#SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE

[bruisedboys]

dead of the night — bucky barnes

bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he’s got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you’re too in love with him to say no. SPOILER WARNING!! set during thunderbolts so big plot spoilers

note: I’m honestly not sure how good this is but I’m posting it anyway we ball! disclaimer I totally made some stuff up to make the scenario make sense lol hope u can forgive me

thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader, fluff, kissing, one bed trope, 4k words

You wake to the shrill sound of your phone ringing. At first you think it’s your morning alarm, and wonder why it feels like you’ve only been asleep a few hours. It takes blinking yourself awake to realise it’s still dark out, the street outside your apartment dead quiet. Your phone continues to ring, piercing through the quiet of the night, the screen lit up and flooding the corner of your room in white. You groan. Who on earth is calling you in the middle of the night? 

You sit up dizzily and grab for your phone. You stare blankly at the bright white screen, blinking hard until your eyes adjust and you can see the name that pops up. 

Bucky Barnes. 

You blink at your phone. Your boss? Well, he’s not really your boss, but you are his assistant, and you’re not really sure whether you’re friends or something else entirely, so he might as well be. 

You hit the answer button. 

“Bucky?” You’ve long passed the stage of calling him Congressman Barnes. Besides, any ounce of professionalism left between the two of you has probably now turned to dust, given the ungodly hour of his call.

“Hey.” He sounds tired, his voice strained. “Hey, I’m so sorry, doll, I know it’s late.” 

No kidding. You ignore the fact that he’s called you doll, ‘cos if you think about it too long you’ll be here all night. ”What’s the matter?” You ask. “It’s one in the morning, Bucky.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. I need your help.” 

His words make you sit up straighter. Bucky’s been, for lack of better words, distracted lately. On edge, like he’s been waiting for something to happen. He’s been continuously disappearing at important events, and he keeps taking mysterious calls in hushed tones. You hope this has got nothing to do with the call he got from Valentina’s assistant (Mel, you think her name is) last night. He only told you about it because he’d wanted you to cover for him today while he “took care of something,” in his own, ominous words. He’s been MIA all day and you haven’t heard from him until now.

Somehow, you think this has got everything to do with the call from Mel. 

“Are you okay?” You ask on instinct.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off. “We, uh.. we just need somewhere to hole up for the night.” 

Your brain ticks. “Hold on, we?” 

You can almost hear him wince on the other end of the line. As if on cue, you pick up some muffled voices in the background. A man’s rough voice followed by a woman’s smoother one — and is that a Russian accent? What has he gotten himself into? 

“There's, uh, five of us,” Bucky says, like that makes it any better. 

There’s a long beat of silence. You sit in the dark, still half foggy with sleep, waiting for your brain to catch up with what he’s telling you. He … wants to bring strangers to your place? To what, hide? From who? You’re dumbfounded.

“I— what?” Is all you can manage. 

There’s another short silence, and then Bucky must realise how ridiculous he sounds, because he starts to backtrack. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have called, I’ll just—“ 

“No, wait,” you interrupt before you can stop yourself. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you find yourself wanting to help. You trust him, and know he’d never do anything to hurt you. Whoever these people are who’re with him must really need your help. And who else can he call, anyway? “It’s alright, I can help. Come over, okay? How far away are you?” 

Twenty minutes, as it turns out. You spend the time making your apartment and yourself look somewhat presentable, less for your visitors’ sake than your own, and because it’s Bucky.

Bucky, who’s been to your apartment three times now. Once when he got you flowers for your birthday. Another time when you’d mixed up your laptops, and accidentally come home from the office with his instead of yours in your work bag. (He’d come round to pick it up and you’d cleaned the whole place, even though he only stood in the doorway for five minutes.) And the most recent time, when you’d gotten too drunk at the bar after work, and Bucky had walked you home, deposited you in your bed, and locked the door behind him. You don’t remember most of it, but you do remember feeling so so in love with him it made you feel sick. Or maybe that was the whiskey. You doubt it. 

You’re tossing the trash from your takeout dinner in the bin, and trying not to think about how you felt that night, when there’s a knock on the door. Your phone dings on the counter, a text from Bucky. 

It’s me. 

You laugh to yourself. He can be so accidentally ominous sometimes. You cross the living room to the door and open it. 

Five people stand behind it, all in varying states of disarray. Bucky’s at the front, probably the least beat up looking, though his jacket seems to be torn in some places. Two women (girls? They don’t look very much older than you), one with a blunt blonde bob, and one brunette with pretty eyes, both looking a bit worse for wear. One very tall, older man in a red getup that makes him look like Santa Claus - it’s absurd, but somehow you feel even more absurd in your plaid pajama pants. And bringing up the rear is… John Walker? 

“Um, hi?” You say to the group at large. When Bucky said we, you didn’t expect John Walker, of all people, to show up. You try not to stare. “What can I do for you?” 

The blonde girl opens her mouth, looking amused, but Bucky beats her to it. “Funny,” he says bluntly. Then, softer, “Can we come in?” 

You share a look. Bucky has a very intense default gaze, but it seems to soften whenever he looks at you. And right now, he’s looking at you like I’m tired, I need help, just let us in please and I’ll explain. 

You step back with little objection. Something about the way he seems to say trust me with just one look — it gets you every time. If he was a serial killer, you’d surely be dead by now. 

“Alright,” you say. “Wipe your shoes, please.” 

Everyone files into your living room. It’s not a huge space but it’s enough. Walker closes the door behind them. No one sits down. 

“Who is this, again?” The brunette girl asks Bucky, breaking the silence. You assume she means you. 

“We work together. She’s my assistant,” Bucky explains, throwing you an apologetic, somewhat strained, look. “Y/N.” 

“Hello,” you say awkwardly. 

They all just stare at you. You know what they’re thinking. Why on earth would Bucky, former winter soldier, avenger, and now congressman, bring them to his assistant’s place in the middle of the night as if it was a safe house? You’re asking yourself the exact same thing. 

“Y/N, this is Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John.” Bucky names them off, pointing them out to you as he does. “They— I mean, we just need a place to stay until morning.”

“Remind me again why we couldn’t just go to yours?” Walker pipes up, addressing Bucky. You hate to agree, but you were just about to ask the same question. 

“Valentina’s watching my place,” Bucky explains. “She knows by now that I’ve got you guys with me, she’ll have her people on us in no time if we go to mine.” 

This only confuses you further. Valentina is … watching his house? This is not what you signed up for when you applied for a job as an assistant — it seems both you and Bucky are in over your heads. Though maybe you should’ve expected it, Bucky being a former Avenger and all.

The others seem to understand Bucky’s explanation far better than you do, and they all look to you expectantly. 

You look at the group of strangers, then at Bucky, then back at the strangers. They’re all standing there rather awkwardly. At their best, they’d probably be the toughest looking group you’ve ever seen, but right now they look dead beat, covered in bruises, dark bags under their eyes, and you suddenly feel very sorry for them.

“I— yeah, okay,” you say. They’re already in your living room, already know where you live, what’s it matter now? “You can stay for the night. Make yourselves at home, guys. There’s water in the fridge and the bathroom is down the hall to the left.” 

The brunette — Ava, Bucky called her — gives you a tight smile. “Thanks,” she says, and collapses on your sofa. 

The others follow suit, though Walker stays standing with his arms crossed. 

Pleasantries over, you grab Bucky’s arm and tug him down the hallway. He follows willingly, though you don’t give him much choice. You end up in your bedroom, where you corner him. 

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You whisper harshly.  “Who are those people? Why would Valentina be watching your place? And why is John Walker here?” 

You’re so busy bombarding him with questions that you don’t notice the way he’s holding his arm, not until you’ve finished speaking. Your eyes drop to his forearm. The fabric of his jacket has been slashed open, and there’s blood all over the sleeve. 

“Oh,” you say stupidly, then even more so, “Bucky, you’re bleeding.” 

Bucky grimaces. “I know, doll.” 

You grab his arm, forgoing politeness, and hold it up to your face. 

“It’s looks bad,” you say, forgetting you’re not supposed to care about him as much as you do.

You look up and find your face inches from his, his arm clutched between you. You suddenly feel very hot.

“Let’s, um,” you flounder for a few seconds, flustered not only by everything that’s happened in the last half hour but also his closeness, and the look on his face. “I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, I think. Come on.” 

You guide him out of your room and across the hallway into the bathroom. You forget to ask why he’s bought a hoard of what look like trained assassins into your home, and force him to sit on the lip of the bathtub, pushing him down by the shoulders. He scrapes hair out of his face with his metal arm and looks up at you where you’re rummaging through the cupboard above the sink. 

“Y/N, I’m—“ 

“Don’t say you’re fine,” you interrupt. He shuts his mouth and you go on, “Are any of your friends hurt?” 

Bucky pulls a face. “They’re not really my friends,” he says. “And no, none of them are hurt, they’re just tired.” 

You nod, accepting his answer for the meanwhile, even though it only opens up about a million more questions. A moment later you finally find what you’re looking for, a red and white first aid kit tucked away at the back of the cupboard, collecting dust.

You move to stand in front of Bucky, opening up the kit and setting it on the toilet lid. 

“Show me?” You stick your hand out for his wounded arm and he gives it to you with no objection. 

You hold his wrist and carefully push his sleeve up over the wound, revealing a harsh cut across the length of his forearm. On closer inspection, it’s not horribly deep, the blood only makes it look that way. 

Still, you frown. “How did you manage this?” You ask him. 

Bucky looks for a second like he’s reliving whatever happened to cause such an injury. He searches for the words, then, “I sort of flipped a truck?” he says. “Long story.” 

Flipped a truck? Whose truck? You raise your eyebrows at him but ultimately decide it's fruitless to keep asking questions, at least until he decides to explain what’s going on. 

“Right… I’m gonna clean it, okay?” You drop his arm to pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, unscrewing the lid and dabbing the liquid onto a cotton pad. “It might hurt.” 

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m tough, doll.” 

You clean his wound as best you can. You only sort of know what you’re doing, a half remembered first aid course you took in college sitting at the back of your mind, but Bucky doesn’t protest. Actually, he doesn’t make a sound at all, just watches you with those dark eyes. It makes you nervous, like he’s looking right through you and reading all your inner thoughts. The worst part is, he’s always looking at you like this, like he can read your mind, to the point where you’re pretty sure he knows all your secrets. Like how you’re desperately in love with him and have no idea what to do about it. 

You continue your work, quiet. The silence is heavy, a sort of unspoken feeling floating between the two of you like a white hot star. You want to reach out and grab it, see if Bucky will follow, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You’re unraveling a roll of bandage to wrap his arm when you finally speak. “So, are you gonna tell me why you brought a bunch of assassins into my home In the dead of the night?” You laugh at your own joke, but the look on Bucky’s face stops you short. “They’re… they’re not assassins, are they?” 

Bucky purses his lips. “Well, you’re not very far off…” 

He launches into an explanation, finally. First, of what Valentina’s really been up to. Project Sentry — putting a gold ribbon and a promise of a better life on a special super serum, and testing it on the most vulnerable subjects she could find. Then, how she rushed to eliminate all proof of the project, including the four people in your living room (who turn out to actually be trained assassins, though Bucky promises none of them will hurt you), and Bob, one of the test subjects. 

Then he tells you about how he tracked Mel’s phone to a site in the middle of nowhere, where he found Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei in a “predicament,” and “saved their asses,” as he puts it. He spares you the details, but it's how he sliced his arm open, and why they’re now retreating to yours to regain their strength before going after Bob. Bob, who’s vulnerable but much stronger than he probably knows, and who Valentina now has in her clutches. 

By the time he’s done explaining, you’ve realised how much bigger this is than just you and Bucky. For days this has all been happening without your knowledge and Bucky has been dealing with it all. You’re not annoyed, you get why he didn’t tell you. Still, you wish he’d asked for your help earlier. 

“So, you’re going after Bob?” You ask, carefully tucking in the end of the bandage. You spent half of his explanation just staring at him, hardly believing what he was saying, and the other half wrapping his arm, trying to believe what he was saying, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. 

Bucky nods. “I guess so. He could be dangerous in Valentina’s hands, you know?” 

You nod back. “Yeah, I get it. Won’t it be dangerous, though? Going after him? 

You say it before you’ve thought about it. You realise right after that it makes you sound like you care far too much about the man sitting in front of you, who’s really just the guy you file documents for. You don’t owe him anything. 

Bucky smiles. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ve got four assassins on our side, five if you count me.” 

You frown. “You’re not an assassin.” 

You don’t care what he’s done in the past, you can’t see him as anything else but lovely. He’s brave, kind, and so thoughtful it aches. 

Still, Bucky shrugs. “Used to be.” 

You pack up the first aid kit and put it away. Bucky watches you, his gaze like a burning fire on the back of your head. When you’re done cleaning up, he stands up and crosses the room, meeting you by the sink. 

“Thank you,” he says, earnest though his voice is rough from exhaustion. “You make a good nurse.” 

For some odd reason, butterflies erupt in your gut at his words. You look up at him. He’s very close now, only a step or two away from being chest to chest. You manage a grin. 

“That’s me,” you say, faux casual. “Best nurse and assistant you’ve ever had, huh?” 

You might be imagining it, but you’re pretty sure Bucky’s eyes flicker to your lips. He’s distracted as he murmurs, “Uh huh.” 

A beat of silence, and then Bucky takes a step closer. Your chest burns. He raises his vibranium arm, and you watch as his silver fingers close around your forearm. You can’t feel it through your sweater, but you can imagine how smooth the metal would feel on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. 

“Mm,” he hums back. He’s definitely looking at your lips now, and moving closer by the second. “What, doll?” 

You blink rapidly. He’s so close now you can smell him, sweat and dust but underneath that something heady, a bergamot cologne you’ve smelled on him before. 

“I— what are you doing?” You whisper, starting to panic. 

Bucky looks at you, this intense look of yearning in his eyes, like he’s being pulled towards you and can’t stop, and you almost melt into the bathroom tiles. 

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, so quiet it’d be impossible to hear him if he weren’t this close. “Can I?” 

You sort of guessed as much, but to hear the words coming from his mouth is something else entirely. You find yourself nodding. You don't know why. Well, actually, you know exactly why. You like him a lot, and you’ve imagined this moment a million times over in your head, though in your imaginations he certainly wasn’t bleeding out in your tiny bathroom.

“Okay,” you manage, heartbeat turning frantic. 

You see a flash of his smile before he’s pulling you gently forwards by the wrist and then kissing you. It’s chaste, gentle, but you can almost feel him holding back, his grip on your wrist tightening as he moves closer still, almost like he can’t help himself. The pressure of his kissing pushes you backwards a half inch — your back hits the edge of the sink and you don't care, you really don’t, because Bucky is kissing you and his thumb is rubbing a rough circle into your inner forearm, and his lips are so warm they leave yours buzzing.

Too soon, Bucky pulls away. 

You blink at him. He’s still agonisingly close to your face, and still looking at you like he wants to eat you. Your heart’s a riot, worse when he reaches up with his freshly bandaged arm and tucks a rogue piece of hair behind your ear. 

His hand lingers at your jaw. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused and rough, but he touches you like you’re made of starlight. “Is it okay that I did that?” 

You nod. “Yes,” you manage. Even to your own ears, you sound breathless as anything, but you’re so dizzy that there’s no space to be embarrassed about it. “I— yeah.” 

Bucky smiles, but it’s not smug. If anything, it’s achingly fond. “I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I just … didn’t have anyone else I could call.” 

You shake your head. You won’t say it, but right now you’re infinitely glad he called. Even in the dead of the night. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky strokes your jaw with his thumb, slow and intentional. “No one will hurt you while I’m here, okay? And we’ll be out of here before you even wake up, I promise.” 

You nod around his hand. It’s hard to digest anything he’s saying while he’s touching you like this, and looking at you like that. You think you get the gist, though. 

“Okay,” you say. You desperately want to kiss him again, but you’re much too shy to ask. Before you can work up the guts, he’s moving away. 

“I think you should get back to bed,” he tugs his phone from his jacket pocket and checks the time. “It’s past two.” 

“Right,” you nod, not wanting to, but you’re too dizzy and too tired to protest. 

You and Bucky leave the bathroom together. You follow him still half in a daze, not understanding how he can be so nonchalant when you literally feel lightheaded as a direct result of the kiss. You suppose he’s just better at hiding it, or maybe you’re just very sick in love. 

You and Bucky step into the living room to find probably the most absurd scene to ever grace your living space. Yelena and Ava, both knocked out on the couch, Ava’s head on Yelena’s shoulder, drool falling from the blonde’s open mouth. Alexei sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, snoring like a bear. And Walker sitting at your kitchen table, bent in half with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, fast asleep.

Both you and Bucky seem to realise at the exact same time that there’s nowhere other than a much too small chunk of floor for him to sleep. You turn to each other. 

“Do you want to—?” You start. 

“I can sleep in the—“ he says at the same time. 

You both pause. 

“Sleep in the what?” You ask him, incredulous. 

Bucky grimaces. “The car?” He at least has the decency to look guilty as he says it. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re absurd. Come on, you can sleep in my room.” 

It’s ridiculous, you know, but the words leave your mouth before you think about it. The truth is, you’re both dead tired and you’ve got no other option. Besides, you don't see how this night could get any more ludicrous. What’s it matter if Bucky sleeps in your room? He’s just kissed you, hasn’t he? 

You start to pull him towards your bedroom, but he stays put. 

“Y/N—“ 

“You said you wouldn’t let any of them hurt me,” you say firmly. “How’re you gonna do that from the car?” 

Bucky opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. 

“I… don't know,” he mumbles lamely. Then, at your I told you so look, “Are you sure?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s too gentlemanly for his own good. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.” 

You pull him towards your bedroom, much too tired now to be flustered about it. In the dark of your room, Bucky insists on sleeping on the floor. You let him, because he’s stubborn, and because you think if he were to sleep in your bed, no matter the distance you know he’d put between you, you’d be much too consumed with nervous energy to even shut your eyes, let alone sleep. 

It’s half past two when you finally crawl back into bed, Bucky lying on a stack of pillows on the floor at the foot of your bed. Though you can't see him, you feel his presence like a weight over your chest. 

You settle down on your pillows, already feeling the tug of sleep behind your eyes. Before you can fully succumb, Bucky speaks up. 

“Y/N?” He sounds just as tired as you, but you can't ignore the way he says your name like it's something special. 

“Yeah?” You hum back. 

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. You suppose he’s thanking you for everything from housing a bunch of strangers, to letting him kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

A pause in which you think about how to respond. Then, 

“With a pay raise?” You joke weakly. 

Bucky sighs loudly, but the smile in his voice is evident when he murmurs back, “Whatever you want, doll.” 

You grin to yourself. Now that’s something you can fall asleep to. 

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[wonderjanga]

First Meeting

Clark was not having a good day. Right now, he was hunched over, sitting on the roof of a skyscraper, trying to reign in his senses after he’d expanded them so he could find a lost little girl. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with this every single time he had to find one while this hero bizz. He’d only been in this for about a month and he’s already struggling? He should be used to blocking out the noise by now, he’s had twenty years to do it. He didn’t know why today was so bad.

He was pulled out of the sensory overload when he felt a hand on his shoulder and everything suddenly went quiet, save for normal city noise.

Marvel: “Woah, champ. Are you okay?”

Supes: “Who are you?” *still a little disoriented, looks up at him in confusion*

Marvel: “Oh, I’m Captain Marvel, but enough about me, we need to focus on you. Are you okay, son?”

(When Clark found out years later that Billy was actually a kid calling him son and champ he was a little dumbfounded)

Supes: “Yeah— Yeah. I am. I should be used to blocking out most of the noise by now. It seems I can still get a little bit overwhelmed every now and then. …what did you do to me?”

Marvel: “I toned down your senses.”

Supes: “…How?”

Marvel: “Magic.”

Clark didn’t know whether or not he believed that, but to be fair, he was an alien so…

Marvel: “Do you want me to take it off you now? I can do it slowly so you can get readjusted to the noise.”

Supes: “No, no, I’d like to keep on for now. I think I’d rather stay like this for a little bit.”

The man moved to sit down next to him, and thus, Clark sat in silence with this random stranger. This stranger who seemed to be dressed as a superhero as well? He’d heard about the Batman and the Flash, new heroes like him in other cities, but he never heard of a Captain Marvel. Unless you were counting the one from the history books, but that guy has to be long dead.

Supes: “Are you a new hero like me, Captain?”

Marvel: “Hmm? No. I’ve been doing this since ‘39.”

Supes: “…39? As in 1939?”

Marvel: “Yes? You make that sound outlandish.”

Supes: “It’s 2006.”

*silence*

Marvel: “No it’s not.”

Supes: “Yes is??”

Marvel: “Oh darn it. So the old men were right about the time bubble.” *sounds so disappointed*

(Billy was talking about both the wizard and Solomon)

Supes: “I’m sorry??”

Marvel: “Listen, I gotta go talk to the wizard.” *stands up* “But uh… One sec.” *snaps fingers*

Supes: *glows blue for like three seconds and shivers* “What was that?”

Marvel: “Nothing. The only thing that’ll do is make it so that when you want to start hearing normally, the spell will cancel itself. Now, how do the Italians say it? Chao.” *starts to fly off* “Come to Fawcett sometime, man!” *waves*

And with that, Captain Marvel was gone. The Captain Marvel.

By the way, if you’re wondering, why Billy was even in Metropolis in the first place, when time bubble popped, that meant people could leave Fawcett. So, the boy went to explore the US considering he hadn’t left his city in a while. Mary went to New York and Junior ended up in Los Angeles, gambling.

(I’ll do a Batman version of this tomorrow possibly.)

[socksdoeswrites]

smau requestttt- mha boys finally let reader play online with him and his friends, they’re messaging privately while they are also in a party with everyone on the headset

does that make sense? 😭

𝜗𝜚 a/n: yes! it made perfect sense, and i hope i did it justice! im soooo sorry it took me so long to get to this! im working on them one day atta time! i hope you enjoy:). 🧦

𝜗𝜚 characters: izuku midoryia, katsuki bakugo, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari, hanta sero. (and yooooooooooooooooou:))

𝜗𝜚 tags/warnings: nothing crazy, just you guys being in a cute little relationship.

as i have said many times before, thank you for being so patient with me, and i hope you enjoy. :)

[rainverry]

pretty boy.

PAIRING  ☆  nakamoto yuta x afab!reader

GENRES  ☆  smut, fluff, angst, a bit of crack?, enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au

WARNINGS  ☆  18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. profanity, substances (alcohol consumption, one mention of weed), light smut (oral [f receiving], praise kink), use of nicknames (baby, babe, princess, my girl, gorgeous), mentions of throwing up, one mention of blood, the characters are in their mid 20s in this fic, reader wears glasses and has a pet cat, yuta’s hair is red in this because that’s his best hair colour i don’t make the rules

SUMMARY  ☆  college life is full of uncertainties, but there is one thing you know for sure: nakamoto yuta hates your guts, and the feeling is mutual. so when he goes to you and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend, you start to realise that maybe you were wrong about him too.

WORD COUNT  ☆  24.2k (im so sorry)

PLAYLIST  ☆  click!

AUTHOR'S NOTE  ☆  heya lovelies !! this is my first ever full-length one shot, as well as my first time ever sharing my smut with anyone so i’m kinda nervous lol if u think u’ve read any other of my full-length one shots before, no u haven’t <3 i also got carried away because i truly did not expect it to be this long 😭 big thanks to my friends lou for the feedback and carol for beta reading and encouraging me to continue writing when i kept having second thoughts 🥺 enjoy reading and feedback is always welcome !!

THE END OF YOUR MID-TERM BREAK always meant going to the nearest coffee shop with your two best friends, with the intention of catching up on all the things that happened on your short-lived holiday. It also functioned as the last time for you to have some fun before you knuckle down and keep your focus on studying for the final exams, merely six weeks away from now.

“Anyway, that’s how we managed to pull off the biggest cookie heist in the Im household,” Nayeon finishes, leaning down to take a sip of her chai latte.

“Must be fun, having younger cousins,” Jennie sighs in envy. She cradles her chin in one hand, toying with the ends of her hair with the other. “Meanwhile, all my cousins have grown up to be obnoxious jerks!”

You raise your eyebrows. “But not Taeyong, right?”

Jennie crinkles her nose in disdain. “The cousins on my mom’s side like to pretend I don’t exist. It’s a low bar, but Taeyong is the only nice one,” she throws her hair over her shoulder. “Speaking of, he should be here soon. You don’t mind him interrupting our girls’ day out, would you?”

You don’t mind at all. Despite your friend’s pretend indifference towards him, Lee Taeyong was the resident sweetheart, known and liked by everyone on campus. The music production major is the captain of the dance club, frequently volunteers to tutor his peers and on top of that, always makes sure to bring treats and small toys for your cat whenever he drops by your place.

What you did mind, however, is if he happens to bring along a friend of his with him. Although Taeyong could integrate himself into virtually all of the social circles around campus, there is one group he sticks with more than the others – the group filled with fuckboys, notorious for flirting with anyone who was available and throwing wild parties. How the sweet Taeyong manages to get along with people so different from him is beyond you, but you figure men will always be men.

As if sensing your thoughts, Nayeon remarks, “I don’t think he’ll be with anyone today. I’m sure they’re too busy unpacking.”

You push your glasses up your nose and shrug, only hoping that was true. Even though not all the men in Taeyong’s friend group are bad apples, you’ve had more than enough awkward encounters with them to last you a lifetime. Plus, there is also one person in that group that you dislike more than the others, and you know Taeyong wouldn’t consider bringing that person within a ten feet radius of you.

The doorbell of the cafe rings, followed by two sets of footsteps and familiar laughter. You tense.

Today is not your lucky day.

You look up to see Taeyong heading towards your table. And behind him, wearing his signature smirk, is the bane of your existence – Nakamoto Yuta.

Many people have asked you why you hate Nakamoto Yuta, and your answer has always been: where do you even begin? His annoyingly vibrant red hair, the fact that he coined the nickname “Glasses” for you because of your poor eyesight, the way he’s able to get along with everyone except you and the fact that he’s been your rival for the top spot of the class ever since you could remember were only a few reasons the mere sight of him can make your blood boil.

Before you can even process your thoughts, Nayeon hisses, “Behave.”

You resist the urge to let out a groan at her command, and when you meet Taeyong’s eyes he directs a sheepish smile at you. You glare at him and look down at your phone, deciding to scroll through whatever that would make you feel less irritated at that moment.

“Hey, guys,” Taeyong greets when he reaches your table. “Enjoyed your break?”

You mumble out, “Hi, Taeyong.”

Taeyong nods at you and Jennie, and begins to listen to Nayeon as she animatedly recounts the story of how she and her younger cousins managed to steal the five batches of chocolate chip cookies her aunts had baked. You also want to listen to her story even though you had just heard about it three minutes ago, but someone slides into the seat across from yours. Despite yourself, the action captures your attention.

“Just going to ignore me, Glasses?” Yuta grins at you, completely disregarding your friends and the fact that this was supposed to be your private time with them. “Or have you already forgotten about me after such a long time?”

“Yeah, I was too busy having fun to think about things that don’t matter,” you snap back. “Anyway, two weeks was long for you? Did your friends not want to hang out with you or something?”

“Here we go,” Jennie mumbles under her breath. You pretend not to notice.

Yuta slaps a hand over his heart. “Ouch, right in the feels,” he pouts. “My break was fine, thank you. Kinda missed seeing your annoying butt around, though.”

“I’m flattered, but the feeling is not mutual,” you retort, and before you can say more, Jennie clears her throat.

“Anyway, that’s the end of the story!” Jennie says abruptly, even though you’re sure from Nayeon’s expression that she had more to tell. Subtle. From Yuta’s face, you can tell he thinks the same thing. 

The both of you normally try to avoid seeing each other as much as possible, knowing it would only lead to endless arguments, but right now you’re blaming Taeyong for even daring to bring Yuta into your presence when he knew you were going to be here.

Jennie claps her hands and looks up at her cousin. “Yongie, you wanted to give me something, right?” 

“Oh yes,” he holds up the bag that he’s carrying and sets it on the table, a look of amusement on his face. “A little present from my mom – to remind you that you should have come to visit her during the break, and she’s mad that you didn’t.”

“Oh, it’s because–” Jennie starts, but Taeyong is quick to cut her off.

“Oh, and I’m mad too.”

The two start bickering in their mother tongue, and you and Nayeon share a smile at their antics. Yuta is still sitting across from you, but you’re trying your best to ignore the fact that, for whatever reason, he’s looking at you. You look down at your phone again, desperately wanting for the guys to be gone already so you can finally get back to your precious dishing time with your best friends.

“Take a picture, Nakamoto. It’ll last longer,” you comment sarcastically, unable to handle Yuta’s gaze on you any longer.

He seems undeterred by your sudden jab at him. “It’s cute that you’re trying so hard to ignore me, Glasses,” he sighs. “I’d like to see you ignore me when I beat you for valedictorian next year.”

“Okay, enough,” Taeyong cuts in, sparing his friend a warning glance when he sees the look on your face. “Jennie, you’re going to visit me and my parents during the next break and that’s a promise, okay?”

“For ahjumma and ahjussi, maybe, not you,” Jennie teases, then her face softens. “But thank you for the food.”

Taeyong nods, then pats Yuta on the shoulder. “Anyway, we should get going or we’re going to be late.”

Yuta hums in agreement and is about to get up when Nayeon clicks her tongue. “Wait, pretty boy, you still owe me ten bucks.”

Pretty boy is the nickname Nayeon coined for Yuta in high school – a moniker that you would agree suits him to some degree.

(Not that you would ever admit it in a million years.) 

Yuta groans, head falling back in annoyance. “I haven’t forgotten. Hold up, I think I have some cash on me.” He reaches into his jacket pocket when a handful of paper scraps fall out and scatter all over his lap. With a mutter of annoyance, he reaches down to pick them up, and you’re expecting him to put them back inside his pocket when he suddenly crumples them up in his hands. 

You raise your eyebrow in surprise. “Hoarding trash in your pocket, huh? Is finding a trash can too difficult for you?”

Yuta glares for a split second before the maddening smirk is back on his face. “Thanks for your concern, Glasses. It’s actually all the phone numbers I got working at the bar last night. Not that I need them, I already have enough women wanting me.” 

You roll your eyes as the others laugh and let out dog whistles at his incredibly distasteful comment. Only Yuta could make your friends think such a repulsive statement is hilarious.

“No shortage of girls chasing you everywhere, huh, pretty boy?” Nayeon asks playfully.

“None, unfortunately,” Yuta shakes his head, producing a ten dollar note from his wallet and handing it to Nayeon. Seeing Taeyong already heading for the door, he shoots them a smile. “Bye, girls.”

He turns and winks at you. “See you around, Glasses.”

You’re left glowering at Yuta’s backside, your scowl only fading when you hear the sound of the door closing behind them.

“God, I can’t stand him,” you murmur.

Jennie lets out a practised sigh. “Yeah, we know.”

During your first year of college, you accidentally found a secret corner in the campus library while searching for a textbook for your major. The corner was cosy and out of sight from the rest of the library, perfect for when you need some peace and quiet. Ever since, it’s been your place of solace.

It’s usually the place you go to to be completely alone, and this time you needed a few hours of reading by yourself. It’s been a week since your mid-term break ended, and after nights staying up studying, you suppose right now is a good time to have a short rest from cramming information into your brain, and just enjoy a romcom book instead.

You are one hour deep in your romance novel when you hear footsteps in the library getting louder. You figure it’s Nayeon, the only other person who you’ve told about the secret corner, coming to find you as she’s chided you many times on how you tend to lose track of time when you’re in here.

The footsteps end in front of you, but you don’t look up from your book. “I’m at a good part, Nayeon, give me a few minutes.”

“Are the characters making out or something?”

The unexpected voice makes you snap your book shut and when you push your glasses up your nose to see clearly, you could only stare up in shock. Nakamoto Yuta stands in front of you, an unusually shy smile on his face. At first you’re speechless – he is the last person you would want to see anywhere, let alone in what was supposed to be your safe haven from the rest of the world.

“What are you doing here?!” you hiss, and then you look back down at the novel in your hands. “Great, you made me lose my page, you idiot!”

Suddenly, Yuta’s voice is devoid of his usual humour. “Can we talk?”

“Can you go be annoying somewhere else?” you flip through the pages rapidly, barely noticing his serious tone. You smile in relief only when you find the page you’re looking for, and you prepare to resume reading. 

Yuta lets out an exasperated sigh at your attempt of scaring him off and kneels down to your level, and to your surprise, he takes your book, secures the page you're on with your bookmark and then puts it aside.

“Seriously, I need your help,” Yuta murmurs, his big brown eyes staring deeply into yours. His face is so close to you, his voice so gentle that for a moment, you’re unable to stop and think about the sheer absurdity of his words. 

“I–” you start, before shaking your head and letting out a snort. “You need my help? Couldn’t you have asked, I don’t know… anyone else?”

“You’re my last resort,” Yuta responds immediately, as if he’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. You think he’s about to drop the serious act and start teasing you again, but his lips are still tucked into a thin line. “And believe me, you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I seriously doubt that,” you scoff, getting ready to leave. Your secret corner isn’t even safe anymore. The only place you can go back to would be your dorm room, a place you know would be empty of any fuckboys or sworn enemies who would only ruin your mood. You know your roommate Jisoo would probably have someone over for the night, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid seeing Yuta again.

Yuta watches silently as you gather your things. You think he’s given up on whatever he was going to ask you and let you leave when he speaks up again.

“I need you to fake date me.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“What?” you stutter out. “You’re kidding, right?”

You know he’s not kidding, not when he’s staring at you so intently – not when you had heard his voice as clear as day, and with no trace of irony in his words.

“Y/-”

You burst out laughing. You laugh and laugh until your sides hurt, all the while Yuta is still kneeling in front of you, and you’re clutching your stomach at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“You want me to fake date you? Seriously? That’s what you need my help for?” you manage to finally say after your laughter dies down, wiping tears of mirth off your cheeks. “Oh, Nakamoto. That’s funny. Like that’s ever going to happen. I mean, what would I even get out of it?”

You can see Yuta’s cheeks are lightly shaded pink after seeing your reaction to his statement, but he replies without a hitch, “You can show off your hot-ass boyfriend to everyone else.”

“Yuta!” you smack him with your novel, and he grunts at the impact. “I’m serious. How would that benefit you? More importantly, how the hell would that benefit me?”

“I don’t know!” Yuta grumbled, softly rubbing the spot on his arm where you had smacked him. He finally gets up from his kneeling position and starts pacing around. “Listen, so many girls have been–”

“Oh my God, I know, there’s no shortage of girls that want you–”

“Let me finish!” Yuta snaps, his hands balled in fists when he glares at you. His face and voice softens after a beat, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “Girls have been messaging me left and right asking me to go out with them. And–” he runs a hand over his face. “–I’m tired of it, okay? I’m not interested. And they’re not getting the message. I thought that maybe, if I get someone to act as my girlfriend, they will back off for a bit.”

You scoff. “Then get an actual girlfriend, you dick! Why get a fake one?”

“Because like I said, I’m not interested,” Yuta repeats slowly. “I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now. And, like… I came to you because I know for a fact that you won’t want an actual relationship from me. I don’t know…” he sighs again, staying silent for a moment. “Just… think about it, okay?”

You stare at him silently, still in disbelief at the words he had just said. You’re almost convinced that you had fallen asleep while reading your book a while ago and this is just some strange hyperrealistic dream. Yuta honestly, genuinely believed that there was a chance that you would help him and go along with his crazy request. You don’t know how you feel about that. 

What you do know, though, is that you don’t want to be tangled up in Nakamoto Yuta’s business in any way.

After a long pause, you shake your head.

“I’ll give you my answer now, Yuta. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and stand up from your seat, romance novel in hand. You can’t resist the temptation of looking over your shoulder and commenting one last time.

“Rejection doesn’t feel so good now, does it?”

You relish at the sight of his red cheeks before leaving the library.

You had been studying in your room when Nayeon and Jisoo had burst through the door, begging for you to try on a few outfits they had put together. You agreed, thinking it was only going to be a brief try-on and then you’d shove the outfits back in your closet, but somehow they’d convince you to keep the clothes on and crash a nearby party with them. To top it all off, they had also asked you to ditch your glasses so you could finally use the coloured contacts that you very much disliked wearing.

That’s how you find yourself in the corner of some random stranger’s house, nursing a red solo cup in one hand. The dress your friends had put on you showed off your legs a lot more than you would have liked, so now you’re trying your best to keep yourself warm with the crappy booze they were serving.

As you survey the small crowd surrounding you, you’re hit with the realisation that you don’t really know anyone here. You know the point of your friends dragging you to this party was for you to mingle a little more with other people, but somehow you’re unable to think of any interesting opening lines to a conversation that could last longer than two minutes. You’d rather have a friend beside you, but Nayeon is chatting it up with someone from her major and you don’t want to interrupt them. Just a while ago you also caught a glimpse of Jisoo heading upstairs with a stranger you hadn’t seen before, and you definitely don’t want to disturb her fun time. 

You hadn’t even bothered telling your friends about Nakamoto Yuta’s offer he had given a few hours ago. That man was not worth wasting your breath for.

And yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Yuta actually had the balls to ask you, his sworn enemy, for help in becoming his fake girlfriend. Out of all the things! You still remember the stony expression he had on when the words I need you to fake date me had left his mouth, signifying that yes, he was being one hundred percent serious. You know he’s known for his unpredictable and somewhat wild streak, but to ask you to do such a bizarre thing…

You don't know what to think.

“Hey, cutie. Can I get you a drink?”

Your head snaps up to see a tall stranger smirking at you, his eyes red from him smoking what you can only assume is some offhand weed that you know are usually at these types of parties.

“I already have one, thanks,” you smile politely, raising your cup to show him. Now, you desperately wish there’s a friend by your side – you’re not in the mood to be hit on at the moment.

But the stranger doesn’t get the hint. He steps close enough to you that you can instantly smell the repulsive mixture of substances in his breath. “That shitty beer they’re serving? Don’t be stupid. I’ll get you a real drink,” he leans in, dropping his voice so he could whisper in your ear, “Unless there’s something else you want me to do for you?”

Your stomach churns at the implication of his words.

“Um, no, thank you, I… have a boyfriend,” is all you manage to say before slipping away from his presence.

You sprint outside of the house, trashing your cup in the process, relieved to be free from the smell of booze and flirty men who wouldn’t take no for an answer. You pull out your phone from your purse.

you: gonna bail, will u and jisoo be okay?

nayeon: yeah i didn’t drink anything so ill be driving us back

nayeon: u okay tho? 

you: just need to do sumn real quick. dont worry ill find my way home

As soon as you know your friends will be fine, you immediately call for an Uber. You have one destination in mind.

You're surprised how quick the ride to Yuta’s place is. Amazingly, you know what you’re going to say to him now. Maybe it’s the alcohol running through your veins that’s making you do such an illogical thing, really.

When you knock on the door, Johnny is the one who opens it. “Oh, hey.”

When you see his look of surprise, you’re now realising how crazy you must look. Johnny must have not recognised you at first, especially now that your usual glasses are gone and your eyes are a shade of grey. You do suppose you can’t be the first person to show up at the guys’ dorm at midnight in a little dress and heels, but the thought of you being compared to those other girls doesn’t really comfort you.

You make a feeble attempt at covering yourself up, giving him a bashful smile. “Um, hey Johnny. Is Yuta home?”

Johnny’s eyes widen even further, causing your embarrassment to grow tenfold. You can only imagine what Johnny could be thinking right now.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t think he’s asleep yet. Want me to get him?”

When you nod and Johnny’s gone, you rub your hands that you didn’t realise were sweaty against the back of your dress. You can already think of all the things he would say when he sees you. Hearing a nauseating Aww, did you get dressed up all for me, Glasses? from Yuta may as well happen. The insanity of what you’re about to do finally hits you, but there’s no turning back now.

“Y/N?” Yuta says, standing in front of you in nothing but a pair of sweats, with his red hair looking exceptionally vibrant in the night. He’s clearly too shocked to come up with his usual cocky opener, and for that you are grateful. “What are you doing here?”

You can’t see where Johnny went and you know he’s not the type of person to listen in to his friends’ private conversations, but you’re not willing to take the risk. “We need to talk,” you assert, brushing past Yuta and heading straight towards his bedroom. His jaw drops, and you’re equally surprised at how different you’re behaving. The alcohol really is making you act more brazen than usual.

“Well, come in, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Yuta grumbles, his bewildered expression now changing into one of annoyance as he closes the bedroom door behind him. “What do you want? You here to reject me again?”

You lean against the wall and take in your surroundings, in awe of how immaculately his bedroom is decorated, with accents of space blue and striking reds all over. You spot an electric guitar in the corner. You didn’t know he played any instruments.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Yuta,” you tell him, and you see his eyebrows raise in amazement. “But I want you to know that I’m also doing it for my own gain.”

Yuta immediately scoffs, but there’s a hint of amusement on his face. “Okay. What’s in it for you?”

“To get my friends to stop dragging me to parties I don’t want to go to. But also, if they do manage to get me to go to a party somehow and there are annoying dudes there trying to flirt with me, I can say I have a boyfriend and I wouldn’t be lying.”

“Sort of,” Yuta comments drily. He crosses his arms against his chest, and it’s difficult not to notice his perfectly sculpted biceps. There’s a chain tattoo wrapped around his left arm that you’ve never seen before. “Well, I didn’t expect this. I guess I should say thanks.”

You shrug, looking down at the floor. “It’s whatever. I love those girls, but they can’t get off my ass about joining them at parties, when sometimes all I want to do is study at home,” you admit reluctantly, before looking back up at him. “Anyway. How are we going to do this?”

Yuta shoots you a grin, and for once it’s not the usual one that would make you roll your eyes. “I’m so glad you asked. To do this, we have to fool everyone, and that includes our own friends. Because if our friends don’t believe us, Glasses, then no one will.”

You’re irked by his use of the nickname (like, you’re not even wearing glasses at that moment!), but you tilt your head in curiosity. “What are you getting at?”

“Before we just tell everyone that we’re dating, we have to hang out with each other. One on one.” 

Your mouth runs dry at what he just said –  but Yuta’s not done talking. “You and I both know that everyone knows that we can’t get along, Y/N. How the hell are we going to convince them we’re dating when you keep insulting me?”

“You always insult me too,” you retort, and he nods solemnly.

“Yes, I have, and that’s why we have to stop doing that as soon as possible. Tomorrow I have an early morning class, but I’ll be free after. We can figure out all the details then,” he looks at you, reaching in his pocket for his phone. “Give me your phone.”

Your hands feel sweaty again at the thought of Yuta being able to contact you any time he wants, and you hope he doesn’t notice how jittery you are as you hand him your phone.

As he types his number in and calls his phone from yours, you let out a dry laugh. “So it’s a date, huh?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Yuta gives your phone back to you but is unable to meet your eyes. Is he feeling embarrassed at the thought of going on a date with you? 

Your heart drops when you think about it. You think you’re sobering up now, because now you’re wondering if you've just made a huge mistake.

“Um… I should go,” you breathe, clutching your purse close to your chest.

“Wait,” he says, looking into your eyes again, and there’s a small smile on his face. 

Any second thoughts you have vanish instantly. 

Yuta extends his hand out, his grin growing wider. “We should shake on it.”

“Shake on it? You’re such a dweeb.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just do it.”

So you do.

You wake up with a light headache, but you’re surprised to find a painkiller and a glass of water on your nightstand, a small note sitting right beside it.

take this, I know you need it -N

You sigh in awe, thanking the heavens for you having such a godsend for a best friend. You don’t know what time it is, but the rest of the apartment is quiet, so you assume your roommates are at their mid-morning classes. After taking the pill, you check your phone for the time. As you suspected, it’s almost 11. You also have two unread texts that were sent to you half an hour ago.

Unknown: this is yuta. i’m free now

Unknown: unless ur still sleeping lol

You roll your eyes, swiftly typing a response.

you: dickhead

you: u would sleep in too if u had my bed

You don’t know how long it will take for him to reply, so you put some music on and take a shower. Your pet cat Pumpkin isn’t scratching at your door like he usually does, so you reckon one of your roommates had already fed him for the morning. 

As you’re getting ready, you recall the events of the night before with a shudder. It feels like a fever dream that you actually showed up at Yuta’s house in the middle of the night so you could tell him that you would pretend to be his girlfriend, but that crappy beer you had must have given you a boost in confidence.

You’re in the middle of having breakfast when you hear your phone buzz.

yuta: oh good morning sleeping beauty

yuta: come find me at the library ;)

Fifteen minutes later, you find Yuta sitting at a lone table right in the center of the library. He’s dressed in a grey hoodie and blue jeans, his red hair tied up into a mini ponytail.

“Took you long enough, Glasses,” Yuta remarks when he sees you, a smirk on his face.

You ignore his comment, pulling up the chair across from him and sitting down. The library is empty besides two people sitting at different corners, so you don’t bother keeping your voice hushed. “Let’s talk terms,” you start counting off your fingers. “First, no more calling me Glasses.”

Yuta pouts at that. “Aww, come on. Not even as a – what do you call it – term of endearment?”

“No,” you narrow your eyes at him. “Fake boyfriend or not, that’s a stupid thing to call your significant other. No more Glasses,” though he still looks put out by it, you take his silence as a sign to continue. “You can call me by other nicknames. The usual, like baby and stuff.”

“Okay, stuff,” he grins.

You glare at him.

“Fine, baby it is,” Yuta relents, crossing his arms over his chest. “Damn. You’re no fun in the morning, huh?”

You really aren’t. You once gave Jisoo the silent treatment for one whole week because she had the audacity to prank you by setting an early alarm on a day you were supposed to peacefully sleep in, but that’s not a story you are going to tell him. 

“Second, this relationship shouldn’t last longer than a month.”

“Don’t I get a say in that?” Yuta protests, raising an eyebrow at you. “What if girls start hitting on me the second we break up?”

“That’s your problem,” you smile smugly. “Remember, Nakamoto. I’m only doing this fake relationship for my own gain, and I only need it until the end of finals week.”

He stares at you for a moment with narrowed eyes, and you expect him to say something biting back to you, but suddenly the smirk is back on his face.

“Fine. My turn to list my own terms.”

“I’m not finished y-”

He clicks his tongue, interrupting you. “You talk too much, baby. Are you forgetting who came up with this whole fake relationship idea in the first place?” 

You could only glare as you keep your mouth shut, and nod at him as a way to tell him to begin.

“We need to go on fake dates. All the time,” he says so solemnly that you almost laugh. “To fake it for the gram, of course. And whenever we’re around our friends, we have to hold hands or something. Just so they don’t get suspicious.”

You blink. The thought of holding hands with Yuta in front of all your friends made your stomach do a flip.

Yuta grins at you, relaxed as ever. “Why don’t you take a story of me now? The sooner the better.”

It’s difficult to argue with his logic, so you pull out your phone and quickly snap a picture of him looking to the side, his tiny ponytail on display. As you prepare to post it on your story, you can already hear all the things your friends will say the second they view it, but you push that thought down. You’ll just have to worry about that later.

“Anything else?” you say as you put your phone back in your pocket. 

“You need to call me baby too,” he adds, and you groan out loud.

“Come on!” you cry out, looking at him in exasperation. “Isn’t that the guys’ thing to do?”

“Incorrect. And very sexist of you,” Yuta deadpans. “Call me baby, and I’ll stop calling you Glasses for the rest of time. Deal?”

It’s a very tempting offer, and even though you’re still inwardly cringing at how you’re supposed to call him baby, you sigh in surrender. “Fine, whatever. But I have one last condition.”

“Shoot.”

“After the time is up, if we go back to being enemies or not, you can never tell anyone that this relationship was fake. That will be too embarrassing for either of us.” 

Yuta smirks. “Whatever you need, baby,” he replies and you roll your eyes. That nickname will take a while to get used to. Before you can say anything, he looks at you and says, “By the way, we can’t tell anyone right away, or they’ll never believe it.”

You nod. “That’s fair.”

Although you would prefer to get this done with as soon as possible, you agree with Yuta. You know that Nayeon (and perhaps Jennie and Jisoo to a lesser extent) knows more than anyone just how deep your hatred for Yuta ran in your bones, so telling her that you’re suddenly dating him won’t fool her at all. You suppose that Instagram story that you posted of him was a good start to your deception.

“Okay,” you clap once, flashing him a saccharine smile. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’m done talking. Go away,” you tell him, pulling out textbooks and a few notebooks from your bag, readying yourself for a long day of studying ahead. 

Yuta doesn't move, still looking at you with those big eyes of his. 

“Or…” he trails off, and you look up at him, waiting for him to finish. “...we could study together, and after you're done, we could get to know each other a little better. How does that sound?”

You rub your temples and sigh. “Just as long as you don't piss me off too much.”

He grins, signing an X over his heart. “I'll be the best study buddy, I promise.”

Yuta then pulls out his own textbooks and supplies and you gasp in surprise at the amount of pens in his large pencil case – two large bundles of them are tied together with rubber bands, plus a few loose ones that are scattered at the bottom.  

“Do you really need that many pens?” you ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I tend to go through them a lot because I make a lot of notes in class. You can take some off my hands if you want to.”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach for a blue pen. “Well, now I know who to go to when I need another pen,” you joke, fiddling with the clicker and doodling with it at the corner of your notebook. You start writing out some notes with it. “Wow, this is a really good one. Never thought you’d be the one to write down your notes, Nakamoto. I just assumed you typed them all into your laptop or something.”

Yuta sends you a wink. “I’m traditional like that.”

“Are you sure I can take this?” you question, eyeing the pen in your hand. You can’t deny that you’re already fond of how easy and comfortable it is to use, but you’re hesitant about taking something from Yuta.

“Of course. I mean, I literally have 50 more.”

“Thanks,” you reply quietly, feeling a surge of gratitude. A week ago, if someone told you that Yuta will offer something to you and you’ll willingly accept it, you would have laughed straight in their face. You're aware that it’s just a pen, but the sweet gesture tugs at something in your heart.

Maybe Yuta doesn’t really hate you as much as you think he does.

You sneak a glance at him and a small crease has appeared between his eyebrows and his lips has formed into a pout as he’s carefully highlighting a passage in his textbook. It’s strangely cute, especially since he’s using a neon pink highlighter. He inclines his head down, and you see that the hair band holding up his ponytail is also a light shade of pink. 

Your heart skips a beat.

You clear your throat as if he suddenly caught you staring, even though you’re sure he’s still focused on taking notes. Fighting the sudden wave of awkwardness in your gut, you try to focus on your own books.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fish it out to see you’ve gotten a few notifications.

nayeonyny replied to your story: ur hanging out with the DEVIL himself????

jennierubyjane replied to your story: is this real lol

You resist the urge to immediately reply to your friends’ messages, and ignore it for now. As you look at Yuta, his head bent down as he studies his notes, it sinks in that this will be your life for the next few weeks.

What have you gotten yourself into?

The rest of your study session went by without a hitch, save for a couple of snarky remarks from Yuta. He had been a really good study buddy, much to your surprise. You really admire his commitment to taking down all of his notes – and now you understand why, seeing as how his handwriting is the neatest and the most beautiful of anyone you’ve ever seen. 

(But you did not voice your praises to him because he really doesn’t need another reason for his head to get any bigger.)

After an hour of studying, you made good on your promise to get to know each other better. Yuta had listened intently as you explained the reason why you chose your major, and in turn, he told you that he had a few dozen cousins in Japan that he has never met. It was only when the sun had dipped low outside the library windows that you decided that you'd learned enough about him and called your study session to a close.

The rest of the week consisted of the two of you playing the part on social media, with him posting several cryptic shots of you on his stories – which was met with much pestering from both your friend groups – and you informing your friends how you would be too occupied to join them partying or going out at night. While you didn’t exactly disclose what you were going to be doing during those times, you were leaving that up to their imaginations. 

In truth, though, you mostly went to the nearest cafe to study in peace. The other times were reserved for your fake dates with Yuta.

You’re not oblivious as to how Nayeon has been suspicious of your behaviour, but you’ve been able to dodge her questions for most of the time. You think you're positively dying from the weight of keeping a secret from your best friend, but as for now, your only confidant is Pumpkin.

You’re getting ready in your bedroom when you let out an apprehensive sigh.

“It’s happening today,” you tell your cat, staring into the vanity mirror. 

Pumpkin is lying on his back on the edge of your bed with his furry stomach exposed for you to see, and you're sure he’s asleep until he lets out a trilling sound at your comment.

Usually you’d coo at every little noise and action done by the cat and the sight of his white tummy would be too adorable for you to resist, but you’re too preoccupied by your thoughts to even notice.

Today is the day. 

Yuta will be arriving at your place at any moment, and you could practically hear the quiet beating of the clock in the living room ticking down the seconds until you hear the doorbell ring. 

Both Nayeon and Jisoo are still lazing around at home, because unlike you, they don’t have classes until later in the day. There’s a soft rumbling sound of the television that carries through the thin walls. Someone’s in the living room – right next to where the front door is.

You can taste the dread in your mouth as your brain comes up with all the possible scenarios of how your roommates would react when Yuta walks through that door. 

Once you’re done putting the finishing touches of your outfit, you gather your things and stop by your bed to stroke Pumpkin’s ears. “Well, wish me luck.” 

You’ve opened the door when Pumpkin gets down from the bed and stretches, suddenly deciding that he’s not in the mood for a nap anymore. He follows you into the kitchen and takes his usual spot on the kitchen island. You smile for a second at how cute he is, but your mind clouds again once you spot who’s in the living room.

Jisoo’s hogging the couch, which is in plain view from where you’re standing in the kitchen. The TV is playing a rerun of Stranger Things, but you don’t really think she’s paying any attention. Jisoo turns around when she hears the rattling of the fridge door when you open it.

“Oh, hey,” Jisoo greets, stifling a yawn. “Got a lot of classes today, huh?”

“Yeah,” you return timidly, taking a bottle of root beer from the side rack and unscrewing the cap with more force than necessary. You chug down the drink hastily, silently wishing it was a magic potion that could give you the confidence to go through with what you’ve planned for the day.

Jisoo doesn’t seem to notice the tremor in your voice. She runs a hand through her hair then studies her nails. “Sucks. Well, I have nothing to do for a while. Do you want me to drop you off?”

A nervous laugh escapes you. “Thanks, but I kind of already have a ride.”

The ringing of the doorbell makes you jump.

Jisoo gets up without a word, and before you can say anything, your roommate has opened the door to reveal a smirking Yuta, clad in all black.

There’s no mistaking the confusion in Jisoo’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

Yuta’s sporting a lazy smile, and doesn’t seem to notice how bewildered your friend looks. “I’m Y/N’s ride for today,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural words to ever come out of his mouth.

You’re mortified when you witness how wide Jisoo’s eyes have become, and you’re convinced that they just might pop right out of her sockets if you don’t intervene. 

You set down your root beer on the kitchen island and walk towards the door. “I got it from here,” you say breezily despite feeling the opposite. You reach for Yuta’s hand, to which he immediately clasps yours in his, and then shoot your roommate the sweetest smile you could muster. “See you at lunch, Jisoo.”

Jisoo’s still agape when you close the door behind you, and you wait until you’ve gone down a floor before speaking up. “Couldn’t you have been a bit more subtle? You almost gave her a heart attack!” you hiss, glaring at Yuta.

But Yuta is unfazed by your outburst. “You’re the one who held my hand first,” he responds without hesitation.

You look down and realise that your hand is, in fact, still intertwined with his even though you’re now in the lobby and are walking out towards Yuta’s car. You quickly pull away, feeling your cheeks warm. 

“Whatever,” you retort. You're unable to find a proper comeback, too focused on the fact that you were holding onto his hand for way too long.

Embarrassing.

You let out a deep breath and cross your arms against your chest. “Anyway, just remember – I don’t want to flaunt whatever this is in everyone’s faces. That’ll just make us look desperate!”

Yuta opens the passenger seat door for you. “Can’t be a new thing for you,” he deadpans, leaving you speechless.

He stares at you before his expression breaks into a rueful smile. “Okay, I take that back. I said no more insults, right?” he affirms, playfully leaning against the door. “Come on, get in the car. Don’t want to be late, now, do we princess?”

It’s only because he reminds you that the both of you will be late that you’re willing to dismiss his incredibly half-assed apology. You slide into the passenger seat with a huff.

You wait until he gets in the car before you look at him pointedly. “I don’t want to hear another word from you until we reach campus.”

“No promises.”

Aside from the soft rock music blasting from the car speakers, the short ride to the campus is actually rather quiet, in contradiction to Yuta's attempt to tell you otherwise. You suppose he knows that you’re on your last straw – especially after the whole hand-holding incident – and the two of you have to be on good terms on the day you’re supposed to quietly debut your fake relationship to everyone.

You’re glad he knows that, because one more remark from him would have just infuriated you further.

Before leaving for his own lecture, Yuta drops you off in front of the lecture hall, a smirk on his face. “See you later, baby,” he whispers right next to your ear just for you to hear, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that form on your skin.

During the class, your thoughts keep veering to what Yuta told you when you went on a fake date just three nights ago.

“We do it on a random afternoon, when everyone’s eating in the cafeteria,” Yuta says conspiratorially, fiddling with his thumbs. You notice that’s a peculiar little habit he does whenever he’s excited. His half-eaten burger has been pushed aside, too caught up in telling you about his plan.

You stare at him blankly. “Do what?”

“We walk in together, holding hands,” he announces, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “What do you think? Not too over-the-top, but still enough to get people talking.”

It’s undeniably clever, and you don’t really have your own idea on how to go about it, so you reply: “Let’s do it.”

But looking back now, your stomach does flips when you think about what you're about to do very soon. Holding hands with Yuta in front of Jisoo in the safety of your own apartment is one thing, but walking into the cafeteria hand-in-hand with him where practically the entire college population could see it is another.

Uncharacteristically of you, you’re unable to focus much during your classes. You only have two before the inevitable lunch break, and before you know it, you’re at the place where the two you agreed to meet. 

As promised, Yuta is already there waiting for you, his bag slung over one shoulder. Instead of his usual smirk, he shoots you an easy smile that strangely eases the knot in your stomach.

“Are you ready?” he questions, hand outstretched for you. You take it.

“Now or never, I guess,” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. You’re sure he could see right through your demeanour, seeing as your hand is unusually sweaty. You’re awaiting a snide comment from him about it, but he doesn’t say a word.

When the two of you walk through the cafeteria doors, you can immediately feel eyes on you. You spot Nayeon, Jennie and Jisoo at your usual table, and if it was any other day, you’d head straight to them.

Today, you have a different plan.

Hand still clasped in his, Yuta leads you to where Johnny, Jaehyun and Taeyong are sitting. It’s Taeyong that notices you first, and you almost burst out laughing at how wide his eyes go when his gaze lands on your intertwined hands. The other two crane their necks to catch a glimpse at what he’s looking at – and when they see you, Johnny falls silent and Jaehyun’s jaw drops.

You send Yuta a sweet smile when he pulls out a chair for you to sit on. 

“Thanks,” you say appreciatively as you take your seat, secretly loving how your little audience is making zero attempts to hide their stares. Yuta takes the seat across from you, and you can tell he’s also trying his best not to laugh.

Johnny clears his throat, so quick to fix his composure. “Y/N, I didn’t know you’d be joining us today.”

“Yeah, Yuta invited me at the last minute. I hope you don’t mind?” you say in a light-hearted tone, studying their faces intently.

Taeyong and Johnny immediately shake their heads at your words. Jaehyun, though, is still staring at you for an impolite amount of time at this point, so Johnny not-so-subtly slaps him in the back. 

“Fuck!” Jaehyun coughs heartily, before choking out, “Um, no, we don’t mind at all!”

Before you can respond, Yuta murmurs, “Heads up, we’ve got company.”

You want to look up and see who Yuta’s talking about, but you can already tell who it is by the familiar sound of stilettos clicking, getting louder as she heads towards your direction. Only one person you know would bother wearing six-inch heels and outfits that were way too elegant for a Thursday afternoon lecture.

Jennie slams a hand down in front of you the moment she reaches the table, making everyone jump at the sudden intrusion.

“Hey, Y/N! What’s going on?” she asks you, her tone a tad more enthusiastic then what it probably should be. She has a grin on her face, though it screams confusion more than anything, and you almost giggle.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just gonna have lunch with Yuta today,” you reply with a cheeky smile.

“You and your friends are welcome to join us if you’d like,” Yuta adds smoothly, and before the words are completely out of his mouth, Jennie is already rushing back to tell the others. Two minutes later, Nayeon, Jennie and Jisoo have squished themselves into the seats beside you, even though there’s really not enough space for all eight of you on that table.

Ignoring the awkwardness in the air, Yuta reaches into his bag and lays out a few packed pastries onto the table. “I’ve got some for everyone,” he says. Then, he sends you a wink as he hands you a package. “And your favourite, baby.”

Gasps are heard around the table and your face heats up when the nickname falls from his lips.

Well, there’s the final nail in the coffin.

Jisoo turns to you with a puzzled look. “Okay – what? What’s going on? Why are you sitting at the guys’ table? And why is calling you baby?”

Yuta directly stares at Jisoo, a solemn look on his face. “I would think that that’s a normal thing to call your girlfriend.”

Ah, so much for not flaunting your fake relationship in everyone's faces.

“Girlfriend? What? You’re dating?!” Jennie shrieks, attracting attention from the surrounding tables. As if the sheer amount of people sat at this table wasn’t conspicuous enough. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“Is that why he dropped by this morning saying he’ll be your ride?” Jisoo asks you, her eyes still wide in amazement. 

“He dropped by this morning?” Nayeon’s eyes quickly turn to Jisoo, scandalised. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“Hey, listen, I was kind of too shocked to tell you–”

“Uhh, don’t you two hate each other?” Jaehyun asks, a bewildered look on his face.

“Maybe they finally realised they had to get rid of the sexual tension between them and just fucked it out,” Johnny mumbles in amusement.

Your head snaps up to look at Johnny. “What sexual tension?”

Seeing the look on your face, Yuta waves his hand dismissively. “Alright. alright, relax,” he says coolly, his signature smirk back on his face. You haven’t seen it on him for so long that you almost forgot how the sight of it used to infuriate you. He crosses his arms against his chest. “We did a study session together last week and have been hanging out ever since. No crime against that, is there?”

“And – let me get this straight,” Taeyong cuts in, putting up a hand to interrupt Yuta, before looking at you. “You didn’t attempt to strangle him even once?”

You shake your head and laugh. “Oh, believe me, I wanted to – at first,” you begin, surprising yourself at how truthful you're being. You glance at Yuta to see what he’s thinking, and he’s staring back at you. “But he’s actually not so bad once you get to know him.”

Yuta grins. “Thanks, babe. Right back at you.”

“This is crazy,” Nayeon deadpans, her gaze landing at the package in front of you. “I mean – two weeks ago you were saying you hated his guts. And now he’s getting you your favourite pastry? That’s crazy.”

In the commotion, you had forgotten that Yuta had given you something until Nayeon pointed it out. You look down at the package and raise your eyebrows in surprise when you realise it’s a chocolate croissant – your favourite ever since you could remember. 

Did you ever mention that to him? 

From what you can recall, the only information you told him was about your family, your education and your career goals, so you’re not sure how he could have known that. You decide to brush it aside for now, seeing as how Jennie is furtively nudging you at that moment. You turn to her with a questioning look. 

She leans in to whisper in your ear. “Ignore Nayeon. I’m really happy for you, babe. I mean, look at the way he’s looking at you.”

Yuta’s gaze is indeed on you, and there’s a mysterious smile on his face. Right away, you know the others would interpret it as a smile of adoration or something like that, but you know exactly why he’s smiling.

The plan is working.

“I don’t buy it.”

You look up from your textbook, seeing Nayeon leaning against your doorway. As if understanding her words, Pumpkin, curled up by the wheels of your chair, lets a meow of agreement.

You don’t even have to ask what she’s talking about.

“Why not?” you raise an eyebrow in fake confusion, masking the nervousness you feel inside.

Nayeon stares at you for a beat, before coming in and sitting at the edge of your bed. You spin around in your chair to face her. “Because you hate that man, Y/N. With every inch of you.”

“Things change, Nayeon,” you offer your already-rehearsed explanation, even though you could already feel your walls crumbling. It’s physically impossible to keep anything from her – your best friend knows you like the back of her hand.

And just like you expect, Nayeon gives you a knowing look.

You let out a sigh, getting up to close the door. If Nayeon is going to know about your deception, you’re not going to take the risk of Jisoo possibly overhearing you confirming it to her.

Once the door is securely shut and locked, you turn around and cross your arms with a huff. “Okay, fine,” you confess quietly. “It’s not real. But I have a good reason behind it.”

Nayeon’s face is a blend of amusement and curiosity. “And what’s that?”

You run a hand down your face. “To get all of you to stop pressuring me to go out all the time!” the second those words leave your lips, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You didn’t realise how much this secret has been dragging you down all week. “Look, I love you, but you know how much my studies mean to me too.”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent.

“Okay, uh…” Nayeon starts but trails off quickly, suddenly staring at the floor in front of her. You tilt your head to look at her, and even though her face is angled away from you, the guilt on her face is crystal clear. “You, uh… we’re that annoying that you really had to get a fake boyfriend to get rid of us? I… I’m so sorry, babe.”

Your heart sinks. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” you sigh. You rush to sit next to her, and start patting her back assuringly. “It’s not just that. I mean, it’s also my fault for not learning how to say no. I know you mean well, really, wanting me to find someone for myself and all – but I don’t think I can really say no since Jisoo’s not as understanding as you, you get me?”

Amidst your speech, Nayeon lets out a muffled laugh.

“Also, when I went to that party with you two last week – even though all I really wanted was to just study at home – an icky guy tried to hit on me. I just thought that was the last straw.”

Your friend nods, the uncertainty on her face clearing a little. “Okay, I guess I get that. But, um, why pretty boy, of all people?”

“He approached me first. At my library corner. Said something about wanting all the girls to stop chasing him,” you explain in irritation, before smiling smugly. “Of course I said no first, but I changed my mind and agreed to do it because I’m a better person than him.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes at your words. “Very big of you,” she replies drily.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still hate his guts,” you tell her in defiance, then falling back into your sheets. “It won’t last long. Latest probably until finals are over.”

Nayeon doesn’t turn to face you, instead she’s staring at something on the floor of the bedroom. Perhaps she’s looking at Pumpkin – as the room goes quiet, you can hear him grooming his fur.

Your best friend finally speaks up again, but this time her voice is guarded. “I wonder why he came to you though.”

“The poor guy must have been desperate,” your attempt to snub, but the promise you made to Yuta about not insulting him anymore lingers at the back of your mind, and your tone falls flat. Of course he’s not here to hear it, but the guilt eats at you anyway.

“And yet you agreed,” Nayeon turns around to face you, a teasing smile on her face. “Maybe you’re the desperate one.”

“Hey!” you grab your pillow and smack her with it. “Not cool!”

Nayeon giggles at your reaction. “Well, it makes sense now. I guess I can see why you didn’t tell me about this.” 

You look directly into her eyes, shaking your head. “You’re the only one who knows. And you can’t tell anyone.”

Not even Jisoo, the words are at the tip of your tongue, but you know you don’t have to voice it to Nayeon. The both of you know that if Jisoo learns about your fake relationship, soon the entire school would know because she can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Nayeon promises.

You’re currently scouring through your wardrobe, looking for a decent outfit you could put together. It’s Friday night – a time that you would usually reserve for staying in and curling up in your room with a novel, Pumpkin sleeping soundly by your side. 

Earlier when you were having lunch with your friends, though, Yuta had dropped by your table to ask you something.

“You wanna go out tonight?” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, but his voice is loud enough that everyone at the table has already heard it. Nayeon cocks up an eyebrow, while Jennie lets out a low whistle and Jisoo grins.

“Um, what?” you reply blankly, wiping the side of your mouth where a bit of your latte had dribbled out.

“A date, just the two of us. I figured since it’s a Friday…” Yuta shrugs, tilting his head in curiosity. “Unless you don’t want to?”

You’re well aware of the pairs of eyes on you, awaiting your answer, and you wish Yuta had told you he was going to do this beforehand so you could’ve prepared a proper response – because you don’t know how to react.

It takes you a few beats to realise that you’re taking too long, so you just nod. “Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”

“Ah-ah, that’s going to be a surprise,” he winks, before readying to leave. “I’ll pick you up tonight, babe.”

You swear you could’ve strangled him for pulling that stunt without any prior warning, and now you’re cursing him for keeping the location of the date a secret – because what the hell are you supposed to wear?

The door of your bedroom opens and Jennie walks in, heading towards your wardrobe at once.

You let out a cry of relief. “Oh, thank God you’re finally here!” you sigh, collapsing onto your bed. You’re sitting on top of a few pieces of clothing you had thrown on your bedsheets while searching your wardrobe, tossed aside because none of them really felt right. “I have nothing to wear.”

“Nonsense! I know exactly what you should wear,” Jennie assures you as she sifts through your clothes.

You’re not sure what she’s referring to, but since she’s the fashion design major, you suppose you should trust her judgement. When Jennie pulls out your favourite sleeveless dress, you look at her skeptically. 

“It’s going to be cold outside,” you attempt to oppose.

“Then wear it with this jacket,” Jennie responds, holding up a black leather jacket that you only wear on special occasions. The outfit matches perfectly, you admit, but it’s also much nicer than what you thought it would be.

On your previous meetups with Yuta, you just threw on whatever was most comfortable for you at that moment and called it a day – but that was also when you weren’t trying to convince anyone that you were actually dating him. 

Seeing the look on your face, Jennie shakes her head. “Come on, you’re going on a date! You should look your best!”

You can’t really argue with her without making her suspicious, so you agree. Jennie leaves the room so you can finish getting ready. Yuta had texted you earlier saying that he’ll arrive at your dorm around 7, so you still have about ten minutes.

You’re looking in the mirror and fixing your hair when you hear the doorbell ring. When you leave the bedroom and enter the living area, Yuta’s hovering by the doorway, chatting quietly with Jennie. You spot Pumpkin curled up on your sofa.

“Well, don’t you two look like two peas in a pod?” Jennie coos, a grin on her face. Yuta’s also wearing a leather jacket similar to yours, and now you’re wondering if she had chosen this outfit for you on purpose. 

“Hey,” Yuta greets you with a smile, his hand extended out for you. “Shall we go?”

You nod, taking his hand. An inexplicable warmth spreads through your body when he intertwines his fingers with yours. You turn to your friend. “Um, I’ll see you later, Jen.”

“Have fun, you two!” Jennie shouts as the door closes behind you.

The second you know there’s no longer an audience, you pull your hand away from his. The hallway is slightly chilly, so you pull your jacket close to your body.

“Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

You huff. “Fine, but the least you could do is pass me the aux.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Yuta sporting a wide grin. “Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

You can’t really tell if he’s mocking you with the use of the nickname, but when you reach his car, he indeed lets you take control of the music. You put on a chill playlist and lean back against the seat with a sigh.

“You should’ve told me that you were going to ask me out today. I almost blew our cover in front of our friends!”

You can tell he wants to look at you, but Yuta is never one to take his eyes off the road when he’s driving. Instead, he replies evenly, “Dates are a part of our deal, are they not?”

“Yes, but like I said, you should’ve at least warned me first,” you retaliate.

Yuta shrugs, his hands still on the steering wheel. “Just wanted to surprise you like a normal boyfriend does.”

“Fake boyfriend, that is – or have you already forgotten that?” you reply sarcastically. You glance at him, continuing, “And another thing – you should really cool it with all the nicknames! Like, what’s the point of calling me babe when there’s no one around?”

You hear him scoff. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re the one who should start calling me babe or baby! I’ve never heard you call me that even once,” he grates, his tone brusque even though his gaze is still fixed on the road ahead. “I told you, it’s either that or I will call you Gl-”

“Okay, okay!” you grumble, already flinching before the first syllable of his former nickname for you had even left his mouth. Your glasses are on your face tonight, only serving as a sick reminder of what he used to call you. “I’ll call you baby or whatever. Just don’t ever call me that stupid word ever again, please.”

Yuta snickers and you groan inwardly, resenting how easily you had let him have that victory. It’s silent for a moment before you turn to face him again.

“Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!”

Despite your constant prodding, Yuta held his ground and had kept his lips sealed for the entire car ride. You admire his determination to keep your destination a secret – because the second he pulls up into the parking lot of the newest arcade center in the city, it all becomes worth it.

“No way,” you mutter in awe, unable to hide your grin as you survey the impressive size of the building. The word FUNSCAPE is emblazoned across the front, flashing in bright neon colours. You pull out your phone to take a photo of it.

Yuta maneuvers the car into a parking spot close to the entrance and once the engine is off, he turns to you and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hope you like it.”

You’re already scrambling to get out of the car. “Are you kidding? I love it!” you squeal in excitement, slamming his car door shut behind you. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you at every game.”

He grunts. “We’ll see about that.”

Walking through the front doors together, Yuta heads to the front counter to exchange money for some tokens, while you stride across to a row of air hockey tables. Immediately you’re reminded of the times you played it with your best friends in the arcade at the local mall back in your hometown. That arcade was much smaller and nowhere near as grand as this one, but the familiarity of the sport and the memory still warms your heart.

When Yuta approaches you, a handful of tokens in his grasp, you shoot him a deceptively sweet smile. “You’re going down, buddy.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Choosing the nearest table, Yuta sets his phone next to the scoreboard and opens the camera. He changes it into a selfie video mode, and you can just barely see the two of you at each end of the frame. You look at him curiously. “What’s that for?”

“Officially, for the gram,” he tells you seriously, before his face breaks into a cocky smirk. “Unofficially, visual evidence of how easily I can beat you.”

It’s laughable how he really believes he has a chance at winning over you, a former air hockey champion amongst your friends. You don't want him to know how confident you are in your skills, so you mirror his smirk. “Keep dreaming, Nakamoto.”

Yuta inserts two tokens into the slot and presses the record button on his phone, and the game begins. You grip the disc in your hand, swinging a puck at an angle, which then bounces off the wall and goes straight into Yuta’s goal.

Yuta’s nostrils flare at your immediate success, and you snicker. The tricks to winning are already coming back to you, even though you haven’t played in a while. As the game continues, Yuta is able to sneak one or two pucks into your goal, but his points still pale in comparison to yours. Before long, the scoreboard has declared you the winner. Yuta groans in defeat and you laugh.

You bring the disc to your mouth and blow on it, as if blowing smoke off the barrel of a gun. “Still got it,” you smile smugly.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Please, you got lucky. I’ll beat you in the next round.”

He inserts another two tokens and the game starts again. Now, he’s able to block some of your shots towards his goal, but your blocking technique for your own goal remains unbeatable. Two minutes later, the scoreboard shows that you’ve trumped him again, and Yuta is left glaring at the numbers on the screen.

“Still feeling good about that visual evidence, Nakamoto?” you let out a small giggle. 

Yuta shakes his head loftily and snatches up his phone, ending the video recording. “You win this time, babe. But I know for a fact that I’ll beat your ass at any other game here.”

Taking his words as a challenge, the two of you head towards the basketball machine to insert a few tokens. Even though you’re quite sure that he’s not into any sports, Yuta is surprisingly good at aiming for the net – and you aren’t even mad when he eventually wins. 

“Can we call it even now?”

Yuta grins, nudging you with his elbow. “Are you too scared to play anything else now just because I beat you at this?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I can beat you at billiards with my eyes closed,” you shake your head indignantly. “You up for that?”

“You bet your ass.”

Walking towards the billiards table, you two agree for a best two out of three game. Yuta wins the first round, much to your chagrin.

“What were you saying about beating me with your eyes closed?” Yuta asks you as he places the cue stick behind his neck and rests his hands on each end. There’s a smirk on his face, but his head is tilted at an angle that you find somewhat endearing. 

Immediately, you feel the urge to take a picture of him in that specific pose, so you pull out your phone and aim your camera at him. Yuta barely has any time to react but he’s able to put on a surprised little smile before you take the photo.

As you pocket your phone, you reply snarkily, “Don’t celebrate anything just yet. It’ll just be embarrassing for you when I win.”

True to your word, you manage to pull through and win the other two rounds. As soon as the final ball falls into the hole, you slam the cue stick against your hand and grin triumphantly. “And that, Nakamoto, is how you do it.”

Yuta lets out a groan. “Fine, you win. But I must say, you’ve got one hell of a game in you,” he says while rolling his eyes, but you can see hints of a smile on his face. “Respect.”

You were expecting him to accept his defeat with much less grace, so your grin only widens at his comment. You look at your surroundings, dozens of machines and plenty other games occupying the massive space. “Well, what do you want to play next?” 

Yuta glances down at his watch, and then sets his cue stick down on the table. “Actually, I was thinking we could grab a bite. There’s a hot dog place just near here – sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Five minutes later, you and Yuta are walking side by side to the hot dog restaurant. Yuta had insisted on driving, but you didn’t see the point of it when all you needed to do to get to your destination was just to walk to the other side of the parking lot.

The air is quiet as you stroll past the abundance of cars. It’s also slightly cold just as you predicted earlier, which wouldn’t be a problem since you’re wearing your jacket, but your bare legs definitely feel the chill.

You sneak a glance at Yuta, whose hands are buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The wind has swept his fringe away from his face, leaving a red tuft comically sticking up in the opposite direction from the rest of his hair. You giggle.

“What?” Yuta asks, his head turning to you.

You look away quickly. “Um, nothing. It’s just – I can’t believe you wanted to take the car when the restaurant is literally two minutes away.”

“It would’ve been less than a minute if we drove,” Yuta grumbles quietly, then looks back at you with a smirk on his face. “Besides, the car’s heater would have saved you from shivering like you’re doing right now.”

You glare at him, quietly wondering how he could have possibly known that when he hasn't spared you a glance since leaving the arcade. “I would’ve worn something more appropriate if you had just told me where we were going!”

Yuta chuckles, removing a hand from his pocket and reaching for yours. “Fine, that’s my bad,” he apologises, squeezing your hand. “Feel better now, baby?”

The nickname and the warmth of his touch immediately makes you feel less cold, but you’re not going to tell him that. “Whatever,” you mumble quietly.

Thankfully, you reach the restaurant half a minute later, and it’s significantly less chilly. Yuta leads you to a seat next to the window, and as he momentarily leaves to order your meals, you decide to scroll through Instagram.

The story you’ve posted of Yuta has gotten a few likes, with Jisoo replying with “👀”. Nayeon still hasn’t viewed it, but you can’t help but wonder what she would say once she does. 

The two of you haven’t had a moment alone together ever since you told her the truth yesterday – and so, you had no one to privately complain to after Yuta had dropped the bombshell during lunchtime. While your other two friends had gushed over how smoothly Yuta had asked you out, Nayeon only gave you a quiet gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Yuta returns a minute later, setting down a large tray in front of you. “Eat up, princess,” he says even though you’re already reaching inside the paper bag. The smell of fried goods immediately hits your senses and your stomach growls.

“You got my order right,” you remark as you survey the hot dog in front of you. “I thought you’d order it wrong on purpose just to piss me off or something.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because that’s just the thing you’d do,” you roll your eyes as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world.

Yuta chuckles. “Nonsense. You know what they say – happy fake girlfriend, happy life.”

“I think the phrase you’re talking about is actually happy wife, happy life.”

He shrugs, beginning to munch on his fries. “Well, potato, tomato.”

You don’t have a response to that, so you start digging into your hot dog. For a while, the only sounds that can be heard are the quiet chewing from the both of you as you enjoy the food, and the rustling of the paper bag as Yuta reaches for a handful of fries every now and then.  

You sigh happily as you lean back in your chair, content with finally having some food in your belly. The games at the arcade had taken up a lot more of your energy than you thought.

You shoot a curious look at Yuta, who's finishing up the last of his fries.

“So…” you begin. “Are you getting fewer numbers from girls compared to before?”

“Not really,” he mutters almost incoherently, tossing the empty fries carton aside. He picks up the tissues laid on the tray to rub the grease off his fingers. “My DMs are still full with people who just can’t take the hint.”

“Maybe they’re not buying it,” you hum thoughtfully. “I mean, we did hate each other's guts like a week ago.”

Yuta tilts his head, a grin spreading across his face that’s so blinding that you’re caught off guard by the sight. “Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

You hesitate, before narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t get it twisted, Nakamoto. You’re still pretty damn annoying, but… I guess you’re more tolerable now.”

Yuta’s grin grows even wider, even though you aren’t sure that was even possible. “I’ll take it,” he falls silent again, fiddling with the tissue in front of him before he clears his throat. “I might have an idea of how to sell our relationship even more.”

“How?”

“We should take a selfie together and post it on Instagram. On our actual feed – not just the stories. And not just a normal selfie either, we should be posing like one of those nauseating Instagram couples.”

Oh hell no.

“Absolutely not!” you say, looking at him incredulously. “I don’t want your face anywhere near my feed.”

“Then we’ll just post it on mine,” Yuta challenges immediately, but you aren’t too keen on that either.

“Yuta–” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“Listen – just one pic. The most lovey-dovey, cringiest couple photo to end all lovey-dovey cringey couple photos. Once finals are over and we break up, I’ll delete it and it’ll be like it never happened!” Yuta tries to persuade you, his expression pleading. You give him a questioning look, though you’re silently weighing the pros and cons of what he’s proposing in your head. He sends you a sweet smile. “It’s for your own benefit too, you know?”

You suppose that’s true.

“Fine. We can do that,” you sigh in defeat. “But… later. I don't think I'm ready for that yet.”

Yuta brings his cup of Coke to his lips to hide his smirk. “No pressure, princess.”

Jisoo is absolutely hammered. 

To be fair, so are you. The ceiling seems to be spinning and the neon club lights are a little too bright that you have to squint your eyes every time you look up, but you’re not stumbling over your own feet like your friend on the dancefloor is doing right now.

“How does she do it?” Jennie sighs as she twirls the glass in her hand around mindlessly. Her other hand is cupping her face, elbow on the bar as the three of you take in the sight of Jisoo grinding on the dancefloor with a stranger.

Nayeon’s beside you, nursing her own drink in her hand. “You want to be like her? Really?” your best friend asks with a tilt of her head.

“Why not?” Jennie argues, waving a hand to punctuate her point. “That girl attracts practically everyone she sees. Me? I’m lucky if I find one decent guy on Tinder.”

“I told you nothing good comes from that app,” Nayeon shakes her head in disapproval, bringing her drink to her lips.

“Oh, give me a break!” Jennie sighs, leaning back in her seat in exasperation. “I know it’s not easy, but everyone deserves to find the Yuta to their Y/N, alright?”

“What?” you squeak, half-dazed.

Jennie sends you a smug smile. “I gotta admit, I’m jealous. You managed to bag one of the very, very few good guys on campus.”

You blink, opening your mouth to reply but Nayeon cuts in drily.

“Oh, that’s attractive.”

You follow her line of vision to where Jisoo is on the dancefloor, doing what you can only assume is her weird version of twerking.

You start snickering uncontrollably. 

You reach out to take a sip from Nayeon’s drink, but almost fall on your face when you do so – thankfully, she steadies you just before you could embarrass yourself.

“Alright, babe,” Nayeon chides, gripping your arm firmly. “That’s enough drinks for tonight.”

You groan. “Come on! I had, like, half the amount of what Jennie had. Can’t I have a bit mo–” A wave of nausea washes over you, and you hang your head down before you can finish your sentence.

Jennie appears beside you. She shakes her head, taking your other arm that’s free. “Bullshit. You’ve definitely had more than me,” she informs. You try to search for the usual telltale signs of her being drunk, but the dizzying array of light above stops you from really looking at her properly.

Nayeon hums in agreement. “Besides, Jennie can hold her alcohol well. You, my dear? Not so much.”

Another surge of sickness comes over your body, and you hang your head down in an attempt to let it pass. The pounding in your forehead grows as Nayeon and Jennie begin discussing something.

Nayeon taps your shoulder, her voice sounding far away even though she’s just next to you. “Where’s your phone?”

“Front pocket,” you mumble.

You don’t pay attention to Nayeon as she fumbles around in your purse, too focused on fighting off your nausea. Suddenly, a water bottle is placed in your hands and you’re not sure how, but you're grateful for it nonetheless as you greedily down its contents. Nayeon pats your back as you gulp down the water, and you could hear Jennie murmuring quietly into a call.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jennie finishes, and you look up to see tapping away at your phone, then she hands it back to you. You accept it with shaky hands. “Yuta will be here soon.”

You nod aimlessly, her words not really registering in your head. Nayeon clears her throat. “Yuta?”

“Your place is too far away, and Miss Lightweight here–” Jennie shoots you a sideways glance, “–will definitely throw up in the Uber if the drive takes too long.”

“Okay, yeah, but isn’t your place just nearby?” Nayeon replies, and there's something significant in her tone, but you can’t really tell what it is in your drunken haze.

“There won’t be space for all four of us,” Jennie shrugs, patting you on the shoulder and grinning widely. “Besides, I don’t think pretty boy would mind, would he, Y/N?”

You moan. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Nayeon guides the water bottle in your hands back towards your mouth. You don’t know how much time passes as your friends try to sober you up, but Yuta suddenly appears in front of you.

He’s looking very much out-of-place amongst the sea of stylishly-dressed people in the nightclub, seeing that he’s only clad in grey sweatpants and a black slogan tee that says I have no idea why I’m out of bed. 

Your headache a little cleared now, you’re able to manage a smile. “My knight-in-funny pajamas is here.”

The look of concern on Yuta’s face immediately melts away at your words. He rolls his eyes at you and turns to your friends. “Will you ladies be okay?”

Jennie nods. “Oh yeah, we’ll be fine. We were just worried about this messy drunk here,” she says and pats your shoulder affectionately.

You pull away indignantly, crossing your arms. “I’m not messy!” you protest, sliding off your seat. “Look, I can still dance a bit. Which move do you want to see–”

Yuta wraps an arm around your shoulders, shutting you up. “You’re a funny little thing, babe. Time to say bye.”

You wave defeatedly to your friends as Yuta leads you past the crowd of dancing people and out to his car parked outside. The ride to his place is surprisingly quick and quiet – he doesn’t turn on the radio, but you suppose you should be thankful because the rock music he would normally play would only make your headache worse.

“How much did you even drink tonight?” Yuta chides as he follows you into his apartment.

You shrug. “Um, not that much–”

“Bullshit.”

A smile tugs at your lips. ”Okay, fine. I don’t know – just, seven vodka shots,” you admit, but he keeps his gaze on you. “Ugh – and a few martinis, okay?”

Yuta shakes his head and turns to lock the door behind him. “The bartenders should have cut you off – all of you. I definitely would’ve.”

“That’s because you’re no fun!” you retort as you collapse onto the sofa – but the sudden swift motion makes you feel nauseous again, and you lay a hand over your face.

You hear a sigh, and suddenly Yuta’s hand is stretched out in front of you. “Hey, come on. Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

You toe off your heels and gratefully take his hand. The familiar warmth returns, and you relish in the feeling as Yuta helps sit you down on his bed. You pay him no attention as he shuffles around the room and opens a few drawers. A minute later, you’re still fighting off your headache when he hands you a T-shirt, shorts and a towel. 

“I thought you should take a shower or something… it could help,” Yuta hesitates. His eyes flicker all over the room, and you wonder what he’s thinking of. “Um, there’s also a spare toothbrush in the cabinet. I’m going to see if we have any painkillers left.”

You reach for his arm. “Wait, do you have–”

“Saline solution? Yeah, it’s by the sink. I also have a case here somewhere,” Yuta releases himself from your grip. He heads towards his drawer and rummages around in it. “Ah, here you go.”

You take it gratefully. You’re about to open your mouth to speak, but Yuta leaves the room without another word, leaving you staring at the door in disappointment.

Sighing, you peel off your dress and enter his bathroom. The hot temperature feels absolutely heavenly and you’re not sure how long you were in there but when you step out, there’s a large glass of water and a painkiller on Yuta’s bedside table.

After putting on Yuta’s clothes and swallowing the pill, you’re about to leave the room to look for him when there’s a knock on the door. 

“You doing okay in there?” Yuta asks. “Can I come in?”

You open the door and he steps in.

“Just here to take a few things and I’ll leave you be,” he mumbles. You swear there’s a faint spray of pink on his cheeks when he lays his eyes on you – but since you’re not wearing glasses, you decide it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Standing by the door, you could smell the sweet aroma of fresh coffee waft in.

“Did you make coffee? May I have some?” you ask hopefully. 

Yuta hums and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Don’t want you any more dehydrated than you already are right now, darling,” he meets your eye. “Just finish that big glass of water I gave you.”

“You really are no fun,” you sigh in defeat, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “You’re forcing me to sober up so I can drive myself home or something?”

You’re half-joking, but Yuta knits his eyebrows together. “Y/N, it’s almost 2 in the morning. You’re not going anywhere. Just crash here and I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

You rise and brush your fingers against his. “Wait, Yuta. You really don’t mind that? I didn’t know what to tell my friends… I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” you apologise timidly.

In the quiet of the night, you’re suddenly aware of how close his face is to yours – and you look at him. Really look at him.  His face is bare, and there’s a cute little mole next to his nose that you’ve never seen before. His brown eyes, warm as ever, stare into yours, and your heart starts hammering in your chest.

Yuta squeezes your hand, and the sensation sends a jolt up your arm. The sudden grin on his face does little to help the flutter in your belly. “It’s all good, babe. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of my fake girlfriend?”

Something in you recoils at the word fake. It must be because you’re drunk – that’s the only explanation you can come up with at the moment. 

His eyes scan the walls of his bedroom, and his voice drops to a whisper when he looks back at you. “You should sleep here. I’ll take the couch,” he says as he reaches for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Yuta shuts the door behind him, leaving you with nothing but silence. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

A feeling tugs at you, and something about it lets you know that it won’t go away all that easily.

But it’s a problem for tomorrow. Shrugging it off for now, you reach for the glass of water on the bedside table and down it in three big gulps. You lay back against Yuta’s pillows. They smell like him, clean and incredibly comforting. The exhaustion of everything that’s happened that night finally weighs down on you, and you find yourself falling asleep soon after.

You’re feeling under the weather – or at least that’s the excuse you’re giving for skipping classes today.

You’re back in your own apartment, cuddling with Pumpkin on the couch. You’d informed your roommates earlier that you won’t be attending classes, and now there’s no one else in the apartment.

You’re scrolling through Instagram, trying to get your mind off the situation you found yourself in earlier this morning. Without your glasses, everything had quite literally been a blur when you woke up in an unfamiliar room, but it all hit you once you could make out the unmistakable shape of a guitar in the corner. 

Yuta wasn’t awake yet when you entered the living room – and you thanked your lucky stars for that. If he had caught a glimpse of you and your puffy, makeup-smudged face along with the dress from the night before that you could barely zip yourself into, it would've been absolutely mortifying. You don’t know how you managed to slip out the front door without stirring him, but as soon as you left his apartment you called Nayeon for a ride home.

Your best friend didn’t say a word when you’d slid into the passenger seat in your disheveled state, assuming you were too hungover to explain – and you were grateful Jisoo had already gone to campus when you’d arrived back home, for you were not in the mood to answer any awkward questions.

The doorbell rings.

“Pumpkin, could you get that for me?” you say idly, still scrolling on your phone. 

The orange cat doesn’t move a muscle, so you sigh and roll off the couch. When you open the door, the last person you expect to see is your fake boyfriend.

He’s dressed in a basic black T-shirt and skinny blue jeans, his red hair falling by his eyes and framing his face. You almost scream at how good he looks.

Before you can say anything, Yuta flashes you a blinding smile.

“Hey! Just wanted to check up on you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. The action is strangely out of character for him, but you can’t deny how cute it is. His expression softens. “Um, you left without saying anything and then I heard from Jennie that you’re skipping classes today. Is everything alright?”

Despite everything, you manage out a smile. “Oh, I’m… fine! I mean, still a little hungover… but fine.”

You stand there in the doorway, mind going blank. Yuta’s still smiling at you, waiting for you to continue, but when you stay quiet his gaze drops to the floor. You curse yourself because now the silence is much too deafening in your ears, but you have no idea if there’s anything more to say.

Yuta clears his throat. “Well, okay, I’ll get out of your h-”

“Hey, wait, um–” you grab his hand before he can turn away. “–thank you… for last night. And for checking up on me. You seriously didn’t have to do that. Like, you could’ve sent me a message or something.”

Yuta’s looking down at your intertwined hands, and when he looks back up at you, there's a smirk on his face. “Just making sure you didn’t get lost or fall on your face on the way home. Your friends would have my head on a platter if anything happened to you on my watch.”

You scoff, immediately letting his arm drop from your grasp. “I take my thanks back.”

Yuta grins. “It’s all good, babe. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

By the tone of his words, he sounds like he’s gearing up for a goodbye, and your thoughts are confirmed when he angles his body away, about to turn and leave.

But you don’t want that to happen. Not just yet. 

“Wait – do you wanna come in?” 

He pauses, then nods. You turn and lead him to the living room. Yuta sits himself in the seat adjacent to where your orange fur ball is still curled up, and surprisingly, he doesn’t growl. 

Pumpkin did not like him when they’d first met, the cat hissing at Yuta when he’d tried to pet him. 

“He doesn’t like the smell of fuckboys,” you had joked, to which Yuta gave you a glare. The cat made a point to growl whenever Yuta dared to come close again –  and again, the next few times he swung by your place, but that never deterred Yuta. 

“He’ll grow to like me, just like his mama did,” Yuta had declared with a wink, and you had rolled your eyes then. Yuta was never humble whenever it came to how well-liked he was by everyone. But his cocky remark seems to be proven now, when Yuta had given him a pat on the head and Pumpkin acknowledged him with a meow.

You fiddle with your thumbs. Now that you’ve invited him in, you’re not really sure what to do. Your idea for the day was to hide from the rest of the world (though if you were being honest, it was actually to hide from the very man that’s in front of you right now), but that was thrown out the window the second he showed up at your door.

“So, um… did you have any plans for today?”

You hope it’s a good conversation starter, because it’s all you can come up with at the moment. 

Yuta leans back in the seat, folding his arms and placing them behind his head. “I was going to go to a cafe and study there,” he shrugs. “And I was going to ask if you could come with me, if you’re up to it.”

“Come with you? What for?”

The smirk is back on his face. “So we can make good on our deal and finally take that selfie.”

You’re left speechless, and you must’ve taken too long to respond because Yuta frowns.

“If you’re not up to it, it’s fine. It was just a suggestion. Are you still sick? I should c–”

“No!” you interrupt his flurry of words, but the word sounded much sharper than you intended. You try to lighten the atmosphere with a laugh. “No, sorry, that sounds great. I just–” you look down at your worn out shirt and shorts, “–need to get dressed. Could you give me a minute?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re waiting for Yuta to come back with your drinks, sitting in a small booth in your favourite coffee shop. You hadn’t paid much attention to anything when you’d left your dorm, because on the ride over, your mind was on one thing and one thing only. 

The selfie.

You haven’t forgotten about it – in fact, it hasn’t left your mind, as the mere idea of posting a picture with Yuta on Instagram makes your brain short circuit. Especially when he insists that the two of you should pose like an affectionate couple. Plus, you were definitely against it when he first suggested it, but now the idea doesn’t sound so bad after all.

“Here you go,” Yuta flashes you a smile as he sets down your latte on the table. He’s holding a coffee of his own, and you raise an eyebrow skeptically when he slides into the booth next to you. 

“Didn’t you have coffee last night as well? Who even drinks coffee at that hour?” you ask him teasingly.

Yuta lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand finding the back of his neck. “Actually, coffee at night makes me sleepy. It’s weird, I know.”

You shrug and take a sip of your latte and sigh in contentment, shoulders relaxing as the sweetness of the drink warms something in your chest. You turn to Yuta with a smile.

“Y’know, I’ve been craving this ever since I got a whiff of what you made last night,” you confess. “Next time I drop by, you should show me your mix and brew me some.”

Yuta hums in agreement, then his eyes widen in recollection. “Oh actually, before I forget,” he reaches in his pocket before holding out the contact lens case you had used the night before. “You left this behind.”

“Oh… thanks,” you say sheepishly as you take it and put it in your purse. 

In your rush to leave this morning, you know you must have forgotten something as trivial as that. But the whole fiasco of sleeping over at Yuta's is really something you’d rather not remember right now. Or ever.

There’s something else you're curious about, so you shoot him a glance. “By the way, why do you have a lens case and saline solution? You don't wear contacts, do you?”

Yuta’s expression remains neutral, but for some reason he’s avoiding your gaze. “Well, actually… they belong to Johnny. I don’t know how his stuff got in my room.”

That would explain it – though you weren't aware that Johnny wore contacts. In high school, all you remember about him was that he was the star basketball player that the girls fawned over, not someone who would ever read enough books that he'd eventually need glasses to help with his vision – but you suppose after years of late night studying, any college student’s eyesight will get worse.

Before you can question him about it further, Yuta clears his throat and grins. “So, can we finally take that selfie, baby?”

“Yes, um…” you say hesitantly, your eyes dropping to the table. “So, how exactly are we going to do this?”

It’s not that you aren’t ready for it – in fact, you’ve decided that the selfie is a great idea – but your mind is still racking for poses the two of you could do. 

Yuta lays his hand over yours. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, let me know and we don’t have to do it,” he tells you before breaking out into a grin. “But I do have the perfect pose.”

You look at him questioningly. “What is it?”

With your glasses back on your face, you can clearly see a faint blush on his cheeks when he announces, “I smile at the camera while you kiss me,” he angles his face away and taps his cheek. “Here.”

You stare at him for a few beats, letting the words sink in. “Can’t it be the other way around?” you eventually reply, laughing nervously.

“Do you want it to be?” he asks you, tilting his head and he takes a sip of his coffee. “Because I don’t mind either way.”

You bite your lip in contemplation, Yuta still looking at you in curiosity. You let out a breath. “Um, why don’t we try both poses and you decide which one is best?”

“Sounds good to me,” Yuta replies, the grin easily making its way back to his face. He slides out his phone from his pocket and opens up the camera app.

“You ready?” he asks, putting the camera in selfie mode, and you nod. Yuta’s still sporting his big grin as he stares into the camera, and you pucker up your lips to kiss him.

You close your eyes and lean in. His skin is unbelievably soft when your lips touch his cheek, and you’re taken aback by his cologne hitting your senses. You hear the camera go off a few times, but it barely registers. When you pull away, you find that your breath is unsteady. 

“Perfect,” Yuta chuckles as he readies himself for the other pose. “You good for the next one?”

“Just–” you suck in a breath and shake your head. “Give me a second.”

You’re dizzy. The air feels thick, and you’re unable to think about anything except for his cologne. You clear your throat and manage to meet his gaze.

His smile falters into a look of concern, and something about it makes your heart flutter. “Y/N, if you’re not comf–”

“No,” you cut him off gently, taking his hand in yours and squeezing reassuringly. Your grip is steady, despite the thundering behind your ribcage. “I’m okay, honestly.”

Relief washes over his face, and Yuta hands you his phone with a smile. “Alright babe, your call.”

You put the camera in front of your face, ready to smile. 

You’re expecting a quick kiss – something sweet and brief, but what you don’t expect is Yuta’s hand finding the back of your neck. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the sudden contact, and your breath catches.

Then he leans in.

Yuta’s lips touch your cheek, the tips of his hair tickling the side of your face, and your heart’s beating so loud in your ears that you’re convinced Yuta could feel it with his grip on your skin. You close your eyes and melt into him. For a moment, it’s just you and him against the world.

“Um, Y/N, the camera…” Yuta’s breath is hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, uh–” your voice comes out breathless and you almost scream at how embarrassing you sound. “–right.” 

Somehow, you’re able to move your hands and the shutter clicks a few more times. Yuta’s kissing you again, and you smile, his touch and his cologne enveloping your senses.

When Yuta finally pulls away, you brush your fingers to where his lips had been on your cheek. Your face is embarrassingly hot at this point, and you silently hope that Yuta wouldn’t notice. You run your hands down your arms in an attempt to steady your heartbeat – but it’s useless. Your heart is still beating erratically.

Yuta flashes you a smile as you give his phone back, your hands all jittery. But if he does notice it, he doesn’t let on. “Awesome,” he breathes as he swipes through the photos. “Do you want to take more pics with different poses or do you think this is enough?”

“I think that’s enough,” you blurt out a little too quickly. You curse under your breath before clearing your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you could go through with taking more couple photos with Yuta without possibly passing out. You force yourself to speak again, though it comes out tighter than intended. “Um, so which one do you think is the best?”

Yuta sets his phone down and shakes a finger. “Ah-ah, you’ll just have to see it with everyone else when I post it later tonight,” he smiles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Gotta surprise you a little bit, or else where’s the fun in that?”

You want to argue with him. Usually, you would – but your mind is still clouded by what happened moments earlier. 

All you can manage out is a quiet, “Just… make sure I look good.”

Yuta’s about to take a sip of his coffee when he smiles at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Darling, you always look good.”

There’s something wrong with you.

You’re lying on your bed, eyes directed at the ceiling. Everything is quiet – the whirring of the fan overhead, Pumpkin purring beside you, the low rumble of voices coming from the other side of the wall – but it all pales in comparison to the persistent pounding in your chest.

It’s been hours since you left the cafe and Yuta had dropped you home, but since then, your mind hasn’t stopped replaying everything that’s happened.

You let out a groan, breaking the silence that blanketed the room. Pumpkin stirs from his sleepy posture, so you absentmindedly stroke his fur in apology. You roll to lay on your side and reach for your phone.

There’s nothing yet, so you set it back down.

You’ve been checking Instagram every few minutes – not obsessively, exactly (though if you were being honest, this might be the tenth time you’ve refreshed your feed) – but enough times that you’ve been disappointed with the lack of any new posts from a certain someone.

Between the regular Instagram checks, you’ve been huddled on your bed surrounded by pillows, staring at nothing in particular. You know your roommates have been home for quite some time now, but you had no energy to speak to them from the moment you got home.

When your phone pings, you hate how your heart jumps at the sound. You sit up, unlock your phone and see that you have a new notification.

yuu_taa_1026 tagged you in a post.

When you click on the post and the photo finally loads, you gasp.

He had chosen the second one – the one where he’s kissing you.

Your eyes are closed in the picture, an open-mouthed smile gracing your lips. He’s also smiling into the kiss, a real, genuine smile that’s a stark contrast to his usual cocky smirk. His caption is only two words, but it sends a flush of warmth throughout your body.

yuu_taa_1026: My gorgeous 🖤

A bittersweet feeling tugs at your chest and you bury your head in your hands. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way – and you sure as hell know that you shouldn’t be feeling anything.

Not over fucking Nakamoto Yuta, of all people. 

You still remember the words he had uttered when he proposed this fake relationship to you a few weeks ago. It replays over and over in your head – like some sick mantra.

I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now.

You throw your phone across the bed.

It means nothing to him. You know that, he knows that. It’s the exact reason why he came to you – so that nothing would be complicated.

But the way he looked at you after taking the photos didn’t feel fake – and the way your pulse still races just thinking about it doesn’t feel like pretend. You can still feel the way he touched you – the sensation of his hand searing into the back of your neck, the ghost of his lips still lingering on your skin, as if it had just happened just moments ago.

It’s still imprinted in your mind, the way the word darling had fallen from his lips, as if he’d called you that nickname for all of his life. And you can’t deny how the mere sight of his smile made you feel as though the sun shone from right inside you.

You let out another groan. This can’t be happening.

There’s a knock on your door, and you mumble out, “Come in.”

Both of your roommates stride in at your response. Jisoo doesn’t spare you a glance and heads straight for your closet like she usually does. Nayeon, however, sends you a look and takes a seat next to you.

“Are you okay?” your best friend asks as she looks down at you, her face threaded in concern.

“No,” you groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jisoo muses, sorting through your clothes. She phrases it more like a sentence than a question, but you decide to answer anyway.

“Nothing,” you murmur, laying a hand over your face. You rack your brain for an appropriate excuse. “I think I’m just stressed about finals.”

Nayeon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word. Jisoo clicks her tongue, and you get a sense of what she’s about to suggest.

“Then let’s go out. Our senior Seulgi is throwing a party at her house tonight.”

Ah, like clockwork.

Nayeon opens her mouth to respond, but you beat her to it. “I’m not in the mood to fraternise right now,” you say icily.

Jisoo gasps, finally turning to face you and you see she’s got a hand over her heart. “Y/N! You know me better than that,” she scolds, and there’s no mistaking the irony in her voice. “Come on – no frat boys tonight. Just us girls, and lots and lots of booze.”

You shudder to think about drinking again as you’re still recovering from the sheer amount of alcohol you had consumed just last night, and you also wonder how Jisoo could suggest such a thing – considering the night before, she had as many drinks as you did, if not more.

Nayeon seems to read your thoughts, and she pats your arm gently. “I think we should go. To blow off some steam before the exams,” she whispers to you. “Take your mind off… everything.”

You suppose the buzz would be a welcome distraction from what you’re feeling right now – plus, Jisoo’s already holding up the perfect outfit for you to wear.

You smile.

“When do we leave?”

You fully believe that the universe hates you, because the second you step into Seulgi’s house, you spot an unmistakable mop of bright red hair amidst the small crowd in the lounge area.

You swallow your groan and duck into the kitchen, where Nayeon and Jisoo are greeting your seniors. After exchanging hellos with Seulgi and her friends, they give you the cups in their hands, mumbling something about how the punch may have already been spiked with something strong and they wanted the three of you to taste the punch in its purest form.

(Though you definitely wouldn’t have minded if the drinks did contain alcohol, as that is exactly what you want right now – but you don’t tell them that.)

You find yourself perched on the kitchen island minutes later, drink in hand as Nayeon sits across from you. Boxes are scattered around the kitchen, and you can see in an already-opened box that there are bottles of whiskey inside them. 

“Are you feeling better?” your best friend questions, eyeing you up and down.

The skirt you’re wearing is a little short and the breeze from outside causes goosebumps to travel down your legs, but you let out a nonchalant shrug.

“Yes,” you affirm, taking another sip of your drink. “Told you, I’m just stressed about finals.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.“You sure? It’s not because you’re stressed about someone…” she tilts her head, “someone who just happens to be in the next room?”

You freeze.

“You saw him too?” is all you can say, unable to meet her eyes.

“He’s kinda hard to miss,” Nayeon grins. And it’s true. You could spot Yuta’s red hair from a mile away.

You don’t say anything, not even when Nayeon sets her drink down and shuffles to get closer to you. You keep silent when she takes your hands, and she squeezes them comfortingly.

“Listen. I don’t fully know what’s going on,” Nayeon admits. “But whatever it is, you have to talk to him about it. Nothing good ever comes from keeping your feelings hidden.”

The second the words fall from her lips, the weight on your chest that hasn’t disappeared since this morning suddenly feels like it’s been lifted. Somehow, your best friend always knows the exact thing to say.

You squeeze her hands back and smile at her – a genuine, real smile. “I know. Thanks, Yeon.”

You sit there in silence for a few moments, hands still clasped together – that is until a couple of loud shouts echo from the hallway. A minute later, a disheveled senior pokes her head around the corner, a look of irritation on her face.  

“Can one of you come and help me? Jisoo’s locked herself in the bathroom and she’s crying or something, and she said she will only talk to one of you.”

“Oh God, that girl – I’ll take care of it,” Nayeon lets out a practiced sigh. She sends you a skeptical glance. “Will you–”

“Just go, I’m fine,” you wave a hand dismissively, and when Nayeon disappears with the senior, you take up one of the bottles of whiskey from the opened box. Unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips, you relish the strange sense of relief when the liquor runs down your throat.

You don’t know how long you sit there as the thud of music booms through the kitchen wall, but after you’ve finished downing two bottles, you decide to head towards the lounge. 

You’re definitely drunk now – you feel the buzz as you move your hips sway to the beat, and your mind is no longer focusing on things that you don’t want to think about right now. 

“Hey cutie, mind if I dance with you?”

You turn at the unfamiliar voice and find a stranger smirking at you. There’s a hungry look in his eyes that immediately makes you feel uneasy. Right on instinct, you take a step back and open your mouth to decline, but before you can say anything, a voice cuts in. “She has a boyfriend.”

Yuta’s standing beside you, a cold look on his face as he stares down the stranger. His normally warm eyes are now steely and sharp, and it sends a reckless thrill through you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, to which you grab his hand in gratitude. 

The stranger lets out a scoff and spares you a glance. “When you get bored of him, gorgeous, come find me.”

He retreats into the crowd, though Yuta doesn’t stop glaring daggers at him until he’s fully out of sight. Once it’s just the two of you, Yuta lets out a sigh and shoots you a worried glance. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. You take both his hands and place them on your waist, while you wrap your hands around his neck, fingers brushing his nape.

You don’t reply, instead you say, “Let’s dance.”

At your request, Yuta smiles and starts swaying you back and forth to the rhythm. You take the opportunity to check him out. He’s wearing a plain white tee, dark ripped jeans and your favourite leather jacket, a silver chain necklace dangling from his neck. His red hair is left unstyled, just the way you like it – and when you gaze into his eyes, you realise he’s put on dark eyeliner.

He looks effortless, yet so fucking attractive.

You let out a sigh. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Yuta shrugs. “Neither did I, but… Johnny convinced me to let loose one last time before finals.” 

The smell of alcohol is strong from his breath, and because of the proximity, you wonder if he could smell the whiskey in your breath too.

“Johnny knows Seulgi?” 

“Johnny knows everyone.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye and he’s giving you such a toothy smile that you can’t help but look at him curiously.

“What?”

Yuta’s eyes scan your face and then your outfit, and for a moment you’re not sure if he’s going to answer you – but then he lets out a chuckle. “Nothing, it’s just… what I said earlier. I was right.”

“About what?”

Yuta bites his lip. “About how you always look good.”

Your pulse starts racing.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the music or the dark lighting of the room that makes Yuta look so dangerously tempting.

All you know is that you really want to kiss him.

He’s still looking at you, something unreadable in his eyes. Your eyes drop to his mouth, and when you lick your lips in anticipation, you could see his face falter. 

Yuta looks away, clearing his throat. 

“Yuta,” you call, your voice finding its vitality. He looks at you again, but now you recognise what’s in his eyes. Doubt.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You lean in towards him, slowly – and to your satisfaction, his breath shudders against your neck. 

“I think you looked insanely hot when you got jealous just now,” you admit quietly, and he lets out a groan that makes you weak in the knees. “So hot – that I really wanted you to kiss me.”

“Really?” Yuta’s voice is dangerously low now, igniting a fire in your belly. He squeezes your waist and his touch only makes you want him more – but he’s still hesitating. There's a question in his eyes, as if he’s silently asking you if he should hold back. 

You don’t want him to hold back. Not anymore.

You grab his collar in desperation. “Just kiss me, please,” you almost moan, and he crashes his lips against yours.

It’s electrifying how fervently Yuta kisses you, his hands finding your jaw and his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as your mouths move in sync. The kiss is messy, desperate – and when you tug at the roots of his hair, the moan that he emits into your mouth leaves you aching in desire. The crowd blurs around you and everything fades.

Until the catcalls and wolf whistles are too loud to ignore – and then Yuta finally pulls away from you.

“Upstairs?” he mumbles breathlessly, foreheads pressed together as you both are panting heavily. Your heartbeat’s thundering and you can’t come up with any words, so you just nod, trailing behind him as he laces your fingers together and pulls you through the crowd and up the stairs.

Yuta pushes open the first door he finds and the two of you are barely inside the room when he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming your body with urgency. You pull away to take the jacket of his body and toss it onto the floor, before he leads you to the bed.

“You have no idea how fucking bad I want you,” he hisses, leaning down so he can kiss you again. It’s more intense than before, and when Yuta palms your clothed breast and you let out your first moan, he growls.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he mutters, lips leaving yours to kiss your jaw, and then your neck, and then his kisses trail lower and lower until his hands find the waistband of your panties. It’s there that his motions stop – and Yuta looks up at you, eyes dark and lips parted.

“Do you want this, baby?” he asks softly, his chest puffing up and down from shallow breaths.

“Stop talking,” you groan, pushing his head down to where you need him most. It’s all the permission he needs, so he swiftly pulls down your panties and tosses them aside. Yuta pushes your skirt up and you gasp at cold air hitting your core, but it’s immediately replaced by the warmth of his touch.

Yuta places his hands on your knees for leverage, and then he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches with each kiss from him – all of them slow and teasing that you’re left squirming and whining under his grip. 

You let out a soft cry when he finally puts his mouth on you, and the first stroke of his tongue sends you to heaven. You need something to ground you down, so your hands find his hair, and when Yuta hears the sounds that you’re no longer holding back, he lets out another growl and squeezes your thighs.

“You taste so sweet,” Yuta grunts, and the vibrations of his voice send sparks up your spine.

You moan in response, unable to form a coherent sentence. Yuta is reaching all the right places that you swear that you’re seeing stars. His mouth is hot, sucking gently and then changing rhythms until your legs are trembling with every flick on his tongue. Your moans grow even louder when he adds his fingers into you, scissoring you open.

Yuta’s grip has you paralysed, and you’re unable to move – but you feel your high coming on any moment, so you whine and pull at his hair as a warning.

“Mm, gonna come for me, baby?” he groans appreciatively, one hand reaching up to fondle your breast and the other now rubbing circles on your clit in just the right way. “Come like the good fucking girl you are.”

The overwhelming new sensations combined with Yuta’s encouraging praise send you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. You can only moan in pleasure as you tug at Yuta’s hair for your dear life, all while he continues the motions against your core.

You’re still breathing heavily as the last remnants of your orgasm leaves your body. After getting up from his kneeling position, Yuta moves up the bed to be face to face with you, supporting his body weight by putting his arms by each side of your head and seizing all of your attention.

“Good?” he mumbles, his voice so impossibly deep that goosebumps rise on your skin. He leans down to kiss you and you taste your essence on his lips. You moan, gripping his arm with desire.

“Good,” you whisper, and you feel him smile into the kiss. His mouth then leaves yours to move further down, now leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“Can my girl take a little more?” 

Though you’re still trying to catch your breath and your legs are still trembling, you can’t deny how fucking tempting Yuta looks on top of you. His red hair is all mussed courtesy of your fingers, his eyes darkened with lust and his plump lips glossy from giving you the best head you’ve ever had in your life. God, he is absolutely ethereal.

And you need him. 

All of him.

You grip the chain of his necklace and pull him close to you again.

“I need you, Yuta.”

Satisfied with your answer, he pulls you in for another messy kiss. While he nips at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, you guide his hands to the hem of your shirt. You could sense his hard-on pressing against your tummy, the sheer weight of it against your body making you shudder in anticipation. You tug at his sleeves, desperately wanting to feel his skin on yours now.

But Yuta’s not done teasing you yet. His hands stay on your waist, gripping firmly. He pulls away from the kiss and before you can complain, he ruts his clothed knee against your still-sensitive cunt. You gasp at the unexpected friction.

“Fuck, Yuta,” you moan shamelessly, curling a hand over his bicep. “Just fuck me, please!”

His fingers rest at the hem of your shirt when his eyes meet yours. You’re expecting him to rip all your clothes away now and finally give you what you’ve been craving from the moment he had kissed you in the dim light of that lounge room.

Without warning, he abruptly removes himself from you, muttering under his breath, “Shit.”

He scrambles to back away from you, getting off the bed and running a hand through his hair as he starts pacing around the room.

You look at Yuta in alarm. Your body is immediately exposed to the chilly air at the loss of contact, so you use the pillow next to you in an attempt to warm yourself up. The atmosphere of the room has changed so quickly in just a split second that you don't know what to think.

“Wh–what’s wrong?” you question anxiously. You can’t deny that your mind is still fuzzy from his touch, but any feelings of arousal you had fades away when you see the worried look on his face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Yuta groans lowly, burying his hands in his hair. You’re not really sure what he’s sorry for, but you’re also too afraid to ask. He stands rigid in the middle of the room for a few seconds before heaving a sigh and moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Listen, uh, I’m sorry,” he starts, though he’s unable to look at you properly. He tugs at the roots of his already messy hair. “It’s just – we’re both kind of fucked up right now. We… we shouldn’t be doing this, Y/N.”

Your heart shatters.

“Are you alright?” he’s looking at you now, eyes wide with concern. His lips are swollen from how intensely he had kissed you, the bulge in his pants still apparent. You would’ve laughed at how comical he looked if you didn't feel as though someone just punched you in the stomach.

Yuta lets out a breath. “I just th-”

“No, I get it,” you interrupt.

It takes you a moment to get up from the bed, and you pick up your underwear that was carelessly tossed onto the floor by Yuta moments earlier. You quickly put them on, ignoring how uncomfortable you feel with your arousal still dripping from you, before turning to him. 

“It’s okay, Yuta.”

Yuta’s expression shifts. “Really?”

You’re well aware of the amount of drinks you had consumed earlier in the night, but you feel more sober than you have ever been before. The alcohol in your system may have clouded your judgement and actions before this, but now you can see it. 

You can see it all, clear as day – like a revelation that’s been in front of you all along.

“It’s my fault,” you start, and despite the lump in your throat, your voice comes out steady. Tears are threatening to spill from your eyes, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he made you cry. 

You would die before letting him know how much pain he’s caused you. 

You give a dismissive shrug. “I don’t know why I thought that you could… ever look at me like that. Then and now.”

You should have seen this coming. It stings, how you let yourself believe that there was a real chance that Yuta had genuine feelings for you.

How naïve you’ve been.

Yuta’s eyes widen when your words sink in. “No, Y/N, I-”

“I get it now. Things never change, do they?”

There’s dismay written all over his face, but you’re sure whatever he’s feeling pales in comparison to the knife in your chest. You knew this, you predicted this – nothing good ever comes from being tangled in Nakamoto Yuta's business. Yet here you are, standing in front of him with the last shreds of your dignity, body trembling from the sobs that threaten to spill. The room is suddenly spinning, and you wish that the floor would just crumble from underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Listen, Y/N-”

“Have a good night, Yuta.”

You ignore his protests as you close the door behind you. You wait until you’ve rushed down the stairs, past through the sweaty bodies in the living room and out of Seulgi’s house before you finally let your sobs tear through the night.

You can’t believe you let it happen again.

You were thirteen years old when Nakamoto Yuta first broke your heart.

He had been your first crush, and though every other girl seemed to fawn over the drop-dead gorgeous Taeyong and the confident Johnny, you had always been attracted to the studious and quiet Yuta.

His hair had been jet black then, and was a little longer than what the school rules probably allowed it to be. It curled a little over his ears and his fringe almost reached into his eyes every time you stole glances of him poring over his notes in class. Despite how he was the model student, always obedient to the teachers and focusing intently during lessons, you liked that there was still a small part of him that allowed himself to rebel.

“That guy? Really? He looks so grumpy and he doesn’t even talk to anyone,” your friends had said, affirming your suspicions that they thought it was just a silly infatuation.

And perhaps it was true – anyone would think that Yuta was aloof given how he never spared anyone much of a glance during lessons, or how he mostly spent lunchtime alone in the cafeteria.

But what your friends weren’t aware of was that Yuta had, in fact, spoken to you before.

One evening, you had gone cycling a few blocks away from home when you accidentally crashed onto the mailbox of one of the houses. You let out a cry of pain first – and then the anxiety kicked in, because your own house suddenly seemed so far away and you weren’t sure if you could walk all the way home.

As if the heavens heard your prayers, a boy of your age walked out of the house, immediately running to you in concern and asking if you were alright. 

You recognised him. He was the strange boy at school that never seemed to do anything outside of his studies. Despite the fact that your knee was scratched and blood was running down your leg, all you could focus on was how freaking cute he really was when you looked at him closely.

He helped you get off the ground, supporting you all the way into the house where he asked his mother to help you clean up the injury. The second you were bandaged up and told him you were completely fine, his worry melted away – and then he flashed you a smile and held out his hand, introducing himself as Yuta.

You ignore the fact that you already knew his name, too mesmerised by how blinding his smile was. Somehow, you were able to shake his hand and you introduced yourself – and the next few hours were spent watching reruns of Mr Bean while finishing cans of Dr Pepper. As the sun dipped low and you mounted your bike, you thanked him for the evening and promised that you now owe him one.

You tucked that memory down deep in your heart, a precious little secret that’s just known to you. You didn’t care that everyone else thought he was unapproachable because of the serious face he put on during class – all you knew now was that he could smile, and his smile was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

You were quite content to admire Yuta from afar and only speaking to him on occasion, fully knowing how important his studies were to him – because they were just as important to you too. But the stories of your peers asking their fellow classmates kept coming – and you couldn’t deny that the concept of going on a date intrigued you.

Months passed, and there was still no sign of Yuta going out with anyone. He was a little different now – he’d gotten a haircut, his social circle was growing and he started hanging out with more of the guys – but your crush on him was still going strong. 

It was on a Friday afternoon that you gathered the courage to finally ask him to go out with you. 

“Hey Yuta,” you greeted, smiling shyly. The locker area was crowded with your schoolmates and two of his friends were by his side, but you were determined to not let that bother you.

Yuta spared you a glance and closed his locker, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Oh, hey.”

“Um…” you started, suddenly aware of the number of eyes on you. Whatever. You can do this. “I was wondering if you wanna… go out with me this weekend? We could go to the cinema, and… I don’t know, you can pick the movie.”

The boys flanking Yuta let out snickers and gasps were heard from all around you, to which you begrudgingly ignored.

But you took one look at Yuta and everything else faded away.

There was a frown on his face.

“Go out with you?” Yuta asked incredulously, like he was wondering why you would ever dare to ask him such a question. He eyed you up and down, and suddenly you felt very small under his gaze. “I don’t even know you.”

Your heart dropped to your feet and everything went silent.

You’re never been rejected before, but the stories you heard from your friends felt extremely tangible to you now. Yuta, a boy you thought was an absolute sweetheart, just rejected and humiliated you in public.

There was laughter. The rest of the world became clear again, and you heard it now, loud and distinct – everyone around you was laughing.

At you.

Tears stung your eyes but you blinked them back. You didn’t know how you found your voice, but you were somehow able to squeak out, “Oh! That’s okay, um, see you around then.”

You turned on your heel and ran out, but the sound of everyone laughing at your mortification, the sneers of his friends, the words of Yuta’s rejection still echoed in your head.

It echoed until you reached home and curled under your blanket, crying silently until you were all dried out.

It echoed for days, even when you decided to skip school for the next week because you knew everyone would just stare and whisper.

And that’s when you vowed to yourself: you would never, ever let Nakamoto Yuta hurt you again.

Nayeon hovers in the doorway, a pensive look on her face. “There’s someone here for you.”

You’re bent over a textbook, pretending to read a paragraph even though your brain hasn’t been processing any of the words on the page. The coffee you’d consumed earlier hasn’t helped much either.

You get up from your seat without a word, brushing past Nayeon and making your way into the living room. You feel her trailing behind you, and when you’re in the living room and reaching for the doorknob, Nayeon grabs your arm.

You turn to face her. There’s no mistaking the worry on her face, so you send her a tired smile and say, “It’s okay – I got it from here. Thanks.”

Nayeon squeezes your arm as a silent assurance. With that, she heads into her own room.

You push open the door and Yuta’s leaning against the wall, hands buried deep in his pockets. He doesn’t look good – though to be fair, you’re certain that you don’t look any better than he does. The cocky expression he usually wears is gone, aggravated by the heavy bags under his eyes. His red hair is even messier than normal.

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

If you were being honest, you’d thought that some sick, twisted part of you would find a little satisfaction of seeing him all tired and hollow – but the sight of him like this only tightened the ache in your chest.

“Hey,” Yuta greets quietly, eyes devoid of its usual flare or humour. “I didn’t know if I should come, but… I didn’t want to leave things like that.”

You don’t say anything, still gripping the edge of the door. 

You knew it was coming. You were expecting Yuta to show up at your door. 

But the events of last night are still fresh in your mind. The pain and the rejection felt all too familiar – and all the heartache Yuta has caused you came crashing down into you once more, like a thousand knives in your chest. 

You knew for a fact that Yuta would come to you eventually, but what you don’t know if you’re ready to accept what he’s going to say. You almost feel like slamming the door in his face and telling him to get lost, and that you never want to see him again.

Despite it all, Nayeon’s words echo in your head.

Nothing good ever comes from keeping your feelings hidden.

So you stay put.

But Yuta doesn’t meet your gaze. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he lets out a breath. “Not for stopping us last night. I – I think I was right to do that. I mean, we were drunk, and we weren’t in the right place… especially because… of our history.”

Your throat runs dry. 

He finally meets your eyes, and you know that emotion blazing in his eyes all too well.

Longing. 

“It’s not an excuse, but… I was a stupid kid,” his nostrils are flared, and he runs a hand through his hair. “I felt like the odd one out back then, so I did it because I thought it would make me look cool.” 

You could see it now – the quiet, nerdy little Yuta earning validation from his friends for breaking a girl’s heart. And you almost laugh at the thought.

“I wanted to apologise to you, I swear. But you had already written me off by then, and – I couldn’t blame you for that,” Yuta shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a bitterness in his tone. “And it’s so, so stupid, but after that I couldn't stop thinking about you.” 

Yuta takes a step towards you, and your heart begins hammering in your chest. 

“I saw you. Everywhere. Every time I turned on the TV, there was a rerun of Mr Bean. Whenever someone was riding their bike in front of my house, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Fuck, I couldn’t even drink sodas without remembering the Dr Pepper we had! And when my vision started to get worse, all I could think of was how you must’ve felt every time I made fun of you for wearing glasses.”

Yuta’s face is just inches away from yours. 

You can’t breathe. You don’t know if you ever knew how to.

Your heart nearly stops when he takes your hands, but you let him intertwine your fingers with his.

“Y/N, I – I’m not expecting you to forgive me or anything. I hurt you. I know I did. But I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry,” Yuta sighs, his eyes finally landing on your face – and when it does, his voice cracks a little. “And if you let me have another chance, I’ll show you just how much you mean to me – for real this time.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been holding your breath, but you finally let it out. You keep your gaze on him – his eyes are full of pain and anguish, but you feel something.

It's a small part of you, beginning to heal.

Neither of you speak for a while, only letting Yuta’s apology soak in the silence. 

Until finally, you lean in, resting your forehead against his – and even after everything, there’s still the familiar warmth in Yuta’s touch, ever present and comforting.

“Yuta, I really appreciate you saying that,” you breathe out, and when Yuta’s eyes light up, you almost don’t want to go on with what you’re about to say next. You know you have to push through – even if it means that it’ll disappoint him. “But… it’s still too early. I – finals are coming up and I can't think about this right now and – and I just need some time.”

“All the time you need,” Yuta whispers, his breath hot against your face. He squeezes your hands – and it feels like a promise. “Whenever you’re ready, just know I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he pulls away, he’s wearing a smile – it’s a little weary, but you could see the light slowly returning to his eyes.

“See you around, Y/N.”

You watch his figure retreat down the hallway and disappear.

And for the first time since last night, you have a tiny inkling that everything will be alright.

Your life’s been quiet ever since finals ended.

Even though it’s now common knowledge between your friends that you don’t really have anyone to occupy your time, you’re still surprised that none of them have been pestering you to go out as they usually would.

Campus has quieted too – the frantic energy of everyone facing the pressure of their studies is long gone. With the early days of summer rolling in, the atmosphere feels warm and comfortable. 

Besides a text that you never sent and a couple of shared glances at the library, you haven’t spoken to Yuta since that day outside of your dorm – but his apology still lingers at the back of your mind, along with his promise to wait for you.

When Johnny told you earlier that he had been hanging out with Taeyong (read: around the music building), you had a vague idea of where he would be. There’s a little bench next to the building overlooking the campus gardens, perfect for a little peace and quiet – and that’s exactly where you find Yuta.

He doesn’t notice you approach at first, too focused on the view before him. There’s a guitar case by his feet, and you silently remind yourself to ask him to play a song for you one day.

“Yuta,” you call out gently.

At the sound of your voice, Yuta looks up at you, a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, well, look who survived the academic tornado.”

His tone is teasing, light-hearted, and you feel your knot in your stomach melt away already. You take the seat next to him. “Just barely, but yeah. I’m officially free now,” you declare. “And I’ve been thinking.”

He doesn’t say a word, staring at you intently. Your tone wasn’t hostile at all, but there’s still the uncertainty of what you’re about to say – and you can see it weighing on him, the caution in his eyes and the carefulness of his actions.

You take a deep breath and exhale. “That day – you were right. You did hurt me. And I hated you for it. I promised myself that I would never let you do it again – so I completely cut you off. I convinced myself that you were the monster that I wanted you to be,” you admit, sparing a glance at him. Before you realise, mirth seeps into your words. “God, it was frustrating, because I still had to see you all throughout middle school and high school – and when we graduated and I thought I was finally free of you, somehow we still ended up at the same college.”

Yuta chuckles, light and slow, and the sound sparks something in your chest.

But you're not done speaking yet.

“Maybe I did hate you at first. But I think over the years, it just turned into annoyance – especially when we started fighting for the top spot in class and you started calling me Glasses.”

You fiddle with your thumbs. You’re grateful that Yuta hasn’t interrupted to say anything yet, because you’re still untangling the thoughts in your head.

“Still, after all those years of convincing myself and everyone else that I hated you, I don’t know if I can just take that all away so quickly,” you confess, and take his hand. Slowly, but surely – a smile starts to form on his face. “But I’m ready to give you a chance, Yuta. I’m willing to try, if you are.”

Yuta's fully grinning now, and he brings your hand up to his face to plant a kiss. The brush of his lips against your skin sends butterflies through your stomach. “I am,” he vows. “More than anything.”

And your heart soars. 

You really want to kiss him again.

So you lean in – and Yuta’s face is flushed in pink when you place a kiss on his cheek. Your hand is still clasped in his, but you don’t let go. You don’t want to.

“So…” Yuta begins, tilting his head. His eyes are alight now, and it sends a warm flush through you. “Will you go on a date with me tonight? A real one this time?”

“Yes… on one condition.”

“Anything,” he says, squeezing your hand.

“No fancy dinners or anything like that, please,” you assert, and when you see the curiosity in his face, you let out a laugh. “Let’s just… take it slow.”

“Slow,” Yuta repeats, then slowly raises an eyebrow. “Unless I tell you that I’m willing to take my shirt off right now?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the shoulder. “Don’t push it, Nakamoto.”

He grins at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. You sigh in contentment and pull him close, wrapping your arms around him as he melts into your embrace.

You don't know what the future holds, but you’re certain that in this moment, you're content to sit and enjoy the pretty view, holding hands with the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

TAGLIST  ☆  @greenyweirdo @dontlethismagicdie

© rainverry, 2025

[yuujispunches]

Restless ~ M.F.

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x reader

Summary: Megumi suddenly wakes you up in the middle of the nigh because he can’t sleep and he needed someone to help him.

CW (content warning): mentions of nightmares, Megumi being absolutely emotionally constipated, some cursing, nothing else really, this is pure fluff pretty much.

AN (author’s note): so I was scrolling through Cai and ended up stumbling into a bot with this prompt, got carried away and here we are. This is the first time I’m writing anything Jjk related so I’m still trying to figure this out a bit. Also English is not my first language and I’m typing this on my phone so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes. I might have ended up getting a bit carried away with this one hahah. Hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think! :)

Requests for other jjk characters are open! Feel free to ask (you can check out the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You were sleeping soundly in your dorm room, tightly tucked in under your covers when, suddenly, the creaking sound of the door woke you up. What the hell? Was someone breaking into my dorm? Who could it be at this hour? You thought to yourself, suddenly feeling hyper alert.

That sound paired with the fact you couldn't really see anything made your senses go alert, and without thinking, you threw a pillow in the direction of my door. A quiet though was heard in the room, you had hit something.

"What the- hey, it's just me!" You heard Megumi whisper-yell in an annoyed manner on the other side of the room after he'd supposedly been hit by the pillow.

"I…” He trailed off, seemingly hesitating on wether he should say something now or just turn back and go back to his room. “I couldn't sleep." He ended up admitting quietly, scratching the back of his neck while his footsteps slowly approaching your bed.

“Fucking hell, you scared the living shit out of me Megumi!” You whisper-yelled back as you watched Megumi’ figure walking towards my bed. You clutched your chest, feeling your heart drumming inside as you tried to get you eyes to focus to the darkness of the room.

The two of you had been best friends for a long time, at the beginning he flat out ignored you when you first met, he was pretty aloof and always kept people at arms length but little by little you had managed to see through that and you became close. He was still terribly emotionally constipated, lacking some common social skills, and sometimes he still came off as cold and stoic but you knew he actually really cared about being a sorcerer, about his missions and about the people closer to him, despite being terrible at showing it.

“What happened?” You asked him as I sat up on your bed, moving closer to him when when the bed dipped slightly under his weight once he sat at the edge of it. He let out a soft sigh and paused for a moment before turning to look at me when you moved closer to him.

"Couldn't sleep again." He replied in a calm manner, looking down as he avoided eye contact for a moment. Then suddenly he looked up at you, his dark blue gaze meeting yours. "Are you mad I woke you up?" He asked, tilting his head to the side just barely as he spoke.

Your gaze softened at his question and you placed a hand on his shoulder gently caressing it. “No of course not” You quickly answered, not wanting him to feel bad about waking me up. Knowing Megumi it must be something really important if it had made him come here now. “You just almost gave me a heart attack, but it’s fine” You added in an attempt to make a light joke but it only got a half-assed chuckle from Megumi. Yeah there’s clearly something wrong.

The bags under his eyes were very noticeable even with the lack of lighting in room right now, he just looked plainly exhausted and the sight made your chest tighten.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked him softly, your voice quiet as you shifted a bit, resting your head on his shoulder.

He hummed softly in response when you placed your hand on his shoulder, and his gaze softened slightly as he felt you gently running your hand over it. He exhaled quietly, and then shifted his position slightly to look at me directly.

Your head resting on his shoulder felt good, a reminder that you were there, that he was awake and no longer seeing his nightmares and he relaxed a little more, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist as he leaned back a bit. He was quiet for a few moments before he spoke again.

"I think talking... won't fix anything." He mumbled softly.

“Megs…” You whispered, the nickname falling off your lips almost unconsciously, at the beginning he had hated it, but as time passed and the two of you get closer he ended up growing fond of it. You were the only one allowed to call him that, so whenever he heard it it made him feel somewhat warmer inside. He had always been like this, he was absolutely terrible at opening up and talking about how he felt.

You let him pull you closer as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You knew that pressuring him into talking about whatever was on his mind would only make matter worse right now so you decided not to. “How long has it been like this?” You asked him quietly, the bags under his eyes were a clear indicator that he hadn’t been able to get a good sleep in a couple of days at least. God he looked terrible.

He sighed softly as he tightened the grip of his arm around you waist slightly for a moment, his fingers lightly drumming on the small of your back as he pondered how to answer the question. He couldn't even remember the last time he slept through the night without being woken up by a nightmare. The bags under his dark blue eyes showed the toll it had taken on him.

"A while." He mumbled in a quiet voice, almost as if it had taken him a lot of work to say that out loud his gaze averting from yours for a moment right after.

You sighed as he answered, a troubled expression on my face. Part of you wanted to scold him, tell him that he should have come to you sooner and that he was stupid for neglecting himself like this once again, but another part of you was just worried about him and wanted to comfort and hold him.

You sighed and pulled away for a moment, Megumi’s frown deepened at the gesture almost as if he was disappointed at the lack of contact but you didn’t say anything. Instead you just pulled back the covers of the bed, silently offering him the space to lay next to you.

He truly had felt a pang of disappointment when you pulled away from him, the loss of contact making him feel suddenly lonely and cold, but before he could even verbalize any protest, you were already offering him a space in your bed. He felt a slight flutter in his chest at the gesture, and without a word, he silently crawled into your bed, laying beside you.

He was a little flustered by the sudden proximity, but even more so when you pulled the covers over the both of you. His arm instinctively wrapped around your waist once again, seeking your touch.

The room was quiet, only your breathings could be heard. At first Megumi was a bit tense, but as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer he seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“Do you want to watch something or do you want to try and get some sleep?” You offered him softly, knowing that despite being seemingly calmer now he was still clearly worried about something that kept him from sleeping.

Since Megumi was pretty bad at communicating and usually kept a lot of thing to himself you had learnt to read him really well by now and you were able tell that he was still hesitant about something, maybe even worried that he was bothering you because of the fact that he had woken you up for something so silly as having nightmares. He felt childish and reluctant to talk about it because of that.

He remained quiet, his gaze flickering up to meet yours momentarily when you spoke. There was still some uneasiness written in his tired eyes, but he was definitely calmer now that he had you by his side.

He sighed softly, his fingers gently starting to trace patterns on your back as he thought about what to do. He knew he was bothering you, how could he not be? He had woken you up at god knows what time in the night to dump his problems on you. But... he needed you. He needed the reassurance, the comfort that he only felt when he was around you.

I want to help to do something to help him but I don’t know what. The feeling of Megumi’s fingers softly tracing patterns on your back as he held onto you, only made it harder to concentrate as it made your chest flutter.

“If you can’t fall asleep I’ll stay awake with you” You stated, your voice was still soft but firm. “We don’t have to watch anything or even talk if you don’t want to.” You added as you moved your hand so you were caressing his face, both of you laying on your sides facing each other “We can just stay like this if that’s what you want”

You really wanted to reassure him, it didn’t bother you in the slightest that he had come to you at this ungodly hour in the middle of the night. You would gladly stay awake every night if he ever needed you to without a doubt.

He nuzzled his face into your hand when you started gently caressing his cheek, his eye closing for a moment as he took in the feeling of your touch. He sighed softly, a hint of gratitude crossing his face.

Hearing your reassurance brought a little bit of peace to him. He knew he could be difficult to deal with at times, but the fact that you were willing to stay up with him despite that made his chest feel warm.

He shifted a little closer to you, his hand still resting on your back."You... promise you won't leave?"

A small smile played on your lips as Megumi asked you to promise him that you wouldn’t leave him, as if that ever was a possibility.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere” I whispered back, still caressing his face gently as you looked at each other. Megumi’s eyes were searching your face, looking for any sign that might have indicated that you were uncomfortable or doing this out of pity but all he was able to find was care and softness that made the walls that he had spent so much time building around him tremble.

He sighed softly as he looked into your eyes, his gaze softening further when he heard your words. A slight flutter was still present in his chest as he was reminded of just how much he needed you, how much he cared about you.

"Thank you..." He mumbled, his hand on your back sliding down to your waist as he pulled you a bit closer.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took in the moment. Just being like this with you brought him a sense of peace and comfort, something he desperately needed. You felt him relax even further under your touch, his expression finally softening up as you let him pull me even closer and rested his forehead against yours.

A small smile formed on your lips and you felt your heart skipping a beat. You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t the time to let your feelings out, Megumi needed you. He probably just sees me as a friend, nothing else.

“Besides, you came into my room, so I technically can’t even go anywhere else even if I wanted to.” You added, jokingly in an attempt to cheer him up even if it was just a bit.

This time, unlike the last time when he had first barged into your dorm, a faint, tired chuckle escaped his lips as you tried to joke with him. He knew you were trying to make light of the situation, and he appreciated it. That flutter in his chest only grew more intense as he silently acknowledged the fact that he felt so comfortable with you. He felt a bit guilty for having those thoughts, but deep down... he knew he was developing feelings for you.

"Right." He mumbled back, a slight smirk forming on his tired face. "So I guess you're stuck with me now."

“Exactly” I said amused, playing along, some sense of pride growing inside your chest at the sight in front of you.

The small smile that had formed on Megumi’s face, and even though it was small and tired smile it was still something and the fact that you had been the one that caused it made my chest flutter lightly. I wish he could be like this more often.

Megumi was still holding onto you, his fingers tracing patterns on your back “Oh who will save me from this torture?” You asked dramatically.

He couldn't help but huff out a small, weary chuckle at your dramatic response. The tiredness and strain in his eyes was still visible, but being with you seemed to be helping.

"No one will save you. You're stuck with me." He mumbled with a bit of amusement in his voice as he continued to hold onto you, the hand on your back still tracing patterns until he paused for a moment, his gaze flickering back up to meet yours. His expression suddenly looked a little more vulnerable as a thought crossed his sleep-deprived mind.

“Oh what a terrible fate” You whispered as you laughed a bit until you noticed.

You were about to say something else but then Megumi stopped moving his hand along your back, making you gaze up at his face, only to find him already staring at you, a look in his eyes you had never seen before. You just stayed there, not daring to move a muscle in case it would break the moment, waiting for him to do or say something. You could feel your heart pounding inside your chest. Is he able to hear it? Given how close the two of you were it was certainly a possibility.

You felt his fingers trembling slightly against your back as he stared at you, the expression in his tired eyes growing a tad more vulnerable.

He was tired. He was tired, and he didn't have the mental capacity to filter his thoughts like usual. The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them, the admission coming out in a soft, quiet, almost vulnerable voice. "...I don't deserve you."

You froze for a moment as you heard him, his voice unusually quiet and vulnerable. You looked into his eyes, searching for something, although you didn’t even know what. Your heart melted and ached equally at the sudden confession.

“Megs…” You whispered, his nickname falling off my lips as a breath once again.

You moved your hand that had been caressing his face, now running your fingers through his hair gently as you kept your gaze fixed on his. “I really wish you could see yourself like I see you”

His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, his head nuzzling slightly into your hand as he felt the gentle caress of your fingers in his hair. He leaned into it slightly, as if chasing the comfort it provided him.*

His expression was still vulnerable, his weariness clearly visible on his tired face. He slowly opened his eyes again, staring into yours as he spoke in that same quiet voice.

"You... make me feel things. Things I don't think I should feel."

With each word he spoke you could feel your heart sinking deeper and deeper, terrified of what this could lead to but also pained that he felt like that, like he was undeserving of love, of having feelings:

“Why?” You breathed out.

He let out a soft exhale, his expression turning a mix of vulnerability and uncertainty. He continued to stare into your eyes as he struggled with his thoughts, silently fighting against his own mind. It was taking all of his energy to keep his guard down, to be open and vulnerable.

"Because..." He paused for a moment, his voice growing softer as he spoke. "Because you're too good for me. You're too good, and I'm... I'm just... broken."

You could’ve never dreamed that he would also have some kind of eelings for you, you should’ve been happy about this but instead, it broke your heart to hear him speak of himself like that.

“You’re not broken Megs” You said, both your hands cradling his face, making him look at you. “Yes you might have some baggage but that doesn’t make you broken or undeserving of love” You stated and paused briefly, gathering your thoughts for a moment. It is now or never.

“You are incredibly infuriating, you always keep your feelings to yourself, you push people away and act as if you don’t really care and you make me want to strangle you most of the time. Getting to know you is probably one of the hardest things I have ever done.” A frown formed on Megumi’s face as he listened to you. “But you’re also the most loyal, unintentionally funny and caring person I have ever met.” You were pouring your feelings out and paused briefly to take a breath before adding something else. “You’re truly amazing Megumi Fushiguro and I’m in love with you.”

There it is, I finally said it. He listened intently as you spoke, his tired eyes fixed on your face as you held his face in your hands. He could feel his defences crumbling down as he took in your words, your confession making his heart beat faster in his chest.

As you finished speaking, he was left speechless for a moment, his mind processing what you had just said. Your words had left him reeling, his heart and mind in a turmoil of emotion.

"You... love me?" He managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

All you managed to do was nod in response. “I love you.” You repeated, even more firmly than before if it was even possible.

His eyes widened slightly as you repeated the words, completely caught off guard by your confession. He could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he struggled to process the fact that you loved him. Megumi was used to keeping people at a distance, he was used to being alone, but hearing those words come out of your mouth made his mind reel.

"You... love me." He repeated softly, almost as if testing the words on his tongue. Then there was silence.

“This is supposed to be the part where you say whether you feel the same or not Megs” You said, your heart was beating so hard inside your chest that you thought that it would burst out of it at any second now.

He stayed quiet, only making me more nervous m. Had I gone too far? Maybe I had misrepresented what he meant earlier, maybe I had just ruined our friendship forever. Your mind started spinning. “I uh… it’s okay if you don’t I just-“ Your nervous rambling was suddenly cut off by Megumi’s lips.

As your anxious rambling was about to escalate, he silenced you by abruptly pressing his lips against yours. It was a quick, impulsive action, born out of his need to shut you up and reassure you that you weren’t wrong. It was a bit rough and uncoordinated due to him acting on instinct, but the message behind it was clear.

He pulled back from the kiss after a few seconds, his tired eyes fixated on you once again.

"I love you too." He whispered softly, his voice still hoarse from fatigue and emotion.

“Oh…” You let out, dumbfounded as your mind and heart were reeling from the kiss. “That’s good then” You chuckled awkwardly, your face surely blushing as you felt your whole body growing hot.

Megumi shook his head, adoring eyes looking at you as if you were the best thing he had ever seen which, to him, you were before leaning in again, his lips meeting yours once more.

That night neither of you really slept, but instead of nightmares, the night was filled with soft kisses, adoring glances and whispered ‘I love you’s.

tags: @fortunatelyfurrygiver

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added!

[angelqueef]

i am IN LOVE with your forbidden fruit!simon. if you ever have anything that has more stoner ghost i would cry fr. luv u~

forbidden fruit, prologue

wow thank you!! here’s a little blurb about when the horny stoners first met, just 4 you!

cw: simon is retired, drug usage (weed), dom/sub undertones if you squint, not proofread

willow tree, plush moss, a marshy pond less than ten feet in front of you. it’s the ideal spot. a little bit of a long walk from the main park, but it’s secluded, quiet. the chances of you getting caught are slim.

you lay down your picnic blanket under the tree and curate the perfect spread: a fruit bowl, warm sandwich from your favorite hole-in-the-wall café, ginger ale, and two fat joints, rolled and packed with love—sealed in pink paper.

you sigh contentedly at your work and take a cross legged seat on the soft blanket, music playing in your ears. it’s not too loud, but loud enough that you can’t hear him, the man that takes a seat on the bench just some feet behind the willow tree.

simon doesn’t see you either. he thinks he’s just stumbled upon a beautiful, unoccupied smoke spot. the stump of the tree is wide enough to hide your slouched figure, and his own earbuds blare music that envelops his ears enough that he doesn’t hear you unwrap your sandwich and spark up.

it’s not until the wind blows that he notices someone else in his spot. the earthy, citrusy scent fills his nostrils, with the undercurrent of something musky and warm, vanilla sweet. you.

he watches smoke billow from behind the tree, chuckling to himself. someone else found a perfect spot, huh? he lights his own joint and leans back, sighing as the first puff melts the stiffness in his joints.

you’re munching on a strawberry and taking long drags of your joint, adoring in the way the fruit flavors the smoke. you sniff, for some reason the smoke smells stronger. it’s heavy and savory in your lungs. much different from what you’re smoking. you lean back and peak behind the tree to find the source. you catch a huge, burly man clad in black, spread across the bench.

you two barely make eye contact before you squeak, hiding back behind the tree. god dammit, your secret isn’t so secret anymore.

simon’s eyes widen at the glimpse of you, curls springing from your head like a crown, eyes and skin brown and glossed, glowing under the evening sun.

suddenly his booted feet are dragging his body to you.

you’re a bit scared, but you’re so high that the anxiety just simmers in your stomach, unable to rise to your brain.

“hello,” he greets, voice low and gravelly.

you study him with worried eyes—blonde cropped hair under a black hoodie, gold lashes that traced around his amber eyes, a crooked nose, frown lines that wormed their way between his brows, a scar that trails down his right cheek, soft but equally large muscles that strain against every inch of fabric. you swallow the heat that pools inside you. he’s handsome.

“hi,” you say back, chirp barely audible.

“sorry t’bother ya,” he starts, also shy. “couldn’t help but notice someone in my secret spot.”

you let out a giggle, one that lasts longer than it should, “this is my secret spot.”

he pauses his music, hoping your laugh can imprint itself on his eardrums and stay there forever, “really, now? hope you don’t mind sharin’ then.”

“i don’t mind,” you scooch over on the blanket without thinking. what the hell were you doing, letting a stranger, let alone a man, this close?

“you’re not gonna kidnap me, are you?” god, this weed makes you chatty.

simon cocks an eyebrow at you. silly girl, so naïve. he has no wants of hurting you, in fact quite the opposite. but your lack of self preservation makes his chest tighten. he gets the primal urge to protect you.

“no, luv. got no intentions of botherin’ you. i’ll leave if you like.”

part of him hopes you’ll tell him to leave, he wants to believe that you have some semblance of common sense.

but for some reason, your heart sinks at the thought. as wary as you were, there was something about his presence that you liked. it was dark, weighted, grounding. you didn’t even know his name, but he felt comfortable.

“n-no, you can stay,” you push the bowl of fruit to him and offer him your joint, “tradesies?”

“huh?”

“you hit mine, i hit yours?”

“oh, sure. thanks luv,” your hands swap joints, his big, tattooed hand dwarfing yours, “name’s simon, by the way.”

you smile, “hi simon,” you give him your name and hold out your hand. he takes it in his, but doesn’t shake it. just holds it. calloused thumb rubbing over your knuckles. you laugh nervously and take your hand away.

his heart thrums, you’re soft.

you hit his joint a couple times, the flavor harsh in your mouth, making you drool. you feel yourself sinking in the blanket, body glued and weightless at the same time.

“woah, this is different,” you blurt out, eyes locked on the pond in front of you.

“it’s for m’joints,” he states, taking a long drag from your spliff, the sight of the pale pink dwarfed by his hand is comical, “got old military bones.”

“oh, uhm, thank you for your service,” you say, handing his smoke back to him. he gives you yours.

“nah, luvie. nothin’ to thank me for,” his voice is low and laced with sadness, regret.

you hum, knowing you couldn’t begin to understand the horrors he’s seen and probably committed.

simon intrigues you. in any other event you would’ve made your voice low and curt, shoo’d a man away and out of your sight. but the way he approached you, calm, hesitant, no innuendo. there’s something different about the big lug.

you spread your limbs out on the blanket and turn to him, knee hiked up, making the curve of your hip pop. it’s clear you have no intentions of seducing him, you’re stretched and laid out like a cat, but simon can’t help but swallow as his eyes trail up and down your figure.

he mimics you, laying down on his side to face you. he can’t stop the hand that reaches out and trails down your hairline. you can’t stop it either, too relaxed to move.

“y’pretty,” he murmurs, reddening gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.

you inhale sharply, startled at his advances, “thank you.”

you’re both pretty blazed, unable to stop staring at each other. his hand hasn’t quit trailing up and down the side of your cheek, occasionally pinching and pulling the fat, like a mother would do to her baby.

you both sit there for what seems like hours, breathing in each other’s new and strange presence. the sun is almost completely gone. you’re comfortable, he’s lulling you to sleep until reality sets in, making your eyes snap open.

why the hell are you letting a stranger touch and lay with you? and for so long? do you have a death wish?

you shoot up, clearing your throat, “‘m sorry simon, i just- i just realized i have to go, got something- got stuff to do at the house.”

your fear is clear to him, even if you didn’t say anything he could smell it. maybe you do have some survival instincts. he sits up with you but scoots away while doing so, putting some distance between you.

“tha’s alright, luv. didn’t mean to scare ya,” he says softly, he knows being scared while high is intense, so he’s being as gentle as possible.

“n-no it’s okay. i just, i mean, you know how it is.”

“i’m a strange man laying on your blanket n’ carressin’ you. i get it,” shit, he’s scaring you off. right when you were safe and warm under his palm.

he watches as you swiftly pack your things, scurrying like a little animal. he comes to a stand to help you fold your blanket. you reject him, “i’ve got it.”

he backs off. he notices the wall you put in front of him.

you’re all packed up when you face him again, eye contact unstable, “it was really nice meeting you, i uhm- i’ll see you around.”

simon nods, “nice talkin’ to ya,” he wants to tell you how nice it was to meet a pretty thing like you, tilt your chin up and kiss the corner of your plump lips, but he doesn’t. he can’t.

“listen, uh, before you go,” he starts as you go to turn away.

“yes?”

“go ahead and give me your number,” not a request, a command, “i got this real good plug, y’see. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the good stuff.”

you nod, pressing your lips together to keep from smiling, “y-yea..that would be nice, thank you.”

you’re unsure you’d even respond if he reached out, but you take a chance anyways, putting you number in his old phone.

“on you go now, luvie. get home safe.”

you give a shy, closed mouth smile, “thanks for, the uh, you know,” you mime a smoking motion with your hands.

simon chuckles.

“anytime.”

he watches you prance away from him, almost skipping. he smiles to himself.

he’d get through to you eventually.

[nos-xl]

My Dear Arthur,

You never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers I understand why. I don't imagine you will receive this letter but I nonetheless must send it. Arthur, oh, Arthur. I was just starting to dream the silliest and softest of dreams. I miss you, and I will always miss you but I cannot live like that, and it seems you cannot live any other way.

When I am with you, the world makes sense but when we are apart, I see clearly that your world is not a world from which one can escape. I am so sorry, for everything long ago and for starting up that business again. There's a good man within you, Arthur but he is wrestling with a giant. And the giant, wins, time and again. You've broken my heart, again and I fear I have broken yours.

For that, I will never forgive myself but you must let me go now. I enclose a ring you gave me many years ago, when we were both young, not because I don't like it, but because I care for it far too much and it reminds me too much of you. I hope, one day you will find some people in love who can use this, for it kept me thinking of you all these years, and I hope by returning it to you I can finally be free.

Goodbye,

Mary.

[inkspiredwriting]

Broke the rules

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the sprawling grounds of the Umbrella Academy. Thirteen-year-old Five Hargreeves crept silently through the shadows, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Tonight was another night he would see Y/n, the girl who had captured his heart.

It had all started a few months ago during a rescue mission. Five and his siblings had been dispatched to save a group of hostages from a dangerous situation. Among them was Y/n, a brave and resourceful girl who had caught Five's eye immediately. Despite the chaos and danger, there had been an instant connection between them.

After the mission, Five couldn't get Y/n out of his mind. He had to see her again. So, he began to smuggle her into the Academy every evening. They would spend hours together, talking and laughing, sharing their hopes and dreams. It was the one bright spot in Five's otherwise regimented and controlled life.

Tonight was no different. Five made his way to the hidden entrance he had discovered weeks ago, his mind filled with anticipation. As he approached, he saw Y/n waiting for him, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him.

"Five!" she whispered excitedly, throwing her arms around him.

"Y/n," he replied, hugging her tightly. "I missed you."

They sneaked into the Academy, careful to avoid the surveillance cameras and the ever-watchful eyes of Sir Reginald Hargreeves. They made their way to Five's room, where they could finally relax and be themselves.

"I brought you something," Y/n said, pulling a small, wrapped package from her bag. "It's a book I thought you'd like."

Five's eyes widened with delight as he unwrapped the gift. "Thank you, Y/n. This means a lot to me."

They spent the evening reading and talking, the hours slipping away unnoticed. But unbeknownst to them, Sir Reginald had grown suspicious of Five's nightly disappearances. He had been monitoring the house closely, and tonight, he decided to investigate.

As Five and Y/n laughed softly over a shared joke, the door to Five's room suddenly burst open. Sir Reginald stood in the doorway, his expression stern and disapproving.

"Number Five," he said coldly, his gaze shifting to Y/n. "Who is this, and what is she doing in my house?"

Five jumped to his feet, his heart racing. "Sir, I can explain—"

"There's no need for explanations," Sir Reginald interrupted, his tone icy. "You have broken the rules, Number Five. You know the consequences."

Y/n looked between Five and Sir Reginald, fear and confusion in her eyes. "Five, what's happening?"

Five took Y/n's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "It's going to be okay, Y/n. I'll handle this."

But Sir Reginald was not in a forgiving mood. "You will never invite anyone to this house again, Number Five. Do you understand? This is not a place for outsiders."

"But she—"

"Do you understand?" Sir Reginald repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Five's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes, Sir."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears as she realized what this meant. "Five, I—"

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Five said, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish things were different."

Sir Reginald stepped aside, allowing Y/n to leave. She gave Five one last, longing look before she turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

Five stood in the doorway, watching her go, his heart breaking. He knew he had to obey Sir Reginald's orders, but that didn't make it any easier. As the door closed, he felt a sense of loss he had never experienced before.

From that night on, Five was never the same. He buried himself in his training, determined to become stronger, to protect those he cared about until the day he finally had enough. The memory of Y/n lingered, a reminder of the young love he had found and lost, and the cost of living under Sir Reginald Hargreeves' iron rule.

[tashs-stories]

Hey I was wondering if you could do a Carlisle Cullen × Fem!wolf reader?

Absolutely. Sorry this was asked ages ago but I've been really busy. So sorry I just got around to it now 😔

-----------------------------------

Blooming in the Shadows

Forks had always been drenched in rain, secrets, and stories whispered between trees. When Ivy arrived, she brought the scent of wildflowers and something long forgotten—hope.

She wasn't born to the Quileute tribe, but her mother had married a member years ago, and the council had accepted them. Ivy was 21, newly shifting, and unlike anyone the pack had ever seen. With long, light brown hair that shimmered under the faintest light, and vivid green eyes, she drew attention not just for her beauty, but her calm defiance. She bore the pack tattoo, proof of her belonging, but her body also carried delicate floral tattoos—honeysuckles twining around her forearm, lavender on her ribcage, wild roses creeping over her hip. They weren’t just decorations. They were symbols of growth, pain, and survival.

Sam had assigned Leah to help her through her early shifts. Ivy was a fast learner—graceful even in her wolf form, a rich tawny hue with streaks of soft gold. She rarely spoke unless she had something meaningful to say, and the pack respected that. But what no one expected was how often she’d start wandering past the treaty line.

Carlisle Cullen had sensed her long before he saw her.

It wasn’t just the pulse in the forest or the unusual heartbeat—it was the feeling of being seen. The first time he caught her scent near the river, he paused mid-step. Earthy pine mixed with soft florals, undercut by something more electric. He stayed still, waiting.

That’s when he saw her.

Ivy stood just across the riverbank, in human form, watching him. Her green eyes didn’t widen in fear or wrinkle in anger. They just held his gaze.

"You're him," she said calmly. “The doctor.”

Carlisle’s voice was soft. “You’re far from your territory.”

She shrugged. “You’re close to mine.”

And with that, she turned and disappeared back into the trees.

Their second meeting was less civil. Ivy had chased a rogue vampire beyond the boundaries and found herself near the Cullens’ land. Carlisle had intervened before she could tear the creature apart.

“You could’ve let me finish it,” she snapped, panting, her eyes glowing with rage.

Carlisle placed himself between her and the nearly unconscious rogue. “He was fleeing. Not a threat anymore.”

She glared at him. “And next time he comes back and kills someone?”

His voice remained level. “Then we stop him. But not like this.”

Something in her defiance stirred him, not because she was reckless, but because she cared. Deeply.

That night, Ivy returned to the border again. And the night after that. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they just stood in silence.

She told him about her mother. How she didn’t know her father. How she had always felt out of place until the wolf woke up in her. Carlisle told her about his own transformation, about centuries of loneliness before he built a family.

And then one night, she asked, “Do you ever feel like the world has already decided who you are, and you’re just… acting it out?”

He looked at her with quiet understanding. “Yes. More times than I can count.”

The imprint, when it happened, was unexpected.

Carlisle hadn’t believed it was possible—he wasn’t Quileute, after all. But the moment Ivy collapsed near his home, trembling from a poisoned cut left by another vampire, he rushed to her side.

Her eyes fluttered open, barely conscious, and she whispered, “I didn’t want to come here but… I knew you’d make it stop hurting.”

And as he lifted her into his arms, the world shifted. It wasn’t sudden fireworks, but a slow realization that everything he had been missing was right there—in her, wrapped in pain and wildness and kindness.

Ivy healed quickly under his care. He treated her with the gentle reverence only he could provide, his fingers barely brushing her skin, always asking for permission. And despite herself, Ivy found comfort. Found… safety.

Of course, it wasn’t simple.

The pack was furious. A wolf, especially a new one, falling for a Cullen? Sam nearly banned her. Jacob was conflicted. Only Leah, surprisingly, understood.

“You don’t choose the soul that calls to yours,” she said to Ivy. “You just answer it.”

The Cullens were cautious too. Rosalie didn’t trust the idea. Emmett found it fascinating. Edward kept his distance, knowing how complicated the future could become.

But none of it mattered when Ivy and Carlisle were together.

In the woods behind the Cullen house, he traced the flower tattoos on her shoulder. “What does this one mean?” he asked.

“Hibiscus,” she whispered. “Delicate. But bold when needed.”

He smiled, lips brushing her skin. “Just like you.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. “I don’t care if this is impossible. I’ve never felt more myself than I do with you.”

---

Years passed.

Slowly, the pack came around. Carlisle’s loyalty, Ivy’s strength, and the way they chose peace over pride began to change hearts. Ivy started assisting in the hospital, quietly saving lives with her speed and warmth. Carlisle kept her safe, never once asking her to hide who she was.

One spring evening, they stood in the meadow, her in a light sundress, hair catching the gold of the setting sun.

“I don’t think the universe meant for us to be enemies,” she murmured.

Carlisle turned to her, his golden eyes soft. “No. I think it meant for us to heal each other.”

And then, beneath the swaying wildflowers that mirrored her inked skin, he kissed her—timeless, soft, and certain.

And in that moment, there were no lines, no curses, no rules—only love blooming in the shadows.

[mikilandzzz]

♥︎‹ 𖤩 ¡𝐏𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄!

TW: none, except a bad joke about Dante's hair and a much pizza hahaha

Dante x fem!reader. Don't worry if you don't like the pronouns used here; you can change them to your preference or however you find most comfortable.

a/n: HELLO EVERYONE!!! sorry if I've been gone for so long. Life hasn't been kind to me these past few months, honestly… It may be late for this but I think it doesn't hurt. Also, because i've just finished watching the Netflix series, i'm obsessed with this guy. I'll watch the 2007 series later. (I swear...)

Dante always had a preference for pizza. If strawberry ice cream was one of his favorite things, pizza was even more so. But he didn't have many things he called "favorites." The only ones he considered "favorites" were pizza, strawberry ice cream, and demon hunting. However, there weren't many things that were compelling enough to pay attention to. He was a fairly simple man. He enjoyed life in a fairly simple way. Well, if we're talking about very simple and unimportant aspects like his lifestyle, he liked to let himself go because he wasn't a man who cared about anything else, no one knows exactly. And that was his charm.

While enjoying he pizza as he took a bite, the opening of the restaurant door caught her attention but it was only for a brief moment to see a girl with (h/c) hair come in. Her appearance was a coat that covered her almost completely, making it seem as if she was wearing nothing but the coat, although she was only wearing shorts and a black blouse but they weren't noticeable because of the coat. When she took a seat next to him, he only looked at her for a few moments before turning his attention back to his food and continuing to enjoy it, at least that was the case until she spoke.

—"Excuse me, ¿Can you give me the same order as the gray-haired man?" —Said the girl in a somewhat comical tone of voice, pointing as she looked at what else was offered on the menu in front of her.

¿A man with gray hair? ¡But that was his natural hair color! ¿How could she not know? Did he really look that old?

He's struggling internally to argue with her or let it go. People always commented on his hair or his age, but he felt the girl had meant it with bad intentions. Before he could even say anything, she spoke again.

—"Nice gray hair." —She said. He looked in her direction with mild amusement, but I could also sense that "honesty" in her voice.

—"I know" —He replied somewhat self-centeredly.— "Thanks, but it's my hair color. It's always been that way" —He added.

Neither of them said a word beyond what they had just said to each other, at least that was at first, but after a few moments (n) he dared to talk more with that man, deciding to engage him in some conversation to get to know him a little better.

—"By the way, ¿what's your name? You don't look like someone from around here" —She asks as takes she order and begins to take a bite of a food.

He just laughs lightly and then watches her eat her pizza for a few moments, then focuses on his own food. He introduces himself as Dante while the girl reveals herself as (n). (N) found his name strange, but he had to admit that it was a pretty cool name. Even he had to admit that her name wasn't a very common one to hear or see a girl with that name.

—"I have to admit you gratify me, what do you think if i treat you to the next slice of pizza this time?" —She proposes with a smile, although it seemed more like a somewhat mocking smile instead.

—"¿How could I refuse a tempting offer that includes pizza?" —He joked, returning the same smile she gave him.

Time passed, and the two chatted; sometimes it was he who talked more, or even she. It didn't really matter who talked more; they were both having a great time, and like any good time, it had to end. She asked for the check to pay but not before seeing him leave a napkin with something written on it next to it.

"I hope to see you again (n). May this place be the place of our next meetings."

That made her face turn blush red, but she didn't mind the idea of ​​seeing him again. She was already excited to see him again.

I hope you liked it!! Remember to like and follow me so I can keep publishing more content. In case you're wondering, i'll keep writing about Mortal Kombat. It's just that I have to resume some abandoned drafts there.

If you have a question for my absence (although i doubt anyone would be interested) you can ask privately and i will gladly answer. :) ps: if something is not written correctly, ¡please let me know!

[fickleminder]

the intern

Office!AU. There’s a charming new intern at your office.

Written for the Blacjak’s Prompt Roulette event organized by @obeymevents! My prompt was Office!AU 😬

"Hi! How's it going?"

You nearly jumped out of your seat. The handsome face beaming at you was unfamiliar, a stranger and an enigma. Who the hell was this cheery on a Monday morning?

"Um, I'm doing alright, I guess." You glanced around, but nobody seemed to be paying the two of you any attention. "Can I help you?"

"It's my first day here! Figured I'd take the office tour and get to know some people along the way!"

"Oh, I didn't see your introduction email…"

The man's grin dropped a few megawatts. "Introduction email?"

"I'm not sure if your boss mentioned this yet, but it's common practice for new hires to send out an email to the entire department on their first day," you explained. "Just a simple icebreaker, nothing fancy: a little bit about your background, your hobbies, which team you've been assigned to…"

"I'm uh— I'm just an intern! Interns don't have to do that, do they?"

"No, they don't. I guess you're good then."

Being an intern made more sense. No full time hire would be this enthusiastic about working a desk job forty hours a week. Interns could at least afford to count the days until they had to return their badges and never look back.

That being said, this man definitely seemed much older than most interns your company usually hired. A mid-career switch, perhaps? Either way, you were in no position to judge, and the least you could do was make him feel more welcomed here. Deciding to take a break from staring at your monitor all day, you introduced yourself. "Where are you seated? Who's your mentor?"

"Call me Yamamoto! My cubicle is right outside the printer room, and I'll be working under Lucifer!" Yamamoto adjusted his glasses, his eyes glinting with excitement as he leaned in. His cologne tickled your nose pleasantly. "Is it true that he'll fire you if you don't hand in your paperwork?"

You shook your head with a laugh, wondering if Mephisto had already gotten to the poor guy. "Lucifer is strict and has high standards, but he's also fair. I'll let you in on a secret: so long as you get your work done on time and show up for meetings, he won't mind if you come in a little late or leave a little earlier."

"Thank you, that's good to know!" Yamamoto checked his watch and pouted. "I have to go now, but it was nice meeting you! I hope you won't mind if I stop by to chat again?"

"Not at all," you smiled. Yamamoto was a breath of fresh air you didn't know you needed. Easy on the eyes too, especially with that slicked-back hair and sharp jawline. "I'll see you around."

.

.

.

"—never did ask, what do you do here?"

"I'm part of IT, but not front line support. Basically I'm supposed to step in only if there's anything the service desk needs to escalate or can't handle."

"Sounds like they call on you often."

"That obvious, huh? Those guys are supposed to be tech trained, and yet they come to me even for stuff they can find solutions to on the internet. It's really frustrating sometimes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You must be pretty busy then. I'm not imposing, am I? It's halfway through lunchtime and you're still at your desk…"

"Nah, I usually pack my own meals since it gets pretty crowded in the staff canteen. Speaking of, do you know where to go for food? I can recommend a few places if you want."

"Do tell!"

.

.

.

After the printer finally finished spitting out all of your documents, you put your phone away and gathered them up. The warmth from the papers was a soothing contrast to the chill of the air-conditioner, especially on this side of the floor. You clutched the stack close to your chest as you sighed and started making your way back to your desk.

"Are you okay?" Yamamoto's head popped up from behind the dividers of his cubicle. You'd forgotten this was where he sat. "That was a pretty loud sigh."

"I'm good. Nothing like freshly printed paper to make you feel like you're getting a warm hug," you joked.

Yamamoto was already halfway out of his chair with open arms before he caught himself. He cleared his throat with an awkward laugh. "Oh, sorry, I don't know what came over me. Haha…"

It was your turn to look concerned. "You doing alright there?"

"Yes, yes," he coughed into his fist before straightening with a smile. "If you have some time for a break, how about a coffee? I haven't tried all the capsule flavors yet."

"Sounds good to me!" You were ahead of schedule anyway. A third cup wouldn't hurt. "Let me put these away first and I'll meet you at the pantry."

.

.

.

"—heard he's ex-military, but he really doesn't seem like the type. He's bad at saying no, so more often than not we end up taking the shit other teams throw at us."

"Yikes, that's rough. I'll have to talk to Levi about that."

"Huh?"

"Uh, I mean, Lucifer wanted me to meet the different team leads as part of my program, for exposure! I could bring up your issue with him, if you like."

"That's really sweet of you, but unless you can convince him to give me a raise, don't worry about it. Just focus on your internship and learn all that you can, okay? I'll be fine; I've been doing this for years now."

"If you insist…"

.

.

.

"Four hot chocolates."

"Three, but I'll throw in one of the Christmas capsules."

"Deal." Yamamoto rummaged in his bag for sachets of caffeine-free tea. "I can't believe we have to resort to bartering for these things."

"Hey, when an unmentionable colleague constantly cleans out the pantry, you do what you gotta do: hoard and trade." You dug through your own stash hidden in a drawer. "At least the weekly refills are always on schedule."

"Is that code?" Yamamoto peered at the colorful text on your monitor as he handed you the tea. "I didn't realize you were a programmer too."

"Just a side project I'm working on when I have some time. It's supposed to help the service desk track cases better, and manage our hardware and software lifecycles," you explained. "Technically out of my job scope, but Levi's been pretty supportive since he thinks this could be a useful initiative with the enough manpower and resources. I just need to get a proof-of-concept working first…"

"Half of what you said flew over my head, but I'm rooting for you!" Yamamoto gave you a thumbs up before arching an eyebrow at the goods you handed him. "Wait, four hot chocolates?"

"Intern special." You winked and tossed the Christmas capsule towards him. "And because you're cute."

.

.

.

"I need you to drop whatever you're doing and head to management's floor."

"What— now? But Levi, we have that meeting in ten minutes…"

"Lucifer's orders. He wants to talk to you about an assessment or something. Don't worry about the meeting, I can tank it."

"You're my boss; shouldn't you be there too?"

"I would, but he asked for you only. Better not make him wait."

.

.

.

You knew — you just knew — it had to do with Yamamoto somehow. The guy had just wrapped up his internship and left last week, and now you were being called into the head honcho's office.

Did he leave negative feedback during his exit interview? Had you behaved unprofessionally? You did interact with him more than strictly necessary, especially since both of you were in different teams, but he never seemed to mind your company. In fact, Yamamoto was always friendly, inviting and—

—sitting in the CEO's chair, glasses off and hair slightly tousled and a freshly pressed suit fitting him in all the right ways.

His eyes were up there, you had to remind yourself.

"—above and beyond the call of duty, don't you agree, Lucifer?"

"Yes, Diavolo." The lines on Lucifer's forehead said otherwise, but he was in no position to argue with the man who literally owned the entire building they were in. "Though, to conduct a staff evaluation in the middle of the financial year—"

"I saw it on a show once and had to try it! It was a very enlightening experience." He shot you the same wide smile you'd seen countless times over the past few months, one that never failed to send your stomach on a rollercoaster. For entirely different reasons this time, however. "Apologies for the deception, but I called you here to share some of my findings since you were instrumental in assisting my evaluation."

Shit, you couldn't remember anything he'd said before this. "Uh, you're welcome sir?"

"No need to be so formal, haha!" His boisterous laughter drowned out Lucifer's groan. "You'll be happy to hear about the new innovation fund I'm proposing. But before that, regarding that raise you mentioned…"

[mariusrenathyrs-crashout]

A few posts ago you mentioned how you’ve been thinking about Grimmorbek a lot. May I ask about your opinion and personal interpretation of Grimmorbek?

GOD. This is so much fucking longer than I planned for but I love yapping about ship dynamics. Also sorry for the late reply Anon, I hope you see this eventually lol.

My personal opinions: I love them. As a big fan of Frostbek and someone who has seen quite a deal of Grimmorning floating on my dash, to me it's a pretty fascinating trio as they have such good chemistry and work well as duos.

Frostbek works in my mind as Frost has been noted to be much kinder to Torbek who has taken notice of this despite Frost's deadpan demeanor or troubles emoting. Torbek fascinates Frost and I think this can be looked at from many angles as Torbek is not only fascinating for the trauma he endures and secrets he holds but also for his oddly forgiving demeanor and caring nature. Blah blah you guys have heard me make many posts about Frostbek.

And Grimmorning obviously has chemistry as the two have been long, long time friends and they are fascinating as a polar opposite duo. Despite their differences they clearly compliment one another well as yapper vs listener or emotive vs internal or physically and verbally affectionate vs quality time and acts of service. The two basically coparent a child together and the running gag of "I've always wondered about you two" in terms of being a couple.

Grimbek (is that what it's called?) I think even has some grounds as both Goblinoids - I think that sharing a language the others don't is both something deeply connecting but also is very intimate when used - and Gricko has on multiple occasions gone out of his way to comfort Torbek aka sing for him when he's having panic attacks. While a little shit head towards Torbek at times, he's also advocated for Torbek and had shown the most moral guilt over being a cause for Torbek ever being hurt.

I think as a trio, the parts just make sense. Two emotive partners to Frost's introspective and introverted, two emotionally stable and grounding partners for Torbek who's more prone to panic and discomfort, and two calming and slow presences to keep Gricko from flying off the handle and take a pause to rest and relax and breathe. I think the addition of a 3rd to the partnership also adds interesting complexities to the dynamic as someone like Gricko can help Frost and Torbek who both sometimes struggle expressing themselves or communicating and he can mediate on their behalfs. Frost is very close to both Gricko and Torbek so having someone to watch out for the pair who left to their own devices may be more prone to rushing into danger or not taking care of themselves or giving themselves a break. And Torbek is fascinating because I think he brings out an odd fondness the pair don't normally display as they have both been shown to care for and tend to him and I think it brings out a nice - domestic isn't the word but I can't rly think of what other word to say - tenderness maybe to them that they don't normally show in the group due to it being as Gricko said "a bunch of middle aged lads who struggle to talk about their emotions to one another."

[sleepberries]

Hello!!! How r you doing?

Hear me out on a fic idea =Jason's relationship reveal I'm DYING for something based on that line from last week: "So when Jason had casually dropped during family dinner three nights ago that he was "seeing someone,""

Could you PLEASE write what happened durin dinner? I need to see the family realizing our boy Jason is actually serious about someone!! I'm just imagining Jason getting more annoyed as they keep prying

Hope you have a wonderful day💖💖

hello !! i'm doing well tyy ( ꈍ◡ꈍ) sorry this took so long to get up, i did already have a basic draft but i wanted to make sure it was just right bc i was also super excited to envision this scenario. thank you <3 this takes place soon after the fic "you belong with me" and just before "tim's research project"

The Wayne Manor dining room maintained its usual imposing air, all polished mahogany and gleaming silver, despite the distinctly un-imposing conversation currently taking place around the table.

"—and then he just stands there, covered in purple goo, and says 'Well, at least it's my color.'" Dick concluded, his hands gesturing wildly to illustrate the story.

Damian scoffed, pushing around the vegetables on his plate with studied disinterest. "Grayson, your choice in companions continues to disappoint."

"Come on, Dami. Gar's funny," Dick protested, though his smile never wavered.

"If by 'funny' you mean 'chronically incapable of maintaining dignity in combat situations,' then yes, I suppose he is," Damian retorted.

Tim glanced up from his tablet—positioned just far enough away from his plate to avoid Alfred's disapproval—and smirked. "That's rich coming from someone who spent last Thursday trapped in a billboard advertisement for cheese."

A dangerous glint appeared in Damian's eyes. "Drake, if you value the continued function of that device—"

"Boys." Bruce's voice, though quiet, cut through the brewing argument with practiced efficiency. "Not at dinner."

The room fell silent for approximately three seconds before Stephanie, undeterred as always by Bruce's attempts at decorum, leaned forward with a grin.

"Okay, but can we circle back to the part where Damian got stuck in a giant cheese billboard? Because I need details."

"The adhesive properties of the substance were unexpected," Damian muttered defensively. "It was a tactical miscalculation."

"It was hilarious," Tim corrected, finally setting his tablet aside. "We should have left you there."

"We considered it," Cass confirmed with a small smile, speaking for the first time since they'd sat down. Her eyes danced with amusement as she met Damian's glare.

Jason, who had been unusually quiet throughout dinner, snorted into his wine glass. "Please tell me someone got pictures."

"Oracle has the security cam footage," Dick offered with a grin. "High definition."

"Timothy, I will end you," Damian hissed, but there was less venom in it than usual.

Alfred appeared at Jason's elbow, offering more roast potatoes with a perfectly impassive expression that nonetheless conveyed his opinion on threatening murder at the dinner table.

"Thanks, Alfie," Jason murmured, accepting the serving with a nod.

Bruce, perhaps sensing the imminent descent into another round of bickering, cleared his throat. "How are things in Park Row, Jason?"

It was a transparent attempt to redirect conversation, but Jason allowed it, setting down his fork. "Quiet. Crime stats are down since we shut down the Maroni operation last month."

"And the new community center?" Bruce pressed.

"Opening next week. The foundation's grant came through."

Bruce nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. "Good."

"The kids are excited," Jason added, his voice softening slightly. "They've already signed up forty for the after-school program."

Tim noted the change in tone with interest. Jason rarely let his guard down about anything, but the kids in his neighborhood were a notable exception. For all his hard edges, Jason's protective streak ran bone-deep, especially when it came to children growing up like he had.

"You should bring your new painting class to the manor sometime," Dick suggested. "The grounds would make a good subject."

Jason's eyebrow rose. "What, and expose innocent kids to this circus? I'm trying to keep them out of therapy, Dickhead."

"Speaking of therapy," Stephanie interjected, "how's the anger management going?"

"Fantastic," Jason deadpanned. "I only fantasized about shooting three people at this table today."

"Progress," Bruce muttered into his water glass, startling a laugh out of Dick.

"He made a joke," Stephanie stage-whispered to Tim. "Alert the media."

Alfred reappeared to clear plates, the subtle choreography of dinner at Wayne Manor proceeding with its usual precision. Tim watched as Jason helped stack dishes—a habit from his early days back from the dead, when being useful had seemed like the only way to justify his presence in spaces that once felt like home.

"Desert will be served momentarily," Alfred announced. "Master Timothy, perhaps you might remove your technological appendage from the table entirely."

Tim hastily tucked his tablet away, ignoring Damian's smirk.

"How about you, Tim?" Dick asked, leaning back in his chair. "I heard you've been burning the midnight oil on some new project."

"Just updating security protocols," Tim said vaguely. "Nothing exciting."

"Lies," Stephanie countered. "You've been doing that thing where you forget meals exist. Again."

"Some of us have actual responsibilities, Brown," Damian said, somehow making the statement sound both condescending and defensive of Tim, a paradox only Damian could achieve.

Tim shot him a surprised look. "Was that... support?"

"It was an observation," Damian clarified coldly. "Don't read into it."

"Too late," Dick grinned. "I saw it. You care."

"I require Drake's moderate competence for mission success," Damian insisted. "Nothing more."

"Aww, the demon brat has feelings," Jason drawled, but the teasing lacked its usual edge.

Cass tilted her head, studying Jason with that unnerving perception that always made Tim feel like she was reading code directly from his brain. "You're different," she stated simply.

All eyes turned to Jason, who stiffened minutely. "What?"

"Different," Cass repeated, gesturing vaguely toward him. "You seem lighter."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table as Jason's expression shuttered. Tim watched with fascination as his brother's body language shifted—the subtle straightening of his spine, the careful arrangement of his features into practiced nonchalance.

"Good pasta will do that to you," Jason deflected, but the joke fell flat.

Bruce was watching him now too, with that analytical gaze that meant he was cataloging details, filing away observations for later consideration. Even Damian had abandoned his customary scowl in favor of curious attention.

"She's right," Dick said slowly. "You've been... I don't know, less prickly lately?"

"Compared to what, a cactus?" Jason snorted, but there was a tension in his shoulders now, the kind that usually preceded either a fight or a hasty exit.

Tim recognized the signs. Jason was about to bolt, uncomfortable with being the center of scrutiny. Without fully thinking it through, Tim spoke up, providing a potential escape route.

"Maybe he's finally getting enough sleep. Novel concept, I know."

But instead of taking the offered deflection, Jason made a decision. Tim saw it happen—a brief calculation, a measured breath, and then that particular set to his jaw that meant Jason Todd was about to do something even he wasn't entirely sure about.

"Actually," Jason said, and the carefully casual tone sent an immediate ping to Tim's internal alert system, "I've been seeing someone."

The statement dropped like a stone into still water, ripples of surprise expanding outward around the table. Tim froze with his water glass halfway to his mouth, analyzing Jason's delivery—too rehearsed to be impulsive, too offhand to be meaningless.

Dick recovered first, his face breaking into a delighted grin. "Really? That's great, Little Wing!"

"Who is it?" Stephanie demanded, leaning forward with undisguised interest. "Anyone we know?"

"Just someone I met a while back," Jason said with a shrug that was so studiedly indifferent it practically screamed significance. "It's not a big deal."

But it was. Tim could see it in the tension around Jason's eyes, the barely perceptible shift in his posture—defensive but determined, like he was expecting an attack but had decided to stand his ground anyway.

"Do they know about your night job?" Bruce asked, his expression unreadable.

A flash of annoyance crossed Jason's face. "Yes, he does."

The emphasized pronoun wasn't lost on anyone, but nobody reacted beyond Bruce's slight nod. Jason's sexuality had never been a secret or a surprise; it was just another fact about him, like his preference for chocolate over vanilla or guns over batarangs.

"Are they in our... industry?" Tim asked carefully, his mind already running calculations, cross-referencing recent cases where Jason might have encountered another vigilante.

"Something like that," Jason replied, something softening imperceptibly in his expression. "He understands the life."

The evasiveness was typical Jason, but there was something else in his voice—a trace of warmth that Jason rarely allowed himself to display, especially in this house. It made Tim's investigative instincts prickle with interest.

"How long?" Cass asked simply.

Jason hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. "Few months."

"Months?" Dick echoed, looking genuinely surprised. "And you're just telling us now?"

"Not like I need your approval, Dickface," Jason retorted, but there was less bite in it than usual.

"Of course not," Dick said quickly. "I'm just... happy for you."

And he was, Tim realized. Dick's expression had that particular earnest quality that couldn't be faked—genuine pleasure at the idea that Jason had found someone. Bruce, too, seemed satisfied rather than concerned, relaxing slightly in his chair.

"Is he good to you?" Cass asked, direct as always.

The question hung in the air for a moment. Under normal circumstances, Jason would have scoffed at such a query, deflected with sarcasm or outright hostility. But instead, a small, almost involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "He is."

The simple honesty in those two words was more revealing than anything else Jason could have said. Tim filed the information away, noting the unusual vulnerability with growing curiosity.

"Does he have a name, or is that classified?" Stephanie asked, grinning.

"None of your business, Blondie," Jason replied, but it lacked heat.

"How did you meet?" Dick pressed, clearly sensing that Jason was actually willing to talk, a rare enough occurrence to be worth pursuing.

Jason took a sip of his wine, considering. "Ran into each other on a case. Arms dealers, moving product between cities."

"And what? Love at first fight?" Stephanie teased.

"More like mutual irritation," Jason corrected, but there was amusement in his eyes now. "He wouldn't shut up. Just kept making these terrible jokes while taking down guys twice his size."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Bruce murmured, glancing meaningfully at Dick, who clutched his chest in mock offense.

"My jokes are excellent," Dick protested.

Damian sniffed disdainfully. "That you believe this only confirms your poor judgment, Grayson."

"Says the kid who thinks 'tt' is a witty comeback," Tim countered, earning a glare from Damian.

Jason watched the exchange with something that might have been fondness if he'd allow himself to admit it. "Anyway," he continued, drawing attention back to himself, "we kept running into each other. Eventually decided to team up instead of getting in each other's way."

"And then?" Stephanie prompted when Jason fell silent.

Jason shrugged again, but this time the casualness felt less forced. "And then we got takeout. Then coffee. Then..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"Then horizontal refreshment," Stephanie supplied helpfully.

"Stephanie!" Bruce admonished while Dick choked on his water.

"What? We're all adults here." She paused, glancing at Damian. "Mostly."

"I am not a child, Brown," Damian growled.

"Regardless," Bruce interrupted firmly, "some decorum would be appreciated."

Jason just smirked, apparently enjoying Bruce's discomfort. "What's wrong, old man? Can't handle the idea of your kids having lives?"

"I am perfectly aware that my children have lives," Bruce replied with dignity. "I simply prefer not to discuss certain aspects of those lives over dessert."

As if summoned by the word, Alfred reappeared with a tray bearing a chocolate torte that momentarily distracted everyone from the conversation. Tim watched as Jason visibly relaxed, clearly relieved to have the spotlight shift away from his revelation.

But Tim's mind was already working, processing the new information with methodical precision. Jason had been seeing someone for months—someone in their line of work, someone he'd met during a case involving arms dealers moving between cities. Someone who made jokes during fights, who was strong enough to take down much larger opponents, and who clearly understood the vigilante lifestyle well enough that Jason felt comfortable bringing him up at all.

Most importantly, someone who made Jason's voice soften when he spoke about him, who put that tiny, reluctant smile on his face. Someone who mattered.

As Alfred placed a slice of torte in front of him, Tim made a mental note to start researching as soon as dinner concluded. Not because he didn't trust Jason's judgment (though history suggested some healthy skepticism was warranted), but because if someone had managed to earn not just Jason's attention but his affection—his genuine, unguarded affection—Tim needed to know who they were.

"So," Dick said, breaking into Tim's thoughts, "when do we get to meet him?"

The question was asked casually, but Tim didn't miss the way Jason's shoulders tensed again, how his expression returned to carefully neutral territory.

"You don't," Jason said flatly.

"Oh, come on," Dick cajoled. "Just a quick introduction. I promise to be on my best behavior."

"Your best behavior is exactly what I'm worried about," Jason retorted. "Last thing I need is you trying to show off or, God forbid, sharing childhood stories."

"I would never," Dick gasped in mock outrage, then immediately contradicted himself by turning to Stephanie. "Did I ever tell you about the time Jason got stuck in the chandelier trying to recreate my quadruple somersault?"

"Grayson, I will end you," Jason growled, the threat undermined by the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"See? This is why he's never coming here," Jason added, gesturing around the table with his fork. "You're all disasters."

"Pot, kettle," Tim murmured, earning a glare from Jason.

"Besides," Jason continued, "he's got his own city. His own... family situation. It's complicated."

Another piece of information to file away, Tim noted. Not just any vigilante, but one with territorial responsibilities and family connections—possibly another legacy hero.

"Well, whenever you're ready," Dick said, more gently this time, "we'd love to meet him."

Jason looked momentarily surprised by the sincerity, then covered it with a scoff. "Yeah, we'll see."

But he didn't outright refuse, Tim noticed. Another significant detail.

The conversation gradually shifted to other topics—an upcoming charity gala Bruce was dreading, a new training regimen Dick wanted to implement, Damian's latest artistic project (which he refused to describe in any detail, arousing immediate suspicion). Throughout it all, Tim observed Jason, noting how he seemed both more relaxed and more guarded than usual, the contradiction fitting for someone who had just voluntarily shared something personal but was already calculating how to protect it.

Later, as they moved to the library for coffee, Tim caught Jason alone for a moment near the bookshelves.

"So," Tim said quietly, "serious enough to mention at family dinner?"

Jason's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't start, Replacement."

"I'm not starting anything," Tim assured him, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Just... it's good. Seeing you happy."

Jason studied him for a moment, searching for mockery or ulterior motives. Finding none, he gave a short nod. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

"For what it's worth," Tim added carefully, "whoever he is, he must be pretty special."

A shadow of that same small, involuntary smile crossed Jason's face. "Yeah," he admitted, voice pitched low enough that only Tim could hear. "He is."

The simple admission, freely given without deflection or sarcasm, told Tim everything he needed to know. As Jason moved away to rejoin the others, Tim made a mental note to start his research tonight. Not just basic background checks, but thorough analysis. Because whoever this mysterious vigilante was, he clearly meant something to Jason.

And that meant Tim needed to know everything about him.

Just to be safe.

[azaharinflames]

If we don't get something for BuckTommy in the finale than I feel it would be healthier for me to just put down the show.

I don't know if I'll be able to do it but I do think maybe it's better for me to just leave the show to the Buddies. They have their army, their journos are their generals, and they will never stop, never relent, even if the show never gives them what they want.

With all my heart I believe the very best they will ever get is some one-sided confession from Buck at the very last episode of the series. Maybe on his deathbed. But those are wilfully blind will not see.

And the show will probably never shut them down properly. It got close in the last few episodes, and maybe it can still pull the trigger in the finale and send them spiralling off into the void. Here's hoping. But if they don't, then I don't see how this to and fro can continue for me.

I can't watch with their fandom as a bugbear on my back. I want to talk and read about the show but there is literally no space where they aren't being generally awful.

They really are close to breaking down the last of my resistance. I want to stay out of obstinance, because I know that it's exactly their goal to destroy people's hope, but it's just so hard.

Really need Tommy to be in the finale in a real way or else the relationship dropped. I can hold on to hope if there's something tangible to hold on to. I can throw away all hope and just hang around as an unrepentant hater of the show, or leave entirely. But this liminal space where the show can't make up it's mind is torturous.

They either need to give me something or tell me to fuck off so I can actually have an emotional reaction.

Sorry that this ended up being a stream of consciousness.

don’t worry, nonnie, it made sense. and i have to agree and share the sentiment. and i’m happy you can vent here <3

I don’t necessarily share the part of buddie with you. mostly because i refuse to think about them or give them that power, tbh. though i will agree that they are not getting buddie canon, and atp, and especially after last episode, that’s painfully obvious.

so. does it matter if the ‘journos’ are on their side? if bts sometimes posts them? if they’re sent together to do promo (which i will argue it’s not a ‘gift’ to them but them doing promo)? the show is clearly telling them something, as much as we can argue that they still give them small things. if you watch the show it’s rather obvious how they feel about them. therefore leaving to me is not giving them a victory. it’s knowing that it wouldn’t even be a battle to be had, because we exist in two different realms.

that being said. i am waiting on 818 to fully determine what i do with this show.

and to be quite honest, this is not entirely about bucktommy. partly, it is, because i would hate to feel like i’ve been dragged along for this long without a proper reason to - because to bring back tommy after 806 and keep him around for the whole season when there was no reason for it, if they just want him to suddenly disappear is cruel. and it would definitely put me off the show, if anything just because i wouldn’t want my time to be wasted like that.

but it is more than that to me. it would be wasted time, but also it would be watching a show that is hit after hit to my favorite character, with no pay-off or any type of joy. it would be rewarding the behaviors around buck, even, and showing that the way they treated him was right. and i’m simply not okay with that, and i wouldn’t be okay with watching the show if that happened.

ultimately, it would be me being tired of seeing a show that goes nowhere, because that’s how it would feel. and knowing when to stop if it doesn’t bring me joy anymore.

not to say 818 will be bad. i don’t think it will be. but just. in a hypothetical case, i agree.

[gameo-archive]

Thanks to the always-amazing @pipwasreal for providing the transcript under the cut:

George: Hello Evelyn! I hope you're doing really, really well. It's lovely to hear from you again. I hope everything is good in Taiwan, I hope you're safe, I hope you're enjoying the spring... I don't know if it is spring over there, actually, but I hope you're having a nice day.

It's nice and sunny here in London, which makes a huge change, especially when it's consistently sunny, so I am making the most of that.

Thank you so much for your cameo request, let's get into it. So you've said: "Happy first anniversary to Dead Boy Detectives." Happy first anniversary back! Sorry, that was a bit of a mouthful. Happy first anniversary back. It's crazy that it's been a year since it came out. It feels like a very long time ago, but also very recent. A lot of stuff has happened since, I feel, but also not much. So it's a nice little balance of both.

You've said: "I've been thinking a lot this month about how grateful I am to have found such an amazing show. It's been a comforting presence through so many stressful times. Edwin's resilience and kindness are so inspiring, and he'll always hold a special place in my heart. Since Dead Boy Detectives is still a baby in the world of TV, here's my question: What do you think six year old Edwin would be like as a kid?"

Hmm... what do I think six year old... I think six year old Edwin would have been quite introverted, quite shy, quite obedient. I think he would've, even at such a young age, found solace in reading, and stories, and found a sense of escapism from that.

I see him, despite that, I do see him enjoying the outdoors, being around horses, animals, maybe. I don't know why, I always think of horses with him. Walking through fields... I always imagined him growing up in, you know, some kind of manor in the English countryside.

But I do think he would probably keep to himself, when it comes to interactions with other humans, I think. I think he would be in his own world.

Umm [pops lips] "How would sixteen year old Edwin react if he met six year old Charles?" [Laughs] I think he would have to exercise a lot of patience, because, I think, I can imagine six year old Charles, if he's how I imagine six year old Jayden would be, would run absolute riot, and get up to a lot of mischief. So, um, Edwin might have to put him on a leash, to be honest.

"Since I wouldn't trade the experience of falling in love with Dead Boy Detectives for anything, here's another question: If Edwin were given a potion that could erase his romantic feelings for Charles, would he take it? Why or why not?" I don't think he would, no. Because, I feel like... it's one of those complex things in life, you know, the way Edwin is forced to navigate his feelings for Charles is a very truthful thing. And it's something that, I think, in one way or another, I think a lot of people relate to. So to take that away is to take away the human experience, I think. But maybe that's a bit deep.

But listen, Evelyn [pronounced Ee-velyn]. Evelyn [pronounced Eh-velyn]? I... will you remind me in the next one how to say your name correctly? Because I... I remember in the last couple I did that, I couldn't remember, and you have explained it before, but I can't remember, and I'm really sorry about that.

But listen, I'm so pleased that Dead Boy Detectives has resonated with you so much, I'm so pleased that Edwin has. Edwin will always be there for you, Dead Boy Detectives will always be there for you, and it's lovely to hear from you, as well. So, have a great rest of your week and I'll speak to you soon. Bye!

Jayden: Hey Evelyn [pronounced Ee-velyn]! Happy belated first anniversary to DBD. I can't believe it's been a year. I can't tell if it's been the quickest year of my life, or the slowest year. Still haven't quite worked that out yet.

So, you've said you've been thinking a lot this month about how grateful you are to have found this brilliant show. It's led you to meet so many wonderful people, and that absolutely includes me, whoo hoo! "I'll always love the way you handled Charles' trauma and growth, it continues to be a source of encouragement and comfort to me." I love that, thank you so, so much for your kind words.

Since DBD is still a baby in the world of TV, here's your question: "What do you think six year old Charles would be like as a kid?" I think Charles would be very sporty. I imagine him always, like, climbing things. That was one thing, I aways kind of imagined Charles, he was like the kid who kind of ran off and climbed things. [Laughs] Very similar to me, to be honest.

"How would sixteen year old Charles react if he met six year old Edwin?" Very good question. I always imagined Charles being really good with kids. I just answered a question about, like, what things that Charles used to do, and I always imagined Charles being that guy or that kid in the neighbourhood that would kind of go around and, y'know, clean his neighbours' windows or his neighbours' cars or, like, take his neighbours' dogs for a walk. So, I imagined him being quite good with kids, so, yeah, I think if he met six year old Edwin he'd, y'know, be very gentle and he would probably try and make him laugh, as, y'know, as he does when they're both sixteen.

"To many fans, DBD feels like a lantern in the dark." Amazing. "Here's another question: Was the lantern Charles used in Hell the one Edwin gave him? After escaping, did he ever find a new one? See you."

Well, I don't think it was ever, on purpose, meant to be that, like, that lantern. But it was, it was the same prop, I know that for sure. And the only reason why I know is because me and George had a whole giggle about how, like, heavy it gets, after a while. It was, like, really weighty, the one they gave us [laughs]. And there were so many scenes where, like, especially for me in Hell, I'd have to hold it up, like, really high, and hold it there for lighting purposes. And I felt my arm like [laughs] shaking. So um yeah I don't know if that, if it was supposed to be, but it was the exact same lantern we held.

Thank you so much for your amazing questions, and hopefully I get to hear from you again soon.

Belated Happy 1st Anniversary of Dead Boy Detectives !

Here are my questions for George: What do you think 6-year-old Edwin would be like as a kid? How would 16-year-old Edwin react if he met 6-year-old Charles? If Edwin were given a potion that could erase his romantic feelings for Charles, would he take it? Why or why not? 

Here are my questions for Jayden: What do you think 6-year-old Charles would be like as a kid? How would 16-year-old Charles react if he met 6-year-old Edwin? Was the lantern Charles used in Hell the one Edwin gave him? After escaping did he ever find a new one?

[voidheartkisses]

Subspace and Medkit sketches!!