!”

“She’s really not,” you mumbled from where you’d been pushed against the armrest by their celebration.

Then Seokmin froze mid-squeal-of-joy. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He loudly whispered, “But you can’t!”

Yeonmi’s smile once again dropped. “Why not?”

“Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend!” He told her with such conviction that you began to wonder if you had missed a major life event of your own damned life. 

You frowned. “We’re not–”

“Oh.” Yeonmi nodded solemnly. “You are right. I can’t believe I forgot that.” She paused before loudly whispering, “You know, I heard they’re actually married. Eloped in Vegas during spring break back in college.”

“I heard that one too!” Seokmin pointed out with inexplicable uncontained glee. “I heard he wrote a song and sang it to her at the proposal.”

“That’s so romantic,” Yeonmi swooned, smiling like it was the cutest news she’d heard all day. Her dreams of marrying Jihoon had disappeared just like that. 

But you felt like you were living in a nightmare.

“What are you guys talking about?” you cried out, watching them in astonishment and horror. “There’s nothing going on between us!”

“I mean,” Soonyoung joined in, leaning against the armrest like he’d been there all along, “you’re practically married, even if the elopement thing isn’t true.”

Yeonmi gasped. “It’s not?”

You ignored her.

“It’s okay if the spark goes out a little bit, you know what I mean,” Soonyoung attempted to explain? comfort you? Whatever he was doing, you wished he’d stop. “Relationships take work, you know.”

You felt your left eye twitch. “We’re not dating.”

This was news to your friends – if their wide eyes and dropped jaws were anything to go by, anyways. 

“But–” Seokmin started, slumping in his seat as if his whole world had shattered into pieces. “But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). You’re practically always glued together.” 

“So? We’re friends. Best friends. You know this.”

“If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is?” he wondered, asking no one in particular it seemed. His gaze had frozen on the fairy lights taped to the ceiling. He looked close to tears and you decided you’d had enough of this and got up off the sofa. 

It had been a while since you’d been out on the balcony anyway. It was nice and quiet and away from your nosy friends who clearly could not wrap their minds around the possibility of two friends not dating. The fresh air bit at your nose but you decided it was better than facing them again. 

Looking out at the nightlife of the city below, your thoughts kept drifting back to what they said. Why had you felt so irritated at the idea of Jihoon being with someone else? He wasn’t yours to keep, as much as you liked to joke about it. He wasn’t your husband, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not even a friend with benefits. He was just Jihoon.

You were just you and Jihoon. That’s what it had always been. 

So why did the idea of being ‘just (Y/n) and Jihoon’ suddenly sent a rush of rage and insult up your spine? 

“(Y/n)?” a voice called out and you felt the subtle warmth of the apartment creep out through the opened balcony door. You turned to find Seungkwan standing right there, his kind eyes looking at you as if you were insane. “Aren’t you cold?”

“It was stuffy in there,” you excused yourself and turned back to stare over the railing.

He hummed in understanding but couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Could’ve just opened a window instead of standing out here without your jacket.”

You let out a short laugh. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Warmth surrounded you, the feel of a soft knitted cardigan following soon after. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m a little surprised Jihoon hasn’t given you his sweater yet,” he noted under his breath as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted you to hear it or not. He cleared his throat and added louder, “Sorry, I’m sure you’ve heard enough of Jihoon today. Seokmin and Yeonmi are a lot, I know.”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “You heard them?”

“I’m sure half the party heard them,” he told you as if it was obvious before his expression melted into something more compassionate. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was hard to choose. So you stayed silent instead. Seungkwan seemed to decide that was a yes.

“You know, I think Jihoon holds you closer to his heart than he sometimes lets on,” he told you. “Most of us see through his facade by now, but sometimes I wonder if you’re still one of the few who can’t.”

Great. Exactly what you needed: a double dose of ‘I’m an awful friend’.

“You know that keychain you have? That little cat he whittled out of wood back in high school?” He chuckled to himself. “He spent a whole week making it, constantly texting the group chat if it was perfect yet. Perfect for what, we’d ask and he’d always say it was for you like it was the most obvious thing.”

He leaned against the railing with you. Just as soon as he did so, he cursed. Seungkwan stepped away almost immediately. His voice was suddenly much louder than before: “It’s so cold! Can you even feel your arms?”

A little dazed by the information you’d learnt, you shrugged. “I guess.”

“That’s it,” he decided and grabbed a hold of your arm before dragging you back inside against your will (not that you were complaining; you suddenly realised it was indeed very cold outside). “If you want to be cold, I can give you ice cream, but please stop trying to contact frostbite.”

You barely made it through the kitchen door before running into Jihoon. It was starting to feel like Seungkwan needed to find a bigger venue for his parties because you were clearly not able to find even a minute of peace here. 

“There you are,” he practically cheered at the sight of you, a wide grin breaking out on his face as if he hadn’t seen you in days rather than mere 20 minutes.

You were painfully aware of Seungkwan’s knowing smile as Jihoon handed you a cup of soda. You took a small cautious sip – it didn’t taste anything like alcohol. There went your accidentally tipsy theory. You let out a soft groan at the thought.

“You good?” he wondered, hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Soonyoung said you looked kind of upset.”

“I’m fine,” you said. It was a lie – at least it felt like a lie. You always did hate to lie to Jihoon. But what else were you supposed to say? “It’s just been a long day.”

If he caught onto your false narrative, he didn’t mention it.

It was 2 am and you couldn’t sleep. Your friends’ words kept echoing in your head and no amount of “we’re just friends” could keep them at bay. 

For a short moment, you almost reached out to him. Your fingers knew the path to Jihoon’s contact in your phone without you even thinking about it. It was only when your thumb hovered above the green call button that you realised what you were doing. 

You found yourself scoffing. Exactly was your plan? To text him? To call him and tell him…? Tell him what?

“Hey, Jihoon, I just wanted to let you know that Seokmin and Youngmi and probably half our friend group think we’re married or at least dating and, honestly, not even gonna lie, I think it suddenly made me realise I might be and have been for a while sort of, kind of, maybe just a little bit or maybe even very much in love with you. Thoughts?”

You didn’t exactly pride yourself in your ability to put together words (and you were certain Jihoon wouldn’t have cared much for it if you did), but even you knew you couldn’t tell him that. Certainly not at 2 am and definitely not after being his friend for so many years.

So you muted your phone, put on a ridiculously long historical movie you weren’t planning on paying any attention to, and found a tub of ice cream from the deepest crevices of your freezer. It was you against your demons now. You weren’t going to leave your apartment until you’d figured out how to look him in the eyes again.

Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend. You’re practically married.

The voices kept echoing in your head like annoying little mosquitoes, sucking on your lifeforce. It was nothing short of irritating; not because you thought they were wrong, but precisely the opposite.

You sat on the sofa, head heavy with foreign thoughts. Foreign thoughts that weren’t all that unfamiliar at all – they’d been peeking their heads out every once in a while ever since high school. But you had always acted like they weren’t there: you brushed them aside, painted over them with other thoughts, and told yourself what you felt for Jihoon was just friendship.

Good old plain and very platonic friendship. Nothing else at all. 

Your heart fluttering every time he laughed at your jokes? Friendship.

Your breath getting caught in your throat every time you saw him without a shirt? Definitely friendship.

The ugly jealous feeling in your chest – the very one that took over your entire being when Yeonmi said she’d marry Jihoon? Friends get jealous all the time, don’t they? 

“They don’t,” the character on the TV said at that very moment, like a sign from the universe.

But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is? 

The voices kept on echoing. You squeezed your eyes shut and drowned your sorrowful realisations in stracciatella ice cream. 

Spoonful after spoonful, your brain numbed and froze. But the knowledge had sunk deep into the crevices of your very being and you knew that no matter what happened, one thing was true: nothing about your feelings for Lee Jihoon was platonic in the slightest.

Jihoon’s studio was a cosy and comfortable place. Dimly lit and full of his soft humming along to the songs he rarely let you listen to, it had become your safe space the day he showed it to you. 

Never once had you felt out of place in it. But when he invited you to come keep him company this evening, you found yourself hesitating at the door for the first time. 

It was as if you had forgotten how to act. 

Did the you who felt only platonic feelings for Jihoon ever knock? Did you simply burst through the door and throw your keychain at his head when he was too focused on his work to notice? Or did you just sit outside the door until he suddenly remembered he’d invited you over and come searching for you?

Had your heart always sped up, doubling its pace when you stood in the hallway? Had you always worried your hair was a mess? Surely you hadn’t. Suddenly you felt like a fool for putting on a lip stain.

You forced a deep breath of air into your lungs and knocked on the door. It immediately felt wrong.

The door opened seconds later. Jihoon greeted you with furrowed brows and an amused smile. “Since when are you so polite?”

You feigned a laugh. “Had to make sure you weren’t rotting away in your chair.”

He rolled his eyes. His hand reached out and wrapped around your wrist before swiftly pulling you inside. “Come on, you’re probably freezing. How long have you been standing there?”

Silence filled the room as he led you to the sofa. 

You realised under his confused gaze that the old you – the definitely-not-in-love-with-my-best-friend you – would’ve argued. You would’ve told him something silly to distract him from your tells of embarrassment. You would’ve shoved him and  he would’ve laughed. He had expected you to.

Making your lips curl into another smile that wasn’t quite sincere, you nudged him with your foot. “Did you miss me? Be honest.”

Another silence. You thought of how he should’ve snorted a laugh and told you “you wish” before turning to his computer and telling you about his woes as a music producer. Instead, he frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Your mouth felt dry. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just,” he started, scratching the back of his head all the while watching you cautiously. You felt like a cornered stray cat as  you sat on his sofa, still clad in your coat and hat. “You’ve been acting a little weird today.”

You wanted to laugh. You hadn’t even interacted with him enough for him to come to that conclusion. In fact, there had been a conscious effort to avoid him until you could trust yourself to look him in the eyes and not burst into ballads about how wonderful he was. 

“I guess I’m just a little under the weather.” You still despised lying to him, but you told yourself it wasn’t a complete lie. If nothing else, you were at least a little bit love sick and you weren’t entirely sure yet whether seeing him was the cause or the cure. 

His eyes blinked wide. “You’re sick?”

Jihoon waited a minute, watching you patiently (though you could see a line between his brows that only appeared when he was particularly frustrated). Then he walked forward. You blinked up at him standing over your seated form, his brows knitted with concern as he held the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Do you have a fever?” he wondered and leaned his face closer on instinct, pressing his lips to your forehead like a mother would to her child. He pulled back before long, seemingly finally realising his error, and grumbled, “Definitely a fever.”

Right. A fever. You were hot to the touch. Definitely a normal reaction to seeing your best friend for the first time all day. Nothing abnormal about that. 

“It’s nothing,” you told him, still forcing a smile, and patted his hand. “What are you working on today?”

At the mention of his work, he seemed to perk up a little. His lips quirked in that way they always did when he was about to tell you a lie. “Nothing interesting.”

“I’ve known you for nearly two decades,” you told him with a scowl. “You can’t keep things from me.”

He scoffed and turned on his heel, returning to his usual seat at the desk. His eyes narrowed when he glanced back at you over his shoulder. “I’ll keep all the secrets I want from you.”

“No chance,” you teased, resting your head on your palm as you leaned forward against your knee. “You're practically transparent.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he told you with a chuckle and turned to the screen. Before long, his headphones were on his head and his head was deep in the music again. 

You’d never felt like you didn’t belong in this room and you didn’t feel like it now either, even as your chest threatened to burst open with all of your doubts and feelings. Your coat slid off your shoulders and you settled down on the sofa.

The you from before would’ve unlocked your phone and watched something on it at an obnoxious volume just to annoy him (but had that ever really been the goal and not just a ploy to get his unwavering attention at any cost?), but you found yourself lost in your thoughts, overthinking every memory you had of him.

You thought back to how he always seemed to be pressed to your side on movie nights – giggling in your ear, repeating and mimicking the actors just to make you laugh, nuzzling his cheek against your collarbone like a cat showing his affection. 

You thought back to the late night calls and how they made you so giddy despite the fact that you desperately wanted to sleep; to the protective glares he gave any man that looked at you and how a shiver went up your spine every time he crossed his arms over his chest while doing so; to the shirts and sweaters of his that you had unapologetically stolen to keep warm at night and breathe in his scent.

As you watched him – his head bopping along to the beat you couldn’t hear, his lips pursed in an effort to not spoil the lyrics, his dark eyes flitting your way every so often –, you realised there was no room for doubts. There was nothing uncertain about your feelings for Lee Jihoon. 

All this time, you had loved him for his laughter and his jokes. You had loved him for his yelling and his tears. You had loved him for his melodic voice and his silly 3 am ideas. You had loved him for the warmth of his hands when he taught you to play the guitar and the fond disappointment in his eyes when you failed your driving test for the first time.

There was nothing you didn’t love about him.

Even now you noted with certain fondness that one side of his headphones was off his ear just enough so he could hear you and it made you love him all the more so. 

The only thing you didn’t entirely adore about this man was that he wasn’t yours.

His eyes found you again and he quirked a brow. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I think I just realised why I don’t like Valentine’s day,” you told him without thinking. It was silly. Of all the millions of things you could’ve told him, of all the possible insults and puns and jokes, you told him the vulnerable truth you had only barely just graped yourself.

Jihoon swiveled his chair to face you, suddenly intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His raised both his brows this time, staring at you with interest. You didn’t shy away from eye contact – not now when you’d finally learnt to appreciate the shades of brown. You only smiled and watched him as he sighed in defeat and turned back to the computer.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he mumbled under his breath.

You weren’t sure you had another option.

While you had always hated Valentine’s day, Seungcheol and Soonyoung loved it with their whole hearts. Who would’ve guessed that the two men who could strike fear in anyone’s heart with just a look were hopeless romantics?

After spending hours contemplating if you wanted to be present at this event at all, you arrived fashionably late. Why they had decided to hold the celebration the night before Valentine’s day was beyond you, even if it was the reason that finally convinced you to go.

Welcoming you into their house brimming with roses and heart-themed decorations, Seungcheol handed you a red paper rose at the front door and sent you on your way with a wink. 

“Jihoon’s in the kitchen,” he told you with a smirk that said he could see right through you. You hoped you weren’t as obvious to the others.

Taking your time to look around was just an excuse and it felt like everybody knew it. They gave you smiles and winks and claps on your shoulder as you passed them by with soft greetings. You couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Looking for distractions, you craned your neck to look at the decorations. Heart-shaped balloons of red and pink and white floated against the ceiling. They were surrounded by pink and white party banners hung between the walls, cut into triangles with little hearts drawn in the centre, little fairy lights wrapped around the strings keeping them together. The floor was covered in rose petals. If Seungcheol and Soonyoung knew anything, it was how to go all out (and the amazed yet annoyed look on Seungkwan’s face told you he realised it could cost him the competition).

As you walked through the crowd, you realised that for once the pinks and reds hadn’t filled you with frustration and anger and resentment. Instead, a strange feeling of bitter sadness filled your chest. The spot on your side felt empty even with tens of people pushing past you. Even when you were avoiding him, you missed him.

You decided there was no point in torturing yourself further. After all, you thought, wasn’t being by his side but never being able to call him yours torture enough?

True to Seungcheol’s word, you found Jihoon in the kitchen. And you quickly realised why people had been greeting you the way they did. A laugh threatened to bubble out of you at the sight.

Jihoon stood on the kitchen island, surrounded by countless bottles of beverages, singing into a wood spoon. Eyes heavy-lidded in a way you hadn’t seen them be since that one night he got drunk in an act of teenage rebellion in 11th grade, he swayed in his spot and sang love songs at the top of his lungs. 

You dreaded to think what Seungcheol and Soonyoung might think of his actions. But when you looked around you found that rather than trying to get him down, Soonyoung sat on the kitchen counter across from the island, a whisk in hand, harmonising. People came and went, getting their drinks, and loudly cheered the duo on but didn’t pay them much mind beyond that. Perhaps they didn’t realise how unusual this sight really was.

Their rendition of a Bruno Mars song came to an end to the sound of a drunken applause and a few shouts for an encore. Jihoon waved away the compliments, nearly knocking himself off balance in doing so. As he lifted the spoon to his lips to start another song, his eyes met yours. The spoon clattered to the floor and his body followed not much more gracefully. 

He called your name with such joy that you couldn’t help but smile and open your arms as he practically tackled you in a hug. His face pressed against your shoulder so tightly that you worried if he could even breathe. “You came!”

You didn’t have any words to tell him, still too baffled by the situation at hand. Your eyes found Soonyoung’s and you raised your brows in question. He only smirked and shrugged innocently before practically dancing out of the room.

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. That is the only reason why you hardly drank at gatherings; not at all because Jihoon once smiled at you all pretty and told you he was glad he had at least one sober friend to keep him company. But it seemed that tonight he was too drunk to appreciate the sentiment.

“I think I’m drunk,” Jihoon mumbled after a while and pushed himself upright. You kept one hand on his shoulder to keep him from tilting further left than he already was. “But it doesn’t feel so bad.”

“You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” you told him softly and led him to sit down. 

Like an obedient puppy, he followed your command and sat on a chair, leaning his forearms on the back of it and his chin on the very top. His eyes watched you curiously as you found a glass and filled it with water. You held the glass out for him to take but he just stared at you with starry eyes.

“You look pretty tonight,” he finally uttered when you raised your brows in question. 

You frowned and pushed the glass closer to him, hoping he’d take the hint. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he told you, a smile appearing on his face but there wasn’t any humour in it. It was hard to tell what emotions he was trying to convey: happiness? fondness? adoration? Whatever it was, it was making you just a little flustered. And then he delivered the final plow: “You always look pretty.”

Your heart was positively working at three times– no, ten times its usual pace. You sucked in a shallow breath and nudged him with the glass again. This time he took it. 

“Since when do you drink anyway?” you asked to change the topic.

For once he answered the question and shrugged. “Soonyoung thought that maybe I should give it a try again. You know, with all the rejection and everything.” His gaze fell to the tiled floor as he mumbled, “It’s actually been kind of nice.”

“What rejection? Who would reject you?”

He laughed but it sounded bitter. “Who indeed?”

“Did you ask someone to be your Valentine?” you realised and it felt like someone was trying to carve out a piece of your heart. “And they said no?”

Jihoon scoffed and placed down the water. His hand reached for a different cup, full of liquor you could practically smell from all the distance away. As he lifted the cup to his lips, he spoke, “What’s the point of asking if they’re going to say no anyways?”

The room felt hotter than usual. You could hardly breathe. You hadn’t even known Jihoon liked someone. Of course you had to find out merely days after coming to terms with your own feelings for him. Your love life was cursed and so was everything related to Valentine’s day.

You stayed silent to mourn the reality.

“You know what’s the worst part?” he then spoke again. It was hard to tell how drunk he was because he was hardly slurring his words. “I see her every day. Well,” he frowned, “almost every day. Whatever.” He shook his head and took a long sip of the drink. “Every day I see her and every day I think today is going to be the day I finally tell her. And then I don’t. Because I’m just her friend. She’s spent all those years telling everyone we’re just friends and I don’t want to be just her friend. I want so much more. But every time I try to tell her so, I chicken out.”

You could hardly listen to his proclamations. Your eyes were burning, ready to shed silent tears. You wondered if he’d even notice if you did cry. The Jihoon in front of you was a side you hadn’t seen before and you loved him just the same, even if this side was reserved for another woman.

Finally lifting his head, his eyes found yours. They widened. “Are you okay?”

Turning away to discreetly rub the tears out of your eyes, you nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Must be allergic to something in the air. Maybe it’s all the pollen.”

When you turned back to him, he looked almost deflated. He looked down again and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re just allergic to me.”

The tears seemed to vanish at the absurdity of his words. “... What?”

He shrugged. “Every time I say something nice to you, you start acting all weird. Avoiding me. Sometimes I think that if I confessed to you, you’d die on the spot.”

Whatever Soonyoung had been making him drink had to be incredibly strong. Every sentence he uttered seemed more absurd than the one before.

“I should get you home,” you decided with a sigh, resisting the urge to tug your hair out. Just because he was drunk didn’t mean he could play with your feelings like this – knowingly or not.

He whined. “I don’t want to–”

“You’re drunk, Jihoon,” you told him firmly. “If you drink any more tomorrow, you’ll murder me in the morning for letting you get this hungover.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes and glared at you before pouting and looking away. “As if I’d ever hurt you.”

“You’re drunk and you’re not making any sense and I’m taking you home to sleep,” you repeated yourself and reached for his arm. You expected him to resist your strength as you pulled him up but instead his hold on your fingers tightened. He stood up and leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” he told you after a moment of resting. “Can we just nap somewhere?”

You didn’t have the willpower to fight. The little you had, he had shattered without meaning to. You went to hook your arm around his elbow – he didn’t let you, only tightening his hold on your fingers. 

Without much of a choice, you squeezed his hand and slowly led him to a guest room. Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s house had two of these, one on the first and one on the second floor. For a moment you headed towards the one on the first floor. Then your heart ached just a little and you decided you needed to get away from the people to let your heart break in peace.

The second floor guest room had floor to ceiling windows covered with white curtains. The streetlights shone through at an angle that you knew would annoy you if you tried to fall asleep. You suspected that’s why they had designated it for guests rather than sleeping here themselves.

You practically shoved Jihoon onto the mattress to avoid any further complications. Instead of grumbling like you expected him to, he fell down with a series of giggles. You couldn’t help but smile.

There was a single fleece-lined blanket folded on the foot of the bed. You placed it over him with care. When you went to turn around and find a place to sit – or maybe even go back downstairs to drown your sorrows in wine –, his hand shot up and grabbed a hold of yours.

“Stay,” he spoke so softly you almost thought you hadn’t heard him right. “Stay with me. Don’t leave. Please.”

“I was just going to sit down,” you told him gently, trying to pull your hand free. 

He let out a whine. “See? This is what I mean. You’re allergic to me.”

Exhaustion was making your head ache. Or maybe it was all the tears that were waiting to be shed. You didn’t have the energy to fight, so you sank down next to him, crawling to fit under the blanket with him. “Just go to sleep.”

His hand never left yours as he curled it to rest against his chest and placed his heavy head on your chest. Silence filled the room. You didn’t dare breathe – who knew when you could have him this close again without feeling guilty or angry at the fates?

Minutes passed. You thought he’d fallen asleep when he whispered, “When other guys flirt with you or smile at you or tell you you’re pretty, you smile and thank them. When I do that, you avoid me.”

You wondered when the topic had shifted from his mystery crush to you. 

“Because we’re friends.”

“There it is again,” he mumbled, glaring at the ceiling as if willing it to crumble and rain down on him. “Friends.” The word sounded like venom. “I pour my heart out to you, I write songs to you, I dream of you every time I fall asleep, but that’s all I ever am. A friend.”

“It’s never bothered you before.” You frowned. Despite his harsh tone, you found yourself playing with his hair, and him leaning into your touch. 

He let out a deep breath. “Because I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.” His head nuzzled closer to you, his breath tickling your skin. You thought you felt his warm lips press down before he whispered, “The other guys will have to go through me if they want you for themselves. I found you first.”

Silence filled the room again, soon accompanied by his soft snores and mumbles of promises he wasn’t conscious enough to actually make. You weren’t sure you could sleep now or ever again, too busy putting the puzzle pieces together.

His words had mangled your heart in every way possible. And yet there was a glimmer of hope as you wondered what he’d meant by his words. 

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say and now you found yourself wondering how much truth there was to his words. 

He whispered your name in his sleep and you found yourself giving in to the wistful dreams of that being his truth. As you pulled him closer, you prayed you wouldn’t have to wake up to another heartbreak.

If you had thought the streetlights at night were a curse last night, then now you found yourself thinking that any and all kinds of outside light had been invented just to make whoever inhabited this room as miserable as possible.

The morning sun shone right into your eyes even through the curtains at 6 am. Even if you hadn’t spent the entire night in a restless limbo between sleep and trying to solve the mystery of Jihoon’s words, you would've been upset to awaken to the horrid rays of bright sunshine.

The more you woke up, the more your world seemed to be upside down. Sometime at night, Jihoon’s arms had wrapped around you, tight and secure as they held you close to his chest. His lips were pressed to your temple. You almost wished he’d never wake up so you could enjoy this embrace for an eternity.

But another part of you didn’t want to face the disappointment of him jerking away from you as he’d wake up, embarrassed to have ever cuddled you in his sleep.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to detangle yourself from his limbs. Finger by finger, you pulled yourself free. You were just about to roll off his left arm when it suddenly curled and effortlessly pulled you back into his chest.

When you looked at him, Jihoon wore a frown and a pout. “You were supposed to stay.”

“I did,” you whispered, unsure if he was really awake yet or not. 

“Stay longer,” he demanded almost childishly, wrapping his newly free arm around you once again. “It’s still early.”

Your brain was trying hard to convince you that he thought you were someone else. Then he mumbled your name again and you saw his eyes slowly flutter open. Instead of pulling away and apologising like you expected him to, he offered you a smile. 

“What?” He chuckled, voice gravelly from sleep. 

You hesitated. But you knew that if you didn’t get answers, you’d drive yourself insane. “Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

His brows furrowed just a little but his lips remained in a pleasant smile. “About what?”

“About the girl who you’ve wanted to ask out for years but never did,” you supplied softly. “And about us being friends?”

The joy melted from his face. His eyes wavered. His lips quivered. He gave them a nervous lick before practically gasping for air. He remembered.

You tried to choose your words carefully, you really did. But they still came out all clumsy like they always did. “Is the girl me?”

He looked like he’d been caught in a crime. But his arms remained around you – you wondered if he was filled with the same selfishness you’d felt the night before: the urge to enjoy this feeling of closeness before it could get ripped away forever.

“How’d you know?” he whispered. 

“You said something last night,” you told him carefully. “Something that made me realise that maybe you feel … the same way as I do.”

He avoided your eyes, looking around the room. Then his gaze snapped back to you, suddenly full of clarity. “The same way?”

This was it, you realised. It was now or never. It was true love or losing your best friend. Except you weren’t sure you could still be friends even if you didn’t pour your heart out – could you look him in the eyes again and not think about the words he said last night? 

“Jihoon, I think–” The words were on the tip of your tongue, clinging to it like it was their last lifeline. It was hard to say what you wanted to.

His face, so devoid of joy just moments before, had lit up with hope. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m in love with you. I thought I could keep it a secret and not ruin our friendship,” you told him through nervous laughter, turning to look at the ceiling, “but now I’m not so sure I could have.”

“What made you change your mind?” he wondered as he looked at you with nothing short of awe. 

“When you were talking about that girl last night,” you were still struggling to breathe, adrenaline pumping through your veins, “I was so heartbroken. I was going to cry all through the night. Then you said something that made me think… It made me think, or maybe foolishly hope, that you meant me. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you mean me–?”

“I love you,” he replied before you could even finish your sentence. A smile appeared and you were filled with relief as he leaned his head closer to press against yours. “I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade. I thought I’d never get to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded to know.

His breath sounded more like a hopeless laugh. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought there was no way you’d love me back.”

“Clearly you were wrong.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled and surged forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. You savoured the feeling, pressing closer to him, tugging him closer with a hand on the back of his head. He pulled back and laughed again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Good thing you can do it again as many times as you please,” you told him with a smile. “You know, I’ve always hated Valentine’s day, but you have a real shot at changing that right now.”

The door burst open just as he matched your grin and began to lean closer. Startled, the two of you looked up. Clad in a tiger-striped onesie, Soonyoung stood at the door, eyes wide. Moments of awkward silence passed. Then his face broke out into a wide grin and he slammed the door shut. You heard the lock click just a second later, followed by an almost villainous laughter.

You exchanged startled looks with Jihoon. Then he shrugged and leaned forward to kiss you again.

“All the more time to make up for the lost years,” he told you as he pulled you closer. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Author's Note: I both loved and hated writing this fic. If at any point, you found yourself thinking "huh, i wish the writer did more with this random crumb in this story that looks like it should've been a part of something bigger", i can almost guarantee you i had plans to do something with it and then forgot or abandoned the idea mid-way through.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed this fic at least moderately and if you did, please feel free to reblog with comments or leave an emoji-filled reply or maybe even send me an ask to let me know what you thought!

[hannieoftheyear]

love personified (k.mg)

walking back home from your breakup, just hours before valentine's day is finally over, you encounter a pretty stranger who seems to know everything you want

🏹 pairing: cupid!mingyu x f!reader

🏹 w.c: 5,6k

🏹 genre: supernatural au, smut, fluff, angst. MDNI.

🏹 warnings: mingyu's a bit of a stalker, has superpowers, is very strong and he also flies (important for later), mention of a break up and talks about the future | smut warnings: flying sex? like in the sky... yeah, dirty talk, praise, fingering (f. rec), unprotected sex (don't be stupid like them).

🏹 note: i first intended to make this more fluffy but something took over me and added plot and then the smut and the angst and here we are

🏹 note 2: the beginning was HEAVILY inspired by damon and elena's first meeting in the vampire diaries, also stole some dialogue from the scene heh.

🏹 last note i swear: I tried to make a banner, and idk how to feel about it... but I wanted something new! I'll see if I keep them for the future

dividers used: candy hearts, heartbeat

hope you like this! can't wait to read your thoughts <3

February is always the hardest, most chaotic month to work as cupid. During the rest of the year, Mingyu feels like he has all the time in the world to find someone’s perfect match, to set up meet-cutes and “coincidences” for people to realize their feelings. But as the clock ticks and January 31st becomes February 1st, people’s need to find the perfect Valentine’s Day date intensifies, and they start looking for dates themselves instead of letting him do his job.

Mingyu has to work overtime to make sure every person he’s singled out doesn’t mess up. He doesn’t have time for couples, even if he made the match or not, so he usually deals with their problems once the holiday is over. 

That’s why he didn’t notice you’d been fighting with your boyfriend all day. 

Mingyu was aware of you. You’ve been together with your boyfriend long before he came to your town, so you haven’t really needed his services. But as he worked hard to find your friends’ perfect matches, he took notice of you. Every time someone close to you came to you for advice, what you’d tell them was always what Mingyu was thinking. But he couldn’t interfere with your relationship, especially as you seemed to not have any problems.

Just two hours before February 14th is finally over, after a very tiring, rushed day to make sure every person he was working with had the best day possible, Mingyu decides to fly around town in case anyone else needs last minute help.

He’s the best at what he does. He follows the rules and meets his goals with outstanding results. On the days when he gets the best results, he allows himself to go find you and just see you being there. 

Tonight, he didn't forget about you, but he didn’t have time to catch up with your life all day. So, when he finds you walking on an empty road alone, with your phone in your hand, sobbing quietly, he can’t resist it. 

Mingyu doesn’t usually present in his human form, but this late at night, on a dark empty road far from the lights of the town, there’s no danger. Only you. And it's easy to make sure no one remembers him when it's only one person.

“Is everything okay?” You’d turned your head to see if any cars were driving by, so Mingyu takes you by surprise, standing a few feet ahead. 

“Fuck! Where did you come from?” You scream as you take a step back away from him. 

You squint as you analyze Mingyu up and down, noting you’ve never seen him before. And you should be scared. You would be if he didn’t seem so... nice? A wave of comfort rushes past you, but you still keep your distance, in case your intuition's failing you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mingyu smiles warmly as he finally heard your voice directed to him after so long. “I’m Mingyu.” 

“And I don’t mean to be rude, Mingyu... but it’s kinda creepy that you're out here in the middle of nowhere.” Your eyebrows frown, but your voice stays soft, your body relaxing after the initial scare. 

“You’re one to talk. You’re out here alone, too.” Mingyu can’t resist the urge to tease you, smirking as you seem to get interested in the interaction. 

“It’s my town. Nothing bad ever happens here.” You avoid telling him the reason you’re there at first, but as your instincts keep telling you to not be afraid, you decide that telling a seemingly friendly stranger your problems might not be that bad. “I broke up with my boyfriend.” 

“Why? May I ask?” Mingyu inquires, hands in the air in response to your questioning gaze. “And today of all days.” 

“The future.” You sigh, weirdly trusting him with more. “He had everything figured out, his whole life with me, and I...” 

“And you don’t want it?” Mingyu can’t help but ask. It’s his nature after all. 

“I… don’t know what I want.” Your arms cross in front of your chest, confused by Mingyu’s interest in you, but curious enough to keep talking to him. 

“That can’t be true.” Mingyu lifts one eyebrow, not teasing, but rather thinking he can actually help you for once. “You want what everybody wants.” 

“Huh... a mysterious stranger who has all the answers.” You provoke, not believing someone you’ve never seen in your small town could hold the answer to a problem that has been tormenting you for weeks. 

Mingyu chuckles in response, your teasing behavior making you more interesting in his eyes. He has seen you in circumstances where you always reacted in the same way, a shallow character of you formed in his head. And now, he can see you with other eyes. A new layer to you he can explore. 

He's watched people at their most vulnerable, created an atmosphere for them where they can be themselves so he can find someone for them. The way you challenge him, but at the same time trust him, is harboring thoughts in his mind he shouldn’t have. 

“Let’s just say helping people is what I do. I’ve learned a few things over time.” Being as vague as he can, Mingyu hopes that’s enough for you to come close to him and let him tell you what he thinks you need. 

“So, Mingyu, tell me. What is it that I want?” You seem like you fell for it, but is it a game to you? You want to see how far this pretty stranger can take it. Mingyu, on the other hand, might just break the single rule he's followed his entire life. 

“You want a love that consumes you. You don’t want someone safe. You want passion and adventure. Even a little danger.” 

Whatever you were expecting Mingyu to tell you, it wasn’t anything close to what just came out of his mouth. But he was... right? 

Previously to your fight with your now ex-boyfriend, you never thought about what you wanted, about your future. You cared about living in the present. Mingyu liked that about you. It gave you a certain perspective of life other people lacked, and it’s what made you such a seeked out advice giver amongst your friends. And your boyfriend, he was good, safe, a constant in your life. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong about him, you just stopped feeling like you used to, he stopped being what you needed.

“You seem to know so much about love.” You can only reply, and he smiles. A smile that’s just as warm as it’s proud. 

“I live for love. It’s what I do.” Deep within the both of you, there’s an understanding, a growing trust. Mingyu waits for your confirmation, on the brink of deciding to have one selfish night. 

Since the dawn of time, the first warning everyone gets as children is to not trust strangers, and you’ve followed that advice every day of your life. But your gut urges you to trust the kind looking man who seems to know exactly what you want. An impulse, prompting you to give in, just for one night, to make you forget about the reason you were alone on the road in the first place. 

“Would you show me?” Is all Mingyu needed to hear to take a step closer in your direction.

“We have to do something about your things first.” You had already forgotten about the tiny bag you chose to wear, only because you were supposed to be on a date, hanging loosely from your shoulder.

“What are you planning to do?” You don’t stop Mingyu as he grabs your bag and walks to the side of the road, hiding it behind one of the big trees.

“I was thinking of starting with the adventure part.” When he doesn’t return to your place on the empty road, you follow him to where he stands, watching your every move carefully.

“I’m fine with that.” The spot where you purposely decide to stand is dangerously close to him, his personal space blending with yours.

“Promise me you won’t get scared. I got you.” Now barely centimeters away from you, Mingyu has to tilt his head down to be able to look at you. You nod, and your eyes show no sign of fear as he places both his hands on your waist to hold you. “Hold tight.” 

A bit reluctant, but still trusting, you wrap both of your arms around his neck with a questioning look. Mingyu smirks lightly but gives you no time to realize what it causes in you because you stop feeling the ground beneath your feet. 

You should be afraid. A man you just met can fly and is lifting you up in the air with him, with no protection whatsoever. But his hands around you feel tight and secure, and you trust he won't let you fall.

“How do I not feel heavy? Like, I'm flying too, and it's not just holding me.” You ask, too curious about his mystery powers.

“You know when a piece of metal touches a magnet, it gains its magnetism too? It's something similar. As long as a part of you is in contact with me, you'll fly too.”

“And you don't have wings?” 

Mingyu loves the way your brain works, and he can’t help but chuckle at your genuine curiosity. “You think I should be a baby with tiny wings and a heart bow and arrow?” 

“Don’t be mean!” You wish you could hit him lightly in the shoulder, but that would mean you'd have to retrieve your hand from your hold momentarily.

The adrenaline rushes quickly through your body, seeing how the night sky gets closer and the city below you grows far. 

“The view’s so pretty.” You say after a moment of silence, admiring the town lights from a distance. 

“Really pretty.” Mingyu replies, but his head hasn’t turned, eyes fixed on your face analyzing your every feature. 

When you hear his voice so close to you, his warm breath reaching your skin despite the wind, you turn your head back to him and find his eyes in you. “You’re not looking.” The words mix with giggles. 

“I’ve gotten used to it.” Mingyu’s gaze dips to your smiling lips for just a second. “I much rather look at other beautiful things.” 

Warmth spreads from your stomach up to your cheeks. “You’re good at this.” Avoiding his eyes by entertaining yourself with the view doesn’t work very well. 

“At what?” Mingyu teases, loving the way your cheeks pink up because of him.

“You’re very charming.” If Mingyu decided to tilt his head a little closer, you’re sure your heart would burst out from your chest.

“I know what people like. It’s one of the perks of doing my job.” The cocky tone only strengthens his influence over you.

“And what would that be?” Already surrendered to whatever he has in store for you, you instigate him further.

“I know what people want to hear, what they want to feel, how they like to be cared for and touched.” Mingyu’s hand tucks a rebel strand of hair behind your ear and takes the chance to brush his fingers down your neck and arm, managing to hold you steady with only one arm.

“Touched, huh?” If he knows what you want, then he must be stalling giving you exactly that.

“It’s really important information to accurately do my job." The courage gained allows you to lose your grip around his neck to let one of your hands play with Mingyu’s hair, and your moves just broaden the smirk that hasn't worn off him.

“You know, you said you'd show me the things I want, but so far, we've only levitated from our original spot.” It was easy for you to trust, and frankly, ,, and there’s no doubt he has more knowledge than the average person. But his teasing grips and touches are doing nothing more than getting you in the mood for something that there’s no guarantee is going to happen. “You’re making me doubt you.”

“I don’t know how much you want me to show you.” Mingyu might have a sense for love and lust, but he’s no mind reader. As much as he wants to believe the fire he sees behind your eyes as your hands take their time to feel the warm skin behind his neck is because you want him just as much as he does, he can’t do anything unless you explicitly want to as well.

“I want more.” You want to feel everything that you felt was missing before, and in Mingyu’s hands, you just know he’ll make sure you do.

“More?” Mingyu’s last will to resist you, last chance to listen to the tiny voice in his mind that’s telling him that this is a bad idea.

But, how bad can it be if his whole body’s telling him to give you what you want? To give in to his desires for once?

“Make me feel what you know I want. Touch me like you think I'd like to be touched.” 

How wrong can it be if you're in his arms asking him for it, flying on the sky with only your trust in him to guarantee you’ll be safe, with your oh so pretty doe eyes piercing through the thin wall shielding his self control.

“I will, but you can’t remember that you met me.” It pains Mingyu to say it out loud, but he can’t hide the reality from you. “I have to erase me from your memory.”

“Why?” You knew it was too good to be true. “I won’t tell anyone.” In different circumstances, you'd be embarrassed to sound as needy as you just did. But there's no witness in the quietness of the sky.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” Mingyu sighs, “I’m not supposed to get personally involved with a human.” When he says it out loud, it makes sense. But when he connects his eyes with you again, it doesn’t make sense to him that you’re off limits, that he has to resist you. How could he?

“And I’m not supposed to trust a stranger that comes up to me in the middle of the night and offers to fly me around the city.” A small smile fights to appear on Mingyu’s otherwise worried expression. “But okay, I’ll let you mess with my memories. At least promise me you’ll give me the best night of my life.”

“I promise you.” Mingyu’s going to give you whatever you ask for. After all, it’s his job to cater to people’s desires.

With his hands back on your waist, as tight and secure as they can, Mingyu elevates the both of you higher, hiding your bodies behind the few dense clouds, so no stray stargazing human can be testimony. He waits for you to take in the view, the new ambiance in which he’ll make you yours for the night.

Waiting might be part of his plan, making you crave his touch until you beg for it. “So, how would you start? Besides flying me to where no one can see us.” You try to taunt him, but as you finish verbalizing your thoughts, you feel the warmth of his body all around you.

“First, I'd touch you.” His hands sneak below your shirt. The pads of his fingers barely graze your skin as they travel up your chest. “Find that spot that paints the whole of you with goosebumps.” Easily, but not surprisingly, Mingyu takes the time to feel every part of your torso, and when you gasp lightly as he reaches the small of your back, just above where the fabric of the skirt you luckily decided to wear begins, he knows he found it.

“And then?” Breathless, your eyes refuse to leave his, entranced by the glimmer of lust behind them.

“I'd press you against me.” What he says, he does, wasting no time. “Kiss your neck right where I can feel your pulse.” With his lips on the sensitive skin of your neck, Mingyu feels your pulse completely accelerated, and he can’t help but smirk against you. “How am I doing?”

“It's alright.” He aims to remove his head from the crook of your neck, but your hand keeps him there, and he chuckles right on your skin. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“You like being pressed up against me?” Your hands tighten around Mingyu’s collar as he keeps kissing up your neck, and you hum at his words. “There’s other things I could be doing.”

A sudden cold wind reminds you of where you are, and when Mingyu senses the sudden scare inside you, he continues with his plan, helping you forget. He sneaks one of his hands below your pretty skirt and just lightly touches your covered mound. You wish you could tear off his clothes, throw them in the air to nowhere so you could feel his hot skin against yours, just how he likes to feel yours.

“Shit.” You barely get the curse out as Mingyu licks his way up your neck.

“Do you want me to touch you?” His voice sounds deeper, with a tint of something you can’t quite decipher exciting you for what’s next.

“Yes!” You don’t mind sounding desperate if it gets you what you want, but instead, he stops moving and only presses his fingers against your core.

“Say it.” The way your panties grow wetter at his demand has Mingyu salivating. “Say you want my fingers inside you.”

“I thought you knew what I wanted.” A lousy attempt at provoking him, as Mingyu's already ten steps ahead of you.

“You love getting told what to do. So, say it.” His face is a mere inch away from your face, with his breath tickling over your parted lips, but he does nothing to change it, challenging you.

“I want your fingers inside of me.” You state, with your eyes connected to his teasing ones, your hand drifting down to find his and sliding in under your panties for once. “Now.”

“Hmm, that's what I wanted to hear.”

His shoulders become your next victim. You grip them like your life depends on it –it does, your fingers dig on his toned muscles as his toy with your cunt, spreading your lips apart and circling your clit as if you're not dripping down into the clouds below already.

You use the strong hold on his firm body to grind against his hand, searching for the friction he's refusing to give you. His nod of approval encourages you further, and in no time, you've coated the whole of his hand with your juices.

When two of his fingers slip into your core at once, curling them to give you every sensation at once, your walls welcome the girth of his fingers, pushing a surprised moan out of you.

Mingyu moves them in and out of you steadily, letting you feel every stretch and every spot the tips of his fingers reach and touch. Gasps and moans are all the sounds you can produce, watching his face closely as he looks down to where he buries his hand into you.

But he’s going too slow, and your hips take charge, riding his hand to match his thrusts so he can reach deeper. Mingyu fails to fight back a moan, as if he’s enjoying it more than you, and you speed up in search for more.

“Stop.” Mingyu’s other hand tilts your chin up so he can look you in the eyes.

“W-Why?” Despite the question, you obey his demand even if your insides pulse around his fingers, begging either of you to move.

“Slow down, take the time to feel everything. It’ll feel better.”

Arguing with him is out of the question, so when he stiffens his hand under you, preparing it for you to follow his instructions, you do so.

“Like this?” You sway your hips forward slowly, feeling his fingers open you up while Mingyu relishes in the way your gummy walls embrace him with so much need.

“That’s right, baby.” Deeper than anyone has ever reached with a few fingers, Mingyu knows exactly when to curl his to have you clamping around him, your body trembling against him but still doing what he told you to. “You're doing so well.”

Everything he says and does sends you closer and closer to the edge, fighting back moans and screams that scratch their way out of you, but you don’t want it to be over, so you delay the orgasm as much as possible.

As if he was a mind reader, Mingyu realizes your intentions and takes charge once again, plunging his fingers into you with the exact force and precision that causes a new wave of arousal to drip into his hand.

“Don’t fight it. Let go.”

“But– I don’t– fuck!” It’s like your body only follows his command, the white light shining from the stars getting brighter and brighter until it’s all you can see, and you're cumming on his fingers in no time.

Your chest heaves as if you just ran a marathon, catching your breath after he removes his digits from you and leaves you empty.

“Okay, I believe you now.” Your cold damp underwear sticks to your core uncomfortably when you wrap your legs around him, surprised you hadn’t before, and you welcome the feel of his hard length against you.

“Now?” Mingyu chokes in the middle of his chuckle at the contact but doesn’t do anything to get your tempting body away.

“Yeah, but partially.” It’s obvious you still want more, but Mingyu feels he’s done. He made you feel good like you asked and like he wanted. He wouldn’t dare to push things further without your confirmation. “You could give me a little more proof.”

“I– I shouldn’t, I mean, you don’t owe me anything. We don’t have to if–”

“I want it,” you quickly interrupt his ramble, “I need you.” Even through the layers of fabric and the rush of wind prickling at your skin, the twitch of his hard reaches your core. “I know you want it too.”

“You’re a bad influence.” Mingyu sighs, throwing his head back with a smirk.

“You’re the one who approached me claiming to have magic powers that tell you exactly how to make me cum! Now deal with the consequences of your actions!”

“I did not say that.” He very clearly implied it, but he likes the way your face quirks when he plays your little game.

“Hmm, but I think you did.” His hands holding you don’t dare travel down even for a tease. “Do I have to beg? Cause I will.” Your semi-true joke draws an unexpected laugh out of him, and you can only bat your eyelashes at him, waiting for a response.

You’re still sensitive from the earth-shattering orgasm at his hand, and your whole body twitches as you grind lightly against him with a purpose, earning a delicious low groan and a tighter grip in his arms.

“I don’t have any protection.” His voice hitches at your every move, pressing against him with no care in the world. “I wasn’t exactly planning this.”

“I had a boyfriend for over two years, Mingyu… I’m on the pill.” His mention doesn't set either of you back. “If we both want to, then what's the issue?”

Yeah, what’s the issue? That's exactly what Mingyu wonders as he flawlessly unzips his pants the perfect amount to let his hard spring out of his fabric prison. That's what he wonders when your hand wraps around him, taking in his girth before moving up and down slowly. That question is barely a murmur in the wind as you place the tip of his cock at your entrance, locking eyes with him as you sink on him.

Your warm walls mold to his shape, every new inch he reaches wrapping around him as if to keep him there forever. How could he stay away from you?

Instead of waiting to adjust to him, you do your best to start a pace of shallow thrusts. Mingyu's hands gripping you help you find a rhythm, your hips colliding when they meet.

The sighs leaving his parted lips call to you, begging you to connect them. It’s the only thing you haven’t done, and they’re so close, so tempting, only one hand on his neck and a little push, and they’d be on yours. But he stiffens at your touch, and you know he’s resisting.

“Please.” You whisper, but you don’t move further whilst he’s deciding.

It takes Mingyu about two seconds to comply. And you’re so close. It’s barely a change.

The sweetness of his kiss melts you into him, unsurprisingly tender but shockingly full of a kind of lust that he wasn’t showing before, one that only translates in the way he resumes his thrusts inside you in sync with his lips gliding over yours.

A moan escapes you into his mouth as he finds the deepest parts of you, hitting every spot inside you as easily as taking a breath. His grip on your ass gets tighter the louder your sounds become, his eager kiss not drowning them anymore.

Mingyu stimulates every single one of your senses, rendering you incapable of focusing on solely one. His hands traveling everywhere on your body wishing he could feel your bare skin, his sweet scent mixing with the filthiness of your affair, the heated sounds he allows to escape reaching your ears, compelling your walls to contract around him, your tongues molding together in an intent to feel even more of him. He’s everywhere, and you don’t want it to ever stop.

It’s the stutter of his hips that makes everything around you blurry. His hand drifts between your hot bodies, digits circling your clit deliberately and you stop the kiss to gasp in his mouth. Every nerve on your body works towards the goal, the one Mingyu knew precisely how to get you there at light speed.

You don’t fight it this time. Resisting it would mean delaying the strong desire to feel him cum inside you.

Hiding your face on the crook of his neck, your arms wrap around Mingyu’s shoulders as you grind hard against him in the quest to trigger his orgasm along with yours. Something tells you he’s close, maybe the way he embraces you closer to him, if that’s even possible, or how his breathing becomes more rushed against your ear.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. A lightning bolt, your second orgasm strikes over you unforeseeably hard, so much so that it sets Mingyu’s off just after.

Heavy breathing is all there is to hear for a few seconds, both of you trying to get your bodies back to normal after he slips out of you.

“I definitely believe you now.” As Mingyu's bringing you down in between the trees where you left your bag earlier, you chuckle as you joke to fill the calm silence.

“That's good to hear.” He sounds almost… sad?

Mingyu doesn't know what to do now. As soon as you decide you're done with him, he's going to have to erase every memory of him from your mind, and that's killing him inside.

“Can I ask you something?” But, instead of just grabbing your things and leaving, you sit on the damp grass, patting the spot beside you signaling him to sit down too.

“Whatever you want.” He smiles as he sits by your side, body still as warm as when he hugged you to lift you up in the air, but avoids your eyes doing so.

“Do you investigate people to know what they like?” How did he know exactly what you liked was your real question, and maybe Mingyu got that, but he doesn't show it.

He chuckles, thinking of a way to make what he does more understandable. “Not like that. I can't really explain it, but I just know. When I find someone and see them day to day, it's like I can feel it.”

“So, did you know me? Before tonight?” From your perspective, it can't be a coincidence that he happened to run into you minutes after you broke up with your boyfriend. He must've known. He must've come down to help you.

“Yes,” hesitant, he answers, “I watched over you from time to time.” He can't lie to you. Not because an hour from now, you won't remember this conversation, but because he feels he can trust you.

“Did you pair me together with…” 

“Someone before me did.” Mingyu chuckles, remembering the first time he saw you. 

You were next in line at the coffee shop. He was following the cashier that day, seeing how he was during an ordinary day and trying to gain a sense of his likes and dislikes. When your time to pay came, he saw it, a special light coming from that man's eyes. He liked you. And Mingyu understood him immediately. 

The cash slipped out of your hand and fell onto the ground, and you smiled at him as you said sorry and told him to keep the change. But then, Mingyu saw your order, two coffees instead of one. And then he saw you stroll to the table where he instantly knew your boyfriend was the one waiting for you.

“And are you going to find me someone else?”

The world stops, freezing at your words. Mingyu hadn’t realized what it meant for a couple to break up under his watch. He didn't put you together, but it was his job to mend your hearts by sending a new someone your way. He'll have to watch over you for real this time, see you living your life day to day, without remembering him.

“I should… it’s my job.” He repeats like a mantra in his head. It's his job.

“Right, your job.” Disappointed, you stare at him, waiting for the tiniest sign of regret. “But do you want to?” 

“I– it's my duty.” It's his job. It's his job. It's his job. It's his job.

“If it wasn’t, would you?”

If it wasn't, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Instead of parading around his gift for you to be impressed, he would've won you over the right way, taking you out on dates and making you blush with trashy pick-up lines. He would've met your friends and let them interrogate him as he took your hand under the table.

But that's just a fantasy. And he can't move on with life thinking of all the what ifs.

His silence is all you need to know the answer.

“I get it.” You simply reply as you look up to the sky.

Mingyu wants to apologize. He wants to tell you that it will be hell for him to see you every day and try to find someone who isn't him for you. But he can't.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the led lights of a car rushing past the road take him back to reality. To where he shouldn’t be involved with a human.

“You should go. It’s late, I’m sure people must be looking for you.” Mingyu reminds you that tonight was only a moment out of the ordinary.

But you're not ready to leave, to give up your memories of him.

How can one night impact your life this much? You didn’t know Mingyu until a few hours ago, you had a good life, no problems except that one. And now, you can’t even fathom living a life in which you don’t know who he is. A life in which you don’t know there’s someone out there that looks after you and knows you better than anyone else.

Mingyu sees your doubt and hesitates to get close to you, now that you have stood up and walked away from him. But he takes a step in your direction, standing in front of you and placing his hands on the side of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“I don’t want to forget tonight.” Your watery eyes shine under the moonlight, a sight Mingyu will never be able to forget. “I don’t want to forget you.”

“I’m sorry.” He really is. “I can’t risk them finding out.”

“Please, I won’t tell anyone.” A single teardrop drifts down your cheek, dampening Mingyu’s thumb as he wipes it off, so gently he might be afraid of hurting you even more. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I- I don’t know.” He shouldn’t be so easily swayed by you.

“It’s just me. No one else is going to know. No one will find out.”

It's just me. Mingyu's head doesn't stop repeating those words. It's just you. You, who shared your troubles with him even if he was a stranger. You, who trusted him enough to be held in his arms in the air. You, who he knows, would never break a promise.

Mingyu never breaks the rules of his job. But, on the longest night of his life, he chose to be selfish for once. And he didn’t regret one single moment.

this might be one of the worst ending i ever wrote i'm sorry

[pininghermit]

On Your Toes

Request: Hi (* ´ ▽ ` *) I hope you are still accepting spin the wheel requests. I got , fan and idol as a prompt. If you aren't too busy at the moment, can you please write a story for Adrian Tepes x Idol!reader? Like he pretends to dislike her music but finds her voice soothing, secretly admires her and... loves her. 🫣🙃

AN: Thanks for requesting! This is slightly different from you request but I seriously had to write it to escape my writer's block (partially due to Love and Deep Space wrecking my life) Also ik Ballerino is Italian but can we roll with this please because danseurs sounds mad pretentious.

Genre: Idol/Ballet au

Pairing(s): Alucard x GN Reader

Summary: You were the rat when Adrian became Hans-Peter in The Nutcracker. The infamous mirror on the wall when he played Prince Charming. Yorick to his brooding Hamlet. The clapping monkey to his moping Phantom of the Opera.

"I'm sure 14-year-olds love your so called 'art'," Adrian says, rolling his eyes with a huff as he leans back against the windowsill. "Is it worth leaving years of hard work?"

Crouching in front of him, you rest his feet on your thigh and begin unlacing the bloodied pointe shoe, which clings stubbornly to the oozing callouses on his skin.

"You forgot your ointment again?" You sigh, already reaching for the travel-sized tube you always carry. That habit has never left you, from the past to now.

With gentle hands, you apply the cool gel to his raw soles. Above you, Adrian sucks in a sharp breath, his toes curling at the sudden sting of relief.

"I missed you." You stand up after wrapping his feet in bandages and pulling on mismatched warm socks, socks he never had a complete pair of. "And I worry too. Now that I’m here, I know I have a good reason to fret." Your gaze lingers on his sunken cheeks.

"I do not require your pity!" Adrian huffs, turning his back to you. "Go back to your glamorous life. Aren't you above ballet now? Too good for it?" His words cut deep into your heart.

It has been three years. Three long years since he refused to answer your calls, moved out of the home you once shared, leaving behind nothing but a lonely ring.

He, who is in the lyrics of your every song, the muse for your art, he has left you. Or perhaps, you pushed him away.

Eighteen years ago, at the age of seven, you first met him. In that ballet class, when you both let go of your weary parents’ hands and walked into a room where you became the best of friends.

It was no less than a wedding pyre, where your blood, sweat, and endless hours bound you both into something more.

Adrian loved ballet. His feet never faltered, his arms refused to tremble, even in the swiftest lifts. He was most beautiful in his dance.

You, on the other hand, could never find solid ground beneath your feet while lost in staring at him.

To some extent, you enjoyed the sway of music that came in waves. You relished the closeness it offered, the bond it allowed between you and your friend.

Music, you loved. Just as Adrian loved ballet. Music taught you how to love.

From the scrawled notes on your notebook covers to your cheap GarageBand subscription, you loved losing yourself to the sounds of the world around you.

But all that had to wait, tucked away in the tiny pockets of your time, the ones spared beyond ballet.

You loved music, but you loved him more.

For years, you did.

You were the rat when Adrian became Hans-Peter in The Nutcracker. The infamous mirror on the wall when he played Prince Charming. Yorick to his brooding Hamlet. The clapping monkey to his moping Phantom of the Opera.

You grasped at pieces, but all that remained were shadows. Ballet was never your calling.

It was the old SoundCloud rap that thrust you into the shoes that were made for you.

From a small re-release, to album deals, to company contracts, your world pulled you closer.

And no matter how hard you tried to cling to the ballet studio, your heart reached for the keys of your keyboard.

Productions rarely ever kept you, and with a distracted mind, roles slipped through your fingers.

Weeks later, Adrian found himself alone on the stage. Broken from the reverie of his practice, he searched for you. Backstage. The costume room. The tech booth.

You were gone.

And then he saw the script.

Your name wasn’t there.

You had left him. Alone. Lost in his dance.

And he hadn’t even noticed.

Was he to blame? Had he kept you from your passion?

Wrath. Hurt. Guilt. Heartbreak. They flooded him all at once.

That day, for the first time, his feet ached. Not from exhaustion, not from relentless training, but from something deeper. Never before had he cared about pain over his dance. Yet, in that moment, it hurt more than anything.

So he left. Just as you had. Without a word, he walked away—from your home, your ring, everything.

He abandoned you.

He refused to love this version of you. He refused to be the one left behind. So he left first.

This was your penance, and his.

Never again did his feet tire. Never again did his smile falter. He poured himself into his craft, drowning in movement, in rhythm, in perfection.

But who could resist a siren’s call?

Even as he spun through daring choreography, even as he lost himself in dance, his ears could not escape your music.

That brash, loud, jarring music, the very thing that had torn you apart.

Songs that were all about him. Words that glided with melody like his body through motion.

He knew how much it meant to you.

Music, to you, was what ballet had become to him.

And much to his dismay, he understood that far too well.

After all these years, after countless lovers taken just to spite you, he had not expected this.

For the idol so many cherished to kneel beside him as you once did. For you to be so gentle, so familiar in your every action.

For you to still carry the ointment, the one none of the dancers could afford. You had bought it for him back then, and you hadn’t stopped now.

He had not expected you to ignore all the hurt and continue loving him.

It was unfair. Unbearably cruel. To be so good to him.

His heart protested, curling in on itself at the sight.

He let you slip warm socks over his feet, trying his damnedest to hold back the tears.

But you were his friend. His adorable rat. His beloved.

How could he have wronged you? When he knew the answer too well.

The thing about love is that it cannot be held back. It cannot be unfelt.

Like a stubborn stream of water, it finds a way, seeping through the cracks of even the hardest heart.

And after all these years, it had never ceased to exist.

[bitchinbarzal]

Offside | M Boldy & B Faber

summary: both matt and brock are fighting for your attention. and fighting eachother.

-

Being friends with professional hockey players had its perks— free tickets, post-game dinners, and inside jokes you didn’t always understand but laughed at anyway. But it also had its complications, especially when two of them, two of your closest friends started seeing you as more than just a friend.

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right (or wrong) moment to boil over.

Now it felt impossible to ignore.

Both of them were great in their own ways. Matt was electric — always making you laugh, always the first to text you something dumb just to brighten your day. He had this effortless confidence, the kind that made you feel special whenever he turned that charm on you.

Brock, on the other hand, was steady. He wasn’t flashy, didn’t demand attention the way Matt did, but he made you feel safe. His presence was grounding, his patience endless. He had this quiet way of making you feel like you mattered, even when he wasn’t saying much at all.

And somehow, without you realizing it, they had both started competing for your attention.

It started with Matt, really.

He was always the one dragging you into things—random road trips, last-minute coffee runs, late-night FaceTime calls just because he was bored.

“C’mon, it’s not even that far” he said one evening, nudging your knee under the table at dinner.

You arched a brow “Matt, it’s two hours away”

“Yeah, but they have the best donuts in the state. And we need a road trip playlist. And maybe a stop at that little bookstore you like”

Your lips twitched “You don’t even read”

“I could” he defended, leaning back in his chair “For you, I might become a whole book guy”

Brock, sitting across from you, scoffed lightly “You don’t even read the lineup dude”

Matt shot him a look.

You laughed, shaking your head. It was always easy with Matt, always light. And maybe that was why you leaned into it — because it felt good, effortless.

But then Brock would do something small, something that made you pause.

Brock was more subtle.

He never fought for your attention the way Matt did, never tried to steal the spotlight. But he was there. Always.

Like when you mentioned your car had been making a weird noise, and the next morning, Brock was outside your apartment, sleeves rolled up, inspecting the engine.

“Brock” You blinked at him, stepping outside in your slippers “Did I—did I ask you to come look at it?”

He didn’t even look up, just shrugged “No. But I figured I’d check it out before you end up stranded somewhere”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

It was that kind of thing, over and over. Little gestures, quiet moments.

Matt made your heart race. Brock made it feel safe.

And maybe that was why you didn’t see the storm brewing between them.

It started subtly.

Matt cracking jokes at Brock’s expense, chirping him more than usual. Brock getting under Matt’s skin in practice, chirping back, which he rarely did.

Then, one day after a game, it escalated.

“Need a ride home?” Matt asked as you walked out of the arena, tucking your hands into your coat pockets.

Before you could answer, Brock was suddenly beside you “I got her”

Matt scoffed, stepping closer “Seriously?”

You blinked between them “Guys—”

“You always do this” Matt muttered, jaw tightening.

Brock’s brows furrowed “Do what?”

“Act like you’re just her friend, but then you pull this shit every time I try to—” Matt cut himself off, exhaling sharply.

Brock’s expression darkened “Maybe because I actually am her friend”

You inhaled sharply “Stop”

Both of them turned to you, frustration evident.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m not a prize to be fought over” Your voice shook slightly “I care about both of you, and I hate this”

Neither of them spoke, and after a long, heavy silence, you turned and walked away to find Jake and Nat to give you a ride.

It bled onto the ice.

Missed passes, tension on the bench, plays that should’ve worked but didn’t because they weren’t on the same page.

It was Rossi who finally said something.

“What the hell is up with you two?” he asked after a particularly bad practice.

Matt muttered something under his breath, and Brock shot him a glare.

Then Spurge stepped in “Figure it out” His voice was quiet but firm “Or I will”

But they didn’t figure it out.

Not until it came to blows.

You weren’t there, but you heard about it—how an argument in the locker room turned into a shoving match, how Jake had to step in before it got worse.

You got a text from Kirill later.

Kirill: your boys are dumb.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch.

It was time to make a choice.

Brock showed up first.

He stood in your doorway, looking almost nervous.

“I don’t want this to be a competition” he admitted.

You swallowed “Then what do you want?”

He exhaled, his gaze steady “I want you” A pause “Not because I need to win. Not because of Matt. Just because I care about you”

Your breath hitched.

He stepped closer, voice softer “I know Matt makes you happy. I know I probably didn’t make this easy for you. But if you choose me—” He swallowed “It’s real. It’s not about proving something”

Tears pricked at your eyes.

Because Brock had always been steady, always been someone you could count on.

And when you took a step closer, closing the space between you, he let out a slow, relieved breath—like maybe he had been holding it in this whole time.

You kissed him, and it felt like home.

And for the first time in a long time, everything made sense.

[theemissuniverse]

How on EARTH did I not find your page until now? Your writing is godsent I swear. Thank you for your service and I apologize if I spam you with likes. 🙏🏻

-Ghost <3

“GIRL DANGER” HENRY HART X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : You refuse to let Henry go on a dangerous mission alone but Henry refuses for you to come with him.

CONTENT : Henry being protective, very fast read. I did not proof read

A/N : thank you so much! I appreciate it

MASTERLIST

Being the best friend of Kid Danger was cool and everything until Kid Danger had to go on missions where it could mean life or death.

Henry was nineteen now which meant he took more riskier missions than he used to. It pissed you off because honestly, you didn’t feel like he needed to save the world much less the shitty town the two of you lived in.

Captain Man was kidnapped by a new supervillain that arrived in town so it was up to Henry to get him.

You thought Henry was being impulsive. There was no thought out plan. Henry was just going to march in the villains lair and take Ray back. He was already prepared in his Kid Danger disguise.

The two of you were in the man cave along with Charlotte and Jasper. The two of them were watching the two of you just argue.

“You’re being ridiculous. I’ll be fine.”

You scoffed at Henry’s nonchalant response. “Fine? You don’t even have a plan! What if it’s a trap? Then what?”

“Then I’ll get out of the trap.” Henry said as if it was obvious.

You gave him a look. “Really?”

Henry nodded to confirm. “Uh yeah? In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got hyper mobility so I’ll be-“ in a swift motion, he felt your palm slap him across his face. Charlotte and Jasper had wide eyes while Henry felt his cheek. “Um ow!”

“Your reflexes aren’t that fast obviously.”

“Well not really expecting to get slapped from my best friend.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him down. “Okay. Then I’ll go with you.”

Henry couldn’t help but let out a laugh at how ridiculous the idea was. He shook his head, waving his hand in the air. “Oh no. You’re not coming with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because last time I checked…I was the one who had superpowers and knew how to fight while the only fight I’ve seen you had is with opening a pickle jar.”

You bit your lip to hide your annoyance before turning around to Charlotte and Jasper. “Help me out!”

Charlotte and Jasper shook their heads in a hurry. “No. We can’t…we have to..check on the tree outside.” Charlotte made up.

The two of them started to head towards the elevator. “Yeah. The tree.” Jasper agreed.

The hurried to click the button while you just glared at them and they rushed to get on before disappearing.

You rolled your eyes before turning to look at Henry. “When you first started this job you were thirteen and the most disturbing fight I saw you have was trying to get a girl’s number.”

Henry placed his bubble gum back in his pocket. Then responded. “I don’t care. This is different. I don’t have time to worry about you.”

He started to walk to the tubes but you grabbed his arm. You turned him around so he was facing you. “I got five years of karate under my belt. I got this.”

“I said no.”

“So you can risk your life but I can’t?”

“Yes. I’m the superhero.”

You looked at Henry then to the bubble gum in his pocket. That’s when you realized you were about to do something stupid. You kicked Henry to the ground and grabbed the gum out of his pocket before heading to the tube.

“Wait! Don’t!”

“Up the tube!”

It was too late. You were already up and gone. Henry let out a yell of frustration before standing up. Here you were trying to protect him by being impulsive. Maybe he should’ve saw the irony of the situation but he didn’t care. He didn’t want you to get hurt.

His job was not only to protect the town but to protect you and he couldn’t do that when you made rash decisions like this.

He immediately got on his cellphone and tried to track your location. That’s when he saw the notification that you stopped sharing your location with him. “I’m going to kill her.” He mumbled. He started to call Charlotte. She picked up within seconds. “Is the married couple done arguing?” She teased.

Henry ignored her comment before responding. “She took off to get Ray and stopped sharing her location with me. I need you to track it.”

“How did you let her get past you?”

“Just shut up and track her!”

It took a couple of seconds before he got an answer from Charlotte. “She is heading to Doctor Yetti’s warehouse.”

“Alright. Keep an eye on us.”

“Got it. Also Henry? Please bring back your girlfriend in one piece.”

It was evident to everyone but you that Henry had feelings for you. Charlotte was even shocked you didn’t figure it out considering how smart you were.

That’s why Henry was so mad you went off. He couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. Just the thought of you getting hurt or worse brought in severe anxiety.

Yeah, you weren’t some damsel in distress but that didn’t mean you could or should do the things he did. He was the superhero. You were his bestfriend. That was it. But the more Henry got deep in the lifestyle, the more you tried to include yourself. And he couldn’t let that happen.

Henry was in love with you. The love suffocated his heart. He had no choice to be lost under your spell. But were you lost in his?

You had to do this. Not only because you didn’t want Henry doing this alone but you wanted to prove to Henry you were more than the best friend on the sidelines.

The truth was, you were in love with your best friend and impressing him was important to you but it’s like Henry didn’t care for any of it. He didn’t believe in you and it pissed him off.

You were going to prove to everyone that you were more than they thought.

On the rooftop of the warehouse, you popped the bubble gum and like magic, you were dressed in Henry’s disguise. You looked at your reflection in the metal door to the rooftop. You looked like Kid Danger 2.0. It spooked you a little.

Taking in a deep breath, you opened the door to Doctor Yetti’s warehouse where you saw Ray chained to a spinning wheel. Doctor Yetti was spinning the wheel, making Ray go round in a circle.

You didn’t see any of his crew around so you went over the railing and dropped on the ground.

Doctor Yetti stopped spinning the wheel. “Oh I’m gonna puke.” Ray yelled when the wheel finally stopped.

Doctor Yetti turned over to you. Then looked at you with a confused look. “Girl Danger?”

You were about to comment about that but you tilted your head when you realized how small he was. “You’re like 5’3.”

He looked at you, offended. “So?”

“Your name is Doctor Yetti?”

“Yeah…”

“But Yetti’s are tall?”

“I’m not following.”

Ray decided to speak. “She’s calling you short, bruh.” He took a closer look at you and his eyes widen when he realized it was you. “What are you doing here?”

You placed your hands on your hips. “Rescuing you.”

It was at that moment, Ray let out a laugh as if what you said was the funniest thing in the entire world. You gave him a death glare. “You? Rescue me? Seriously where’s Kid Danger?”

The amount of anger ran through you like water under a bridge. Nothing pissed you off more than someone thinking you couldn’t do something.

Doctor Yetti spun Ray again on the wheel which made him start screaming. He then took some steps to you. “Well, you’re too late Girl Danger. I’ve already begun extracting Captain Man’s invincibility. Soon, I will be invincible.”

“Invincible and short?” You mocked. Doctor Yetti faked laughed at your joke before snapping his fingers. When he did, a couple men in black ninja outfits came from the door then surrounded you.

It was supposed to intimidate you but you gave him an unconvinced look. “Ninja costumes? Seriously?”

“Can you seriously start saving me?!” Ray asked while be spun repeatedly on the wheel.

Henry was on the rooftop, still not believing you were going this far to prove yourself. He swore after this was done he was going to give you a piece of his mind.

He went through the door and then stood on the railing above the warehouse. That’s where he saw you, fighting multiple ‘ninjas’ at once.

His first instinct was to go down and help you. The second was to watch you in action. You were good. Not that he didn’t believe you were good but being good in fighting classes and being good in an actual fight were both two different things.

Then he saw Ray spinning on a wheel and he couldn’t help but snicker to himself. He looked back over to you and there were only two guys left to go but one of them had you pinned down to the floor.

That’s when Henry hoped over the railing and jumped on the man’s back.

You should’ve known Henry was going to get to you at some point. Henry pinched a nerve on the man’s neck to make him go to sleep then hopped off him. The man fell down. He saw the other man try to go after you on the ground and Henry kicked him in the stomach. Then twisted his arm before elbowing him, knocking him out.

Henry walked over to you. “I had it.” You said.

“Sure you did.” He helped you up to your feet but when he did, you immediately yelled in pain. Henry held you, making sure you placed all your weight on him. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I twisted my ankle.” You pointed your finger at him. “Don’t you say anything.”

He sighed and helped you sit in a chair nearby before looking at Doctor Yetti. He saw Doctor Yetti get in a fighting stance and gave him a look. “Dude, you’re like 5’1.”

“I’m 5’3! It doesn’t matter. Soon I will be invincible and you won’t be able to stop me from draining your powers too-“

Henry reached him his pocket for his laser. Then pointed it at Doctor Yetti. He pressed the button and Doctor Yett immediately fell to the ground.

You tilted your head at how fast the action was. “I should’ve took that from your pocket.”

Henry went over to the wheel while Ray was screaming. He pressed the lever down making the wheel stop.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Henry started to detach the metal chains on him and helped him down. Aftet Ray found his stance, he hit Henry in the chest. “Took you long enough!”

Henry hit him back. “Shut up.”

He walked over to you and you shook your head. “I’m fine!”

Henry wasn’t hearing it. He scooped you up, bridal style and turned to look at Ray. “Clean this up. I’m going to take her back.”

Ray was still gagging in the back. “Sure! Have the spinning man take care of this!”

Both back in normal clothes, Henry had you on the couch in the man cave as he wrapped up ur ankle with a bandage.

The room was silent. It was like you and Henry were having a contest of who can go the longest without speaking.

You knew he was mad and you could understand to a certain extent but you didn’t care. You just wanted to prove yourself and now all you proved was that you needed Henry. Just liked he hoped.

When Henry finished wrapping the bandage, he looked up at you. “Why am I getting the silent treatment from you? You were the one that stole my gum and went into crime fighting.”

“You know what? You’re so lucky I can’t walk away from you right now.”

“Why? Why did you do it? What are you trying to prove?” You bit the inside of your cheek, not looking at him. Henry understood a little of what you were thinking. “Why do you feel the need to impress me?”

You decided to change the subject. “Why do you feel the need to protect me? I don’t need your protection.”

“Because you do things like use my costume to fight bad guys.”

You got annoyed. So, annoyed that you stood up and tried to walk away but Henry grabbed your waist to hold you in place. “Let me go!”

“Stop it.”

“Just leave me alone. Why are you being like this?”

After that sentence, you felt lips pressed against yours. You stood in place, completely still with eyes wide. Henry Hart was actually kissing you.

It all made sense. The entire day he had been nothing but protective and you were trying to understand why. This was why.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. You didn’t think Henry and you would ever end up doing this but here you were, two best friends kissing.

The two of you were so wrapped in the moment that you guys didn’t even notice Charlotte and Jasper walk in. “Finally!”

The two of you broke apart to look at them. “It only took you guys seven years.” Charlotte continued.

“Seven years is a long time.” Jasper pointed out to Charlotte.

“Sarcasm!” She yelled at him making the two of you laugh. She looked back over. “How was fighting crime, Girl Danger?”

“It was cool but…” You held onto Henry. “I think I’ll leave all that to Kid Danger.”

“Cool. Everyone good?” Henry asked and they nodded. “Now get out.”

Charlotte and Jasper rolled their eyes before leaving. “I hate couples…” Jasper mumbled.

Henry turned back to you. “Does this mean you’ll be with me?”

“Ehhh…give me seven more years to think on it.” You said playfully and he smiled. Then kissed you again.

[plumppies]

Midnight at Club 30

 Michael Jackson

Synopsis: Your loving husband is not as honest as he claims to be. Tonight, you find out exactly what he's been hiding.

Pairing: Mafia boss!Michael Jackson x fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Some sweating. Michael is nonchalant here ewww

Drea's note: I had so much fun writing this! Constructive criticism and suggestion are welcome in my inbox. Thank you for the request, babe. <3

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; sometimes the emotions of the split build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn’t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a shimmery black dress, draped with a white fur shawl and sleek golden heels. Your hair is beautifully done in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smokey air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are several tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends conversation.

There are 4 young men there right now. Their head all turned to you. You give them a small smile which excites them butyou ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whiskey, it’s all gracefully shelved, disguising the liquid poison as something beautiful.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile was genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile, your red lipstick morphing into a gracious grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle, rolling your eyes as he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00 but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz compliments the thick rum. You’re quiteimpressed by the taste. Having never drank this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender inquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes, I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose!” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know*-”*

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open again. The thick, smokey air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something greater than it; something that makes the jazz band mess up rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you and you fix your gaze towards the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the black-suited large men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complimented by a white tie. His hair, curly, thick, and longis topped off with a white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the club’s mood. What you cannot decipher is if this shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he is royalty of some sort. He examines the room, seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club; to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender whose face is painted with concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts of Chicago. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back ally”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it was, we’d see news of a death on the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men from the corner table tapped you on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you; not having anything better to do here; smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. With nobody around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I- I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whiskey. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. He loves that. The sound of your giggle eggs him on.

“My stature?” You probe and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at. It’s much larger than yours with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and are greeted by a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response, a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin'.” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man walk to the bar.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard returns to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in on the tabl before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” “You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone in behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts backwards as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing the conversation. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you intrigued, but not sufficient to satisfy your curiosity.

September 14th 1935

Three years into your relationship you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his wife could change that. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’d be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and half years ago. You grew friendly to them in the early stages of your marriage which you thank yourself for doing because you can ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11 pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there.”

Diane and Claire nod and disburse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for our housewarming party tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning his attention to the newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper.

“Two Bodies Found at The Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you. You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” you lean closer to him.

“What Are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s Gaze hardens and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you prob further. Gone are the days when you simply say “Okay fine” and let it go. Today, You want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this.” He asks irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were they the night before, no?” He nods. “And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same you when there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now.

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at the club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “what I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the goings-on of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead this morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the ally and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushed at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in his booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they’re up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it but-” One of the men tries to defend themself but is cut by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume that is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins, “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the club's main room. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, what do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out fogged your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it to pounce. 

“I- I can explain-”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin: “Explain myself? You have a lot of nerve to say such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Understand?”

You shake your head, cross your arms and look anywhere but him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whiskey.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the heads

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How did he never show any sign of this sick side to him?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that-”

“Then explain yourself” You snap.

Michael sighs before nodding. He stands up, holding his hand out for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say with change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that You have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I supposed to do that when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening to your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me,” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state.” you nod. “Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

You remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life my father led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. 

How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jee, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” his voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael. Three years.” You sigh and take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now.”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you hastily pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a be with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him.

Right now, nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster, and that hurt to admit.

You married a criminal. You married a killer.

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going to do this, going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; the emotions of that day build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn’t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a silky red dress and sleek golden heels. Your hair is done beautifully in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether or not you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smoky air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather, with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends converse.

There are five young men there right now. Their heads all turned to you. You give them a small smile, which excites them, but you ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whisky, it’s all gracefully shelved in a way that makes you forget that all those liquids are poison.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile is genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile. Your red lipstick morphs into a beautiful grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle and roll your eyes, and he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00, but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz is complemented by the thick rum.You’re impressed by the taste. Having never drunk this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender enquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes. I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling with joy. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose,” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh, come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know—”

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open. The thick, smoky air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something—something that makes the jazz band mess up rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you, and you fix your gaze on the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the large, black-suited men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complemented by a white tie. His black curls upon his head are topped off with a simple white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the mood of the club. What you cannot decipher is if the shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he’s royalty of some sort. He examines the room; he’s seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club, to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender, whose face shows concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back alley.”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it were, we’d see news of a death in the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men at the corner table tapped you on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender, who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you, not having anything better to do here, smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. Without others around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla scent surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whisky. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. The sound of your giggle eggs him on. “My stature?” You probe, and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him, you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at. It’s larger than yours, with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and he shoots you a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste, you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response; a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin',” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone that causes a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man stand at the bar, and the bartender fixes up a drink.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard makes his way back to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in front of you before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” “You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts back as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing, the conversation with Michael. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you wondering.

14 September 1935

Three years into your relationship, you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his now could change. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’ll be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and a half years ago. You grew friendly with them in the early stages of your marriage, which you now thank yourself for doing because you can now ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11 pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there, please.”

Diane and Claire nod at your plan and disperse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for the housewarming party you and I are hosting tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning your attention to the daily newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper too.

“2 Bodies Found at the Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you.

You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying, so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” You lean closer to him.

“What are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s gaze hardens, and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you probably went further. Gone are the days when you simply say, “Okay, fine,” and let it go. Today, you want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this?” He asks, irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were there the night before, no?” He nods. “And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same time you were there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now?

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at that club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “What I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the going-ons of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs. Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers, and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead this morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the alley and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushes at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in this booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they are up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it, but—” One of the men tries to defend himself but is interrupted by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume it is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins. “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the main room of the club. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and fear as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and his suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, now. What do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out is still fogging your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes from left to right as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it pounces. Its heart thumps uncontrollably as it awaits its demise.

“I—I can explain—”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin, “No! You have a lot of nerve to do such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Got it?”

You shake your head, cross your arms, and look anywhere but at him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whisky.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them, and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have, darlin’.” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs. Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the head.

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love, is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How couldn’t you have known? How did he never show any sign of this sick side?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that—”

“Then explain yourself!” You snap.

Michael sighs. He stands up, holding out his hand for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say will change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that you have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I not to worry when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening in on your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me.” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting up a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state,” you nod. “Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

Your memory is sparked, and you remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang member he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life he led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar.

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jeez, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye, which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” His voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael.” You take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now. I don't even recognise you anymore”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a bed with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him. Nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster.

You married a killer. You married a criminal.

[stuckonmark]

accidents. mark lee

10. where are the drinks bitches!

before coming into college, you never thought you’d have time for parties in general. you thought volleyball would consume your life and it did, but now that you were injured, you had a little more freedom. going to parties was never your type of vibe, but it was fun going every once in awhile. meanwhile, mark and his friends were upstairs playing beer pong and messing around.

“you fucking bitch! i made the shot fair in square!” haechan whined, as he threw his arms in the air. “we’re doing eye to eye first stupid.” jaemin yelled back.

there was a lot of chaos going on upstairs. mark was just drinking his beer and watching his friends goof around. his life finally felt at peace. he had nothing to worry about. basketball was going extremely well, his friends were joyful, and things were good with you so far.

“where the hell did winter go!” you were practically yelling because of how loud it was. music was blaring into your ears, while people were dancing and socializing. “i think she went upstairs!” karina looked like she was trying to have a good time, but bodies were starting to get pressed up on you and her. “let’s get out of this mess, yeah?”

you and karina made your ways upstairs and lo and behold, there was winter with some boy near the beer pong table. you walked up to them and winter immediately embraces y’all. “there you guys are! let me introduce you to my new friend haechan! he’s the best guys.” winter was pretty much slurring on all her words.

“wait aren’t you the guy that keeps replying to my tweets..” the boy just chuckled, but he had no shame. “that’s right! lee donghyuck at your service, but you can call me haechan. i am notably known to be the manager of the basketball team and the ladies love me!” you couldn’t help, but awkwardly laugh at his introduction. you knew he was friend’s with mark, but you didn’t see mark anywhere yet.

“honey, if you’re looking for mark. i’m sure he’s here somewh-” you turn your head and see mark on the couch, talking to mina with his hand on her waist. they looked like they were enjoying each others’ company. the last thing you heard was that they weren’t seeing each other anymore and that was coming from mark. you were confused and kind of hurt that he lied to you. you quickly shook it off, as you were starting to feel uncomfortable. you turned back to your friends and haechan, who were waiting for your reaction.

“let’s get this party started! where are the drinks bitches!”

after a few shots and a couple drinks go by, haechan decides to pull a few people to play seven minutes in heaven. you weren’t really excited to play, but you were too out of it to go do something else. your thoughts got interrupted when the first bottle spin lands on you.

“looks like yn got picked! now, who’s the lucky person gonna be!” haechan spins the bottle again and it felt like all eyes were on you. you could feel everyone’s eyes piercing through your skull. you were watching intently too, hoping not to get some weird g-

“would you look at that! it’s mark lee! okay you two, head into the room and get your freak on for seven minutes!” everyone cheered, while you and mark were basically shoved into some random room. you and mark just awkwardly seated yourselves onto the bed.

“so.. i wasn’t expecting you to come out tonight.” mark softly chuckles, while he scratches the back of his head.

“yeah, me neither.” you dryly reply, as you were looking for some way to escape.

“look we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. i promise i won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” “i know mark.” things were getting a little awkward between you two. the silence was so deafening that you could hear the conversations going on outside of the room.

“is everything okay? i swear we were literally good yesterday.” mark was trying to find some sort of way to meet your eyes, but you wouldn’t budge. “i’m fine mark. don’t push it.”

“look, i’m not the guy that everyone makes me out to be. i’m a good guy, yn and i just want us to get along. i know i don’t have the best reputation, but everyone doesn’t know who i really am. i don’t really like the spotlight being on me. i’m just constantly in it.” mark was pleading for any response from you. you hadn’t noticed it, but he had inched closer to you.

you felt for mark. you understood how he felt. no one should have to go through something like that. maybe mark was different. you were just too scared to let him in.

“i promise you, mark. there’s nothing wrong with you. i understand how you feel. i’m just scared. people have done me dirty in the past and i’m scared you will too.” you were looking down at your hands, like you were always doing. fiddling with them always gave you comfort

“just let me in, yn. i’m not going to hurt you.”

“but how do i know that..” you wanted to believe mark, but your past tells you that you shouldn’t trust him.

“i promise, yn. i’m not here to hurt you.” you hadn’t realized it, but mark had cupped your face and lifted your head up to face him. you looked into his eyes, down to his lips, and back up at his eyes, while mark’s eyes were following yours. you did not know what you were feeling, but your body was definitely not listening because you were leaning into mark.

“OKAY 7 MINUTES IS UP! COME ON OUT!”

previous — m.list — next

notes. happy valentine’s day everyone! for the special day, y’all get an update haha 🤍

taglist. open! @mmjhh1998 @haluenx @urlocalbeaner5 @cloudmrk @dudekiss3r @iluv7tn @jae-n0 @kikookii @remgeolli @lyleo @wumutititititi @kittydollzz @nctdreamchaser @kodasity @sibwol @worldwidecutiemaya @bbykaixx @luvsooby

[etclouie]

day twelve — more than this

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — summary; you get tired of waiting for your chance with jax (Jax Teller x fem!reader)

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — warnings; best friends to lovers (kinda), mutual pinning, readers upfront about her feelings, they kiss at the end, that’s it tho

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — word count; 700

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — a/n; how is there two days left of this event??

prev day | next day louie’s 14 days of love | main masterlist

you and Jax have been best friends for as long as either of you could remember, always joined at the hip, even being called his ‘little girlfriend’ by Gemma your whole life. 

but as you grew older, you couldn’t help but wish what Gemma said was the truth. you wished you were his girlfriend. 

it killed you inside, hearing about all of Jax’s sexual escapades and wishing it was you instead. you couldn’t help it, all the girls that vowed for his attention but you were the only one that knew him deep down. 

tonight though, Jax insisted on taking you on a late night ride. just the two of you away from Charming, a breath of fresh air from life and the club. 

sitting next to him, your head on his shoulder while he smoked a cigarette. 

the act so familiar yet still so new all at once, something you’d chalked down to not seeing each other all that much anymore. 

or at least not as much as either of you would like. 

the distance had caused a rift, and brought your feelings for him to a head. you didn’t talk as much as you used to, and it was killing you both. 

“hey Jax?”

you murmured softly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. watching as a plume of smoke left his lips as he hummed. 

“are we still friends?”

his eyebrows shot up at your question, hooking a finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him. 

searching his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place was staring back at you, something you’d never seen from Jax before. 

“do you not want to be?”

he asked, shaking your head ‘no’ instinctively before you answered him. 

“no”

his grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, disbelief flashing through his eyes. 

“no?”

he repeated back to you, waiting until you nodded to let go of your chin. you watched his head tilting to the view in front of you as he took another drag from his cigarette. 

the tension between you was already palpable, but now it felt thicker—as if you could cut through it with a pair of scissors. 

“i’m tired of waiting for my turn Jax”

you told, hugging your knees to your chest as he exhaled the smoke. you could feel his eyes on you, following every little move you made. 

after a minute you spoke up again, tilting your head back to him. 

“i like you, and it kills me every time i hear you’re with another woman”

he let out a half chuckle as he shook his head, running a hand down his face as he pulled you into his side. 

the look on his face was as if his feelings should’ve been obvious. 

you watched as his lips curved into a smirk, his voice low as he mumbled out to you. 

“wanna know somethin’?”

he asked, resting his chin on the top of your head as his eyes stayed on the sun setting in the distance. he waited until he heard you hum to continue. 

“i like you too”

his words made you pause, taking a minute before looking up at him. finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes as they met yours. 

“every time i sleep with someone it’s try get over you but it doesn’t work”

the confession made your heart beat a little faster, feelings for him at an all time high. 

Jax waited a minute, letting his confession settle in before he leaned in. he pressed his lips to yours in a surprisingly soft kiss, both of his hands cradling your face. 

“i really do like you darlin’,”

he whispered against your lips, stealing another kiss before you settled against him. your head tucked under his and his left hand soothing across your back. 

“i’ve just been an ass and haven’t been honest with you”

you could hear the honesty in his voice, his feelings something you’d never seen him so honest about before. 

tilting your head back, you caught his lips in another kiss before whispering out to him. 

“you’ve got making up to do for being an ass, but i’ll settle with another kiss for now”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[vinylfoxbooks]

February 14 - Minerva McGonagall | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 1,563 Part 2 of Medical Apprentice James AU Part 1

“Professor McGonagall wanted to speak to you about your apprenticeship with me, James.” Poppy hums, stirring the pain draught she’s cooking up, “She said that she would be visiting here in about ten minutes, I would appreciate it if you went out and waited for her and anyone else that may come in.” James nods, thanks the woman, and goes back out into the main area of the medical area. They take a moment to check up on the few students they currently have in bed, making sure they don’t need anything. 

McGonagall comes in not long after, striding straight towards James, “Would you mind meeting with me and Madam Pomfrey, Mister Potter?” James nods and tries not to show their nervousness as they stand and guide her into the back room once again. 

Madam Pomfrey has her potion simmering and is sitting at her little desk. She smiles at the two, gesturing to the chairs nearby. McGonagall goes to sit in the one nearest to her wife -- a trade secret that James only knows because he’s spent so much time with both of them and seen the way they visit each other -- and James taking the other one. 

“I apologize for the last minute meeting,” McGonagall starts, “And I bid you not worry about this, James. I bring you good news.” She accios a couple sheets of paper, putting them onto the desk in a way that James can read them, “You did excellent on your tests and your apprenticeship application and papers, I must say that it is nice to see you actually applying your intelligence for something beneficial, and I have spent time discussing with the Headmaster and Professor Slughorn. We’ve all come to the agreement that you will be fully beginning a higher level apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey and therefore will be permitted to perform low level healing spells only without moderation,” a pointed look, James doesn't blame her for it, “I understand that you and your friends are consistently worried about Lupin’s health and therefore I have gotten you permission to work with Madam Pomfrey to find her process for his healing and therefore can heal him within your dorm in three month’s time.” What wonderful news, James almost preens at the information and compliments, feeling themself get jittery at all of the news. They barely hold back exploding when they thank her, meeting the woman’s composed smile with a brilliant one of their own. 

“I know that you will do good in this world, James.” McGonagall finishes up with, then she stands, sends a softer smile to Poppy, and excuse herself from the room.

As soon as she’s gone, James whips their head around to look at the healer, “Did you know about this?” 

“Of course I did, James.” She smiles, standing up and walking to them, putting her hand on their shoulder, “I was part of the conversation. I’m excited to teach you even more than I have and see you learn to help people safely.” James doesn’t comment that she knows about them, and other students, healing each other already. That doesn’t matter here. 

Something in the room goes off to inform them that someone walked into the medical room and the woman grins at them, “I need to finish up with the draught, can you handle that?” James nods and thanks her, standing up and heading out of the room. 

They don’t let their shock show when the two waiting for them are Sirius and… Regulus? James is immediately on alert, “What happened?” 

Sirius looks at them with an indecipherable look, “Can we get Regulus a bed first?” James nods and goes to open up a clean area, watching Sirius guide his brother into the bed. Then he’s sitting down as far away from him as possible while James grabs a new sheet, sitting down next to the bed. They charm a quill and gesture for Sirius to go on, “We were doing a little brotherly bonding in the form of quidditch, you know how you suggested that we talk while doing a hobby we both enjoy? Yeah, and there was a bit of an accident.” 

“An accident, how?” 

“We were…” Sirius hums, his face going a bit red. 

Regulus rolls his eyes, “We were provoking each other and I stopped paying as much attention as I should’ve and got injured.” 

“You’re going to have to specify.” 

Regulus goes into talking about what happened and James nods, “I know that you’re protective about your modesty, but you’re going to have to take your shirt off for me so I can check the bruises and get a look at your ribs.” There’s a moment of hesitation, with Regulus and Sirius seemingly exchanging a nonverbal conversation. Before Regulus sighs and goes to pull up his shirt while James gives him some privacy and closes the curtains to his area. They don’t make a comment on the scars under Regulus’ chest, instead they hum and take in the colouration of his skin. They get into their examination, gently testing Regulus’ ribs and running a couple spells to look into it. 

When they finish with their cursory report, they go to get a pain draught for him and hand it off to him while they ensure that they know the spells that they’re needing to cast. It’s only then does Sirius ask, “Wait, you’re actually allowed to do spells now? Why didn’t you tell me?”

James smiles at him, “It’s only something that’s been established for about ten minutes. There’s more to it that I’ll tell you later.” They check to see if the pain draught has started to kick in for Regulus before pointing their wand at him, reassuring him that they’re healing him and have no intent to harm, then casting the spell. Regulus grits his teeth and shuts his eyes but doesn’t otherwise say anything. 

James informs the brothers that Regulus is going to have to stay until at least the end of the day so he can be watched. They tell Sirius to go off with Remus and reassure him that they’ll give him the most recent update when they get back to the dorm later in the day. 

Sirius leaves reluctantly, leaving James and Regulus alone. James goes to put his information sheet on the post nearby while Regulus puts his shirt back on. They ask if he needs anything and goes to update Poppy before checking on the others in the infirmary. 

Surprisingly enough, Regulus is still awake when they go back, and he has a book with him that James didn’t see him walk in with. James hums, “I hate to interrupt your reading, but I have to check up on you.” They hold out the pot of bruise salve that they have for him, “I can apply this or you can, but it’ll help with your bruises.” 

Regulus hums, “I doubt that you hate to interrupt me, you love to inconvenience my life.” James grins at him but they don’t say anything, just venture further into the space while Regulus bookmarks his book and sets it to the side, taking the salve from their hands. 

Neither of them talk while Regulus works to slowly apply it to his skin, his shirt brought up to just rest on his shoulders with James holding it for him. Until Regulus hums, “Sirius was telling me that you’ve been coming in here and helping out Madam Pomfrey for a while, why are you actually interested in healing?” 

James hums, their eyes going foggy even if they’re gazing at him, “I always thought that I wanted to be an Auror, but my pita is a potions maker, I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. He tried so hard to get me into potions but it didn’t really work, until I-” they shake their head, “There are some things that I can’t tell you about, but I’ve been helping and learning healing spells and potions recipes for my friends, specifically Remus and Sirius for a long time, and… I realised that I like healing people and medical potions are just the right amount of complicated and simple for me to remember them well. So I talked to Poppy about helping her and went through the process to start here.” They hum, “I get that it’s hard for you to wrap your head around the idea that I want to help people, but-”

“I can believe it.” Regulus says, quiet. They put the lid back on the salve and hand it back to them. James lets his shirt drop and they lean back in their chair, “I didn’t- I didn’t believe it before, but I’ve been talking to Sirius and it’s come up a couple times. He’s mentioned that you- that you’re usually the one to help him when we come back from break so he didn’t have to think about casting healing spells right… Thank you, for taking care of him.” 

James smiles softly, “It’s- everyone needs someone to take care of them, and my parents taught me how to be that person.” They shrug with one shoulder, then stand up, “I’ll come check on you soon. If you need a pain draught, you can always call for Poppy or me.” Regulus nods and they slip out of the room, closing the curtain behind them.

[vampireinprada]

kildare kisses ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: the week of Kildare Kisses is a busy one, disallowing Rafe the chance to ask you a question. he still finds a way to get his message across.

inspired by the ‘Boo Grams’ we had in high school, which was just a couple of years ago for me 🙃

wc: 2.3k

Kildare County High School was dressed so beautifully in Valentine’s Day decorations.

Heart garlands strung on the walls, tissue paper flower bouquets, assorted in red and pink, lying in between sets of lockers, and the gigantic ‘SPREAD L︎♡︎VE’ banner dangled in the entrance of the school, serving as a purposeful reminder to love one another daily.

It was the season of Kildare Kisses, a time where students could purchase loving packages of personalized notes, chocolates, and teddy bears to their cherished friends and partners and see their smiles light up in full expressions on Valentine’s Day.

It was all so fun! Nothing filled the heart more than the deliverance of a Kildare Kiss, and you couldn’t be more excited to ignite the smiles of love on your fellow students’ faces.

Tuesday

The junior board meeting had been ongoing for the past thirty minutes, vibrant discussions of everything surrounding the Kildare Kisses from its assembly to the deliveries in homeroom classes.

At the front of the room, board president and vice president, Pope Heyward and Cleo Anderson, provided answers to some questions other members may have had.

“Are we taking any more volunteers for order sign-ups this week?”

“Um no, that will be all me,” Pope answered.

“And what about assembly time? What time should we come in?”

Cleo took this question, sharing that assembly would start during lunch period and continue during fifth period. “All that are allowed to come, please don’t hesitate to sign up.”

The meeting had proven to be successful in informing the members the order of operations for Friday’s affairs.

“What an excellent meeting, everyone!” Pope exclaimed. “Don’t forget to sign up for assembly and delivery volunteers on your way out. If you can make it to either, don’t be afraid to take a slot.”

You gathered your backpack and signed up for a delivery slot, noticing names like Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carerra above yours. Having your friends around for homeroom delivery is going to be a stellar experience. You could barely even wait for Friday!

You sauntered out of the biology room and into the hallway, ready to pursue your familiar route to fifth period English when you heard a voice calling out to you.

“Ayo, sunshine!” Rafe called out to you from the hallway.

You swiftly stopped in your tracks and spun around on your heels. “Hi, Rafe,” you responded, flashing him one of your biggest smiles.

“How ya doing?“

“I’m doing well.”

“It’s very rare that I get to see you around here,” he smirked, playfully bumping his shoulder into yours. You giggled and rolled your eyes. “It happens when you don't have many, or any, classes together,” you drawled.

”How unfortunate is that? Anyways…” Rafe began to turn around towards you, stopping you both in your tracks. His expression shifted from whimsy to something much more serious. “I got a question to ask you. I was wondering if…“

“Yo, Rafe!” Topper called out to Rafe from the doorway of the classroom. This wasn’t something Rafe needed right now, the disruption beginning to irritate him. “What up, Top?”

“Bradley’s tryna ask out this girl, and he’s failing miserably at it. You gotta come check this out, bro!” He guffawed, doubling over in laughter at the failure unraveling before his eyes.

Rafe wasn’t having this at all. “Can it wait a minute?“

”Nah, man. You gotta come now.”

Rafe sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He must choose his friends wisely, if they’re gonna interfere with him and his Sunshine. ”I’ll be there in a second. I’m so sorry, Sunshine.”

“No worries. You can ask me later,” you swooshed your hand at him, showing him that it was truly nothing to worry about. You continued to beam up at him.

“Yeah,” He grumbled before stumbling over to Topper. You were sure that you would get to know his question eventually. He was known to always get his way one way or another.

Wednesday

You were filing away all unneeded textbooks in your locker to make space for your physics textbook and math notes in your bag. You didn’t like making too many trips to your locker, so you always got what you needed and came back for the rest after lunch.

You could see Rafe walking towards you in your mini mirror, and your smile widened as long as a football field. “Hey, sunshine,” he greeted you, his smile rivaling yours as his body leaned up against the locker to the right of you.

“Oh, to what do I owe the pleasure?” you playfully remarked, reapplying your shimmery lip gloss before closing your locker to give him your undivided attention.

”Nothin’ at all.” Rafe straightened up his posture a bit and moved forward, nearly closing the gap the locker created between you two. “My mornin’ isn’t right without talkin’ to you.”

Flabbergasted at his comment, you blushed. Rafe chuckled in response, head down briefly before lifting it up again to look at you, moving even further towards you. For some strange reason, Rafe always knows what to say to make you stammer in shambles.

“Wha-why are you here? You don't even have classes on this side,” you acknowledged, voice dripped in confusion at his choice of a lengthy trip.

“What? It’s illegal to walk a girl to class now?”

“It might be.”

“Yea, let’s just keep on walkin’ and see who arrests me,” Rafe teased, fully walking in tandem with you to your Physics class.

—— ₊˚ෆ ——

Your quick journey truly admassed time. Having an accompanying companion that isn’t one of your best friends was an unusual addition to your story, but you weren’t complaining.

He made it amazing with his jokes, making you bunch over in laughter a thousand times over, and his thorough teasing made you blush a color only an inferno could produce.

If only your schedules weren’t so misaligned, you could have moments like this every morning. A complete way to start your day. As you parked at the entryway of the Physics room, you felt a pang of sadness. It was already over, yet it felt like it just started.

“This is your stop, sunshine,”

“I know,” you mumbled in a downcast tone. Did he really have to leave?

Rafe moved closer to you, placing a careful hand on your shoulder as the other cupped your cheek. “Hey,“ he said, lifting your face back up to meet his gaze. “What’s going on? I can’t leave my sunshine unhappy.” His little pout was so precious and caring, you couldn’t help but to pout as well.

I’m in love with you, but I don’t know how to tell you. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing,” you opted for instead. Pouring out your current descent into loving Rafe Cameron was not something to be spread out before you even entered first period.

“Okay,” he responded, not completely convinced but enough to let you attend class for today. “So about that question I tried to ask you…” The bell rang through the building, interrupting his questioning once again.

“I’m sorry. I gotta go,” you uttered to the desperate boy in front of you as you finally went inside the classroom. You truly felt bad for Rafe. All he wanted was to ask you his question, and he could never seem to do that. Your gears began to turn as you asked yourself: will you ever find out his question?

Thursday

Rafe stalked over towards the red and pink table located near the exit door of the cafeteria. He knew he had to make his move before it was too late. He couldn’t seem to ever find the appropriate time to ask you his question, but he wasn’t going to give up now. It was now or never.

Pope thanked the customer in front of him for their purchase, noting their form and transaction on the pink sheet on his clipboard. Rafe was up next, his long strides determined and stable, as he moved up to the table.

“You always do things on the last day, Cameron?” Pope inquired, looking up at the boy in the hoodie.

Rafe grinned, slightly tilting his head to his left and shrugging his broad shoulders. “Only when I need to send a message,” he remarked.

“Right.” Pope grabbed a medium sheet of paper and a pen, sliding it in Rafe's direction. “Here’s your form. Select which type of Kiss, the recipient, their homeroom, and write your message to them.”

Rafe took the form and pen in his possession. The initial questions were easy, simple even. The most expensive Kiss with the teddy bear, candy bar, and note. He was gifting it to you, and he knows your homeroom since Kelce was also in that same homeroom.

His only issue was fitting his message to you into one rectangular box. It just wasn’t going to work well for him. This fucking box isn’t enough space, Rafe grumbled to himself, smacking the table in frustration.

“You know, if you can’t fit your message in one box, then maybe you should tell the girl yourself,” he advised, hoping to soothe the man’s troubles just a little bit.

“I’ve been trying,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. This has been a long week of trying to ask someone just one question. An important question.

Opting to just dive into it with you later, he wrote down a simple message in the rectangular space. It doesn’t make much sense at the moment, but it will in due time. Once he was done, he slid the paper back to Pope.

“Heyward?”

“Cameron?”

“Don’t tell her anything, alright?” Rafe promptly ordered. He had to keep this whole thing underwraps. He was so close to getting you that he couldn’t lose you this far in the game.

Pope stood up and extended his hand out to Rafe, affirming to him, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Friday

You couldn't be more excited, you thought to yourself as you speedwalked your way to the biology room. It was time for homeroom deliveries, and being grouped with Kiara and Sarah meant that fun was sure to ensue.

“Hey, you!” Kiara exclaimed as she saw you walk through the door. You squealed and dropped your backpack, heading towards her and Sarah for a hug.

“We got our first box of Kisses. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me check in.”

—— ₊˚ෆ ——

This afternoon’s delivery couldn’t have been more perfect. You, Sarah, and Kie traveled up and down the hallways into rooms, putting Kisses of various sizes into the hands of unexpecting students. The joy was prominent and the love showed itself to be ever vibrant throughout each homeroom. It was phenomenal!

Once you finished your batches of deliveries, you returned back to the biology room. Cleo was having a conversation at the teacher’s desk about a TV show moment that made them laugh terribly last night. She turned her head to acknowledge your entry and said, “Your Kisses are on the desks where your backpacks are.”

Sarah squealed at her package from John B, gushing at the beauty of the entire thing. Kie was thoroughly reading her note from JJ over and over, her smile growing with every reread.

What you weren’t expecting was a Kiss at the desk in front of you. And who could this be from? you wondered, carefully analyzing the unassuming red teddy bear, chocolate bar, and adjacent note.

The mystery was intriguing, and interesting, as you tried to run through all the people that could have sent this to you. It wasn’t many, which led you right back to your initial question: who?

The bell was close to ringing, only 3 minutes remaining until students flooded out of their classrooms with Kisses of their owns, possibly carrying bouts of excitement and anticipation for the evening and weekend activities.

Choosing not to waste anymore time wondering, you opened the notecard and began to read the message.

I’ve never known how bright life could be until you came into mine, Sunshine. Imagine how much brighter it would be if you were mine. Rafe.

You gasped in shock at such a message, happy tears brimming in your eyes. Who knew Rafe Cameron could be so sweet? Who knew he wanted you as much as you wanted him?

The bell rang through the room, alerting the masses of the end of the day and beginning of a loving weekend. You grabbed up the elements of your Kiss, shoving them into your backpack, and walked out of the biology class, holding onto the notecard tightly.

“Hey, sunshine,” Rafe greeted you with that atrociously beautiful smile of his. His greeting was abruptly cut off by your hug, squeezing the boy as if you would never let him go. Your warmth seeped into his vessel calmly, and he wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner. Rafe fully allowed himself to absorb the present moment, just enjoying being there with you.

You pulled away from the hug to look up at him, the tears that once brimmed your eyes were promptly falling. “You wanna be with me?” You asked. His message was written so sweetly, but you wanted to hear it directly from the source.

Rafe cradled your cheek, wiping his coarse thumb across your cheek to swipe away the sliding tears. “Of course I do, baby. How did you not notice?”

You shook your head at him. “I would’ve thought I was going crazy to believe something like that,” you chortled, wrapping your arms around his neck, note still in hand.

Rafe took notice of your possession of the note. “You know I had trouble finding what to put in that?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had so much to say to you, but there wasn’t enough space in that damn thing.”

“Mind filling me in on all you wanted to say?”

this was so rushed…

happy val day 💕