#anyway I’m not replying to a message that says ‘I hate these people’

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Found You First

Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

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

Word Count: 17K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” She finally glanced up.

“Soonyoung.”

She blinked. “Is this Soonyoung cute?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a menace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow. “Leftovers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like too much work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone chimed with a new notification. 

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

You groaned but didn’t delete the message.

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

You groaned harder and shut off your phone.

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

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

You suspected the same went for Jihoon.

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

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

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

“What?” Jihoon wondered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “Have they?”

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

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

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

“No shot at romance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Soonyoung?” 

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

“By whom?”

He looked away and didn’t say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m serious–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare, stress or boredom?”

“... All three?”

“You have to pick one.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hummed. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always?” you teased.

“... Well, maybe not always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jihoon shrugged. “I was bored.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh,” he vocalised, “right again.”

“Why did we even turn left then?” 

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

“Whatever. Next?”

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

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

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

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

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

“She wouldn’t tell.”

“You’re chatting with her right now?”

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

“Stop. That’s gross.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Made a promise to not uninstall it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The banners of the café were mocking you.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m always imaginative.”

“It was not a compliment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Jihoon stared at him dumbfounded. 

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

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

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

“No!”

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

“Why are we friends with you again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain America.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you have in mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Join me in becoming sheep farmers in Iceland?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Jihoon sighed in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You quirked a brow. “Who? Vernon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Today.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am!”

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

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

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

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

You frowned. “We’re not–”

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

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

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

But you felt like you were living in a nightmare.

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

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

Yeonmi gasped. “It’s not?”

You ignored her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was as if you had forgotten how to act. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

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

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

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

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

His eyes blinked wide. “You’re sick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was nothing you didn’t love about him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

You weren’t sure you had another option.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What rejection? Who would reject you?”

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

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

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

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

You stayed silent to mourn the reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whined. “I don’t want to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because we’re friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whispered your name in his sleep and you found yourself giving in to the wistful dreams of that being his truth. As you pulled him closer, you prayed you wouldn’t have to wake up to another heartbreak.

If you had thought the streetlights at night were a curse last night, then now you found yourself thinking that any and all kinds of outside light had been invented just to make whoever inhabited this room as miserable as possible.

The morning sun shone right into your eyes even through the curtains at 6 am. Even if you hadn’t spent the entire night in a restless limbo between sleep and trying to solve the mystery of Jihoon’s words, you would've been upset to awaken to the horrid rays of bright sunshine.

The more you woke up, the more your world seemed to be upside down. Sometime at night, Jihoon’s arms had wrapped around you, tight and secure as they held you close to his chest. His lips were pressed to your temple. You almost wished he’d never wake up so you could enjoy this embrace for an eternity.

But another part of you didn’t want to face the disappointment of him jerking away from you as he’d wake up, embarrassed to have ever cuddled you in his sleep.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to detangle yourself from his limbs. Finger by finger, you pulled yourself free. You were just about to roll off his left arm when it suddenly curled and effortlessly pulled you back into his chest.

When you looked at him, Jihoon wore a frown and a pout. “You were supposed to stay.”

“I did,” you whispered, unsure if he was really awake yet or not. 

“Stay longer,” he demanded almost childishly, wrapping his newly free arm around you once again. “It’s still early.”

Your brain was trying hard to convince you that he thought you were someone else. Then he mumbled your name again and you saw his eyes slowly flutter open. Instead of pulling away and apologising like you expected him to, he offered you a smile. 

“What?” He chuckled, voice gravelly from sleep. 

You hesitated. But you knew that if you didn’t get answers, you’d drive yourself insane. “Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

His brows furrowed just a little but his lips remained in a pleasant smile. “About what?”

“About the girl who you’ve wanted to ask out for years but never did,” you supplied softly. “And about us being friends?”

The joy melted from his face. His eyes wavered. His lips quivered. He gave them a nervous lick before practically gasping for air. He remembered.

You tried to choose your words carefully, you really did. But they still came out all clumsy like they always did. “Is the girl me?”

He looked like he’d been caught in a crime. But his arms remained around you – you wondered if he was filled with the same selfishness you’d felt the night before: the urge to enjoy this feeling of closeness before it could get ripped away forever.

“How’d you know?” he whispered. 

“You said something last night,” you told him carefully. “Something that made me realise that maybe you feel … the same way as I do.”

He avoided your eyes, looking around the room. Then his gaze snapped back to you, suddenly full of clarity. “The same way?”

This was it, you realised. It was now or never. It was true love or losing your best friend. Except you weren’t sure you could still be friends even if you didn’t pour your heart out – could you look him in the eyes again and not think about the words he said last night? 

“Jihoon, I think–” The words were on the tip of your tongue, clinging to it like it was their last lifeline. It was hard to say what you wanted to.

His face, so devoid of joy just moments before, had lit up with hope. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m in love with you. I thought I could keep it a secret and not ruin our friendship,” you told him through nervous laughter, turning to look at the ceiling, “but now I’m not so sure I could have.”

“What made you change your mind?” he wondered as he looked at you with nothing short of awe. 

“When you were talking about that girl last night,” you were still struggling to breathe, adrenaline pumping through your veins, “I was so heartbroken. I was going to cry all through the night. Then you said something that made me think… It made me think, or maybe foolishly hope, that you meant me. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you mean me–?”

“I love you,” he replied before you could even finish your sentence. A smile appeared and you were filled with relief as he leaned his head closer to press against yours. “I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade. I thought I’d never get to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded to know.

His breath sounded more like a hopeless laugh. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought there was no way you’d love me back.”

“Clearly you were wrong.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled and surged forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. You savoured the feeling, pressing closer to him, tugging him closer with a hand on the back of his head. He pulled back and laughed again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Good thing you can do it again as many times as you please,” you told him with a smile. “You know, I’ve always hated Valentine’s day, but you have a real shot at changing that right now.”

The door burst open just as he matched your grin and began to lean closer. Startled, the two of you looked up. Clad in a tiger-striped onesie, Soonyoung stood at the door, eyes wide. Moments of awkward silence passed. Then his face broke out into a wide grin and he slammed the door shut. You heard the lock click just a second later, followed by an almost villainous laughter.

You exchanged startled looks with Jihoon. Then he shrugged and leaned forward to kiss you again.

“All the more time to make up for the lost years,” he told you as he pulled you closer. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Author's Note: I both loved and hated writing this fic. If at any point, you found yourself thinking "huh, i wish the writer did more with this random crumb in this story that looks like it should've been a part of something bigger", i can almost guarantee you i had plans to do something with it and then forgot or abandoned the idea mid-way through.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed this fic at least moderately and if you did, please feel free to reblog with comments or leave an emoji-filled reply or maybe even send me an ask to let me know what you thought!

[gb-patch]

GB Patch Games: Response About Sensitivity Reader

[Some of you might not have heard of this happening, but I wanted to address it across the board]

Hey everyone,

I want to make a post about the screenshots of comments from one of our sensitivity readers. The situation is that neither me or Rose want people to feel uncomfortable with Our Life: Now & Forever, but Rose hasn’t done anything terribly wrong and isn’t going to be punished.

The comment about OL MCs wasn’t meant to be genuine hatred towards all male players/MCs of OL. Rose wrote a reply about it-

"Hi everyone! This is Rose, I want to address the male MC comment since it was taken wildly out of context and without the lengthy discussion that was after it. I don't hate male MCs, in fact far from it, male MCs are integral to the story in OL:NF as female and trans MCs are. I think the relationship they could potentially have with Qiu could be a great asset in my opinion as they figure out their gender alongside the MC. The discussion itself was about how I noticed players were sticking to heteronormative norms by shipping Tamarack with a man purely out of societal norms than it was genuine thought into the characters and how I personally wished there was more sapphic relationships with Tamarack or just Tamarack with trans characters as a sapphic trans person myself. I didn't mean to offend anyone by it as no one but my friends who understood what I legitimately meant behind my message and it definitely wasn't meant to be seen seriously. I am sorry regardless to anyone I have offended and I love your male MCs regardless."

And most of the comments were about me. I’ve seen screenshots of the full conversations and they’re not as harsh as the cropped snippets made them out to be. It was longer discussions about not including Derek in any base game Moments for no good reason and not having any plus-sized love interests in OL1 because I was afraid players wouldn’t accept it. That’s not a lie, it’s what I decided for the game I created, and it is ridiculous of me. I’m the one who should be feeling embarrassed over how OL1 will forever be that way, not the people who remember that I did that. I’m not perfect and Rose actually cares more about the players than making me feel like I am flawless.

I also don’t want to tone police an employee venting about their boss in private, on their own time. Both the OL games deal with personal, important topics. This is sensitive work, and it can bring up frustrations. Sometimes people do use harsh words among friends, but they wouldn’t ever say it to a person seriously and directly.

I understand if you wouldn’t want to see anyone speak badly of a dev you like, but I promise it’s not a point of contention between me and Rose. I don’t feel mistreated in anyway. Rose genuinely cares about the Our Life series, and that’s why they get fed up with me over certain parts of the game.

Rose has never been unkind or unreasonable to me when working on the project, and their advice is detailed and well-explained. They do care about the game and want it to avoid having content that upsets people because of my own ignorance/shortcomings.

This being shared publicly from a private server is targeting Rose and seems to be a continuation of things that have happened before this. I don’t want this to continue happening. If you do still have concerns over the one comment about the community, you can let me know. But again, I don’t want people being mistrustful of Rose on my behalf for comments about me in conversations with missing context.

Do not send angry messages to Rose about any of this. We’ll do our best so that OL2 will be better than I was before. Thank you to everyone who reads this and participates in the community!

[starkwlkr]

it’s nothing new | sebastian vettel

part 1 part 3

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

update: i decided to make this into a series, thanks for reading! you can read it here!

“hello?”

“mark, hi.”

“y/n? it’s been a while. how are you?” the aussie asked. it had been years since you spoke to mark, but he always kept you updated. he sent messages about how everyone in the paddock was doing, which you appreciated him for.

“i . . i’m okay. is this a bad time to talk to you?” you asked. you suddenly remembered about time zones.

“it’s alright, i always have time for you. what’s going on?” he questioned.

“so i am at my sister’s house and i didn’t want to sleep the whole flight so i decided to read your book.” you replied. “it’s a beautiful book, mark.”

“thanks.” he knew there was more you wanted to say. “are you mad?”

“mad about what?” you asked. “what you wrote about sebastian and i? is that what you’re talking about?”

“well yeah. i tried to contact you several times. you wouldn’t answer my messages so i assumed you changed numbers. seb told me he didn’t care if i wrote it in—”

“mark, i’m not mad. i’m far from it. i just want to know if it’s true. did he tell you everything? the night he won the title, i mean.” you asked. you remembered that night clearly. you didn’t finish the race, but that didn’t stop you from celebrating with sebastian.

“he would never lie about you, love. i told him to tell you, just to get it off his chest but he wouldn’t. you were with someone else, it was wrong.” mark explained. “you know the day you announced your engagement, he hated himself for not telling you sooner. maybe things would’ve ended differently if he had.”

maybe . .

“does he hate me?”

there was always that possibility. but when it came to sebastian, he would rather die than say he hates you.

“he could never hate you even if you did throw a shoe at him and call him a cunt.” mark chuckled. “he still loves you, you know, he asks about you all the time and i have no idea what to tell him.”

“well maybe i could tell him myself . . do you have his phone number?”

after you were given seb’s number, you noticed he never changed it. you weren’t sure why, but you decided to text him instead of calling.

y/n

hi seb, it’s y/n. i know it’s been so long and i’m sorry for how things ended. i hope you’re doing great. i’m not doing too good right now. my marriage is ending so i have that going for me. i’m staying with my sister and her family. anyways, i hope you don’t mind me messaging you. mark gave me your number but turns out i still have it saved. speaking of mark, i read his book on the flight, it’s very interesting. i’ll leave you alone now, thanks for caring about me all these years.

after you sent the message, you didn’t expect a reply. it was as if he was waiting for a message this whole time.

seb

hi y/n. i hope you know i never forgot about you after all this time. i’m sorry about your marriage, i really am. i don’t mind at all that you message me, i never changed my number in hopes that one day you would. as for mark’s book, i hope you’re not mad, but if you need to know, it’s all true and i wouldn’t change anything. being with you made me happy and everytime i hear your name, i’m reminded of the joyful memories we shared. i have something to tell you, only a few people know. i plan to retire at the end of the 2022 season. it would be nice if you would come to abu dhabi for my last race. i understand if you can’t make it. take care and i love you always. (it’s nothing new at this point)

@hc-dutch @lightdragonrayne @multiplefandomwritings @woozarts @jggykhug09090 @neivivenaj @kissesandmartinis @barnestatic @avythef1addict

[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"The Taste of Champagne"

WC: 4.3k

Summary: Your wife keeps sending you pieces of the past like they’ll make the silence feel whole again. But the present has its own anchor now, even if you still don’t know what to call it.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3

You told yourself you weren’t going to check.

That you were fine.

That people got busy, that not every night had to be a lifeline. That silence didn’t always mean abandonment.

But the silence still sat wrong.

You curled into the corner of the couch, Tofu at your side like an emotional support loaf, and opened the app anyway.

Nothing. No message.

No “you up?”

No metaphors. No poetic confessions. No “dream soft.”

Just the last thing you’d said, still waiting at the bottom of the screen for a reply.

You set your phone down. Picked it up again less than a minute later. Scrolled back through the thread like you hadn’t memorized half of it already.

The dumb jokes. The movie arguments. The softness you hadn’t let yourself feel in months. The feeling of being held without hands and being seen without effort.

You laughed once. Quietly. At a typo from three days ago. Then immediately hated yourself for it.

Because Alexia had texted too.

Ale: I dreamt about you today. You, me, and our little gremlin child. I miss you.

And you hadn’t replied.

Not because you didn’t want to.

Because you didn’t know what version of yourself to send back.

Because every word felt dishonest now.

You kept your phone in your hand. Let it warm your palm while you stare at the app icon like it might blink on its own.

You thought about texting first.

“Hey. You there?”

“I'm sorry if I was too much.”

“Or not enough.”

You typed them all. Deleted them all.

Tofu let out a groan and rolled into your thigh. He didn't care that your heart was unraveling. He was just happy to be touching you. And god, that was the thing. That soft little weight. That simple nearness. It made you realize how long it had been since anyone had made you feel like this without asking you to earn it first.

It used to be Alexia. And now it was a stranger who didn’t even show up tonight. You stared at the blank chat window like it had betrayed you. Or maybe like you’d betrayed yourself by needing it this badly.

You closed the app. Opened it again.

Still nothing.

You poured another glass of wine. Let it sit untouched.

You didn’t cry. You just… folded. Quietly. Like a house without lights. Like something was still standing, but barely.

You fell asleep with the phone still in your hand.

Screen dimmed. No messages.  No dreams.

Just you, and a dog who loved you without knowing what you’d done.

The silence stretched for most of the day.

You didn’t check the app first thing this time. You made yourself wait. Poured coffee. Fed Tofu. Stared at the fridge like it might open a portal out of your body.

The couch felt colder without a new message waiting. You didn’t say that out loud. You answered Alexia’s latest text about Tofu’s vet appointment. One word. Then muted the thread.

By 4PM, you were fully spiraling again. Quietly. Calmly. With the intensity of someone trying very hard to not care.

And then..

Buzz.

[go4goald2]: I AM SO SORRY. I didn´t mean to disappear. Work exploded, I didn't even breathe properly for like 36 hours.

You didn’t realize you’d exhaled until you saw the message and your body unclenched.

[go4goald2]: I missed you. Stupidly. Even though it’s just a screen. Is that pathetic?

You smiled.

[lostinthecrowd]: Only if I'm pathetic too.

Pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: Deal! We’ll be pathetic together.

The laugh that slipped out felt like relief. Like letting yourself come up for air after holding it too long.

[lostinthecrowd]: I know it’s dumb but… I was worried. I thought maybe I pushed too far.

[go4goald2]: NO. Not at all. Ugh, never. I wanted to be here. I just couldn’t be.

There was something about that phrasing, “wanted to be”, that sat warm and bittersweet in your chest.

You typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: I’m glad you’re back.

[go4goald2]: Me too.

And just like that, the air in the apartment shifted. Tofu hopped up beside you and flopped onto his back like the drama queen he was, one paw flung dramatically over his chest. You scratched his belly absently, phone still warm in your hand.

You weren’t stupid. You knew this was complicated.

But right now? It was simple.

They were back. And you weren’t alone.

It was late morning, Tofu chewing the corner of a throw pillow when your phone buzzed.

[go4goald2]: Quick: Favorite smell in the world. Go.

You grinned.

[lostinthecrowd]: Clean laundry. Toasted bread. Alexia’s shampoo

You froze. Backspaced.

[lostinthecrowd]: Uh laundry. Bread. Books. Not necessarily in that order.

[go4goald2]: Weak answer, mine’s rain hitting hot pavement. Also, movie theater popcorn. Cleaning products too.

[lostinthecrowd]: You’re such a freak. I respect it.

[go4goald2]: Thank you. Your turn. Favorite feeling?

You thought for a second.

[lostinthecrowd]: When someone reaches for me first.

You didn’t expect to send that. It just came out.

The reply took longer this time.

[go4goald2]: That’s a good one. That’s a really, really good one.

You looked down at Tofu, who had abandoned his pillow and was now curled against your shin. You reached down and scratched behind his ears.

Your phone buzzed again, but this time, not Chattr.

Alexia.

You almost ignored it. Almost.

But the preview caught your eye.

Ale: Check the front door.

You frowned, got up and opened it.

And there it was.

A small box, neatly wrapped in butcher paper. No card. Just your name scrawled on the top in handwriting you knew by muscle memory. You went back to the couch and opened it.

Inside?

An old photo.

The two of you at the beach years ago, sunburned and beaming, your face scrunched mid-laugh, her hand on your back, sunglasses crooked on her nose. One of your favorites. One you thought was lost.

And behind it, folded carefully was a note.

I know I can’t undo the space between us. But I remember this day like it just happened. And I still want to be the person who made you smile like that.

– A.

You stared at it for a long time.

Then your chest cracked open.

You didn’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the photo. Maybe the memory. Maybe the way her handwriting still looked like a promise you weren’t sure you could believe.

Whatever it was, when you started crying, you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even breathe properly. The kind of crying that feels ancient. Like grief that finally got tired of being patient. Tofu lay down beside you, warm and solid, his chin on your knee like he knew there was nothing to fix, just something to witness.

At some point, the tears stopped. Or maybe you just ran out of them. You must’ve fallen asleep, curled on the couch, the photo still in your lap, the blanket wrapped too tightly around your shoulders.

When you woke, the light had shifted and your phone screen was glowing softly beside you.

Chattr.

Three unread messages.

[go4goald2]: Hey.

[go4goald2]: Everything okay?

[go4goald2]: Kinda worried, you disappeared.

You started typing quickly.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sorry I was gone. Got distracted by a very needy puppy.

[lostinthecrowd]: Also, someone reminded me of a version of myself I forgot. It kinda hurts.

[go4goald2]: Maybe that means it still matters.

You didn’t answer because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure who you were supposed to open your heart to.

Later that evening, after the sun dipped low and the apartment turned lavender and quiet, you sent a text to Alexia. Just one.

“Thanks for the photo. I didn’t know you still had it.”

You expected a delay. A simple “you’re welcome” or a heart emoji. 

Instead:

Ale: I almost deleted it once. Felt too far away from who we are now. But I couldn’t. I think I always hoped it would still mean something to you.

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Not really. So instead, you opened the fridge, fed the dog, and sat on the kitchen floor like it was the only place that didn’t feel too full of ghosts.

Later, when your fingers weren’t shaking quite so much, you sent another.

“It does. I don’t know what to do with that. But it does.”

Alexia didn’t reply right away. But she didn’t ghost either. She sent a picture of her hotel dinner tray: dry chicken, too much parsley.

Ale: Can I still be someone who knows how you like your food?

It was the softest thing she’d said in weeks. Maybe months.

You let your forehead rest against the cabinet door behind you, Tofu already half-asleep against your thigh.

And then, because you were already mid-collapse, you opened Chattr.

The screen lit up like it had missed you.

[go4goald2]: How’s your night?

You hesitated. For the first time in a while, you hesitated.

But then:

[lostinthecrowd]: Complicated. But less lonely than it used to be.

You didn't mention Alexia. You didn’t have to.

The guilt was already pulling at your ribcage like an anchor.

But god, it felt easy with them. Still.

[go4goald2]: Tofu still chewing everything you love?

[lostinthecrowd]: Yes, including my will to live.

[go4goald2]: What an icon.

You smiled. You couldn't help it.

Then, half on a whim, half because your chest felt too full:

[lostinthecrowd]: Do you like piña coladas?

A beat.

[go4goald2]: …Getting caught in the rain?

You snorted.

[lostinthecrowd]: God, those two idiots could’ve just talked to each other instead of writing anonymous ads in the newspaper.

[go4goald2]: Maybe it’s easier to be honest when no one’s looking at you.

That one stung a little more than it should have.

But you didn’t say that. You just typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah. Maybe that’s the point of strangers. You get to tell the truth without the weight of history.

There was a pause. Then:

[go4goald2]: But what happens when the stranger starts to feel like the only place that feels like home?

You stared at the screen. You didn’t answer right away.

Not because you didn’t know what to say.

But because you felt it hit bone.

What happens when the stranger starts to feel like home?

You locked your phone. Set it face down on the couch. And suddenly, it was too quiet.

You got up. Washed a cup that didn’t need washing. Fed Tofu again even though his bowl was still half full. You moved like someone trying not to be found guilty of something that hadn’t quite happened yet.

And then, because your heart was beating too loud and your head was full of words that didn’t feel like yours, you opened the other thread.

Alexia’s.

There was a message waiting. Not a follow-up, not a guilt trip. Just a photo. She was crouched on the curb outside a café, still in her training kit, flushed and tired, her hair half-pulled back and falling out at the sides. She held a coffee in one hand, giving the camera a crooked, almost shy grin. Not the kind she gave to the press. Just the one you remembered. The text below reads “I found the only place here that serves oat milk and didn’t judge me for asking for extra cinnamon. Thought you’d be proud.”

You stared at it longer than you meant to. That version of her, the soft one, the real one, was hard to look at. Because that was the one you’d loved before everything got hard.

Somewhere down the hall, Tofu barked. One sharp, accusatory yelp. You went to check, and there he was on the bed, standing on your pillow like it was a podium, chewing on the strap of your favorite canvas tote bag with the determination of someone proving a point. You sighed and snapped a photo before pulling the bag out of his mouth. Then, without thinking too hard, you sent it to Alexia with the caption: “He’s got your energy, swear to god.”

Her response came almost instantly. 

Ale: So you’re saying he’s our tiny, unhinged child? Because I accept that.

And you laughed. Out loud. Small and surprised.

“He’s feral,” you wrote back. 

“Completely untrainable. He bites my slippers and stares me down like he’s the main character.”

Ale: So me? 

She said, just two words, soft and certain.

You paused. Then typed: Basically.

Tofu returned to the couch like a conquering hero and flopped into your lap, warm and heavy and unbothered. You rested your hand lightly on his back. He sighed like he owned the apartment.

Another ping.

Ale: I don’t want to push you..

Ale: I just miss laughing with you. Like this. Like… us.

You didn’t reply right away. But you didn’t leave either. You sat there with your hand on the back of the stupid, soft dog she gave you, and let yourself imagine what it might feel like to try again.

Not all at once. Not completely.

Just… maybe.

The next morning, the apartment was still. Not quite like emptiness, just calm. Like the kind of silence that comes after the crying is done and the air is finally still enough to breathe.

You didn’t open Chattr right away.

It wasn’t on purpose.

You just… didn’t.

Instead, you made coffee. Not in a rush, not distracted. Real coffee. You even took the time to add a little sprinkle of cinnamon. You pretended like you weren’t sure why.

Tofu padded across the tile, sleepy and dragging his favorite destroyed sock behind him like a war trophy. You let him curl up at your feet while you answered a few emails. Sent a few messages, one of them to Alexia.

She’d texted something small. A picture of a storefront, hand-painted signs and soft yellow curtains in the window. 

Ale: Saw this and thought of you. You used to say you wanted a bookshop with plants in the windows and a dog under the desk.

You didn’t overthink it. Just typed: 

“Still do.”

Her reply came back fast. 

Ale: Maybe one day. I’ll be the one getting distracted and forgetting to charge the register.

You smiled gently, and let the moment stretch. It wasn’t intense. It wasn’t a grand gesture. But it felt… safe. Familiar. Like brushing fingers across something that used to be yours.

Around late morning, your phone buzzed again. Another message from her.

Ale: Please witness this.

Attached was a photo of a small white dog in a violently pink sweater. Hooded and with pom-poms dangling from the ends and a sparkly “PRINCESS” across the back in rhinestones. The dog looked vaguely furious. Possibly plotting something.

You choked on your coffee.

“Tofu’s cousin from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Ale: Tofu’s cousin from the drama school.

“That dog has a diary and writes about the betrayal.”

Ale: They have a publicist and a spray tan appointment.

The laugh that came out of you was too loud and sudden. Tofu startled and made an offended noise, then immediately climbed into your lap like how dare you forget I’m the star here. You scratched his head without thinking and smiled into your mug.

It was easy, that exchange. Stupid and good. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath talking to her.

It wasn’t until almost noon that you finally checked Chattr.

The message had come in last night. A quiet ping, nothing dramatic.

[go4goald2]: Sleep well?

You stared at it for a few seconds too long. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Eventually.

There was no follow-up right away. You didn’t mind.

Later, when Tofu knocked over your water bottle trying to dive headfirst into your laundry basket, you laughed. Not as hard as yesterday. But still.

You picked up your phone without thinking and opened the last thread, not Chattr.

“He’s trying to sleep in the dryer now. This is your fault.”

Ale: He takes after his mother.

You didn’t know which one of you she meant. You didn’t ask.

The day passed gently. Not in a blur, just soft. Tofu snored on your lap during a bad movie. And somewhere in your other inbox, the typing bubble came and went.

You didn’t check it until much later. And when you did, your chest tugged. Not a lot. Just enough to remind you it still mattered. That it still made you feel something.

But today, you weren’t looking for complicated.

Because for the first time in a awhile, Alexia wasn’t making things worse.

It was only hours later that you opened Chattr again.

No wine. No candles. No desperate breath held in your throat. Just Tofu snoring on your feet and the last half of a very mediocre rom-com on TV.

Still, the message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: What’s your take on fruit in salad. Violently opposed or live laugh love?

You smiled. Automatically.

[lostinthecrowd]: Depends on the fruit. Mango is elite. Strawberries are okay. Grapes are war crimes.

[go4goald2]: I feel like that last one came from personal trauma. Did someone hurt you with a grape once?

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe someone I loved trusted a raisin salad once and now I have trust issues.

There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to feel like breathing space.

[go4goald2]: I like it when you joke. makes me feel like you’re here with me.

Your fingers hovered over the keys. Usually, you'd have said something dumb in return. Or maybe something soft.

But tonight, your chest stayed quiet.

[lostinthecrowd]: Long day. Sorry if I’m quiet.

[go4goald2]: Don’t apologize. I just miss you a little, that’s all.

You stared at that one.

Because you knew what it meant.

Not big love, not declarations. Just… absence. Noticing.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'm still here.

You meant it. Even if it didn’t feel as loud as before.

Tofu shuffled in his sleep. You looked down at him: messy, needy, entirely your responsibility now, and thought, briefly, about how you´re starting to let Alexia back in.

Not fully.

Not all the way.

But enough that you noticed the difference when it came time to talk to someone else.

The next message blinked through.

[go4goald2]: Tell me something good about today, even if it’s small.

You hesitated. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: A dog in a sweater made me laugh.

You didn’t mention it came from your wife. You didn’t have a reason to.

[go4goald2]: That’s good. I hope it was a ridiculous sweater.

[lostinthecrowd]: It was, had pompoms.

You let the conversation fade after that because something in your chest felt tangled. And you weren’t ready to unravel it yet.

The next day started with a video. A short one, blurry and too zoomed-in, but unmistakably Alexia’s voice narrating the sky. “You always said this was the best part of the day,” she said quietly. “I never used to get it. But I do now.” You watched it twice. Then three times. Her voice was still low and sleepy in the background, not performing, not polished. Just real, it even cracked a little when she said your name.

Then came the photo of the market: a fruit stand draped in fabric, oranges piled high, a dog curled under a chair in the sun. “You’d love it here,” she wrote. “They sell those weird dried apricots you always made me carry in my bag.” You smiled at your phone and hated yourself for it.

Tofu barked at the wall like he’d seen a ghost and then flopped over like he’d solved the mystery of grief. You rubbed the spot between his ears and stared at the screen. Didn’t reply. Not yet.

Alexia followed up an hour later. A selfie. Hair tied back, sunglasses on her head, a little smudge of something across her cheek like she hadn’t noticed it yet. The caption read: Bought a keychain with Tofu’s face on it. I’m either losing it or trying really hard to make up for being the worst. Probably both.

You laughed, quiet and unexpected.

Your thumb hovered. Then tapped out:

“Let me see the keychain.”

She sent it immediately. Tofu’s dumb little gremlin face stretched across a tiny acrylic oval. His eyes looked wild. His ears crooked.

Ale: He looks like he’s about to ask for financial compensation.

You grinned. You actually grinned.

And then immediately felt sick about it.

Because it felt good. Because she felt familiar.

Because it was easy again.

And that terrified you.

You responded slower this time:

“He’s a menace. I caught him dragging a towel into the shower today. He stared me down the entire time.”

Ale: Ha, asserting his dominance. I support it.

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to. God, you did. But because suddenly, your phone felt heavy. Like two versions of yourself were fighting for the same spot inside your chest.

You opened Chattr.

The last unread message sat there waiting.

[go4goald2]: You good today? Haven’t heard from you.

The timestamp was hours ago.

You locked your phone and set it on the coffee table. Then turned your attention to Tofu, who was currently attempting to scale the couch arm like a mountain goat. You reached out and caught him mid-fall. He blinked up at you like you were the center of the universe.

You wished the decision was that simple.

The message came mid-morning. You weren’t expecting it, not because she didn’t text anymore, she's gotten a little bit better at it, but because this one was different. Thoughtful. Preemptive. The kind of message Alexia would’ve sent years ago, before the silences, before the one-word replies.

Ale: Things are about to get a little busy over here cariño, travel, press, media stuff. I might go quiet for a few days. Didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.

You sat with it. The softness. The effort.

Then another message blinked through.

Ale: There’s a package on the way. Nothing huge. Just… some things I thought might make your week easier.

You blinked. Stared. Didn’t respond right away. Then:

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Her reply came fast.

Ale: I know. That’s kind of the point.

Later that afternoon, the package arrived. Small and neatly packed.

Inside: A blanket she knew you always stole from her side of the bed that smelled like her. A bag of your favorite snacks, the obscure brand that’s only sold in like, two stores. A new chew toy for Tofu shaped like a dinosaur. A handwritten note.

Just in case the couch gets lonely. And so Tofu stops trying to eat your socks. I love you.

— A. 

Your throat went tight.

You didn’t text her right away. Couldn’t.

Not because it wasn’t kind. But because it was.

Tofu immediately attacked the toy as you sat on the edge of the couch, blanket over your lap, pretending you weren’t unraveling.

You didn’t mean to open Chattr. You really didn’t.

The apartment was quiet again and Alexia’s absence had left behind that weird echo of effort. Her blanket still folded neatly on the couch after you spent hours cuddled in it, the new toy Tofu had already half-destroyed. The note from the package had been tucked away in a drawer like a secret you weren’t ready to let go of, but also couldn’t look at too long.

You told yourself you were just going to scroll. Just going to peek.

But the message was already waiting.

[go4goald2]: Okay, critical question. If you could only keep one: garlic bread or fresh-out-the-dryer hoodies?

You smiled before you even realized it. Your fingers moved without thinking.

[lostinthecrowd]: Wow, cruel and unusual punishment.

[go4goald2]: I never said this game was fair. Pick one, coward.

[lostinthecrowd]: Hoodies, because I can survive emotional starvation but not physical cold.

[go4goald2]: Okay poet, calm down.

You laughed. Quiet and genuine.

Tofu yawned loudly, then climbed into your lap like he belonged there. You reached for your wine and settled in, heart beating a little softer than it had all day.

[go4goald2]: What’s something that always makes you feel better during your tough days?

You thought about it. Then typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Dumb sitcom bloopers. You?

[go4goald2]: Videos of raccoons stealing food and running away like they know they’ve committed a crime.

That made you snort into your glass.

There was a pause after that. A few minutes where neither of you said anything. Then you typed, slower now.

[lostinthecrowd]: My wife’s trying. Like… actually trying. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Silence.

You wished you hadn’t sent it. You wished you could take it back.

Then the typing bubble appeared.

[go4goald2]: That’s a lot. Do you want to talk about it?

You hesitated.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: She sent me a blanket. Some snacks. A toy for the dog. Told me she’d be busy, but didn’t want me to feel alone. And it’s like… All the things I used to need from her. And now they’re here. and I'm just…

You stopped typing. Started again.

[lostinthecrowd]: I'm scared to trust it. I want to. I just don’t know if it’s real this time. And if it is, I don't know what that says about me because maybe I've changed too much to go back.

The response didn’t come right away.

When it did, it was simple.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to go back. Maybe the person you are now deserves something forward.

You froze.

Because god. That felt like the truth.

[go4goald2]: And whatever happens, the version of you right now? She’s enough. Even if you’re scared. Even if you’re unsure. You’re still someone worth showing up for.

Your eyes burned before you could stop them. You didn’t even know what you were crying for. The effort? The loss? The fact that it felt so good to be seen, and so awful not to know where you belonged anymore?

Tofu snuffled in his sleep beside you. You wiped your cheek and typed:

[lostinthecrowd]: Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.

[go4goald2]: Then I’m glad I said it. I mean it.

You stared at the screen long after the message stopped glowing.

You didn’t know who this person was.

But they made you feel like maybe you weren’t breaking everything by trying to hold both things at once.

Pt. 5

[hqbaby]

four — just a little

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.8k content. profanity, alcohol consumption, a lil bit of tension???

booger: r u up?

It’s 4 AM and you should not, in fact, be up. But you are. And apparently so is Sukuna.

You contemplate ignoring him. You can get back to him in the morning and act all high and mighty like, “I’m a proper human being with a life, so no, I don’t stay up until 4 AM like you, loser.” It’s not like anything good has ever come from you replying to his late-night/early-morning texts. You recall another time you replied to him at this hour; the two of you ended up almost getting arrested after sneaking into a reservoir.

Alas, you’re still up and you’ve been rotting your brain on your phone for hours, so your better judgment has gone the way of your last few brain cells.

you: what do u want

You watch as he types something. “Damn, so hostile,” probably. He deletes it. Then, he types again. “Why are you up?” maybe. Deletes it. Then, “Wanna fuck?” before he remembers who you are. He types again and actually sends the message this time.

booger: be there in 5

Part of you wants to prank him. Go to sleep and let the poor guy pound on your door until one of your neighbors—probably the grumpy old lady who lives beside you—scolds him and threatens to call security. It’s a good prank. You go as far as thinking about it.

When gets there, he’s got his hood pulled over his head. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants, black sunglasses, and a serious expression on his face.

“Damn, you look so cool,” you say. He cracks a grin and you crack up. “What the fuck are you doing? You look ridiculous.”

His face falls into a frown as he steps into your apartment, closing the door behind him. You’ve already left him behind, crashing onto your couch as he changes his shoes into one of the slippers you keep for him by your door.

“You’re a real bitch, you know,” he says. He sheds the sunglasses and pulls his hood away. You’ve ruined the whole vibe he was going for. “Aren’t you gonna offer me a drink or something?”

You lift your head and point at the console table by the door. “There’s a bottle of Cuervo there,” you tell him. “Get it for me.”

He huffs but does as you say anyway. He picks the bottle up and walks over to you, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “You’re a shitty host,” he says as he opens the bottle.

“You’re an intruder,” you say, snatching the bottle away from him before he takes a sip. You raise it to your lips to take a swig. “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to see my girlfriend?”

You choke on the tequila. “What?” You cough as he laughs and pats your back. “Don’t say shit like that.”

He grabs the bottle from you and chugs a good amount. “I love teasing you,” he says, pinching your cheek. “It’s so easy.”

You slap his hand away and sit up. “I hate you.”

He just grins and passes you the bottle. “You love me,” he chirps. “Wouldn’t put up with me otherwise.”

“Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s saying I’m incapable of love.”

You don’t know why you say that. It’s not part of the script, the usual back and forth between the two of you. For a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong.

“Who says that?” He looks serious now. Like he’s about to beat someone up. You know, the usual. What were you even worried about? “You got a gun for me to use on them?”

You laugh at his dour expression. It’s true, of course, that people have been spreading this new rumor that you’re a cold, ruthless bitch who doesn’t have room in her heart for someone, let alone a boyfriend. It’s why you broke up with Satoru apparently. You know it’s stupid and people don’t really know what they’re talking about, that they’re bored and just making shit up, but for some reason, you can’t shake the thought.

What if they’re right?

You put the Cuervo on the floor beside Sukuna and hug a throw pillow to your chest. “I had a dream.”

“Is this where you break into song?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

He doesn’t take the challenge lightly, immediately hopping onto the couch beside you and dropping his head onto your lap to stare up at you. He bats his lashes at you and says, “What did you dream about?”

You place your hand on his face. Then, you feel something wet on your palm. 

His fucking tongue.

“You’re so gross,” you whine, wiping your hand on his hoodie. “What do girls even see in you?”

He smirks. You’ve just given him an opportunity and you wholly regret it now. “It’s not so much what they see, but how big it is,” he says, amused by the disgusted face you make. He pokes your cheek with his finger now. “Tell me about your dream.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

He pouts, his lower lip jutting out as he looks at you with big eyes, practically getting teary-eyed now. He’s a great actor, you’ll give him that. He’d probably get better grades if he was a theater major.

“I wanna know,” he says softly. “Tell me.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you that feels unnervingly familiar. You’re used to his antics, you’ve had to deal with them since the two of you were in high school, but it’s moments like this that you remember just how much you know each other. It’s a constant thing, always lurking beneath your banter and jokes—it just surprises you when it’s in your face.

You place your hand on his shoulder and sigh. “It’s stupid,” you say. “I just keep having these dreams where I’m running from something. Different things every time. Zombies, ghosts, clowns—”

“You run away from clowns?”

“Clowns with murderous intentions.”

“Okay. Valid.”

You shake your head, smiling now as the teasing reminds you of who you’re talking to. It’s just Sukuna.

 “Anyway,” you say as you stare off into your empty living room. “I just… run. And I get to a point where I feel safe until I realize that I’ve actually been cornered. I wake up before anything happens.”

When you look at him again, his brows are furrowed, already in deep thought. He considers your dream carefully. You wonder if he’ll crack another joke, change the tone of the conversation, but of course he doesn’t.

“What do you think it means?”

You squeeze the throw pillow beside you. “I don’t know,” you say. “I should probably ask Nobara. Psych majors know all about that shit, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, they got that Freud dude.”

“I’m not sure that Freud dude is necessarily accurate about dreams.”

“You never know until you try.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment. You can hear the air conditioner buzz, the fridge rumble. You’ve gotten used to these sounds of silence, what with you being more alone than you’ve been in a while. This time though, you can hear Sukuna’s breathing. Quiet, but steady, a reminder that you’re not completely alone this time.

“Is that why you’re still up?” he asks eventually. “You can’t sleep?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.” Earnest. Sincere. “I just wanted to know.”

You look at him skeptically, but he just stares up at you from his place on your lap, blinking in the light of your living room.

“I mean, it’s not just the dreams,” you tell him. “I’ve been feeling a little lonely, you know. Since… Satoru.”

He cringes at the name but schools his expression before it turns into a full on snarl. “Still don’t know what you saw in that guy.”

“He was good to me,” you say. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He must’ve if you broke up with him.”

You hesitate, but you find it in yourself to insist, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sukuna stands up. “If you say so,” he says. He reaches his hand out in front of you. “Come on. You gotta sleep.”

You stare at his hand. “You don’t think you’re taking me to bed, do you?”

“I am taking you to bed.”

He stays there for a moment, watching you watch his hand, unmoving. “I’m not getting in bed with you. Chill, bro.”

A beat.

“It’s not that,” you say, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. “It’s just…”

He raises a brow. “What?”

Yeah. What?

“Nothing,” you whisper. This is stupid. “You can sleep beside me. It’s fine.”

It’s his turn to be taken aback. Suddenly, he thinks that your hand being in his feels terribly comfortable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling your hand away. You pad over to your bedroom, walking straight ahead without looking back. Pretending like you don’t care if he follows. “We’ve slept in the same bed before. It’s no big deal.”

But it is. Somehow, you feel like it is.

You’re already under your blanket when he follows you into the room. He stands at the foot of the bed a little awkwardly. Like a lost puppy.

“When was the last time you slept in the same bed as a girl you didn’t fuck?”

He’s sheepish now, stripped of all his usual brazen demeanor. “A long time.”

His hand reaches for the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide. “This isn’t—”

“Relax,” he says, pulling the hoodie off his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. Plain red, one you’ve probably seen more times than you can count. “I just run warm is all.”

You feel your face heat up. What did you think he was doing?

Your best friend slides into bed beside you. This isn’t anything strange for the two of you. You used to sleep over at each other’s houses back when you were in high school and one of you wanted to avoid the chaos of your home. You’ve slept beside each other before. It was never a thing.

But it’s been a while since then. You’re no longer the kids you were, all playful and shameless.

It feels different this time. Somehow.

He’s keeping his distance and you can feel it. Your body is turned away from him, but you can feel his eyes on you. He wants to be closer to you.

You want to be closer to him too.

“You can—”

His chest hits your back as he rolls over to lie directly behind you. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You can feel his breath on your neck.

You swallow. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You feel his hand carefully move around your waist. He doesn’t touch you, his arm hovering just above the thin fabric of your top. “Is this—”

“Yeah.”

He rests his arm on your waist and you feel yourself relax into his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he runs hot, it feels like you’re melting against a furnace. Still, somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to mind.

If anything, you might just admit that you like it. Maybe. Just a little.

notes. soooo the besties are doing a thing 👀 how do we feel about reader and sukuna so far 👀 we also haven't seen much of gojo yet but next chapter is gonna be interesting ;)

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - His denial (Part VIII)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

Reader's origin story // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 //

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of crying several times, hard times for reader and for Bruce, language, ANGST and more ANGST

“You know Ma, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me what happened between you and Bruce, but we’re all wondering why you broke up with him?” Jason asked you as he was helping you prepare a meal for the two of you. “Also, everyone's a little bit worried you won’t be our mother figure no more.” he added

“I’ll send a message on our group chat to let you kids know that I’m still there for you, no matter what happened between Bruce and I.” you replied instantly. 

You loved those kids as if they were yours and you were eager to keep taking care of them, even if it wasn’t at the manor anymore.

“Good to know,” Jason hummed and kissed your cheek. 

He would have been devastated if you had run away from his life, like all the adults that were supposed to care for him - apart from Alfred, of course. And he was well aware that all the other children - adopted or not by Bruce - loved you. You were bringing some peace and joy in everyone’s lives. That was why they nicknamed you “Hope” for when they talk to you over the comm’s. 

“And I didn’t break up. We agreed on it, Bruce and I.” you finally said, to which Jason arched an eyebrow. 

“Really? That’s not what he said”.

“Well, we agreed that I’m a civilian and that it was making things too difficult. Bruce has also been very busy and… I don’t know, maybe it was just not working anymore” you explained, trying to get away from this conversation as fast as possible.

You had spent the whole night crying over this break up. You had never been heartbroken like that before. You loved Bruce like you never loved anyone before. You just didn’t want to resume crying in front of Jason.

“Bruce can be an asshole… But I really don’t think he meant to make you feel neglected” Jason frowned

“Are you taking his defence now?” you softly teased to hide your sadness away

“No, never. Just… He loves you” Jason whispered

“I don’t think so. But that’s okay. I never thought I’d date someone for so long anyway. And I’ve meet all of you, and I’m very grateful for that”

“Ma…” Jason started but you cut him off

“I don’t really want to keep talking about him” you said and Jason dropped the subject

You did your best to forget about this conversation. You didn’t want to hear the little voice in your head saying that maybe Bruce was still in love with you, but was too stupid to let you know about it. 

You managed to push the voice away, until during an interview with Bruce Wayne, the journalist asked him if it was true you were not together anymore. You hadn’t meant to watch this interview, but your boss needed you to write an article about it. At the question, you couldn't help but fully focused on the TV and you caught a glimpse of vulnerability flashing across Bruce’s face. Only people who knew him well enough could have seen it. He quickly smiled at the journalist. 

“We’re only taking a break, nothing permanent” he instantly replied and you stared at the TV, thinking “wait what??” 

“Oh so, you’re not open to any new relationship?” the journalist asked “A lot of women in Gotham are eager to know if they have a chance with you or not. Men too. And everyone else, really”.

Bruce softly chuckled, but you could tell he was actually quite uneasy

“No, I’m not open to any new relationship. I still belong to Y/N.” he replied and you started to cry again.

You hated him for lying so blatantly in front all the whole city. He didn’t belong to you, you would know otherwise. You felt so sad, so angry. You hated yourself for having fallen for a man like him.

“Belong to? Quite a strong expression. Are you in love, Mr. Wayne?” the journalist hummed in interest

“Now I believe you didn’t ask me to come to talk about my romantic relationship” Bruce quickly changed the subject, but no need to say you started to cry even harder.

Of course he wouldn’t say he loved you, because he didn’t. You didn’t want to be such a mess again so you turned the TV off.

But a few instants later you received messages from the kids asking you if it was true that it was just a break and that you would come back home at some point. They were all so adorable, saying they understood if you needed to take a breath from the Batfamilly, especially when things were so difficult in Gotham. They promised to keep protecting you no matter what anyways.

You had no idea what to answer at first. You didn’t want to hurt their feelings. Eventually you told them the truth: “I’ve told you I’m still there for you as well, and I’m touched you are all so eager to have me back at the manor… But in all honesty, I’m not too certain what is going on and why Bruce said all of this. I don’t want to talk to him, but I guess you can ask him directly”

No need to say that everyone was pretty disappointed in your answer and that none of them asked about it to Bruce.

You didn’t want to go back to the manor. You didn’t want to run into Bruce. You thought several times to ask the children to grab your belongings for you, but it would mean for them to come into Bruce’s room and the man wouldn't be happy about it. They were welcomed to come into his room only when they needed help or reassurance after a nightmare. You could also tell that the children didn’t know how to deal with the break up.

You didn’t want to force them to be in between Bruce and you. 

Unfortunately you needed clothes from his place because you were soon going out of Gotham for a couple of days. You waited until the last minute to finally go back to the manor.

Everyone was out, except Alfred who greeted you with a warm smile. His smile flattered when you told him you needed to take some belongings from there. He didn’t stop you. However you were certain that he sent a message to Bruce.

You were in a pretty dark mood. Your mother had discovered your father wasn’t dead. You were a little bit surprised that the Batfamilly wasn’t on the case yet. Maybe Falcone did a good job to hide things away. Or maybe no one wanted to deal with something that might end up hurting you. 

Either way, you knew things were going to be hard and your mother was going to hate you for having lied to her about your father. You wished things would have been better with Bruce, because you would have loved to have someone with you. You didn’t want to drag the children in this mess, so once again it was you alone against your past.

You jumped when you heard Bruce’s soft voice talking to you. You had been so deep in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard him gently opening the door.

“What are you doing?” he leaned against the door frame to seem relaxed but you could tell he was watching you with great intensity and concern.

You wouldn’t have believed it if he would have told you, but watching you removing your belongings from your shared room was eating him up alive. He needed all his willpower to not prevent you from doing so. When you resumed your action of packing away, he felt his chest tightened.

“Packing. Need to go see my mom. Some stuff happened with my dad… And I need to deal with this mess.” you explained

“Anything I can do?” he offered

“Of course not. You have enough to deal with anyways.” you shrugged “By the way, I won’t be able to grab everything right away, so I’ll probably come back for the remaining things. Obviously you can send everything to my flat if you don’t want me to come again” you added, looking for a brief instant back to him

“Look, Y/N, I guess this isn’t the right time to speak with you, but can we maybe plan something for when you’ll be back to Gotham?” Bruce offered, almost pleading with you

“You mean to speak about how we went from “we agree to break up” to “you break up” and finally to “this is just a break”, Bruce?” You paused and turned around to fully watch him this time. 

Bruce moved a hand into his hair. He had no idea how to fix your relationship.

“You broke up. For my answer to the journalist... It was just easier to say that” Bruce tried and you rolled your eyes at him. 

He internally cringed, why wasn’t he able to say the right thing when he was already missing you so dearly?

“Whatever, Bruce.” you finally said

“So yes for a date when you’ll be back?” he insisted

“Whatever, Bruce” you said again which hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

--

PART 9

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@Esposadomd

@moraxussy

@resident-cryptid

@legendarypiratecheesecake

@randomnamedmira

@elleclairez

@mindless-rock

@lumiqou

[innohurrytoshout]

they told me love is patient ᥫ᭡ l. marcus

from the moment you met, something told you Marcus was going to be different–but he’s a Rat, and you don't associate with Rats...right?

who: marcus lopez x prep!reader genre: angst/fluff (comfort) wc: 5,2k content warning: : mentions of parental issues/parental cheating/feeling alone/unsure of how to express emotions/... a/n: sorry for the longest wait in history, please enjoy !!

Your boots scuffed the floors of the hall, they were clean, but they were likely to be dirtied within a few hours. A yawn escaped you as you found your locker, and not even five seconds later came some Rat hollering down the hall. It was too early for that, you cursed under your breath and checked your cellphone, your mother hadn’t replied and there was a string of messages from your father that you didn’t want to answer.

The likely reason was that she had caught him cheating again. But really, who cared? She was probably going through one of her expressive episodes again. Your father had submitted her to an institution a few months back, using the excuse that she was in France visiting her family.

“Stupid politics,” you scoffed under your breath, though, of course someone heard it. A Soto Vato no less.

“What’s wrong? Mommy and Daddy fighting again?”

“Piss off, dog,” you narrowed your eyes and shook your head at him.

A laugh sounded around the group of boys, you couldn’t care less about what some gangbangers thought of you and your family. The only people that mattered–that should have mattered–were you and your parents.

Though, things didn’t always work out that way, did they? There was always someone your father was trying to impress, always someone you had to keep up an image for. What bullshit. 

The group left you in the hall, more students began to pile around and soon chatter picked up. It was February but the sun peeked out through the windows. You smiled into it, loving the warmth you felt on your face–the comfort it gave you, even if it was just for a second.

You gasped, trying to keep your balance, “Hey watch it!” One of the guys affiliated with your legacy shouted, pushing the kid off you.

“Hey,” the kid held his hands up, “it was an accident,” he turned to you, holding a hand to his chest, “I’m sorry.”

You nodded, collecting yourself, “it’s fine.” You didn’t recognize the kid, his black hair curled in whisps at the top. He was cute, he looked Mexican, so maybe he was a Soto Vato? Though the thought that he could also be a new Prep crossed your mind, you were sure word would have spread if you were getting a new member, so that couldn’t be it. “What affiliation are you?”

“Don’t bother,” the guy beside you said, he wasn’t your friend, but to be fair you only stuck to a few people. You preferred being alone most days and you weren’t that socially active. You were typically the last to know about things, in your family, at school–it seemed like you were doomed to be at the bottom of the pyramid forever. “He’s a Rat.”

A Rat. This kid was a Rat? Funny, he didn’t look like the sort, you didn’t know why or what it was, but there was something odd about him. At least that’s what you would normally say if this were a normal high school, but it wasn’t–so perhaps this kid–this boy–would fit right in.

You smiled; a sharp, dangerous thing, and sighed, “I see,” the boy’s eyes twinkled, though he wasn’t smiling. You wondered about his name, you wondered how old he was, and about his birthday. What was his story?

“Come on,” you weren’t friends with this guy, but you followed him anyway.

“See you around, Rat.” You meant it, you hoped to see him around, but of course, you couldn’t just say something like that.

The way he tilted his head, confused, calculating, and partly amused, led you to believe he didn't quite believe your act either. You felt a pull as soon as you were two steps away. You wanted to turn back around and continue talking to him.

It was days like these that had you hating life. Because with people like him, you were reminded that you did not get everything you wanted, regardless of what outsiders saw.

There was a party tonight, thrown by Shabnam, one of the guys in your legacy. You didn’t talk much with him, he annoyed you, really, but you had never outright said anything. When you’d heard he was throwing a party, it was the first time you’d had to take a step back and really reanalyze a person.

You were going, but not because you wanted to get drunk and forget about the world like most of the other students. No, you were going because you were hoping to see him. 

Sure, you saw him at school almost every day–he was in your AP–but almost every day you were a bitch to him when he tried to talk to you. You had no choice, you were always surrounded. 

You wanted to tell him you didn’t mean any of the horrible things you said, and you had said some pretty horrid things. It tore you up inside to humiliate him like that, but what would your parents say? What would your legacy say? They’d turn you out and you’d have to spend the rest of your three years as an outsider–that was worse than being a Rat.

You shuddered at the thought. You hated your situation, but it was yours and regardless of how much you complained about it, you knew how privileged you were, maybe in fewer areas than more, but still. Over the three weeks Marcus–that was his name, you now knew–had been attending Kings Dominion, you had been able to obtain some information about him through the grapevine.

Mostly about where he came from. He was an orphan, though you didn’t know how his parents died, he had yet to share that part. He had been living on the street before coming to school, and he was on the run from the cops because–as you had come to learn his reputation–he set fire to the orphanage he’d been living in. A boy’s home. Just the thought sent a shiver up your spine, it didn’t sound like a fun place.

Music blasted through speakers you couldn’t see. The Dixie Mob had taken over the kitchen table, you rolled your eyes at some of the things spouting from Brandy’s mouth–they were too old-fashioned for you. They needed to wake up, they were in the 20th century and the 21st was right around the corner. But apparently, that was the price of going to school with the future of every live syndicate in existence.

You huffed, noticing a few familiar faces, you blinked when Shabnab ran past you, Lex, a Rat, chasing him with a giant, pink dildo. You had to hold in a snort, what the actual fuck was wrong with the people at this school?

You noted one of your friends near the counter holding bear bottles and plastic, red cups. You didn’t associate with Rats, but Petra–you thought–was alright. You didn’t claim to be friends outright, it would mean social suicide for you and make her “uncool” to her friends. 

Petra didn’t have any female friends, if she did, you would be the only one. But Petra didn’t really think she had any friends. She had the group she associated with, and Billy wasn’t an ass most of the time, but she didn’t consider any of them friends. Still, she smiled slightly when she noted your presence, “did you see–”

“–yeah, it was huge,” you nodded, dragging out the last word as you leaned your back against the counter.

“Hit?” Petra blew smoke from the weed she had in her hand. You waved your hand, declining the offer.

“Any wine?’

Petra laughed, nodding back toward the cabinet, “Just for you.”

“I love you,” you walked around her, spotting the exact bottle she was talking about. A whistle came from between your teeth while you began pouring some into the cup Petra held out for you.

“I know,” she sighed. You didn’t like to get wasted at these kinds of parties. You didn’t like to get wasted period, it was unclassy and well, just stupid. If no one from your legacy was watching you, you might as well be dead, it was as good as being a Rat. It was dangerous.

“So, that new kid, Marcus,” Petra hummed, taking a sip out of a different cup, “what do you know about him?”

She shrugged, “he’s a loser–they all are,” you knew she was talking about the guys at your school, but probably the girls too. You didn’t understand Petra and you didn’t really want to, but she was the realest person you’d ever meet at Kings Dominion.

“Yeah, I know,” you sipped your wine, “but, I mean–what’s his deal? His parents died, he’s an orphan–what else?”

“What else is there?” Petra scoffed.

“I don’t know,” you spoke into your cup, trying to keep your voice from wavering, “there has to be something.”

Petra paused, you heard it when she opened her mouth to respond with one of the usual “Who gives a shit?” replies, but she didn’t. She glanced at you, taking in your attire, your hair, your makeup. You noted the slight raise of her brows and the decision to not ask any questions cross her mind, “do you really care?”

You didn’t know how to respond, here was someone you had never lied to. Someone who was always real with you, someone you would stand up for if the time called for it, albeit subtly, but still–it was Petra.

You bit the inner corner of your cheek, ready to admit defeat when she shook her head, “it wouldn’t matter if you did,” she took another puff of her cigarette.

“Why not?” You raised a brow, your frown deepening.

“He’s into that chick from the Soto Vato’s, Maria.”

“Maria?” You scoffed, “the one from AP?”

“The one and only,” Petra rolled her eyes.

“But that’s Chico’s–”

“How do you think he got that scar on his nose?” Petra’s eyebrows finally scrunched together completely and she shifted to fully look at you, “real talk, have you been living under a rock?”

“Possibly?” You tried for amusement, the truth was, your mother and father had called you back home for a few days. They’d wanted to talk to you–oh and talk they did. They were splitting up. Of course, they weren’t getting a divorce, that would just “...be too messy and with the upcoming elections…” you rolled your eyes at the mere memory. They couldn’t change it. It was inevitable. You knew it was, but still, it broke something in you. You’ve been silently screaming for weeks and ironically, you’d been the quietest you had ever been since learning the news. 

Yeah, they fought all the time and it had already felt like they would never be as happy together as they once had been, but you would’ve never expected them to say it out loud. You forced the tears away, blinking a couple of times as the conversation with your parents rushed to the forefront of your mind again.

You blinked, your attention being drawn to the seen beside you. “What the hell?” Petra muttered. “That’s–”

“What the hell is he doing?” You left Petra at the counter, approaching the kitchen table right as Marcus threw whatever was in his cup at Brandy. Thankfully, you weren’t caught in the crossfire.

“–shithead–”

“Alright, Brandy, give it a rest,” you tugged at her arm, but she yanked it out of your grasp.

“Eugh, get off of me!” Her makeup was incredibly ruined, you felt bad for her–what the hell even happened? 

Where’s Marcus? Your thoughts were overcome by the need to find him. 

There. Your eyes met his, Saya–the leader of the Kuroki Syndicate was pulling him back, it pissed you off slightly, did they know each other? If so, how? You weren’t close to anyone outside of your legacy and you were barely close to any of them. Petra was about the closest you got to any sort of kinship–and even then, it wasn’t okay for you to outright be friends.

Petra was a Rat, so she and Marcus ran in the same crowd, she should have warned him about shit like this, why was he going and causing a scene. First the Soto Vato’s and now the fucking Dixie Mob? Did he have a death wish? He was a character, you’d give him that, but maybe he should pick his battles better.

You stormed forward, angry at everything and everyone, you didn’t know which had you gritting your teeth at the moment though. 

Maybe it was your parents, maybe it was the fact that you liked Marcus and you weren’t supposed to, maybe it was the way you knew a relationship with him wasn’t possible and if you did pursue one, it would be doomed from the start. Or maybe, it was the way Saya was grabbing him–regardless, you were pissed.

“Come with me,” you snatched up one of his wrists and he let you pull him away from the forming crowd, “are you an idiot?” You were spouting, doing your best to ignore the looks being thrown your way, you needed to find an empty room and cool off��he needed to cool off. 

You felt like you were going to burst into emotions you didn’t know how to describe–and there were so many conflicting, you didn’t know which was stronger.

You found a locked room, “dammit,” you huffed, you began walking away, continuing your pursuit, but Marcus grabbed your arm and held you back.

“Wait a minute,” he snatched a clip from your hair and messed with the door for a few seconds. As he crouched down in those few moments, you paused, reanalyzing the situation. 

What were you doing? Why were you here–with him of all people? This was stupid, weren’t you just the one saying Marcus needed to pick and choose his battles better? How would this look? “Opened,” he glanced up at you, looking like a proud puppy.

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him, “Don’t expect a compliment.”

“I wasn’t,” though you couldn’t see his hands, you knew he had them up.

“What is this?”

“Oh–gross is this–Shabnam’s parent’s room?”

“Looks like it,” your nose scrunched as you picked up a picture frame and held it closer to your face.

“Thank God I don’t have any of those,” Marcus whispered over your shoulder making a face at the photo.

You snorted and spun around, shoving it into his eyes, “you don’t have any naked baby photos?”

“Auwgh–get that thing away,” he made another face and smacked the photo.

You snorted and set the framed picture back down, “look they have a balcony,” you made your way toward the ceiling glass door, “Shabnab’s parents have money.” You whistled.

“What, like your parents couldn’t afford this?”

“They could,” you assured, “but they wouldn’t be so stupid,” who would waste money on such a tragic design? You shook your head, stepping out onto the small terrace. The city lights were so…evident–to say the least, it was beautiful “This view is amazing.”

“Good job Shabnam’s parents,” his tone was airy and awestruck.

“This–I would pay for this.”

“Oh-ho yeah.” Marcus’ snort led to you laughing uncontrollably.

“Gosh,” you sighed leaning against the railing, “you’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Yeah, I think you’ve said something similar before.”

You frowned, “shut up, I’m being serious for a change.”

He gave in and mimicked your actions, “I know, I know–it seems like all I ever do is,” he shook his head, “fuck shit up.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “you do keep fucking shit up.” He threw you a glare and you held up your hands, “Sorry, I thought we were being honest.”

“Yeah, well,” he turned toward you, using one arm to prop up his head, “if we are being honest, I don’t think you really hate me.”

“I never said I hate you,” you replied, your tone clipped.

He smiled, snickering a bit, “Yeah, you don’t have to, it’d written all over your actions.”

“Then what makes you think I’m not serious?”

Marcus sighed and shrugged, now leaning his back against the railing, “Sometimes it feels like everyone here at this Godforsaken school hates me,” he shook his head.

“Everyone? What about Billy?”

He huffed and pressed his lips together, “Nah, I’m not talking about him–I mean people like,” he glanced at you, “people like you.” You nodded, trying to take no offense to his insinuation. “But then you go and do something like this,” he waved his hands.

“I wasn’t protecting you,” you frowned, averting your gaze. It was a lie. That was exactly what you were doing. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, and those eyes,” he held up a finger, stepping toward you, “there’s something about your eyes.”

You scoffed, “Something about my eyes? Yeah, okay–”

“–I’m serious,” he cocked his head to the side, “I don’t know what it is, you just look so…sad…I mean everyone at this school looks like that even if they don’t know it, but you…” he stared over the railing and clicked his tongue, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Don’t worry,” you huffed, “I’ll make it easy for you: you don’t have to.”

“No, but I,” he bit his lip, “sure, whatever.”

A trembled laugh fell from your lips and you sighed, a smile attaching itself to your lips despite your harsh words, “...You’re an idiot, Arguello.”

“I know,” Marcus murmured, an uncontrollable grin forcing its way onto his mouth…. “Why do you do that, though?”

“Do what?”

He hesitated only a second before launching into his question, “why do you act like a bitch at school and then do,” he motioned between you two, “this in private.”

You frowned, not really wanting to talk about it, “it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t seem complicated to me.”

“I know–” you looked away, unable to keep his gaze, “and I’m sorry.”

Marcus sighed, he wanted to keep going, but he could tell you were out of it already. He wanted to make you smile–for whatever reason, and clearly, he was doing the opposite. “Never mind, it’s not that important.”

Though it was…kind of…to him.

You found your eyes rolling out of their sockets when —, a girl a year older than you in your legacy, stopped you in the halls, “What’s up?”

She resigned a small shake of her head and looked down, a frown spreading her lips thinner than they naturally were,  “I just wanted to talk to you about something I’ve heard.”

You sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, “What is it you’ve heard, then?”

She bit her lip and kept pace with you as you began to walk toward your next class. You had AP next, and you were anticipating seeing Marcus, you hadn’t seen him over the weekend. Cops had shown up and crashed Shabnam’s house party. Without thinking, you’d snatched Marcus’ hand and led him down an alley–a shortcut back to school.

You were laughing the whole way, it felt like a movie scene–one where the girl and the guy finally made up or became friends–if they hadn’t been already. You wanted to hurl afterward–though it was all worth it; the thrill in his eyes–it gave you something. Something you hadn’t known you were looking for.

“What’s that smile for?” — asked, your lips reformed a straight line as you huffed a sigh, “You don’t normally smile, I mean, I’ve never really seen you smile like that. You never eat in the cafeteria with everyone else. I’ve told the others in your grade to make you come, haven’t they told you?” You shook your head, stopping outside your classroom door. — glanced at it and recognition washed over her, “You’re in AP?”

“Yep,” you gave a tight-lipped nod.

She bit her lip, her smile fading as she pulled you to the side, allowing the others in AP to pass you without consolation. The AP classes were separated from the others, just another hierarchy within this abnormal education system. “Okay, listen,” she lowered her voice, though there was barely anyone lingering in the halls, “I know you didn’t choose this life–trust me none of us did–but we still have to live it, okay?”

You nodded, unsure of where she was going with this.

“All I’m saying–” she cut herself off as Marcus approached you–seemingly coming out of nowhere.

“Hey,” he waved at you, glancing at — for a brief second.

You smiled–trying to keep the memories of Friday night at bay, “Hi.”

He spared another glance at — before saying, “See you inside,” and heading into the classroom.

It was quiet for a moment, but then — ran a hand through her perfectly styled hair, a red headband holding her curls back, “Look, I care about you, you’re my legacy sister and as your upperclassman, I’m just trying to look out for you.” She jabbed a finger at where Marcus had stood, “He will not do you any good–if only you heard what everyone has been saying. We were born into this life–that kid,” she shook her head, eyes almost popping out of her head, “he earned his way into this place. He chose to be here.”

Your eyes narrowed. You’d heard the stories about Marcus, and you knew his reputation–but still, you hated the way she was talking about him You couldn’t help but look down on her for it. Marcus hadn’t spoken about his past in that boy's home and you hadn’t asked. You weren’t really friends to begin with. You couldn’t be friends with a Rat, you knew that, but sill you bit out, “None of us chose this.”

She gave you a pitying glimpse before stepping back, “You might think that now–but it won’t be forever. What would your parents say?”

Her words were like a slap across the face and as she spun around, her flats clicking on the black-tiled floor as she walked away–you couldn’t help but think, what would Father say?

“Choose partners.” Your first thought was Petra. But Billy stole her, apologizing to Marcus in that tone that suggested he wasn’t at all sorry. You didn’t mean to watch the scene, but you did, and somehow got distracted.

Brandy snickered as you walked past her desk, you couldn't care less about what she thought of you–it was your parents that had your panties in a twist. If Brandy–or anyone in her circle found out–there was no telling how fast they’d get wind of the information–or worse, she’d hold it over your head and make you her slave.

You shuddered at the thought.

“—?” You blinked, turning toward the voice. Marcus chuckled, “Are you gonna sit?” The sound of your name on his lips somehow made the rest of the classroom vanish. You nodded and took your seat, smoothing out your gray pleated skirt before scooting your chair closer to the desk.

As Master Lin began explaining the rules of the project, Marcus leaned over and whispered, “Ignore them.”

You kept your head straight, but your eyes darted down and toward him, “what if I can’t?”

He paused, his eyes illumining slightly–he licked his lips, the action capturing your vision. You felt dizzy and you had to focus back on Master Lin in the front of the class before you said something you shouldn’t.

You heard him scoff, but it sounded like he was trying to hide a laugh. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you playful smacked his thigh under the desk you were sharing. He watched you from the side, propping up a hand to cover the smile that wouldn’t disappear.

He felt lighter–and though he couldn’t possibly know, the girl beside him was falling faster and faster in love with him. 

A gasp escaped your throat as the ringing on your phone echoed throughout the empty hallway. You pulled it from your bag and huffed, debating whether or not you would answer it. It was your father, again. He’d called yesterday and the day before too–always at the same time.

You should have expected it by now, but of course, you didn’t. You clicked the answer button–had you waited any longer, you would have talked yourself out of it.

“Hello, Father.”

“Ah, —,” he sounded as if he was greeting an old friend. “How are you?” You recoiled at the croaky tone his voice took on.

“Fine,” a sigh escaped your mouth and floated through the speakers. You wondered what shocking secret he was going to reveal this time.

“Why do you sound like that? Are you not liking school? You want to come home for a few days?”

Actually, that is the last thing I’d like to do, thank you. You gritted your teeth, and forced out a, “No, I’m alright–just this new project for AP.”

“Oh, I see, well,” he shifted in his seat, you could hear better now that you had the phone up to your ear rather than on speaker. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“I thought we already had this conversation,” it took everything in you not to slam your locker shut.

“Eh… we did, but uhm, there’s…something else.”

What? What could possibly be worse than the hell you were living at the moment? The life you were being forced to live–it was crushing your heart every second you kept up the act.

“Sweetheart?”

“What is it?” You let out a shuddering breath, “just tell me.”

Just get it out. You felt the tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You had AP right now, but it had been canceled at the last second–something with Saya and her family, or whatever. Maybe you could make it to your room without being seen? You started walking, attempting to hold the tears at bay until you got to your dorm. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Now, your mother might be against this–but…you’re going to be a sister.”

You hung up. The tears were falling, you were trying to use the wall to hold yourself up, but it wasn’t helping. He’d gotten that whore pregnant? He really–you were swiping at the tears now and your wails could not doubt be heard throughout the hall. Students began turning around different corners to see what the commotion was.

Your face burned. You wanted to scream, your chest raged with the need. Marcus was looking for you, he wondered if you were going to study in the library like you usually did when class got canceled. 

His heart fell to his feet when he heard you screaming, he shouldered past a few kids, nosily sticking their heads around a corner. None of them actually cared. No one seemed to care in this school, not even the teachers. But you–you were…something else. He saw it in the way you looked out the windows when you thought no one was paying attention to you, you longed for something more–something better.

Your phone was on the floor, he snatched it up. You couldn’t have gone far, he threw open every classroom door until he found one that was empty. He listened, and there it was. Subtle, but there. 

The darkness you found yourself in hugged you from every side. You didn’t know what you wanted but you knew you didn’t want to think. You didn’t think you wanted to die, but you felt very close to it. You wanted to strangle him and that woman. Could you even call her that? She was a mistress–a homewrecker–a harlot!

How could he call that thing she was carrying in her stomach your sibling? It was a bastard. The closet door opened abruptly, the lighting was dim, but you could no longer say you couldn’t see your feet.

You had your knees pulled up to your chest, your skirt rode up your thighs, but Marcus didn’t notice as he scooped you into his arms. You were sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do, he didn’t know how to comfort someone, he had never been comforted himself, but somehow, he managed to calm you down, whispering any and everything that came to mind.

He kissed your hair and your forehead a multitude of times, he rubbed your back and his arms tightened slightly every few seconds. You weren’t sure how to react, no one had ever comforted you, not like this. Your nanny had her own children to worry about, though she took you baths and got you ready for the day in your childhood, all of her emotional attention was given to her own.

You didn’t think there was a single emotional bone in either of your parent's bodies. Sometimes you wondered how they ever could have loved each other. That thought had occurred more than once in the past few weeks.

You didn’t know how to say how you felt, but with Marcus, you didn’t think you had to. “Take me,” you murmured into his neck.

“What?” He pulled back slightly.

You nuzzled into him further, refusing to look him in the eyes. How could you? Everyone in your legacy was telling you that you were making a mistake and Petra had said Marcus had a thing for Maria–hell he’d gotten into a fight over her. But you know what? At some point you just had to say fuck it, though, your rendition sounded more like, “Take me far away.”

Marcus paused, considering your words carefully, and a few moments later a smile braved his lips, “Come with me.”

Your laughter mixed with his as you ran through the streets of the city. A car honked at you as you crossed the street without looking. You turned to each other–high off the cold night air–and screamed like you were going to die tomorrow. 

You had stopped at a food booth and ate without paying, and you’d run from the food vendor–the old woman shaking a stick at you–Marcus took your hand in his, pulling you around every corner. The city lights soon grew distant, red, yellow, and green hidden behind tall, oversized buildings that were shadowed in gray and black. The weight on your shoulders fell over the edge of the world and for just a few seconds, you were okay.

“Why are we doing this?” You flipped onto your side, finding Marcus already watching you.

He moved one arm behind his head and looked toward the sky, “because we can.”

“We’re in the middle of the street,” you laughed out, planting your hands on your stomach as you turned to watch the stars with him.

“Yeah, but who cares.” He hummed, reaching for your hand again.

Your cheeks flamed and your eyes burned, you squeezed his palm and he squeezed back. You heard it at the same time, a pickup truck was heading your way, but neither of you moved. You looked toward him, but your head stayed planted on the road, he looked downward, a calming smile stretched across his face.

The truck came, honking–eventually, it swerved to the side, nearly missing Marcus’ head. You knew, then, that you had gotten too close to him. Your heart wouldn’t have dipped and you wouldn’t have tugged him toward you in the last second if you hadn’t.

Fuck. Your face fell, wondering if this is what your mother felt when she first met your father. But we will be different. You thought with assurance–and suddenly, as you gazed into his eyes, the words I love you didn’t seem like enough anymore.

Marcus couldn’t help but question you as he fought the urge to kiss you. What the hell is that look in your eyes? 

a/n: thank you for reading and please let me know what you think !!

[midnightsnyx]

beautiful things p2 | mat barzal

my masterlist & part 1 pairing: mathew barzal x singer!reader summary: the aftermath of the interview. warnings: not edited, a lil angst but mostly fluff! please let me know if i missed anything. word count: 972 author note: i refuse to call twitter X. also there are most definitely inaccuracies but i hope you guys like anyways <3

“Hey, we made it on People Magazine’s Twitter,” Mat says eagerly, and you look up from the journal you’ve been jotting lyric ideas in. He has an endearing and adorable smile on his face as he looks at his phone.

Still, you can’t help but look at him, titling your head slightly “You haven’t been in People Magazine?” 

He laughs but his smile doesn’t waiver. “Not all of us are insanely talented musicians.”

You roll your eyes affectionately and lean over to press your lips firmly against his. The past few months have been nothing but bliss, since you replied to his DM. You were scared to open your heart again after your last relationship but Mat has shown you thus far that if you find the right person, it’s okay to let someone in.

“I don’t know,” you tease, pulling away. “I’ve seen you with a guitar.”

He blushes and tries to hide it by kissing you again. You let him, mainly because you’re enjoying it but also because you don’t want to push. 

You’re floating in pure euphoria right now, enjoying every moment and you don’t want it to end. 

“You’ll come to tonight's game, right?” He asks, brushing a loose piece of hair out of your face and resting a hand on your shoulder. One thing that you’ve learned about Mat is how tactile he is. He always wants to be touching you somehow, whether it’s an arm around your shoulder or holding your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you promise.

. . .

You love coming to Mat’s games, but some of the girls are still iffy about you which is understandable. You’ve only been dating Mat for five months and you are also in the media which brings a lot of attention. Sometimes unwanted attention. 

You also love your fans but they have a love/hate relationship with your relationship with Mat. Also taking into account his fans, and sometimes it’s too much. Like tonight. 

Everything starts great, there’s not much trouble getting to the stadium, but there are always fans waiting to hopefully get to see a hockey player or get a picture before the game. Someone sees you and then you’re back on Twitter and not the good side of Twitter.

You manage to get to your VIP suite pretty easily, Iris and some of your other friends with you. 

“I’d say I told you so, but you’d probably fire me,” Iris says dreamily, staring at the jumbotron that is showing a live feed of you. You’re not sure if it’s something you’ll ever get used to. You imagine this is what Taylor Swift feels like when she goes to Travis Kelce’s games.

“You just did,” you reply dryly but there’s no malice to your tone. You know exactly how Iris is and you love her for it.

Your eyes go back to the jumbotron, looking to see if they show Mat. You think you can see him on the ice from your current view, but you’re never sure unless he looks up and waves. 

“I’m glad I did, though,” you say and she looks at you for clarification. 

“Message him back. You were right.” 

She doesn’t say I told you so, or say any funny comeback. She just smiles and nods towards where the game has started. 

It’s a tight game and you’re on the edge of your seat for most of it but the Islanders win in overtime with a victory of 2–1, with Mat scoring the overtime goal. You watch the team celebrate on the ice before they head back to the locker room and you pull your phone out, shooting a quick text to Mat letting him know you’ll meet him at his place. With your security and his postgame interviews, it’s usually best to just meet at either of your houses.

You’re sitting with a glass of wine, watching the highlights from other games when Mat gets home. You can hear him drop his bag by the door and toss his keys on the counter before making his way to the living room where you are waiting. Max, your golden retriever is sitting by your feet but his tail starts wagging when he sees Mat. 

“Hey pal,” Mat mutters, bending down to greet the pup before plopping down on the couch next to you. He sighs, staring at the ceiling like he’s thinking hard about something.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You ask, putting your glass on the table and turning towards him. He turns his head towards you and opens and closes his mouth a few times. You’re starting to get nervous when he speaks.

“Move in with me,” he whispers and you freeze.

“Mat-”

“Look, I know it’s only been five months but we spend all our time together anyway. We’re just bouncing between houses.” He reaches out and takes one of your hands, intertwining your fingers together. “Let’s make it one house.”

The thought of moving in together absolutely terrifies you, but when you think about it, he’s right. If he’s not away for games or you’re not doing shows, you’re together and when you think about the future, Mat is standing next to you.

“Okay,” you say and his eyes widen. 

“Really? I thought I was going to have to get on my knees and beg,” he says and you’re not sure if he’s kidding or not.

So you shrug. “You make valid points. Plus, I think Max would like not to be shuffled around so much.”

He grins and leans in to kiss you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you murmur when you pull away and then Max jumps up on the two of you as if he knows a decision has been made and Mat almost falls off the couch but you have never been happier.

tag list: @ilyrafe

[fishymom-art]

Heyyyy sorry for reappearing again in ur inbox

I just wanted to show u the small redesign of my 2 Crk ocs because i don't know to who else i can show them and most of the people i show them don't look interested or don't care (Even my friends.)

Anyways i changed some stuff, like name, light and beast, some lore and the design ofc.

Also the reason why the drawing is from my sketchbook instead of my usual tablet is cause wifi is down so...

As for the fix a beast design, it's the same (just replace the horn with the wing and add some wings and remove the tail and that's it)

Just some facts:

-Bitter Lemon Cookie used to hold the soul jam of Composure before corruption and was called the "Wings of Composure".

-Bitter Lemon Cookie is blind and uses the soul jam and the small eye in his cape to see (Like CV).

-Soft Lemon Cookie lives in the sugar mountains, a place near the Cacao Kingdom and holds the "Trials of Courage" in which Cookies go through multiple tasks to be titled as the most courageous cookies in Earthbread.

-Out of all the Beasts, Bitter Lemon Cookie hates Shadow Milk Cookie the most because he's annoying to be with.

-Bitter Lemon Cookie thinks that Cookies are just objects that are blocking his path of a perfect world and makes them destroy each other with his powder.

-Soft Lemon Cookie sees PV as a big brother figure.

I would say more but i think i wasted enough of ur time so byebye

ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH THEM MATE!!!

You never waste my time dw uvu

If I don’t reply to a message, it’s probably either because I’m tired or annoyed and not even by the ask itself, just in general hdbfhfbfh

[insomniac4000]

Chained Together 10

Both George and Florence just wished for everything to blow over, and for the most part it did. Florence had sent a message to Simon thanking him for inviting her to the shoot and asking if her personal life could be kept that way as it was still raw, a request that was fulfilled with understanding. George pretended that Florence didn’t exist which got harder as Esme and Chris were spending more and more time together.

“Are you coming to drinks on Friday?” Chris asked George who was carefully reading the instructions from his Hello Fresh meal.

“No I’m out with Max, will probably end up crashing at his place,” George replied placing down the bit of paper with the recipe on and picking up a frying pan.

“Okay, erm… I was going to ask Esme so if she asks Florence it won’t be a problem?”

“And it starts,” George sighs.

“What?” Chris asked walking into the kitchen and grabbing a beer.

“Hanging out separately, eventually choosing sides and the other person is slowly phased out. One way you have regular sex with a woman so it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out which one it is,” George avoided eye contact, concentrating on making his meal of chicken and peppers.

“George don’t be silly, you’re my mate and my house mate, I don’t just cut my friends out. There is also a third option of just existing in the same room together, not saying you have to talk.” Chris suggested placing his hands up in a surrender position.

“Maybe. If there’s a lot of people I guess but I’m not around this weekend anyway so it doesn’t matter,” George mumbled in response.

“Mate don’t be like that, nothing has to change.” Chris tried to reassure his flatmate but George jus nodding and hummed a response.

That Friday night Florence and Esme were ready for the pub. Esme was dressed to impress in jeans, a corset style top and brown jacket while Florence, having no one to impress was a little more dressed down in some grey joggers and a cropped grey zipped tracksuit top with a cropped white T shirt underneath.

“Hello you,” Chris smiled at Esme pulling her into a hug, Florence couldn’t help but giggle a little bit at the height difference, Esme had boots on and she was currently standing at least 5 inches taller than Chris, if not more.

“Hi Florence,” Arthur Frederick smile, Florence smiles politely and waved back at him before waving at Bach and Arthur Hill, her heart pounding as she remembered the last time she saw Arthur TV she snapped.

“Drink?” Florence asked her flatmate who agreed.

“We’ll get them in, what’s your poison?” Chris asked, him and Arthur Hill made their way up to the bar after everyone’s orders were in.

“Well it seems like you’ve made an impression on our little hobbit,” Bach commented. Esme smiled and looked down hiding a blush, Florence had never seen her usually so confident flatmate so demure before.

Drinks were consumed, maybe more than initially planned, people get giggly, people got brave and people got open.

“I haven’t checked on you since that video, are you okay?” ArthurTV asked Florence. She looked pensive for a moment before smiling.

“I’m okay. Little embarrassed that I blew like that, thanks God for heavy editing hey,” she joked a little causing Arthur to laugh.

“I also wanted you to know that Chris didn’t give me any details or anything like that so if you’re worried about that then don’t be.” Florence flashed Arthur a genuine smile, he was sweet.

“Oh I trust Esme so thought that was the case. It’s all still a bit raw for me sometimes, it was a long time ago I was just a kid but… it affected me a lot…” Florence trailed off on seeing Arthur’s face, it was the face she hated seeing from people, pure sympathy.

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. Sorry is what you say when you’re at fault. I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t hard but I managed and I’m in a really good place in my life now, with some good people behind me.” Florence slurred her words a little but they were no less honest.

“I’m also really sorry about how it all came out. George usually isn’t one to put anyone on the spot like that, I dunno why he’s acting so weird. I know it feels like I’m trying to stick up for him but it really is out of character for him.”

“It’s a shame for some reason he has it out for me, from what I used to see on Tiktok and stuff I thought we could have gotten along. I mean I get along with all of you. And it looks like Esme and Chris are getting along really well,” Florence smiled as she gestured her head over to her flatmate and Chris, she was giggling to something he said, his hand was resting firmly on her thigh.

“The boy has no shame, that hand goes any higher we’ll get thrown out,” Bach commented placing another round of drinks down.

“I would say Esme has more class than that but… well she’s a had a few drinks,” Florence giggled, no judgement she could be just the same sometimes. She was also a little relieved the conversation focus was now off her.

“It’s good to know he’s just as insufferable when he’s dating someone as he is when he’s single,” Arthur Hill added, all the boys agreed.

“I take it you can’t sleep over tonight?” Chris asked nuzzling his face into Esme’s swan like neck.

“I can’t abandon Flo,” Esme replied her voice soft and low, Chris pouted but nodded in understanding.

“Understood. You’ll just have to make it up to me another time.”

“So you and Chris look like you’re getting on very well,” Florence teased when her and Esme were walking, well slightly staggering home.

“He’s a cutie pie isn’t he?  Don’t worry you’ll find someone soon enough.”

“Didn’t say I wanted anyone.” Florence was steadfast. Her career was gaining momentum, she had Esme and now was sort of making some new friends in the community. Life was good, she didn’t need anyone telling her otherwise.

“That’s what they all say,” Esme wiggled her eyebrows and giggled. Florence rolled her eyes but smiled as she hooked her arm through her friends as they continued their way home Florence wondering what on earth Esme meant.

[f14fun]

Just for Our Eyes - Park Sunghoon (C1)

synopsis: in which case Y/N, a camera-toting girl with more confidence in her lens than her words, skips class and stumbles into an abandoned ice rink—only to find sunghoon, a boy who skates like silence and sees more than he lets on. between shared secrets, photographs never meant for the world, and messages left unsaid, something begins to bloom—soft, quiet, and entirely theirs.

prose au (5.1K) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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Look, in my defense, I wasn’t trying to uncover any dark, mysterious, emotionally tortured secrets today.

I was just skipping math.

Again.

And I don’t even hate math, okay? I just hate it when numbers start pretending they’re letters and suddenly I’m expected to know what “cos(θ)” is. The unit circle is hard to look at, and suddenly even harder to understand. No thanks. Not when I could be doing something far more important. Like napping. Or dramatically sighing by a window somewhere.

So there I was, speed-walking behind the gym like a very cute fugitive, when I heard the sound.

Scrrrchhh. Swish. Tap. Swish.

My brain said: squirrel. My heart said: ghost. My very dramatic imagination said: figure skater haunted by the ghost of the Olympics.

And because I have absolutely no impulse control, I tiptoed toward the abandoned rink—the one Coach Min swore was “out of order” but really just looks like a Pinterest board had a mental breakdown in there.

And then... I saw him.

Black hoodie. Skates. Alone. Moving like he wasn’t even touching the ice. Like the laws of gravity took one look at him and said, “We’ll allow it.”

I think my jaw might’ve dropped. Which was rude, honestly. I don’t usually let boys make me gasp unless they’re fictional or handing me free food.

But he didn’t see me. He was busy doing a spin so smooth I almost clapped. I stopped myself. Barely.

Anyway, my fingers reached for my phone like they had a mind of their own. Not to record—I'm not that creepy (yet). I just needed to remember this moment. Mysterious ice boy. Secret skater. Vibe of a tragic K-drama lead with a soundtrack playing somewhere in the snow.

Before I could even unlock my screen, he skated right up to the edge of the rink and—

Paused.

Like paused, paused.

I froze too. Not because I’m shy (I’m literally allergic to silence), but because this felt sacred. Like if I moved too fast, he might vanish into a cloud of mist and unresolved trauma.

He wasn’t looking at me. Not really. He was facing the boards, one gloved hand resting on the edge, the other reaching up to pull his hood down.

And that’s when I saw his face.

I know beauty is subjective, but this boy? This boy looked like the human version of a plot twist. Sharp jawline, calm eyes, and the kind of expression that says, “Yes, I’ve seen pain. And yes, I drink iced lattes in the winter.”

It was rude. Honestly. People shouldn't be allowed to look like that on school property. Especially not while doing fancy little turns in complete silence like a poem in motion.

He still hadn’t seen me. So naturally, I panicked.

And by panicked, I mean: I cleared my throat dramatically, like a Victorian ghost trying to get attention during a séance.

“Nice pirouette,” I said, stepping into the doorway like I definitely hadn’t been standing there for five full minutes narrating his life in my head. “Or is it called a triple lutz? Or... toe loop? Skatey swirl? I don’t know. I failed P.E.”

He turned.

His eyes met mine.

For a second, I expected him to glare, or shout, or skate away in cold, broody silence.

Instead, he blinked slowly and said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Which was fair. But also rich, considering he clearly wasn’t supposed to be here either.

“Says the mystery boy on secret ice,” I replied, folding my arms and leaning against the doorway with my best I’m-totally-chill-and-not-spiraling smile. “I could report you, you know.”

He didn’t laugh.

Of course he didn’t laugh.

Instead, he just stared at me with that terrifying combination of calm and judgment that only people with perfect posture and trauma can pull off.

“I mean, obviously,” I added quickly, throwing in some frantic jazz hands because I’d lost control of the situation somewhere between “I could report you” and “this hot guy is scary, oh man.” “I’m not gonna snitch. I’m barely passing algebra. Do I look like someone who follows rules?”

Still nothing.

Okay, cool. He was either a robot or one of those beautiful loner types who only speaks in plot-relevant sentences. Tragic.

“You’re… skating?” I offered, because apparently my brain had given up on intelligent conversation and was now just narrating the obvious.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

“No,” I said. “Yes. No. I—okay, yes, I was just wondering if this is like… your thing? Skating alone in secret rinks behind abandoned gym doors while looking like a moody Vogue ad?”

He finally exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a laugh. Somewhere in the middle. And then, just as I was about to pass away from sheer embarrassment—

He smirked.

A tiny one. Barely there. But it was real.

“Do you always talk this much?” he asked.

“Only when I’m nervous,” I replied automatically. “Or bored. Or awake.”

Another pause. He looked down, did a little pivot on his skates, and then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he said, “Don’t tell anyone.”

And then he pushed off, gliding backwards again like he was being pulled by the music of my crushed soul.

“Wait, that’s it?” I called. “You’re just gonna emotionally mic drop and skate away?”

But he was already mid-turn, hoodie flaring slightly with the movement, back to being all broody and cinematic.

“I don’t even know your name!” I shouted, taking one dramatic step onto the bleachers like I was in a telenovela.

He didn’t stop.

But just before he reached the far end of the rink, I heard him say—soft, but definitely on purpose—

“Exactly.”

By lunchtime, I’d nearly convinced myself I imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was a mirage. A highly attractive hallucination born from skipping math and not drinking enough water (hydrate or dydrate everyone!) Stranger things had happened—like that one time I sleepwalked into the kitchen and started giving my toaster a pre-volleyball game pep talk. (I don't even play volleyball?!)

But then I found myself aggressively stirring my carrot and lentil soup, staring into it like it might give me answers.

“You’re just soup,” I muttered to the bowl. “You can’t help me.”

“Talking to your food again?” Yizhuo’s voice was smooth and amused, like it always was. She slid into the seat next to me looking like the human version of a sparkly Instagram filter. Effortlessly perfect. Not even fair.

“I’m reflecting,” I said, very maturely. “Deep introspection. Respect the process.”

Except I wasn’t reflecting.

I was daydreaming. Hard.

I leaned over my soup dramatically, letting the steam hit my face like it was some kind of cleansing ritual.

And then— His face appeared.

In the soup.

I screamed. Like, externally. Out loud. In the middle of the cafeteria. Not full-volume scream, okay, I’m not a menace. But definitely a loud, startled yelp that made at least four people at the next table look over, mid-chicken-nugget bite.

“Are you okay?” Yizhuo asked through laughter, already tapping my arm because she knew. She knew. She always knew when my brain decided to malfunction mid-lunch.

I blinked down at my bowl. No face. No mysterious boy. Just soup. Mildly orange. Steaming. Innocent. Mocking me.

“Yup!” I said brightly, like I hadn’t just imagined a boy materializing in root vegetables. “Totally fine. Just—hot soup. Caught me off guard. Happens.”

Minjeong, across the table, gave me the squint.

“Soup attacked you?”

“Violently,” I nodded. “Unprovoked.”

Jimin shook her head and offered me a napkin like I’d done this before (I had). Aeri snorted into her carton of chocolate milk.

“You sure you’re okay?” Yizhuo asked again, still smiling like she already knew the real answer. Which was rude, because I didn’t even tell her about mystery skater boy.

“Yes,” I said, stirring my soup again with suspicious eyes. “I’m just… existential today.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“I mean, same,” Aeri said. “But, like, mine’s about failing physics. Not… hallucinating soup men.”

“Soup men,” I repeated, flatly. “Thanks for that.”

Minjeong raised a brow. “Are you having one of your main character episodes again?”

“I don’t have main character episodes,” I scoffed. “I am the main character.”

“Yeah, of a high school rom-com where you fall in love with a cafeteria worker and dramatically sing about it,” Jimin chimed in.

“Honestly,” I said, dipping a piece of bread into my soup, “I’d watch that.”

They all laughed, and I smiled too, trying very hard not to visibly stare into the middle distance like a Jane Austen heroine haunted by an anonymous boy in skates.

I would not be weird about this. I would definitely not Google “how to casually run into someone at an abandoned ice rink without seeming like a stalker.”

I would just eat my soup. Be normal. Be chill. Be—

“Wait,” I said suddenly, voice sharp.

Everyone paused.

“Do we know,” I continued carefully, “if anyone at this school… like… ice skates?”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“Like… professionally,” I added. “Or secretly. Or—I don’t know—dramatically?”

“Why would we know that?” Aeri asked, squinting at me like I’d just asked if any of them moonlight as circus acrobats.

“I just think it’s a cool sport,” I said quickly. “The jumps! The glitter! I’m a fan of artistic twirls!”

Yizhuo narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound like you're trying to sell us Olympic propaganda?”

“Do you have a crush on someone?” Minjeong asked, because she always went straight for the jugular.

“No,” I lied, face entirely too warm. “I just believe in… skating rights.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “You’re so weird,” Jimin muttered fondly, stealing my bread.

But nobody answered my question.

Because apparently, no one at this school skates.

Which either meant: A) He wasn’t from here. B) He was a ghost. C) He was a figment of my imagination sent to teach me the value of patience and edge control. Or D) …He was hiding something.

And I? I was very good at finding things people were trying to hide.

Okay yeah, I rescind that statement.

It started innocently enough. I got home, opened my laptop, and totally meant to finish my bio homework. Like, I even clicked on the Google Doc and everything. But then my cursor wandered. And my brain whispered:

"What if he’s famous?"

And honestly? My brain makes a lot of terrible suggestions. Like bangs. Or hot yoga. But this one? This one had potential.

So naturally, I opened Naver.

Search: “high school figure skater black hoodie Seoul boy” Zero results. Rude.

Next attempt: “teenage male ice skater Seoul private school mysterious”

Still nothing, except an article about some 9-year-old prodigy who once skated blindfolded and a BuzzFeed-style quiz titled “Which K-pop Skater Boy Is Your Soulmate?”

Tempting. But not helpful.

I tried every combo I could think of:

“broody boy ice rink Korea”

“skating competition quiet student Seoul”

“hot guy looks like he hates everyone but skates like a dream”

“black hoodie jawline Seoul ice ghost??”

At one point I just typed “boy” and glared at the screen like I expected the algorithm to hand him to me on a silver platter.

It didn’t.

But then… salvation.

I remembered something: Instagram location tags. God’s gift to nosy people everywhere.

I tapped the one for Mapo Ice Arena, the old rink tucked behind our school that everyone pretended was off-limits because the ceiling was leaky and the lights hummed like they were possessed.

After ten minutes of scrolling through selfies, smudgy ice pics, and one cursed video of someone doing a belly flop in skates (still not sure if it was a joke or a cry for help), I found it.

A blurry vertical clip posted by some hockey account called @rinkratskr.

Caption: “Who even is this kid?? That spin was insane?? #skatinglegend #openrinknight”

And there he was. My hoodie boy. Same gait. Same calm control. Same "I don’t know I’m being filmed but I still look like a cinematic dream" aura.

I paused. Zoomed in.

And there—tagged at the bottom—was the username: @/sunghoon.pk

Click.

Public account. Minimalist. Very him.

Seven posts. No bio. Profile pic: a backlit skyline, probably the Han River. He posted like someone who wanted to be found just enough. Like a trail of breadcrumbs but make it moody and artsy.

Mostly photos of scenery. A cracked skate blade. A black-and-white coffee cup. A picture of someone’s cat with no context. And one post that stopped me cold:

A shot of the rink. Empty. Blue-tinged. He was in the corner of the frame, barely visible.

Caption: “It’s quieter now.”

I exhaled slowly.

Because of course. Of course he posted like that. He was a poetic enigma wrapped in a triple axel. And I’d made awkward soup eye contact with him.

I leaned back in bed, stared at the ceiling, and muttered to no one:

The ceiling said nothing. Judgy.

The time? 1:06 a.m.

My chemistry reading? Still unopened. My brain? Hijacked by a boy who spins like silence and smirks like it’s a secret.

I closed my laptop with the kind of dramatic flair normally reserved for season finales and rolled over, shoving my face into my pillow.

“Get a grip,” I whispered into the cotton. “He’s just a guy. A random guy. A guy who ice-skates like he’s in a perfume commercial, sure, but still—just. A. Guy.”

My pillow offered no comfort.

It took me approximately forty minutes, three unnecessary scenarios of us bumping into each other at a convenience store, and one fake argument in my head that ended in a confession (??) before I finally fell asleep.

Only to wake up the next morning with a crick in my neck, exactly one minute before my alarm went off.

Which is a special kind of betrayal.

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I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sinking realization that I’d hit snooze three times without remembering.

Fantastic start.

The sky outside was that too-blue winter kind of bright, and the cold coming in from the window crack felt unnecessarily personal. I dragged myself out of bed like I was being summoned to war, tripped over my backpack, and muttered something in the general direction of gravity.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection for a long time.

My hair was passable. A little pillow-flattened, but it gave off that “I woke up like this but didn’t mean to” vibe. But my eyeliner?

A crime scene.

Attempt one: crooked wing. Attempt two: thicker crooked wing. Attempt three: somehow got eyeliner in my eyebrow. Attempt four: panic.

I finally gave up, grabbed my mascara like it was a magic wand, and aggressively swiped it on until my lashes could pass for intentional.

I called it “smoky desperation.” It was fine.

I was five minutes late to class. Not dramatic enough to make an entrance, but enough that everyone looked up when I walked in. My teacher paused mid-sentence, gave me a long look, then kept going.

I sank into my seat and took out my notebook like I had any intention of using it.

I didn’t.

Chemistry was—no offense to science—slowly sucking the will to live out of me. Something about molecular bonding or ion pairs or maybe it was how the fluorescent lights made everything look like a bad hospital dream. I don’t know.

I just knew that at 23 minutes in, my brain started playing static.

So I raised my hand.

“Bathroom,” I said.

My teacher didn’t even look up. Just waved me out like I was a regular escapee.

I took my bag. Casual.

Walked down the hallway. Normal.

Turned the corner and passed the bathroom.

Kept walking.

Turned again.

The moment I stepped into the rink, the cold slipped over me like a second skin. It was sharp, almost biting, but not unwelcome. My shoes echoed softly against the concrete as I crossed the threshold, keeping to the side, hoping not to disturb anything—or anyone. But it didn’t matter. He saw me almost immediately.

He was mid-stride, arms loose, gliding through a curve with perfect balance, when his eyes flicked toward the entrance. He slowed, not abruptly, but gradually, coasting until he reached the edge of the rink where I stood. There was no surprise on his face, no confusion, like he’d expected me somehow. The silence stretched for a second before he came closer, the dull scrape of his blades the only sound in the room.

“You’re back,” he said, calm as ever, voice low and even.

I blinked at him, caught off guard by how unbothered he looked. “Yeah,” I replied, a little breathless, trying to will my heart rate back to normal. “You… skate like you’re not touching the ground. You deserved to be photographed, it's truly amazing.”

His gaze didn’t shift. If anything, he studied me more closely. “Then you should photograph me.”

I froze, blinked. “What?”

He shrugged slightly. “I heard you do photography.”

That made my stomach dip. I looked down, almost instinctively, at the strap of my camera—my beat-up FujiFilm that never left my side, hanging from my shoulder like it belonged there more than I did. I hadn’t even realized I’d brought it today. I always did, without thinking.

“How—how did you know?”

He tilted his head like the question didn’t make much sense. “It’s hard not to notice when you carry it everywhere. I saw it last time. And I’ve seen you around school.”

That last part sat heavier than the rest. I wasn’t sure if it was the way he said it—casual but deliberate—or the fact that I hadn’t noticed him noticing me. I was usually the observer, the one watching moments unfold from behind the lens. To be seen like that, so plainly, knocked something loose in my chest.

“Oh,” I said, like a genius. “Right.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was still watching me, but not in a way that asked anything. It felt like he was just waiting to see what I’d do next.

I adjusted the strap of my camera, suddenly hyper-aware of its weight against my side. “If you’re offering,” I said carefully, “I’d love to.”

His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something near it. “Good. Because I think better when I’m moving.”

And just like that, he turned, pushed off, and skated back onto the ice, his figure slicing through the cold air like it welcomed him back.

I sat down slowly on the cold bleachers, fingers instinctively wrapping around my camera like they always did when I didn’t know what to say. It was my FujiFilm X100V—silver with black leather grip, a little scuffed at the corners from too many school trips and spontaneous weekend walks, but I liked it better that way. The metal body felt familiar in my hands, like something that had always belonged to me, even before I knew how to use it properly.

I flipped the switch, felt the soft click vibrate under my thumb. The lens extended with its smooth little hum, and I thumbed off the lens cap, tucking it into my coat pocket like I’d done a hundred times before. But this time felt different. My hands weren’t clumsy, but they were careful, like I was afraid of making the wrong move.

I lifted the viewfinder to my eye and let the world shift.

He was moving again—arms loose, posture relaxed, that same quiet confidence in every motion. The camera softened everything around him, framed him in the square like a subject I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to find. Through the viewfinder, the rink lost its rusted edges, the cracks in the boards blurred away, and all that was left was him gliding through the middle like he was made for it.

I tapped the shutter. Once. Twice.

The sound was quiet, almost shy, like it didn’t want to disturb him. I adjusted the aperture—f/2.0, to catch the soft winter light filtering through the high windows—and widened the shot. He dipped into a turn, one foot crossing over the other, hoodie fluttering slightly with the motion. His jaw was set, brows just a little furrowed in concentration. I captured that too.

Every few seconds, I’d lower the camera just enough to see him with my own eyes. I don’t know why. Maybe to make sure it was still real. Maybe to remind myself that I was here—not behind a screen, not watching a video online, but here, in the cold, watching him carve his thoughts into the ice like it was paper.

The camera strap shifted against my neck as I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees for balance. My thumb hovered near the focus ring, adjusting just slightly as he moved closer, faster, a flash of motion that almost slipped out of frame. I caught it. I caught him. Not just the spin, but the moment right before—the gathering of energy, the breath he took as he prepared to push off. I liked that part the most.

I bit my lip and smiled a little to myself, heart warm despite the cold settling into my fingertips. The world always felt quieter when I had my camera up, like there was only the subject, the space between us, and whatever I chose to keep.

And him?

He didn’t perform. He didn’t look into the lens or try to impress me. He just kept skating like he forgot I was there—or maybe like he didn’t mind that I was.

I kept shooting, frame after frame, until I stopped worrying about whether they were perfect and just started chasing the feeling. The light. The way his hair moved under the edge of his hood. The way his skates sounded against the ice, steady and sure. The way I didn’t want to miss any of it.

Eventually, he slowed again, gliding into a soft stop near the edge of the rink. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at me, his chest rising and falling as his breath formed clouds in the air.

“Do I need to pose?” he asked, voice calm, teasing just barely.

I lowered the camera, smiled. “No. I like it better like this.”

He nodded, almost to himself, and turned away. He skated again, and I raised the viewfinder once more—this time, not just to watch him, but to remember what it felt like to see something beautiful in motion and be lucky enough to catch it.

He came back slower this time, his skates whispering across the ice until they drew him back to the edge of the rink where I was sitting. I had just lowered my camera, the screen still lit with the last photo I’d taken—him caught mid-turn, arms slightly out, eyes focused on some invisible line ahead of him. The moment looked like a dream. Not something staged, not something posed. Just real. Honest.

I watched as he glided to a stop, eyes on me, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything right away, and I wasn’t sure if I should. The silence settled between us, not quite heavy, but full of everything unsaid. So, naturally, I filled it with words I didn’t think all the way through.

"We need to post these," I blurted, lifting my camera like it explained anything. "Seriously, you don’t even know how good you look out there. You’re like—skating poetry. It’s illegal to be this photogenic and not let the world know."

The change in him was immediate, like a light switching off somewhere behind his eyes. He didn’t smile. If anything, he looked away for a second, and the quiet stretched thinner. There was a subtle shift in his expression, a darkness—not quite sadness, but something older, heavier. His jaw tensed slightly, and he looked back up at me with a gaze that pinned me in place.

I hesitated, my hand tightening on the grip of the camera. "Or not," I added quickly, softer now. "It was just an idea. No pressure."

He looked down at the ice before meeting my eyes again. "Don’t post them," he said, his voice even but firmer than before.

I nodded, feeling like I’d overstepped some invisible line I hadn’t known was there. "Yeah, of course. Just for… me, then. I mean—not me, me. Like, us. Just for us. I guess."

He studied me for a moment longer before replying, voice quieter this time. "They’re for our eyes only."

Something about the way he said it lodged itself deep in my chest. The words weren’t romantic, not exactly. But they held weight. Like a promise. Like he had handed me something fragile and trusted me to hold it. My stomach flipped, and I hated how fast the words took root in my mind.

For our eyes only.

There was something about it—something unspoken and just barely intimate. A shared secret I hadn’t realized we were creating. My heart fluttered before I could stop it, and I had to look down at my camera to stop myself from staring at him like a total idiot.

I pretended to check my photos again, though I didn’t see any of them clearly. I was too aware of the stillness around us, of him still standing there, too aware of my own heartbeat thudding far too loudly in my ears.

When I finally looked back up, he was still watching me, calm and unreadable as ever.

"Yeah," I said aloud, trying to steady myself. "Just for us. Got it."

He nodded like it settled something between us. And maybe it did. Maybe that was the thing—these pictures weren’t for an audience. They were just for this moment. For him. For me.

After a pause, I blinked and realized something that made me sit up straighter. "Wait. How am I supposed to get them to you?"

He stepped a little closer to the railing, eyes steady on mine. "Give me your phone."

I opened my mouth to ask why, but before I could even finish the breath, he reached out, fingers brushing softly against mine as he took the phone from my lap. His hands were cold but sure, and there was something ridiculously confident in the way he unlocked it without asking and swiped straight into my contacts.

He typed quickly, efficiently, then passed it back like it was nothing.

There it was.

Park Sunghoon

Saved in my phone like it had always belonged there.

"Now you can send them," he said, glancing down at the camera that still hung from my neck.

I stared at the name on the screen, brain momentarily short-circuiting. "Oh. Okay. Cool," I managed, and then immediately wanted to faceplant into the bleachers.

Cool? That was the best I could do? He just casually slid into my contact list and I was out here saying cool like I was a malfunctioning robot.

He nodded once, like that settled it, and then turned back to the ice. His blades whispered across the surface as he pushed off again, not looking back. I sat there a little stunned, still gripping my phone, watching him disappear back into motion.

I watched for what felt like forever, my camera resting against my chest, heartbeat loud in my ears. I didn’t raise it to shoot again. Not yet. The moment didn’t ask to be captured. It asked to be remembered.

Eventually, he circled back toward the far end of the rink, movements slower now, more thoughtful. I watched him pause for a second, look toward the ceiling like he was thinking through something no one else could hear, and then spin again, this time looser, like he was skating to let go of something.

I stayed there, seated and quiet, camera in my lap, hands warm from where he'd brushed them. I kept staring at his name in my phone, the plain, unstyled contact card glowing against the screen like it meant more than it should.

I should’ve stood up. Should’ve gone back to class. But I didn’t. Not right away.

"Hey," I called out suddenly, not even realizing I was going to speak until the word left my mouth.

He slowed, turned in place, skating a half-circle before gliding back to the edge again.

"Why me?" I asked. "Why let me take the photos?"

He tilted his head slightly. "You didn’t ask me to pose."

That was it. That’s all he said.

And yet, I felt it. The trust in it. The quiet weight of someone who didn’t want to perform anymore.

He turned again, without waiting for a response, and disappeared back into the curve of the rink. And I sat back, phone still in hand, heart still catching up.

I didn’t know what this was. But I knew what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t just about skating. It wasn’t just about photographs. It wasn’t just a fluke.

It was something that belonged to both of us now.

Just for our eyes.

I checked the time on my phone—I'd been there nearly twenty minutes, maybe more. Class had definitely moved on without me, and if I didn’t get back soon, someone was going to notice. Probably my chemistry teacher, who kept track of bathroom breaks like a hawk with a stopwatch.

I shifted, standing up slowly, letting my bag slip back over my shoulder, camera still hanging at my side. Sunghoon had slowed again, watching me from a short distance away. I hesitated, unsure whether to say goodbye or just slip out the same way I came.

But then he spoke.

"Find me at lunch," he said simply.

I blinked, halfway to turning. "Huh?"

He didn’t elaborate, just offered a faint shrug. "You’ll find me."

My brows knit together, caught somewhere between confused and amused. "That’s totally not weird at all," I muttered under my breath, but I knew he heard me because the corner of his mouth lifted—just a fraction, barely there.

Before I could ask what that even meant, he was already skating away again, like that was all he intended to say. I stood there for another second, still slightly stunned, before finally forcing myself to move, slipping back out of the rink and into the hallway.

The warmth hit me like a wave, and I walked toward class with my thoughts racing ahead of me. I didn’t know where I’d find him at lunch. I didn’t even know what I was expecting. But I knew one thing for sure.

I would look.

And I had a feeling—some quiet, ridiculous feeling—that he would be there waiting.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of something neither of us had a name for yet.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: trying something new by writing out an enha fic, lemme know what you think and if you want more parts (or more enha fics in general) comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[keepingitformyself]

we might just get away with it (ii)

AN: i’m so sorry for the delay on this second chapter, i got really caught up with uni stuff and then some personal projects i’ve been working on. anyways i have about a month off and will do my best to catch up on this story! hope u guys enjoy this one….happy holidays!

synopsis: hollywood is a tricky place for someone new like you, a certain elusive redhead is hoping for you to let her in.

pairings: writer!natasha romanoff x youngactress!reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: natalie is lowkey a mastermind. rumored romance with another certain actress…..

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

3 weeks later.

new york is everything you love, put into one city. you thrive in it’s anonymity, ironically.

it’s got the strong sense of culture, the food, the creativity, and the people. like every single person who walks the streets is made to belong there, they all have their purpose for making new york what it is.

that’s what you think as you’re sat outside a coffee shop on 463 w broadway.

you make a note of how one day you’ll commit to living here. you also make note of just how reckless it’d be if you just up and left la then never went back. you hate la, you’ve come to find out. yet there’s so much that keeps you there. you hate it. you don’t belong there. but in some sense of the word, you do.

you sigh with the shake of your head, adjust the cap securely on your head, and tighten the large overcoat you have on. the latte in front of you seeming more interesting now. the still hot liquid distracts you from the intrusive thoughts.

your mind drifts off to natalie. you’re immediately taken back to that night at the party. it’s your first time thinking of that night in weeks. and you realize how you truly haven’t felt the way you did that night, since. you remember the conversations you had, you remember how she went to school at nyu, how she told you she hasn’t left new york since. how she never plans to.

you wonder how she’s doing, if she’s in the city. if she remembers you, or has even thought of you.

it makes you a little sad to think about. your life hasn’t slowed down since the release of the series and sometimes all you wanted was to find some small relief in it all. even with the short-lived moments of connection it feels odd to come back from something like that and move on with your life.

your thought is cut short with a text message from samantha.

greta decided to move the meeting a little earlier. she apologizes for the last minute change. can you be there in the next 30 minutes?

you text a quick reply saying that you’ll be there as soon as you can. with that, you grab your to go cup and find the nearest subway that’ll take you up to 19th street.

you make it there just within the thirty minute mark. a kind man waits for you to arrive at the door and leads you up the elevator to the fourth floor of the walk up.

you’re surprised to see who is seated next to greta when you walk in.

“oh good, you made it! let me introduce you to—” you cut her off.

“—natalie.”

the redhead stands from her seat at the table and reaches over it to shake your hand.

“it’s a pleasure we meet again.” her eyes say something different. not bad necessarily, but something more. you’re not sure what it might be. greta’s eyes light up at the gesture.

“oh you’ve met! well, natalie here is gonna be joining us as head writer right besides me and noah for the next season.”

it’s your turn for your eyes to light up. a sense of relief floods through you. natalie isn’t here just to be here, she was here to be part of something with you.

you turn to her with a genuine smile. though you’ve worked with the people in this room for over a year, natalie is drastically different to them.

natalie was the first person who spoke to you as if you were just you. she didn’t bother you about work and stuff.

she talked to you about things that interested you, that interested her. she talked to you like you were just another individual who happened to be at the same party she was at.

“that’s- that’s actually really good to hear. i’m really excited for how this’ll turn out.”you let out a laugh, one that says you’re still trying to comprehend the news.

“right well, let’s get the meeting started!” greta claps her hands together and sits down.

——

natalie hasn’t stopped staring at you since the meeting started.

she hopes you’re as interested in the meeting as you look, because then at least she’d be sure you haven’t figured out her staring problem.

she only catches your eyes whenever greta or noah turn the attention towards her, then you’re forced to look at her. but she’s always just in time to look away before you can notice the stares.

the truth is, natalie is an absolute maniac. she’s a psychopath. she’s a writer for gods sake!

writers have a tendency to be more in sync with their awareness which is great…but they’re also more able to get in touch with that darker side in their psyche. how else do you think she managed to snag a few award-winning films under her belt?

her creativity reaches into places in her mind most wouldn’t even consider to think of.

point is, natalie is a huge romanticist, and it’s a problem. sometimes.

in her defense, greta came up to her for this job. so in some sense of the word, it was fate. plus, tony had put in a good word, not that she asked him to. obviously.

up until that point, natalie had no clue on how to get to you. her only idea was writing her next screenplay and giving you the lead.

but now, the ball was in her court. she takes the next shot.

the meeting ended and everyone was seeing themselves out. natalie thinks of what to say while she’s packing her things but you beat her to it instead.

“it was really nice to see you again.” she hears you say. she lifts her head up, you’re smiling and your hands are stuffed into your coat pockets. a smile easily reaches her eyes at the sight.

“i’m glad. i’ve already got some plans for where i want to take this next season.” natalie replies with an enthusiastic smile.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise eager to know what she might have to say but you hold yourself back. she wouldn’t spoil that for you, even if you asked.

“i have trust you’ll do it right then, i’ve already grown so protective of this show, especially my character.” it was very true. there were moments where you really had to oversee things going on with the script. thank god greta was as collaborative as she is. you’d always try exploring things with your character and she was always very supportive of where you’d take things. it made the series all the more fulfilling to you, honestly.

natalie confirms that she’ll do anything she thinks is in your best interest for the show and before she even realizes it, you’re making a move she wasn’t expecting.

“i know this is on short notice, but…i saw this really nice bistro on my way here and, i’d love to get to know my head writer more…over brunch?” you ask timidly. the thought to ask her had occurred to you only a few seconds ago. natalie seemed wise, and you liked it and she was here with you now and honestly, you just wanted some good company while being in the city.

“yeah i can do lunch. yeah that’s great actually.” natalie was surprised. to say the least. she hadn’t planned to continue the day with you. she decides this was her chance in. her way of getting to know you better, something she’s been desperate to get back to since she realized it that night in her home.

you lead her out of the building where you’re met with the crisp wind of new york city. car horns and police sirens are heard as you walk through the streets of the flatiron neighborhood. on the way to the restaurant you ask eachother how you’ve been.

you tell her about how you just wrapped up your press tour in europe and had spent a few nights with some friends in london. natalie pays close attention to every word that is hung from your lips. she notices to light blush that covers your cheeks and nose due to the cold and she almost reaches out to pull you in closer.

as you speak, she tries not to notice the obvious man with the camera that makes himself known a few hundred feet away from you. a sense of pride makes washes over her at the fact that there’d be a picture taken of the two of you, together.

you end your story and in return ask her how she’s been. natalie doesn’t miss the genuine interest shown in your eyes as she talks.

even as you reach the restaurant and are seated you never lose your sense.

natalie talks and talks and you listen. you’re so entranced by her stories that you’ve come to find that you deeply admire her for what she does and says. it makes you feel all the more excited for the chance at working with her.

she tells you she’s never not writing. even before greta came along to offer her the role of head writer, she was still writing. natalie tells you about the screenplay she was working on, how she plans to direct it as well.

you beam at her revelation seeming genuinely excited at the fact that she’d be making a movie sometime in the future. you tell her that she better invite you to the premiere.

natalie laughs off your comment. she doesn’t tell you how she got back into her writing after she saw you on her screen for the first time, all those months ago.

or how you’re the muse in her next story.

once your ordered food comes in you sit in a comfortable silence as you eat.

“what do you do on your days off?” natalie asks suddenly. she looks up at you through her lashes, her fork playing with the baked eggs on her plate.

you’re so caught off guard by her question it makes you blush at the way she stares you down. you chew down the food in your mouth and answer.

“uh, i like going home, to see my mom. she doesn’t let me stay for more than i need to though, she says i need to go out and meet new people.” you chuckle. your mom was your biggest supporter but also your biggest critic. although she always enjoys her time with you, she was always telling you to go meet with some of your hometown friends.

it’s why you liked going home so much. she’s great at grounding you when you need to be.

“oh? and have you met any new people?” natalie’s interest is piqued by now. she carefully treads around the question, hoping, wishing for any information that’d give her an in into what she desperately wants to know.

who are you with when you’re not alone? who do you think of when you are?

“i mean, i’ve met some really cool people through mutual friends." you reveal.

“wow, so you haven’t met anyone you fancy?” natalie plays it off coolly. she treads along the sacredness that is your romances. and natalie doesn’t mention the fact that she’s read into your love life recently. the rumors of you and another actress.

the one you were pictured with in london very recently.

“huh? oh, no. i don’t really have anyone like that in my life right now.” you nervously chuckle at her question.

“so you and that actress aren’t a couple? you and jenna ortega?” natalie feeds a forkful of food into her mouth, seeming very nonchalant about what she just asked.

you try not to laugh at natalie’s question. your eyebrows raise in surprise at her very forward question. it’s almost comical, really.

jenna was amongst the close group of friends you stayed with while in london.

she was a flame, someone you’d come to deeply admire over the time spent knowing her. she tells you things that you learn from, you check on eachother, you bring eachother back down to earth.

and she was one of the few people you could actually depend on with your life in this industry.

the silent shock wears off. you’re not sure what to say, except the fact that you feel a little embarrassed at her question. that even natalie of all people had heard about your supposed love life.

something that you tried to keep nurtured as much as possible.

“she’s one of my best friends.” you finally say. more sure than anything. you try not to laugh at the accusation. the idea of it seeming so far away from where you are now.

“i haven’t even dated in such a long time.” you even go as far to say. anything to make it clear you’re nowhere near any level of romance with anyone.

you miss the look of surprise on natalie’s face when you say this. she sets her fork down to sip from the breakfast martini she had ordered. she sets her glass down and takes a look at you, leaning forward only slightly.

“i was so sure someone as pretty as you wouldn’t have stayed single for so long.” then she looks down at her plate with a small smile, contemplating. there’s a beat of silence.

finally, she looks up.

“can’t say i’m disappointed at being proved wrong though.” she finishes.

you laugh at natalie’s comment. it’s all you could do, not really sure at what she could be getting at. you even blush a little.

and natalie misses none of it.

[klipkillakai]

imagine~

18+ minor dni! ageless accounts will be blocked with a quickness 🩷🪽

smut/black!fem reader/ plug!könig/ pnv nd some other stuff but nun too crazy

okay but imagine..

your on your phone scrolling through insta and you get a text from your plug

-kö 🌀❕

-ma i got some new stuff i think you’ll like want me to pull up?

‘you softly smile at the next nd think about it, and realize you running low so you reply’

-yea, pull up

-bet, i’m getting gas rq u want sumn?

-yea get me the purple skittles 😌

-aii

‘you click out the messages and get up, quickly washing your face and going to your vanity to do a lil makeup, it’s not cause you like him or nun (🤭) it’s cause you wanna look.. presentable’ (riiight)—

‘while your putting on your lipgloss you get a text “i’m outside” and you hop up and put on your cute pink slippers and not even bothering to take your bonnet off because it looks cute anyway, you grab your water bottle and you walk out your apartment and out to the parking lot and you see könig’s matte black hellcat parked, you walk up nd tap on the window and he unlocks the door and you slip in’

“hey” you smile softly

“hey mama” he says in a soft raspy voice and he looks up from his phone lazily throwing it in the cupholder and looking at you and your belly tingles when he looks at you with those tired eyes, he reaches in the back and grabs a bag will all the stuff in it and he opens it and you take it upon yourself to connect your phone to the bluetooth and play some music, brent fiyaz to be exact (🤭)

“aii so i got some new cart flavors for you, nd these new edibles i think you’ll like”

“ooh show me the cart, my shit has been tweaking lately”

he hands it to you and it’s a pink bat wit hello kitty printed all over it like stickers and a fresh new cart already loaded up— he clears his throat a bit

“i know you like that hello kitty shit” he says nonchalantly but inside he feels all warmed up nd shit because of that pretty smile on your face

“aww this is so cute.. thank you kö” you lean towards him a press a small kiss to his cheek, something you always do, könig always looks out for you so it’s a way to show your appreciation— once you pull away you and könig have a moment when you both stare into each other eyes and you watch as his eyes lowers to your lips for a second before snapping back up to your eyes, könig slightly leans in before licking his lips and pulling away— “let’s smoke a lil bit”

“mhm” you hum, trying not to show that you definitely wanted him to kiss you, but your deciding to chill a bit, play it cool..

a little while late you and him are smacked and y’all are jus talking and listening to the music, jus like you always do, but today something up his lowered red eyes is driving you crazy, and the lazy slumped smile on his lips is making you wanna crawl over the seat and do sumn—

“i can’t believe you’ve never had a boyfriend y/n”

“why? i mean like in highschool i was a little awkward” you say slightly embrassed, he rolls his eyes a bit

“nah i would’ve fucked wit you” you smack your teeth

“why you lying.. i hate when people lie” you say referencing rollie and slightly laughing at that

“nah i swear” “he says moving a lil closer to you with a slight smile on his face”

“it’s those eyes mama, you got pretty eyes” he whispers as he leans in even more and so do you

“yea?” you whisper “yea” he whispers back before capturing your lips in a soft kiss, pausing and kissing you again, longer this time, is hand grabbing your jaw and kissing you deeply, your breathing gets a bit heavier and he softly bites your lip pulling away for a sec “so fucking pretty baby” and kissing you again—

the rnb melodie’s playing in the background setting the mood and the soft rain hitting the car, he slides his other hand down to your waist and pulls you over the console and sets you in his lap, he sits up a bit and grabs your waist with both hands as he kisses down your jaw, groaning at your sweet smell and shuddering when he feels your hands slip up into his hair at the nape of his neck and scratching softly with your acrylics—

you let out a soft moan and you feel his tongue run over the spot he was sucking on before he pulls back a bit and unzips your pink sweater— “i’ve wanted to do this for so long baby” he kisses your chest right above your pretty nipples “i think about you all the time pretty girl, your pretty fucking smile” he sucks on your nipple— “these pretty titties” he says slightly muffled and continues to suck and tease them and all you can do is whimper and take it, you roll your hips and you moan when you feel his hard dick “you see what you do to me ma? huh.. it’s all for you, you know that? hm?” he says kissing you again and tugging down your shorts”

“i’m- i’m a virgin.” you say and he soft looks up at you

“we can stop anytime you want- you cut him off “but i want you to be my first” you look down at him with trust and he smiles and kisses your lips “not in here baby, ion want your first time in my car, let’s go upstairs”

you quickly get upstairs and könig picks you up and carries you to your room and he sets you down hovering over you, he goes down your body pressing soft kisses before he presses a soft kiss under your belly button, with a hello kitty charm dangling from it “i like that” he whispers and he tugged your shorts down and places your legs in his shoulders.. “so fucking wet baby, all this fa me? hm?” he presses soft sloppy kisses all over your pussy and clit, he sucks on it softly, spreading it with his two fingers and holding your thigh back with his large hand—

“k-kö fuck.. pa~ i can’t” you shudder not knowing what to say, this overstimulation is new to you and you feel the pressure building up in your stomach already, just like when you touch yourself alone

“don’t worry baby ” he whispers looking up at you as he slips two fingers into your sopping cunt and your back arches, you let out a pornographic moan and you twitch softly as his fingers begin pounding into it, it starting to feel sore you reach down and rub your clit and you bite your lip

“pa i’m gonna cum” you whine and kisses your inner thigh “you can cum baby, i wasn’t gonna let you leave with only one anyways” you moan and when the pressure reaches its peak you clench around his fingers and he groans, watching you shudder and moan as your thighs twitch, his thumb brushes over your clit and your legs shut automatically from the sensitivity and he slaps your thigh and spreads them open “nah baby, i’m not done”—

he sits up and unbuttons his jeans not even bothering to pull them all the way off and reaches behind him and tugs off his shirt revealing the array of tattoos on his chest and torso, he palms the large bulge in his boxers and squeezes it before pulling it out, you shudder when you look at the heavy thick cock, this tip such a pretty pink and glossy from precum, he jerks it softly and pulls you closer to him and he taps his cock on your clit and places it on top, showing how far it’ll reach when inside—

“it’s not gonna fit” you whine and he spits on your clit “imma go slow alr?” you nod and he rubs his cock yo and down your folds before softly putting his tip in, you whimper and he pulls out before going back in a little deeper this time, you repeat this process until it’s all the way in and your squirming

“fuck ma” he shudders and looks down at your stretched out pussy and spits on it before slowly rolling his hips in and out of you and slowly picking up his pace, your back arches and you look up at him while he looks back making direct eye contact, he leans forward and kisses you while giving you slow deep strokes and your currently trying to fight off letting this man to give you a baby, he draws back a bit and he speeds up looking at you for conformation and he begins pounding into you, you mouth slightly opens and you feel that pressure start to build up again, it starts to feel too fast and too much and you place your hand on his belly “pa~” you whine and he moves your hand away “nah mama take this shit” you softly whimper and he leans forward as whispers your ear as he pounds into you “you can’t take it? huh? it hurts.. hm? i’m too big for your pretty pussy? i don’t care” he says with a soft shudder after you clench around him, he presses wet kisses on your jaw and neck “look at you.. all fucked out.. eyes rolling back nd shi.. that feel good baby? he says as he goes back to the slow deep strokes.. “words mama” he says as he grabs your jaw and presses kisses to your lips “mhm.. y-yes” it’s all you can’t say.. it feels to good and your so lost in the pleasure—

he pulls back again and wraps your legs around his waist and he holds down your torso and pounds into you and you begin to let out lound moans and broken sobs .. the euphoric feeling starting to be too much, the pressure being to much and you feel tears rolling down your cheeks—

“fuck- fuck- fuck” you sob “i’m gonna cum_ i’m gonna cum fuck haa~” you whine and he speeds up

“there we go.. let it out pretty girl, let it all out, cum all over this dick baby” he leans down and kisses you sloppily and his eyes roll back and he grunts.. putting he head in the crook of your neck feeling himself boutta cum too, he thrusts he sloppy and rolls into you and you feel yourself release and soon after he lets out a loud moan and cums inside of you.. and sloppily fucking it inside you— “fuck” you whimper “damn” he grunts and you both let out a lust drunk sigh, he sits up and slowly pulls his dick out while staring at it, he bites his lip a bit and gets up grabbing his shirt and wiping off some of the cum pin your pussy, you flinch a bit from the sensitivity and you softly smile—

he finishes and he climbs back up the bed and kisses your head-

“i’m get you some plan b tmmr so don’t worry about it” you snuggle closer to him and smiles

yea cs fuck them kids “you both laugh and he laughs wraps his arms around you kissing you one last time before y’all fall asleep”

| a/n |

y’all 😁 did i eat??? orrrr i think i chewed a bit, i’ve been realized how hard it was to write smut, so i have a much bigger appreciation for all the fic writers nd smut writers ily!! but it’s my first time ever writing smut and y’all it wore me out 😩 but i was giggling the whole time! anyways! hope y’all liked it ❕😌🪽

peace ✌🏾.

[its-time-to-write]

perhaps some angst?? reader and jamie break up but fluff at the end because he wins her back 🥹

I’m sorry this took me so long 😭 Not always the best at writing angst. Thanks for requesting!

can’t really say i’m enjoying it now

“What the fuck, Jamie,” you say. “What the actual fuck.”

You’re in Richmond’s boot room after training. You’d been upstairs with Rebecca which is a bit of why you’re even in this mess. 

After all, she’s the one who told you he’d changed.

She’s the one who told him to just go for it.

She’s the one who showed you the interview clip.

You might be on the offensive, but Jamie’s on the defensive.

“I don’t get why you’re so fuckin upset, babe,” he shrugs, attempting nonchalance. His eyes, however, are just as fiery as yours. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big-not that big a deal? Then what is a big deal, Jamie? And don’t ‘babe’ me, you are in absolutely no place to pull that shit after that shit you pulled.”

In another circumstance, that turn of phrase would have made Jamie laugh. Would have made him comment on your command of the English language.

Would have made him kiss you.

Now however, he just throws his hands in the air and says, “It was just an interview. Those are things you say in an interview. ‘Case you forgot, I’m a fucking famous footballer.”

“How can I forget?” you shoot back, arms crossed, “it’s all you ever fucking talk about.”

“At least I’m not a self-absorbed grad student who thinks she’s all that because she ‘makes her own money,’ and ‘has a real job.’” Here Jamie mocks your voice, high pitched and whiny.

All you can see is red. “Damnit Jamie, that is a far cry from telling the entire world about how grateful I am that you decided to date me, and then bragging about how fucking out-of-my-league you are. I’m not some goddamn charity case! And then you had the audacity to make jokes about our private life on live television. Live television, Jamie. Do you know how many people saw that? And are going to see that? It’s not just a joke about yourself anymore. It involves me too.” 

Jamie looks at you, eyes narrowed. He knows he should back down, but he won’t. It’s not in his nature to surrender a fight. “It’s not like anyone’s going to fuckin care, anyway. You’re not even famous, so who gives a shit?”

That catches you off guard. You weren’t famous, that was true, but there were a few more results in a google search of your name these days. Because of Jamie. Some were kind, some were not. 

You knew you had been prickly about it, because you wanted people to know you for you, not as some footballer’s girlfriend. You wanted to be known for your graduate research, for helping people, for something that mattered. 

You had been lashing out as a result, flexing your presumed intelligence in a less-than-graceful manner.

You had seen Jamie bottle up every retort, but now it was all coming out.

He was wrong, but so were you. You know you should back down, but you won’t. It’s not in your nature.

You whisper, “I give a shit, Jamie Tartt. I do. It’s my name but it doesn’t even belong to me anymore. It’s always tied to yours and I can’t get it back.”

You glare at each other in silent anger. The air feels so thick that you could reach out and put a piece in your pocket. There are hot, angry tears in your eyes, and Jamie’s face is red, eyebrows knit together. Your arms are in fists at your sides, and Jamie’s are tightly crossed. Each of you sending the message, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Finally Jamie speaks up. “You want your fucking name back?” he asks, far too calmly. “You can have it. We’re done.”

For a moment, all you can hear is roaring in your ears. Then- “Fuck you. Fine. You think I’m a self-righteous bitch? At least I know who I am, and I’m working on it instead of pretending to be something I’m not. Have a nice life, Jamie,” you reply, icy voice cooling the fire in your veins. You turn sharply on your heel and walk out of the boot room. You don’t slam the door. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Jamie kicks a bench and lets out a single, “Fuck!”

—

That was three months ago. You booked the first flight you could find back to your parents’ house before you even told them you were coming home for a visit. They were overjoyed to have you, despite the circumstances of your return. 

You managed to keep it together right until the moment you saw your dad’s face at baggage claim, and then you felt everything fall apart. He hugged you as though it was the only thing keeping you from shattering into a million pieces, and you just sobbed.

You spend a month on their couch, slogging through schoolwork and binge-watching tv. Your mom walks with you every morning, claiming she needs someone to keep her from cutting corners. In reality, the fresh air is good for you. She lets you walk in silence, and squeezes your hand the exact moment before a tear falls from your eye.

“He’s just a young man,” she says, “They do dumb things. He’ll learn. I’m sorry he had to learn through you, but you won’t feel this way forever.” 

You tell her once this feels like taking his side. She laughs and says, “Having grace for someone is not the same as taking their side. And anyway, which one of you have I let live in my house for the past three weeks?”

Your dad is less forgiving. You hear your mom talking him out of buying a plane ticket to London. “Violence is not the answer for this,” she says.

You can’t hear your dad’s reply, but it’s something along the lines of “Just wanted to talk to him.”

Your mom laughs. Your dad is downright frightening when he wants to be, violence or no. You catch a snip of “Poor boy, his father- can’t be expected- not excusing-” before you put in some earbuds and slip off to sleep.

Your mom is on your side. She just has the unnerving tendency to understand both sides of an argument. You’re grateful that she doesn’t make any snide comments about Jamie like your sister does, because there’s a part of you that just hurts because that part still loves him, and it feels like slander on his name is slander on yours. 

You try not to note that your name is still inextricably intertwined with his.

— 

Back in Richmond, Jamie is throwing himself fully into football. He doesn’t talk or joke so much anymore, just silently goes through training. He plays better, if anything. He kicks the ball with such precision during matches that the game is won if he’s even remotely near the goal. He is vicious, unforgiving, vengeful toward himself. The team leaves him alone, except Roy and Ted.

Roy still takes him for training every morning and Ted comes over to Jamie’s house with lunch every weekend.

Jamie is still silent.

—

You spend the next two months in Richmond, trying to make new memories in the places that only remind you of Jamie. It’s almost impossible, because all you can think about is his smile, and how his sharp canines glinted in the light. How his hands would catch your waist and thumbs would draw circles on your hipbones. How he could bring you to tears of laughter in a single sentence or well-timed look.

You’re almost at a point of forgiveness when you see a tabloid. You don’t even register the picture because all you can focus on is the bolded name in the headline. It’s Jamie’s name.

You’re sure it’s about some girl he’s with, because what else would be in a tabloid? You roll your eyes and scoff. Typical. Leave it to him to bounce back. You suppose long-term relationships mean nothing to him.

After that, you stay in your flat. You only leave during times you know are impossible to bump into him. 

Things start to get better. If Jamie’s moved on, so can you. You begin going on runs again. You stop by Mae’s now and again to chat with the regulars. She slips you free chips with a wink and a pat on the hand.

You still think about Jamie. He’s on your mind and you wonder if you’re on his. You remember the tabloid and shake your head.

You’re one semester away from graduating, and your research has started to mean something. You google your name once and see your name in a singular footnote in a research paper you helped write. It’s the first result. You smile. 

—

You are so close to having your first Jamie-free day. He hasn’t been the first thing on your mind for two days. You don’t have that feeling of falling, or of guilt. It is a beautiful Thursday morning, so you get up, put on your jogging clothes, then head out the door for a run. It’s a little cloudy but you swear that’s the best weather to exercise in. Less sweaty. You are three months out from your breakup and you are beginning to feel joy again. You turn a corner, thinking about a nice coffee, when you ram straight into something warm and solid. You lose your balance, but strong arms reach out to catch you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” you cry. “I should have looked where I was-”

Words escape you as you look up into the blue eyes of your rescuer. 

“Hi,” he breathes. “I’ve missed you.”

You’re trapped in his gaze for a minute before-

“Ow!”

You’ve stomped on Jamie’s foot. 

“What was that for?” he asks indignantly. 

“Oh I don’t know,” you reply, “maybe for being a complete asshole? It also could be for snogging whatever model you were with in that tabloid? Real stellar move, showing that much remorse. I’m glad it didn’t take long to get over me. Guess the phrase ‘long-term relationship’ means something different to footballers than it does to us little people.”

Jamie opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. 

“Look, you’re right, I’m a fuckin’ arsehole, but what are you talking about? What model?”

You’re a little thrown off by his admission to being an asshole. “What do you mean, ‘what am I talking about?’ I saw your name show up in some headline and you’re only ever in there for some girl, and I get it, it’s fine that you’ve moved on, it just feels really fucking quick.”

Jamie has the audacity to chuckle. “It weren’t about some model. It was about you.”

You go cold. This can’t be happening again. Jamie Tartt, spilling his guts in some sleazy interview, painting you in the worst light.

He sees the look of absolute horror on your face so he hurries on, “Look. You were right. I shouldn’t’ve said what I did. But I did, and I can’t take it back. So I’m doing me best to make it right. It were about a tv interview where they asked about you, and I said we’d broken up. Told them I was a complete prick about everything and I let you slip through my fingers.” For the first time, you take a good look at Jamie’s face. He looks truly awful. Hair floppy (and not in a good way), bloodshot eyes, dark circles. 

He continues, “I know I shouldn’t have been a prick about being famous. It’s just, I get in me fuckin’ head about shit like this. Did the same thing with Keeley. Got scared of something real and knew I’d fuck it up eventually, so I thought I might as well get it over with. And anyway, you’re way out of my league. Figured I might as well let you go before you figured it out. I’ve been- I’ve been getting better. Less dick-like. You can ask anyone, Roy, Coach, whoever. I’m really trying, here. And I know I fucked things between us, and you don’t have to forgive me, but I’m just trying to be better for me and whoever fucking has to put up with me next.” 

You have no words. All you can do is stare at him. You hear your mom’s voice saying, “He’s just a young man. He’ll figure himself out.”

You hear Keeley saying, “he’s grown so much, really, he almost isn’t even the same person anymore.”

You hear Rebecca, as you sat in her office right before Jamie asked you out, telling you, “He’s a shockingly fast learner. Only has to be told something once, and it’s in his head forever. Give him a chance.”

You open your mouth and what comes out is: “I’m sorry too.”

Jamie looks just as shocked that you said that as you are, but you keep going. “My mom talked to me a lot about- about deciding what you can forgive. And I guess, I know I wasn’t blameless. I pushed you away on purpose, and I was aware of every single word that I said that hurt you. She also talked about ‘age-appropriate mistakes.’ She said both you and I made them, and that doesn’t mean I should take you back but that I should at least consider forgiveness. It’s easy to forget that we’re really young, you know? We both have a lot of responsibility, and I forget that it’s ok if we make mistakes. And you being you, your mistakes are more public. I- I needed to figure out if I could deal with it or not. I’m still not sure if I can. I don’t want my life to be on display.”

Jamie nods, expression intent. You take a breath and then continue. “But I guess that I need to figure out which I want more. Privacy, or you. I mean, if that’s even something you want.”

Jamie’s eyes have never left your face. He says, “Always knew I liked your mum,” and then he’s pushing a strand of hair our of your eyes, hesitantly, giving you time to pull away.  

You don’t.

You let him run his fingers through your hair.

You let him kiss you, softly.

You let him back into your life.

I missed you, he had said.

You pull back, smiling. “By the way, I missed you too.”

[zegrasdrysdale]

Hi! I wanted to ask if you could write a request for cole caufield! So him and reader are like newly public but have been dating for a couple months, but she’s getting hate on the internet bc her ex is someone who’s famous (idk who lol) but anyways she goes onto like a podcast and talks about how much better of a boyfriend cole was to her than her ex and when she gets home he’s just so in awe of her and the way she feels and speaks about him (I’m so sorry if this didn’t make sense) 😭

[ to love and to be loved ] c. caufield

paring : Cole Caufield x influencer!fem!reader

summary : tired of the hate she's been getting, (Y/N) goes on a podcast to talk about her life, her past relationship, and her new public relationship with Canadians star Cole Caufield

warning(s) : language, mentions of cheating

author’s note : my first time ever writing for cole so pls tell me if i did okay :)

༺═──────────────═༻

She didn't know what she thought would happen when she and Cole went public with their relationship a few months after they started dating. There were a few hours where all she saw was support, until her TikToker ex decided to say something about the announcement she and Cole made.

All she sees right now is hate from thousands of people after her ex's comments on his Instagram story. He called her a bitch and said she used him to gain fame and use his money to get what she wanted. He even tagged Cole in a second Instagram story to warn him about her "manipulative ways". His millions of fans agreed with him and have started to flood her feed with hate and negative messages.

She can't even imagine what Cole's comments and DMs look like.

It's been a week since that day, and she's only grown tired of seeing all the hate. She's hasn't spoken out about her ex's accusations about her despite her having more serious accusations about him and his own girlfriend.

As soon as she was invited to go on one of her friends' podcasts, she jumped at the opportunity to speak out about what's been going on. It's time to speak out, and that's the reason her friend invited her on to the podcast.

The set is comfortable. She sits on the couch next to her friend and her friend's podcast partner. A microphone sits in front of her on a stand. A table sits at her feet that holds cups of coffee for the three of them. It's a cozy set up.

"Thank you for inviting me," (Y/N) says to her friend. "I'm sorry Cole wasn't available to come on with me. He flew in this morning from his road trip and has practice today. He didn't want to risk being late to the rink."

Her friend Demi says, "It's not a problem. I understand that he has a busy schedule. Thank you for agreeing to come on."

"It's time I spoke up about this," she tells her friend. "Don't be afraid to ask the hard questions. I'll happily answer any of them."

One of the crew members tells them they're going live in less than a minute. (Y/N) throws her curls behind her shoulder and sits back to get comfortable on the couch.

The same crew member counts down from five before pointing at Demi and her podcast partner. Demi is the one that gives this episode's greeting.

"Welcome back to TikTok Stuff You Should Know," she says into her own microphone. "To my left is Payton, which is not surprising at all because she's glued to my side. Today we have a very special guest joining us. She is a very close friend of mine who has been dealing with a lot of hate recently after launching her relationship online last week. Please welcome (Y/N) (L/N) to the podcast."

Payton looks over at (Y/N) and speaks. "Welcome, (Y/N). We're very happy you're able to join us today."

"Happy to be here."

Demi smiles at her and says, "So, we're all dying to know. How is your relationship with Cole Caufield? How have the two of you been dealing with the past week?"

There it is. Starting out strong.

"Cole has been super supportive of me," she replies. "He's been doing his best in trying to distract me over the past week. I think we've both been trying to stay off social media this week and focus on making sure we're both okay. He's been playing really well recently too, which makes it very easy to distract myself from everything that's been happening on social media. I think he's been using hockey as his own distraction."

Payton nods along as (Y/N) speaks. Demi's eyes are on her. They're both listening to everything she's been saying.

That's only a fraction of what's been happening.

(Y/N) has been in tears almost every night, especially since Cole has been on a roadie for the past four days. The first three days after all hell broke loose were perfect. She laid in Cole's arms every night and woke up next to him every morning. It made the days a lot easier.

Since he left, she's been in tears on FaceTime with him. It hasn't been as easy without him near her. It actually kind of sucks. She didn't even get to see him before she left.

"What made you want to come out about your seemingly new relationship with him?" Payton asks. "Did you think that Ethan would say something about it when you and Cole posted about it?"

She shakes her head. "I always thought Ethan was a really nice guy," she explains. "I certainly didn't expect this out of him. Especially after everything he did throughout our relationship. Cole and I really love each other and we both got tired of hiding that from the public. It was his idea to make out "

"That's an interesting comment," Demi slowly says like she doesn't know what her ex did. "What did Ethan do during your relationship?"

(Y/N) bites her bottom lip for a second. "He cheated on me," she tells the two of them. "All the time at the end of our relationship. Actually, his new girlfriend is just one of the girls he fucked while we were in a relationship. He would have a new girl every weekend and I would look the other way because I loved him."

"It wasn't because you didn't want to lose your constant source of followers and money?" Payton asks. "I'm not taking a shot, by the way. He accused you of using him for fame and money so I just want you to be able to clear the air."

"No, I understand," she replies after being caught off guard by the way the question was worded. "Um, no. I never once used him for followers or money. I made my own money by posting my own content across social media. I stayed with him because I wanted to believe he was a better person and that he could change. I truly loved him and I wanted a future with him. After nearly three months of this, I couldn't do it anymore and I ended things with him."

She notes that Payton looks genuinely surprised by her words. Demi looks annoyed because she and (Y/N) are actually very close friends so she was one of the first people that she told what was going on. She was one of the people that told (Y/N) to end the relationship when Ethan started cheating on her.

"That's crazy," Payton drawls. "Holy shit." She looks over at Demi. "Did you know about all of this?"

"(Y/N) is one of the most genuine people I have ever known," Demi says. "I hated seeing her in that relationship at the end, and I hate that she's being accused of using someone for followers and money. There was a reason she rarely ever posted Ethan on any of her social media. She didn't want to constantly post him because she was afraid to be labeled as a user. She loves creating content and videos. She's so much happier now."

A small smile forms on her lips as she thinks about Cole. She thinks about how he actually loves her and isn't afraid to show it.

"I am so much happier now," she echoes. "I mean, Cole is the best thing that has ever happened to me. He was so patient with me at the beginning of our relationship because I was still healing from my last relationship. He spent so long trying to show me that it's okay to love and be loved by someone that I gave my heart to him. I trust him with my everything, which is not something I would've said this time last year."

Demi smiles at her and Payton mirrors it. "That's so good to hear," Payton says. "Sounds like you caught a good one, (Y/N)."

"I absolutely did," she replies with a smile on her own face. "He is the best boyfriend. I've been so emotional this past week and he has made sure to be there for me the entire time. He checked in on me while he was on the road for the past few games. I am so in love with him, and he helped me believe in love again. I am so grateful for him."

One of the crew members tells them to begin wrapping up. Payton takes over. "Well, thank you for talking with us, (Y/N)," she says. "Where can we find you and Cole?"

"You can find Cole on the ice tomorrow night at seven when he and the Canadians take on the Calgary Flames," she says. "You can find him on social media at colecaufield. You can find me on social media as well at yourusername. Or you can find me somewhere in the stands at Cole's home hockey games."

༺═──────────────═༻

It feels like an eternity since she's been home when she walks into her apartment in downtown Montreal. She shuts the door behind her with a sigh and leans against it.

When she throws her keys in the bowl by the door, she sees Cole's car keys. "Coley?" she calls. "Are you here?"

She walks into the living room to see Cole sitting on the couch. He looks back at her and smiles. "You are freaking amazing, baby," he tells her. "I listened to the podcast on the way home and holy shit. I have never heard anyone talk about me the way you do. I swear I fall in love with you more every single day."

"You listened?" she asks.

Cole stands up with a nod. "To the whole thing," he replies. "I helped you believe in love again?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathes out. "You did. You showed me that it's okay to love someone without being afraid they're going to hurt you. I thought that for a long time, Cole. You helped me realize that it's okay to love someone again."

Without realizing it, tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She tries to wipe them away quickly but Cole notices them before she can wipe them away. He walks around the couch to get to her and he envelopes him in a hug. "I'm so proud of you, baby," he whispers in her ear.

She lets out a quiet sob and buries her face in his chest. "I'm so grateful for you," she replies.

"You're so brave for talking about the whole situation," Cole tells her. "I can't believe how well you're handling it. I'm in awe, (Y/N). I wish I had your strength. I wish I could've been there to witness the whole podcast."

"I'm only brave because you're here," she admits as she pulls her face out of his chest. Cole moves his hands to her jaw and his thumbs wipe away more tears that escaped. "I don't know where I'd be if you weren't here. I don't know if I'd even be here if you weren't, Cole."

Cole presses a kiss to her forehead and mumbles, "I love you. More than you'll ever know. You're so strong."

She closes her eyes and whispers, "I love you too."

(Y/N) isn't afraid to say those three words anymore. Not like she was last year. Cole has showed her that she doesn't need to be afraid anymore.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

[princesskenny1998]

MHA | Bakugou Katsuki x f!confident!reader ~ Attention, PT. 2

Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t the type to agonize over decisions—or at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. But as he stared at the contact saved in his phone under just a single, defiant "[Y/N]," he felt a mix of annoyance, anticipation, and maybe—just maybe—a little excitement.

It had been a couple of days since you’d shoved your number into his hand with that smirk and that unbothered confidence, and he’d managed to ignore the persistent curiosity that nagged at him—until tonight. Now, he found himself alone in his dorm room, thumb hovering over the screen with more hesitation than he’d ever admit to.

With an irritated huff, he finally tapped out a quick, gruff message:

Bakugou: It’s Bakugou.

He barely had a chance to set his phone down before it vibrated with a response. The speed of your reply only made him more suspicious, but he couldn’t help the small rush of anticipation that flared up as he read it.

[Y/N]: Well, look who finally texted me. Took you long enough, hotshot.

He scowled at the screen, cheeks tinged with heat as he typed his reply.

Bakugou: I don’t drag my feet. Got better things to do than text random people all day.

Your response was almost immediate again, and he could practically hear the teasing lilt in your voice through the words on his screen.

[Y/N]: Oh, I’m random now? That’s cute. I remember you looking pretty interested for a “random person.”

[Y/N]: You could’ve just admitted you wanted to talk to me, you know. I wouldn’t have told anyone. Promise ;)

Bakugou rolled his eyes, though he could feel the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. This back-and-forth was oddly… fun, in a way he hadn’t expected. With a quick glance around his empty room, he let himself indulge in a bit more of the banter.

Bakugou: Bold of you to think you’re that special.

[Y/N]: And yet, here you are, texting me anyway.

He clenched his jaw, refusing to give you the satisfaction of a flustered reaction—even though, if he were being honest with himself, you had a point. Still, he wasn’t about to give you any more ammunition.

Bakugou: You gonna keep running your mouth or actually tell me why you gave me your number?

This time, there was a brief pause, and he found himself waiting a little too eagerly for the response. His phone buzzed again, and when he read your message, his eyes widened just slightly.

[Y/N]: Alright, you got me. Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d be up for… hanging out.

Bakugou: “Hanging out,” huh? And what exactly does that mean?

[Y/N]: Whatever you want it to mean, big guy ;)

Bakugou’s cheeks flared with heat, and he let out a small, exasperated growl under his breath. You were playing with him, clearly enjoying every second of his uncertainty, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was falling right into your game.

Bakugou: Quit with the vague crap. If you’ve got something to say, say it.

[Y/N]: Relax. No need to get all worked up. I was just thinking we could get to know each other a bit better.

[Y/N]: …Unless you had something else in mind?

He stared at the screen, pulse picking up at the implications of your words. It wasn’t like him to hesitate, but there was something unnervingly thrilling about this. You were bold, forward in a way that most people weren’t around him. And as much as he wanted to pretend that it annoyed him, there was something about it that made him want to see where this would go.

Bakugou: Fine. Where and when?

[Y/N]: Tomorrow. 7 PM. There’s a café near the station—real lowkey. We could grab coffee or… something else.

Bakugou: Don’t be late.

[Y/N]: Oh, don’t worry. I’d never keep you waiting.

The conversation ended with that, and Bakugou tossed his phone onto his bed, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. He tried to push away the nagging thoughts of what “something else” might entail, though it was difficult with the memory of your teasing smile flashing in his mind.

The next evening, Bakugou found himself standing outside the café, checking his watch as he tried to tamp down any sign of impatience. He’d shown up a few minutes early—an uncharacteristic move for him—but he justified it by reminding himself that he hated waiting for people. When he finally spotted you approaching, that familiar confident smirk on your face, he felt an odd mix of anticipation and irritation. You looked annoyingly smug, and somehow, that only made him more interested.

“Right on time,” you said with a grin, giving him a quick once-over. “Didn’t peg you for the punctual type.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Like I’d be the one making you wait. You ready, or what?”

You nodded, gesturing toward the café entrance. “Lead the way, then.”

Once inside, the two of you settled into a booth by the window, the warm glow of the café lights casting a cozy ambiance over the room. Bakugou’s gaze flicked around the place, noting the lack of other patrons—just the way he liked it.

“So,” you began, folding your arms and leaning over the table with an amused glint in your eyes. “What’s it like being dragged out for a coffee date?”

He bristled, shooting you a glare. “Date? I didn’t agree to any date. I’m just here to see what the hell you wanted.”

You laughed, taking a sip of your coffee as you raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re cute when you’re in denial, you know that?”

He narrowed his eyes, feeling his face heat up slightly at your boldness. “I’m not in denial. Just not here to listen to you run your mouth all night.”

“Aw, come on, I don’t bite,” you teased, resting your chin on your hand as you regarded him with a playful grin. “Unless you’re into that, of course.”

Bakugou’s face turned red as he clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his heart picked up at your comment. “You’re real full of yourself, you know that?”

You shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. “Confidence is attractive, isn’t it? I mean, I’m sitting across from you, after all.”

He snorted, unable to stop the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, you got one thing right. Can’t stand people who aren’t sure of themselves.”

“Good,” you replied, eyes glinting. “Because I know exactly what I want.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

You held his gaze, letting the moment linger before you leaned back with a smug smile. “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched as he stared at you, feeling the tension simmer between you two. You were infuriatingly confident, but instead of pushing him away, it only made him more curious. He leaned forward, meeting your gaze with a challenge of his own.

“Fine. I’ll bite. Just don’t cry when you can’t handle it.”

You laughed, the sound filled with genuine amusement. “Oh, trust me, Bakugou. I can handle a lot more than you think.”

The two of you spent the next hour trading barbs, your conversation flowing effortlessly between teasing banter and genuine interest. Bakugou found himself opening up more than he intended, though he was careful not to reveal too much. There was a comfortable rhythm between you that he hadn’t expected, and he couldn’t deny that he was actually… enjoying himself.

As the evening wore on, you glanced at your watch, sighing. “Guess it’s getting late.”

He shrugged, trying to act indifferent. “Yeah. Whatever.”

You slid a piece of paper across the table with your address scribbled on it, a bold grin on your face. “In case you’re ever bored. My offer still stands, you know.”

Bakugou took the paper, shoving it in his pocket as he shot you a smirk. “We’ll see. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

But as you stood to leave, giving him one last playful wave, he found himself already thinking of the next time he’d see you.