#but then i am just like you are lying you are lying you are lying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlyjjong · 2 days ago

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엔하이픈 --- EMAILS I NEVER MEANT TO SEND (PART 2)

　　 박성훈　 x　 fem!reader　x 　심재윤 　　┊　　a very late and long birthday gift for jennifer!! :> 　　┊　　 wc 5.8k

GENERE　┊ 　!oneshot, !nonidol , !fluff , !hints of angst , !high school, !childhood best friends to lovers , !best friend's brother , !love triangle , !hockey player sunghoon , !basketball player jake , !academic weapon reader

DISCLAIMER 　┊ 　depictions may be inaccurate , contains swear words, y/n is lee heeseung's sister , sunghoon calls y/n 'princess' , y/n calls jake 'jaeyun' , doesn't really contain jake and sunghoon playing their sports , y/n prefers strawberries over mangoes , mentions of ocs and random characters here and there.

⟡ 📩 𑁋 TAGGING : @a-dream-bookmark , @/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films

“Y/N, YOU OKAY?” HEESEUNG ASKS, MAKING YOU LOOK UP FROM YOUR HALF-EATEN BOWL OF A CONCOCTION OF RICE, SOUP, KIMCHI, BEAN SPROUTS AND SEAWEED. He sips on his tea, eyes trained sharply on you.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, feeling a little guilty. You weren’t entirely lying, but it’d be such a fabrication if you told yourself you weren’t feeling down at all. “Why?”

“Did you sleep late? Or did you get dumped?”

“Oppa!” you exclaim, “when did I ever get a boyfriend?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that you’re always sticking around with Sunghoon. People think you’re his girlfriend, so no one’s asking you out,” Heeseung snorts.

Your eyes slightly widen. “Wait—people actually think like that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Heeseung replies, rolling his eyes. He swallows his bite before continuing, “everyone thinks you’re Sunghoon’s, you know?”

“People think so?”

“Girl, the two of you act like a literal couple. You hold hands, kiss cheeks and call each other nicknames like it’s nothing. I mean, those who know you guys are friends know that it’s platonic, but–”

“Then, why isn’t he doing anything about it?” you snap, crossing your arms. Your sudden outburst shocks everyone in the room—even Heeseung stops eating.

“Y/N-ie, you alright, sweetie?” your mom asks from the kitchen.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply. “Hee oppa’s bothering me!”

“What are you saying, idiot?” Heeseung hisses. “I’m not bothering you, just tell me whatever is bugging you!”

“I’m upset,” you declare truthfully. “I want to go to hoco with Sunghoon. But he’s not asking me or anything,” you whine, dragging out each word in a dramatically exaggerated manner.

Heeseung snorts, “if you want to go with him, just tell him? It’s not that hard.”

“It is hard! Oppa, imagine telling your childhood best friend: ‘oh, I like you. Can we go to homecoming together?’. That kind of thing completely ruins a friendship! Imagine if he doesn’t like you back? How would you feel?”

Heeseung leans back into his seat, smirking smugly. “I don’t have any girl best friends, so I wouldn’t know.”

“YAH!” you yell, smacking your brother’s head with your spoon. He laughs, clutching his stomach as you sit back down, pouting. “I’m upset and all you’re doing is laugh at my face.”

“Hey, I’m just joking around,” Heeseung reassured, “I get how you feel—even though I kinda don’t.”

Your brother laughs as you huff.

“I think you should go and confront him about it,” Heeseung suggests, going back to devouring his breakfast. “I’m honestly surprised you told me that so straightforwardly, but I guess that’s the result of me sacrificing my ego to get close to you when we were kids.”

You kick his leg under the table, annoyed by the way he’s laughing as you do so. “Shut up. Don’t make me regret having you as my brother.”

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“SEE YOU AFTER SCHOOL, Y/N-IE,” HEESEUNG SAYS AS YOU EXIT THE CAR. He waves to you before driving off. You then make your way towards the entrance gate, only to be greeted by an obviously excited and jumpy Danielle.

“Y/N!” Danielle waves, all smiles. “Come on!”

You jog up to her, who’s standing at your school gate. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she replies, but you know her a little too well to accept that as an answer.

“Oh, you think I’m stupid, don’t you?” you elbow her, “you’re a bit too smiley at quarter past seven. Something’s definitely up.”

Danielle giggles, “I’m sorry, I forgot you’ve been my friend since middle school. Now I kind of resent myself for picking Decelis Academy as my study abroad option in 8th grade.”

You hit her shoulder, laughing in synchronisation. “Anyway, Dani, tell me what’s going on. Is Heeseung coming to pick you up after school today or what?”

“Nah, I am,” Jake’s voice coming from your left startles you, making you lose your balance. Yet, Jake is quick to grab your arm, stabilising you.

You turn towards the source of the voice, expecting him to be standing at a reasonable distance beside you. But, oh boy, the goosebumps you get from seeing his face merely inches away from yours…

“Oh?”

Jake smiles. “I’m sorry for startling you,” he says, letting go of your arm gently. “What were we talking about again?”

“Yah, Jaeyun,” Danielle interrupts, smacking her twin brother’s head. “Don’t go around and scare people by whispering right in their ear. It’s creepy, you know?”

Jake laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Anyway, you’re picking Dani up today? What does that mean?” you ask. “Don’t you guys, like, cycle home everyday? Together?”

“Yeah, we do,” Danielle replies, “but today he’s bringing me and you dress-shopping.”

“Me?” you gasp.

“Yep,” Jake nods. “I-I mean, I suggested it to her. You know, since… um, my sister’s going to hoco with your brother, a-and she wants to go dress-shopping… I thought it’d be fitting to bring you too.”

“You can help me pick,” Danielle adds, smiling.

“Sure,” you agree after some thought. After all, going shopping with Danielle is something you enjoy doing, and there’s nothing wrong with her twin brother accompanying the two of you.

Except… that the said twin brother is most likely, according to the current situation, your hoco date.

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WALKING OUT OF THE CHEMISTRY LAB, YOU DRAG YOUR FEET TOWARDS THE CAFETERIA. There have been several periods and classes with Sunghoon, yet there hadn’t been any indication that he’d be asking you to go to homecoming with him.

“So,” Danielle begins, as soon as you set down your tray. She waits for you to sit down before uttering, “are you going to homecoming?”

“I think so,” you say, shrugging. “I mean, I thought about it, and it’s my senior year. I should go to homecoming.”

Naeun and Danielle shriek happily.

“Oh my God! My wish came true!” Danielle clasped her hands together.

“We can finally take a trio polaroid together. Complete. As one,” Naeun says.

“Gosh, stop over–”

“What wish?” you get interrupted, once again, by the one and only: Park Sunghoon. He nods to acknowledge Danielle and Naeun in front of you, before sitting down next to you.

“Nothing,” you immediately reply. You shift awkwardly in your seat, uncomfortable by the way your cheeks are warming up.

How on earth did you actually survive being Sunghoon’s best friend for more than 10 years whilst having a crush on him?

Maybe having a crush on him for 5 years has taught you the skill of burying your feelings whenever he was around.

“I’ve known you for 13 years,” Sunghoon says. His left cheek bulges as he chews on his mouthful of cold noodles. “And if I learned a thing or two, it is to never trust you when you say ‘nothing’.”

“Exactly!” Naeun exclaims. “Sunghoon, you tell her to stop using the same excuse every time, it’s so obvious when she’s lying.”

“Oh, shut up, Nae.”

Sunghoon rips open the package of his chocolate bar and breaks it in half. “Here,” he places it on your tray. “You like cookies and cream.”

You bit your lip in hopes to suppress a smile. “Thanks,” you say coolly, taking a bite out of it.

“Anyway,” Naeun grins, a glint of mischief in her eyes. You glare at her, already dreading what’s to come. “Got anyone to go to homecoming with, Park Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, stealing a glance at you. “No. I don’t want to go.”

You almost spit out the contents of your mouth at his blunt statement. “What? Why?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I’ve got no one to go with?”

“Well, you can go with me if you want to,” you murmur, afraid to raise your voice.

“What?” Sunghoon tilts his head, eyes staring into yours. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing!” you quickly say, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I-I’m going though.”

It’s now Sunghoon’s turn to be confused. “Huh? I thought you weren’t going.”

“Yeah! I-I wasn’t going to… but Jaeyun asked me… to go with him,” you utter each word with complete caution, eyes going back and forth between Danielle and Sunghoon. “And I’m… going with him.”

Danielle gasps, and at the same time, you couldn’t shrug off the pang in your heart when you witness Sunghoon’s expression morph into something you’ve quite never seen on him before.

Was it jealousy?

“Double date!” Danielle gushes, her eyes crinkling with laughter. “God, I’m so happy! I can finally go to homecoming with my best friend!”

“...have you told him?” Sunghoon asks, somehow struggling to force the words out of his mouth.

“Who?” you reply.

“Jake.”

You purse your lips, then shake your head. “Nope. I’ll tell him after school, though.”

Sunghoon nods, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than it usually does. Then, he turns to his lunch and finishes it in silence, ignoring the conversation buzzing around him.

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“LET’S GO?” JAKE TAPS YOUR SHOULDER, SMILING WIDELY AS ALWAYS. You sometimes question in your head, does he ever get tired of smiling?

“Mhm, okay!” you reply, quickly packing up your bag. “Wait for me at Danielle’s class.”

“Alright. I’ll see you there.” Jake nods, and struts out, which leaves you and Sunghoon together.

“Where are you going?” Sunghoon asks, his tone careful and slow. He looks at you, and there’s something in his gaze that you can’t pinpoint.

You swing your bag over your shoulder. “I’m… going dress-shopping.”

“With Jake?” he asks.

You nod slowly.

“Y-yeah. And Danielle.”

“Have you told him you’re going to hoco with him?”

You sigh. “No, I haven’t. I’m a bit embarrassed to… tell him.”

Silence floods the two of you. Though, this time, the silence was overwhelmingly uncomfortable. There was some kind of tension that hung between you and Sunghoon, and you know precisely what caused it.

“Hmm,” is all you get from your best friend after a few moments of awkwardness, that involves you standing straight near your desk, unable to move as you await his response.

“Do you like him?” Sunghoon asks, standing up from his chair. His height towers above you, and you gulp in nervousness.

“No?” you say, “I don’t. No, I-I do, but I like him as a friend.”

“Like how you like me?”

Your eyes widen as if a nuclear bomb was dropped in front of your face.

“L-like?”

Sunghoon chuckles, ruffling your hair. “I’m joking, Rainbow Dash.”

Memories flood your vision upon hearing the childhood nickname; vivid like it happened yesterday.

You clearly remember your six-year-old self, sitting on the floor of your house’s play area with a seven-year-old Sunghoon. The two of you had a whole world made out of toys set up—Sunghoon built several buildings and skyscrapers using wooden blocks he brought from his place, along with a few Hot Wheels and action figures; while you had a whole army of My Little Pony figurines out, along with a full-fledged set up of a tea house. You remember roleplaying with Sunghoon, giggling and fighting with each other’s creative imaginations.

“You? As Rainbow Dash?” Sunghoon grimaced, laughing loudly. “You’re too girly, Y/N.”

“No I’m not!” you yelled. “I’m as fast and cool as Rainbow Dash!”

“Fast? You never win against me in any races. You’re more like Fluttershy to me,” Sunghoon declared, a proud smirk displayed across his face. “Softie.”

“No I’m not!” you insisted on a small panicky tone.

And the two of you fought, for the next 30 minutes, on whether you suited Rainbow Dash or not.

“Gosh,” you whisper shakily, “I haven’t heard that nickname in a while.”

Sunghoon smiles—and it’s as if, in this entire universe, it’s only you and him. It’s an unexplainable feeling; one could probably try and portray it as if time had stopped, and everything else around you froze—and he’s the only one for you.

“Hmm? I thought I’d call you Rainbow Dash instead of Fluttershy,” he jokes, “since, you know, you like Rainbow Dash more than Fluttershy.”

“Hey!” you exclaim, “it’s been so long! Don’t remind me of that!”

Sunghoon lets out a train of laughter—and it rushes through you like a refreshing breeze, reminding you of your never ending feelings for him, and how his laughter is one of the things you’d never get tired of hearing.

“Come on then,” he urges you to walk out of the class. “We have a dress to find.”

You follow his lead, your brows knitting with each other. “Huh?”

Sunghoon looks back at you for a second, smiling while he’s at it.

“I’m coming with you to buy your hoco dress. I mean, I’m sure your mother wouldn’t get mad at you if you’re going out with me,” he says, as your legs freeze, unable to move. You’re dazed at Sunghoon’s presence. Everytime he smiles at you, you’re smitten—and it’s as if your body is in love too—it freezes, always.

“I’ll pick your dress for you if you don’t come! I’ll pick the most horrible one!” Sunghoon yells playfully from the corridor, causing you to jolt awake from your trance. “And I’ll tell Mrs. Lee, you’re going out without asking her first!”

“YAH!” you scream, swiftly dodging tables and running out of the classroom to catch up with Sunghoon. “Wait for me, Park Sunghoon!”

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“HERE,” JAKE HANDS YOU A CUP OF MANGO YAKULT BOBA, ACCOMPANIED WITH A SMILE THAT YOU WISH YOU DIDN’T NOTICE WAS A LITTLE BITTER. It must’ve been because Sunghoon’s here, standing beside you, you recall Danielle whispering to you a while ago.

“What?” you ask him.

“Take it,” he insists. “It’s on me, so don’t worry.”

You nod thankfully before poking the straw into the cover of the drink to take a sip. Though, before your lips could even touch the tip of the straw, Sunghoon gets himself a big sip of your drink. Bewildered and stunned, all you could do is watch and let your lips form a twitchy smile as Sunghoon perks up from an angle slightly lower than your eye level.

You gulp, suddenly nervous at the close proximity.

“This is good stuff,” he says with a grin.

Your eyes shift quickly between Jake, who’s standing right in front of you, shock painted all over his facial expressions; and Sunghoon, who’s standing to your right, grinning like he’s just scored the winning goal for the inter school hockey competition.

“Hoon!” you smack his arm, “this is my drink—you didn’t even ask!”

Sunghoon keeps his grin on. “I mean, you wouldn’t even finish it,” he shrugs. “Plus, you prefer strawberry flavoured things over mango, right?”

You watch with guilt as Jake’s facial expressions morph into a shameful expression. He lets out an “oh”, and he looks away.

“It’s okay, Jaeyun,” you say, offering him a smile, which makes him rebuild eye contact. “It’s not that I don’t like mango. I do! Just that I prefer strawberries.”

Jake nods attentively. “Ah, okay.”

“Okay, guys! Enough of this awkwardness,” Danielle says out loud, looping her arm with yours. “We’ve only got a few hours to shop for Y/N and I’s dresses, so get your asses up and moving, boys.”

The four of you then walk through the mall, window shopping to find your dresses. Danielle, of course, is the most excited. She practically drags you and Jake around, Sunghoon tagging along.

You naturally enjoy the experience of shopping with your girlfriend. It’s certainly a refresher—sipping on your boba drink as you browse through a wide selection of eye-catching clothing. Though, every time you look to steal a glance at Sunghoon, there’s this off-putting feeling that you can’t quite name—and the reason as to why is evident, displayed right in front of your eyes.

Every time you make eye contact with Sunghoon, you notice a challenging aura blazing through. It’s as if he’s purposely making it hard for Jake; as if to dare him to prove that he’ll be a good date to you.

Honestly, you think to yourself, it’s just one night. It’s not like I’m dating Jake for real.

And you wonder too, why Sunghoon is making such a big deal out of it.

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“HEESEUNG’S GOING TO BAWL HIS EYES OUT WHEN HE SEES YOU IN THIS DRESS,” YOU SAY WITH A SPARKLE OF MELODRAMA. Jake chuckles, while Sunghoon simply nods.

You marvel at how beautiful Danielle is—her beauty is enhanced with the purple dress she’s wearing. It’s exactly her vibe—a lilac baby doll dress with ruffles and puffed sleeves—soft and dainty.

“Buy this one,” Jake says.

“Okay!” Danielle happily nods. “What about you, Y/N?”

You’ve tried on several types of dresses in many different colours—jade, champagne red, and light pink. Though, none of them thoroughly suited your taste.

“Jaeyun,” you say, causing the boy to perk up and look at you with slightly widened eyes—not expecting his name to be called. “What do you think?”

“M-me?”

You smile and nod, ignoring Sunghoon’s piercing gaze. “Yeah, you.”

“I-I mean, I don’t know,” Jake stammers, “why are you buying a dress though? I thought you weren’t going to hoco.”

“Well…”

“You stupid idiot, she’s going with you!” you hear Danielle shout from inside the changing room.

You don’t know why, but some feelings of delight wash through you as you watch Jake’s lips form a wide smile. He laughs, awkward and strained at first, but gradually, he gets up and pulls you into a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmurs breathlessly into your shoulder as you pat his back. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Jake pulls away from the hug, and for the first time, you see tears form at the edges of the basketball prodigy.

And, for the first time too, you see Sunghoon looking away from you.

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“DANI!” YOU WHISPER-YELL, TRYING TO KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. You and Danielle are in the changing room, the latter helping you to put on dresses. Out of all the dresses you tried—the light blue ball gown dress, the lavender mini dress with bow details, and many other bodycon and babydoll dresses—none caught your eye.

Except for one.

A simple midnight blue babydoll dress, adorned with pearl details and thin straps; one that Sunghoon picked out. At first, you weren’t sure if it’d suit you, but after trying it on, you were baffled by how you look. The dress fits you perfectly, highlighting exactly where it needs to be.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask, pulling your hair out of your dress.

Danielle nods, an adoring look on her face. “Girl, everyone will be smitten.”

Of course, you didn’t believe her at first—but the look on Sunghoon and Jake’s faces made you second guess yourself.

Sunghoon’s eyes stop blinking, and his lips part slightly. Something feels stuck in his throat, and everything dawns on him.

You look absolutely magical.

He can’t pull his eyes away, no matter how hard he tries. You are his best friend, the person he feels most comfortable with. And now, it hits him like a truck.

You’re breathtaking.

To his left, Jake is completely blown away by your beauty. The edges of his mouth twitch, indecisive as to whether he should smile or not. His pupils widen as he takes in the view of you, realising that you really are more prettier than he thought you were.

“So,” you finally say, pretending to not notice the two guys’ gazes on you. You smile at Jake, not forgetting to spare Sunghoon a glance. “How’s this?”

“I-I mean,” Jake says, smiling, “it’s perfect.”

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To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Dear Sunghoon,

Thank you for picking out the dress for me. I think I like it a lot. Obviously because it’s not what you picked out but anyway! I’m nervous. Not because I like Jaeyun or anything. It’s just the general homecoming thing. You know, the surroundings and the partying… I hope I can handle it.

I’ve got nothing against Jaeyun, but I do still wish you’re my date instead.

Why didn’t you ask me to be your homecoming date, Hoon? Did you know how desperately I have been waiting? Did you know how guilty I felt to be brushing off Jaeyun every single time he asked me to go to hoco with him?

Look at me now. I’m his date for Friday.

Hoon, I wish I had the courage to tell you. I wish I was brave enough to tell you that I like you, and that I don’t care if it ruins our lifelong friendship. I wish I was fearless enough to ask you to homecoming.

I wish I was better. I don’t know if I’m good enough for you, but if you ever need a girlfriend, or a wife one day… I’m here. Always.

Sent 23:00 PM, 4th September.

To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Sunghoon,

It’s homecoming.

Jaeyun’s going to come and pick me up soon—in like half an hour. I got the girls over, to help with makeup and all. I feel gorgeous, Hoon, but I wonder if you think so too.

I wish the person who’d come and pick me up to go to homecoming today was you. I really want to see you in a suit—oh God, I know just how good you’ll look.

Honestly, even in a hoodie and sweatpants, you look stunning.

Sent 17:35 PM, 6th September.

“Y/N! Sweetie, Jake’s here!” you hear your mom call from downstairs.

“Coming!” you shout back, shoving a lipgloss and a pack of tissues into your purse before rushing downstairs.

His eyes sparkle as they gaze on you, and he looks as if he’s never seen someone as beautiful as you. He stands respectfully by the stairway, giving you a polite smile.

“Hi,” you greet Jake, leaning into his side hug. Jake is smartly fitted into a neat suit with tie, and a corsage is tucked perfectly into the pocket of his chest. He hands you a matching one.

“Do… you want to wear this?”

You make eye contact with Heeseung, who’s standing by the door with Danielle. He nods, and you turn to Jake. “Sure.”

He fastens the corsage around your wrist, his touch gentle and careful. “Is it okay? If i-it’s too tight or anything,” Jake says, “tell me.”

You pat his shoulder. “It’s fine, I’m good. Thank you, Jaeyun.”

Heeseung drives all of you to the conference hall of Decelis Academy, where the homecoming will be held. Upon arrival, Jake opens the door of the car and helps you out.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed hearing the faint music coming from inside the hall, you turn to Jake. “So,” you say, slowing down your walking pace. “What do we usually do at hoco?”

“Hmm, there’s a concert by our school band—you know Jay? He used to be in Heeseung’s grade, he was the lead guitarist,” Jake explains. “His girlfriend, Han Jihyeon, is still the main singer. They’re sickeningly cute, in my opinion.”

You chuckle and nod along, recalling several moments where you’ve seen the couple interact with each other before.

“There’s also plenty of games,” continues Jake. The two of you walk together into the hall, and as you reach the door, he opens it for you. “Oh, and you don’t have to dance if you don’t want to, you know.”

You nod, bracing yourself for a chaotic night.

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AFTER TAKING PICTURES WITH JAKE, DANIELLE, NAEUN, AND HEESEUNG, YOU FIND YOURSELF RETREATING TO THE REFRESHMENTS SECTION OF THE CONFERENCE HALL. Jake left to play games and dance with his friends, as well as reconnect with his old buddies who have graduated. At first, he felt guilty to leave you alone, but you insisted he go enjoy himself so much that he gave in.

You bring out your phone and adjust your hair, which your mom had put in a half updo adorned with a sparkly white ribbon. Your makeup tonight is bedazzling too, and you admit, for once, it made you feel more beautiful than ever before. Kudos to Danielle for being your makeup artist.

“Y/N!” you hear Jake call for you. You look towards his direction, seeing him quickly approaching you.

“Yeah?” you answer, fidgeting with the empty plastic cup in your hand.

“Do you want to come and play some games?” he asks. “I mean, i-if you want to.”

“Honestly, I don’t really want to,” you reply, “but since we’re already here, why not?”

You watch as Jake’s uptight and polite expression transforms into a bright smile. “Okay!” he beams, grabbing your arm. “Let’s go!”

You don’t know if it’s Jake’s luminous grin or if it’s the games that are fun, but you enjoyed almost every minute of the games you played. You found yourself laughing amongst Jake and his friends, and found them to actually be decently nice. You too found yourself sharing many greasy yet fulfilling snacks with Jake, bonding over random things such as physics, iconic movies and so on.

When the time to go home comes around, Jake escorts you to Heeseung’s car and waits until your brother comes.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, “I had a really good time tonight.”

You give Jake a smile. “Of course!” you pat his shoulder. “I also enjoyed tonight a lot, surprisingly. Thanks for asking me out.”

Jake laughs shyly, the corner of his eyes crinkling along. He rubs the back of his neck. “Y-yeah! You’re welcome… and you know, I think we should hang out sometime?”

“With Dani?” you inquire on instinct—immediately regretting it after, realising the true meaning behind his words.

“Um–” Jake lets out an awkward chuckle. “Sure, alright.”

The breeze blows, and you realise that you’re wearing something so revealing on an autumn night. You push your hair out of your face and rub your bare shoulders with your hands, in an attempt to warm yourself up. “It’s really cold tonight,” you laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” Jake agrees, swiftly removing his suit jacket and placing it on your shoulder. He stands right in front of you—and you notice, then, how tall he is—and adjusts the placement of his jacket on you. “Is it better now?”

The scent of honey, cinnamon, and freshly baked apple pies mixed with a faint touch of expensive cologne attacks your senses. You pull Jake’s suit jacket closer to your body, attempting to combat the cold winds. “Yep! Thank you so much, Jaeyun.”

“Jake!” you hear Heeseung call from a distance, interrupting something Jake was about to say. Your brother—accompanied by Danielle—quickly approaches the two of you, giving Jake a brief handshake. “Thanks for waiting with Y/N.”

Jake places a hand on his chest before nodding slightly. “Of course. The pleasure’s all mine.”

“Thanks for coming to homecoming with my twin brother, Y/N-ie,” Danielle says, giving you a hug. “We finally get to take pictures together. I’ll send them all to you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, mirroring Danielle’s smile. “I’ll see you later, Dani.”

“See you!” she exclaims before linking arms with Jake. “Come on, my feet hurt from all the dancing.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Who told you to wear heels?”

Danielle simply gave her twin brother an annoyed look. “Shut up. Beauty is pain.”

“Anyway, we have to go now,” Heeseung recalls.

“Mom will kill me if I don’t get you home before midnight,” he continues, nudging you with his elbow. He opens the car door, signalling for you to get in. “Come on.”

“Bye, Jaeyun, Dani!” you say as you get into the car.

Jake sends you a soft smile along with a nod. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

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“WHAT THE HELL,” YOU BREATHE SHAKILY. You’re now at home, in your room—barely finished with your nighttime after-shower routine when you hear knocks on your window.

Quickly wiping your hair dry with a towel, you rush to your window, the damp towel still in hand. You push the curtains open, only to be greeted with a vision of Sunghoon, leaning against the glass with a grin on his face. Your eyes widen with shock.

“Park Sunghoon!” you exclaim hushedly, immediately opening the window to let him in.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, effortlessly climbing into your room. He lands with a soft thud, and he stands patiently, waiting for you to close the window.

“God, you gave me a heart attack,” you say. “What are you doing here? It’s cold outside, you know? How did you even manage to climb up here?”

“Eat,” he replies, instead of answering your questions. Sunghoon then hands you a plastic bag filled with goodies—and you perfectly know what’s inside.

“What’s this?” you ask nevertheless, grabbing the plastic bag.

Before you could even open the plastic bag, Sunghoon excellently answers, “Pocari Sweat, cream cheese with salmon kimbap and ice cream.”

A wide grin immediately emerges on your face, much to Sunghoon’s satisfaction. “Oh my god!” you exclaim, sitting down on the heated floor. “I’ve been craving this.”

“You always do,” Sunghoon chimes, sitting down across you, leaning against the wall. Unnoticed by you, Sunghoon stays silent as he watches you eat heartily; your facial features highlighted by the warm light of your bedside table.

Something caresses his heart. Some kind of feeling… It makes him feel full and content.

“Switch on the lights, I swear to God,” Sunghoon sighs.

“No,” you shake your head, cheeks filled with kimbap. “My parents are going to think I’m still awake. Plus, this kind of ambiance makes me sleepy.”

“And?” Sunghoon raises a brow, amused. “Do you want to eat while sleeping?”

“No!” you insist, swallowing a big bite of kimbap. “I want to make myself sleepy so that I can sleep as early as possible.”

Sunghoon snorts. “It’s 12 o’clock, Y/N. What kind of ‘early’ are you talking about?”

He laughs cheerfully—still keeping a low volume—as he dodges a pillow from you.

“I mean,” you defend yourself, mouth still full of food. “At least it’s earlier than 5 o’clock.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, laughter still lingering around him. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Princess.

A nickname that rolls off Sunghoon’s tongue so easily. It’s an old habit—stemming from an incident that happened when the two of you were kids; where Sunghoon had deliberately called you ‘princess’ just to annoy you, knowing that you wanted to be a dragon warrior when you grew up, not a princess.

Though, the same nickname used by Sunghoon for years to no end still gives you plenty of butterflies and heart-fluttering moments. By logic, you should’ve gotten used to it by now, considering the absurd amount of times he called you by that.

The two of you sit facing each other, faces lit by the dim light of your mushroom shaped lamp. The both of you sit in pure silence, the sounds of breathing and occasional satisfactory moaning coming from you due to the food filling the atmosphere.

Sunghoon looks at you attentively—the way you melt into every bite of food that you enjoy; the way that you sit cross-legged in front of him, vulnerable and authentic. It’s just you and him—the pure and bare you; your face naked with no makeup on, your shoulder-length hair let loose, the bangs framing your face perfectly as it should.

“Goodness, I’m so tired,” you groan, laying down on the floor with an almost finished ice cream in your hand.

Sunghoon scoffs, adjusting his lean against the wall. “You’re going to choke on that ice cream.”

You throw him a glare. “Shut up.”

“So, Y/N,” Sunghoon says after a moment of unbroken eye contact, caused by him intently watching you try to eat ice cream while laying down. “How was it?”

You immediately sit down. “Hoco?”

Sunghoon nods. “Yeah. Was it fun, with Jake?”

“It was okay. I unexpectedly enjoyed it more than I wanted to,” you reply, finishing your ice cream. “I do think I prefer night-ins to binge watch dramas or movies—like To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, or Emily In Paris—don’t you think?”

Sunghoon smiles briefly. He nods, “movies are more of your thing, I think.”

“Anyway, I’m glad I went,” you continue, “I’m in my senior year—we’re in our senior year, and we won’t get to experience something like this anymore.”

Sunghoon sighs as he shrugs. “Homecoming’s not my thing. I thought… I thought it wasn’t yours either.”

You look at him, staring at his features a minute longer. “I-I mean, it still isn’t. I just went because Danielle and Naeun insisted I go.”

“And because Jake did too?”

“Oh, um,” you stammer, “not really. I-I mean, I’ve been shrugging him off for a while now. I even rejected him for prom last year, remember?”

You swear you saw Sunghoon smirk for a split second. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised someone even asked you out.”

“Why?” you roll your eyes. “You think I’m not pretty enough?”

“You are.”

“What–”

“You’re too pretty, people are afraid to ask you out.”

Silence.

You stare at Sunghoon, your childhood best friend, with widened eyes. He looks back at you, firmly connecting the eye contact with some kind of determination and genuineness you’ve never quite seen before.

It took a while for you to finally form a response.

“Oh. Um..”

Sunghoon stands up. “Well, then, sleep well. I have to go now.”

“S-so soon?” you blurt out, flabbergasted.

Sunghoon smiles softly. “I have practice tomorrow. Come watch.”

“Of course, I always do,” you nod eagerly. You didn’t know when it all started, but for as long as you remember, Sunghoon and you had always been each other’s biggest supporters. You never really missed any of his hockey matches and most of his practices; and he never truly missed any of your music recitals too.

Your cheeks blush at the thought, and all you could do is gawk at Sunghoon as he ruffles your hair.

“See you later, princess,” he says, pushing your window open. “Sweet dreams.”

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To: [email protected] From: sincerely/[email protected]

Hoon!

I’m so excited! A four-day school trip is really what I needed—just spending time with friends with no worry of anything at all… it must be fun. I hope it’s going to be just like how it is in the dramas; where all we do is play games, maybe sort out treasure hunts and eat delicious food all day. I heard the fee’s going to be quite a lot, so I really do hope the activities are worth attending for.

Also, I think I need to restock on sunscreen and some other stuff. I want to ask Heeseung to take me to Olive Young, but if I’m not mistaken he has a resume to work on and my mom’s not letting him go out until he gets that done.

So…

Okay, I’ll just text you if you want to go. Hope you do, and hope you won’t think it’s weird or anything!

Sent 11:09 AM, 8th September.

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neverthatsirius-jo · 2 days ago

Text

[present jo note: read this last night with my notes app open so i could go annotating hope u don’t mind i wrote a lot :p]

if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms

wooo, just as im in my romcom watching era. perfect 🥳🫶

James was nothing to fawn over.

?! ?! ?! ?!?!2€/ ?!;@/€:@

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold,"

YOU WERENT FUCKING LYING THIS IS SO ROM COM GAAAAAH

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?"

this made me giggle teehEe

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

i would murder him. my face would be so red

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

ilovethemilovethemilovethem

thinking of u :P <3

GODDDD WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE JAMES POTTER NOT BEING REAL

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

giggling and crying all at the same time

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

😔😭🥳✨💗👹 i cant

11k WORDS? WERE BEING FED FOLKS. i feel like a squirrel with her supply of nuts for the winter HAHSH WHAT AM I SAYING SOMEONE SHUT ME UP (preferably james potter and with a kiss thanks)

summary: loved this, gia. it was very rom-com, very cutesy 💗🫶✨

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

#jo’s readings ◡̈#james potter x reader #gia <3 #i did not know what chess boxing was wth bog snorkeling either ?? cheese rolling ??

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fairy-writes · 23 hours ago

Note

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long.

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place.

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why.

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved.

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could.

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you.

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox.

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later.

Only to pause by the door.

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again.

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic.

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over,

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum,

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding.

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that.

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind.

She always did overthink things.

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that.

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling.

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for.

To Vi and Powder especially.

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door.

Vander was close behind.

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory.

Like… Really dark territory.

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind.

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi.

She wasn’t looking too hot.

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again.

At least until she saw you.

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders.

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears.

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting.

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children.

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before.

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought.

Were you a doctor deep in your past?

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it.

And that hurt his heart.

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads.

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you.

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands.

You looked tired.

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples.

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs,

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug,

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag.

Vi was going to be okay.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum.

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said.

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair.

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher.

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces.

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces.

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased.

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so.

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths.

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter.

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked.

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared,

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother,

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them.

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door.

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys.

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on.

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing.

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed.

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care.

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly.

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer,

“On a date!”

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone.

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit.

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer.

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside.

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing.

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring.

#vander x reader #vander x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane league of legends #arcane: league of legends #arcane vander x reader #fairy writes

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derealizationns · 1 day ago

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"am i your wallpaper...?"

characters - ryomen sukuna x gn reader

synopsis - sukuna starts feeling unknown, scary emotions when he sees your lock screen wallpaper.

genre - fluff

warnings - sukuna might be a bit ooc, bc its so hard for me to write him...😭

from prompt special request (prompt #10) <3

"get off me, you insolent human." sukuna grumbled the moment that you threw yourself on his lap, whining about your exhausting day.

despite his harsh words, you still stayed in your place on the couch. you knew that man very well, and it wasn’t difficult to notice his smirk (though he tried really hard to hide it). that’s how you ended up with your head on his thighs, playing with the material of his shirt. in the meantime, sukuna was showing the not-so-obvious side of him—he was gently brushing his hand through your hair. even though he shows himself as an intimidating and fearful man, your lover has a soft spot for you. some people that are close with you could even say that you have him “wrapped around your finger," and that wouldn’t be a lie. right now, you’re just relaxing while the pink-haired man scrolls through his phone. he suddenly looks up at you when you start shifting and lift yourself from him.

“where are you going? i did not permit you to leave my side.” he complained, confused by your actions.

you rolled your eyes at his clinginess.

“i’m going to the bathroom; stop acting like you’ll die if i leave your sight, kuna,”you sigh with a smile. he was so cute.

you get up from the sofa and start heading towards the restroom. the moment you were away, sukuna’s smile widened. It was a brief while when he could show that he’s truly pleased by your closeness. suddenly, the king of curses hears something vibrating on the couch. he looks around in search for the source of the noise. that’s when he notices your phone lighting up. he squints his eyes, looking towards the device.

“no, that cannot be right.” your partner mumbles to himself, seeing the picture on your lock screen.

it looked like the one that you took after your last date, when you both were lying in bed. he can swear he’s seeing things, because why would you have this picture there? what was the purpose? sukuna’s chest is full of weird feelings; he’s shure he never felt before. why is he happy? Is that... the thing humans call “excitement”? ... no, that’s wrong. after all, he is the most powerful of all curses; he does not feel those trivial things, right? all of a sudden, he’s thrown out of his thoughts by quiet steps from the bathroom. your lover immediantly switches his attention from your phone to you. as soon as you see sukuna, you can tell that something is bothering him. you already know that he won’t tell you whats wrong, so you decide to bring it up yourself.

“hey, what’s got you so annoyed? you look like you just ate a lemon.” you try to start carefully and a bit playfully, but sukuna does not buy it.

“you, human. what were you thinking when you did that, huh?! i demand an answer.” pink-haired man ordered.

now you were seriously confused. you got him annoyed? but weren’t you just explaining to him that it’s just a quick trip to the bathroom, not a whole ass journey across the world? now you’re getting mad.

“the hell you’re talking about idiot?" you bark at him.

sukuna’s mouth opens but closes a second later.

“come on, spit it out already; you got something to say, then go on.” you force him to explain himself. your partner takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, like he’s bracing himself for an impact.

“am i your wallpaper...?” he almost whispers.

when you hear him, you almost choke on your saliva. what?! he acts all annoyed and everything because you have him on your lock screen?

“wha-...kuna, is that why you looked so dissatisfied earlier? i mean, i can change it if you want, but...”

“did I say I want you to change it?” he asks loudly.

now he looks at you like you offended him. this man is truly a confusing one.

“no, but...” you try to continue, but he doesn’t let you.

“so be quiet. can’t listen to your rambling” sukuna cuts you off. you can’t help but start giggling. your man’s face is all red from embarrassment. he—ryomen sukuna, the king of curses—is blushing because his partner has him on their wallpaper. you jump back at the couch beside him, taking his face in your hands and squeezing his cheeks. his eyes widen at your action.

“you...how dare you... insolent human, you have the audacity...” he stutters, and you laugh more at him.

“you’re so cute, kuna… so incredibly adorable.” you teased and placed a soft kiss on his lips. when you pulled away, the curse man still had pink cheeks, but additionally a smile on his face.

“i like that picture.” he whispers.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ kirara’s notes . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

hi, hello, it’s me again! this is my first work from that prompt special request 🤍 i tried really hard to write sukuna as much in-character as i can, but it’s reallt hard for me to do it correctly 🥹 feel free to leave reviews! likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

and thank you for reading this ~

#⊹₊⟡⋆ kirarasworks #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you

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diamonddaze01 · 3 days ago

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on coffee and confessions

Pairing: xmh x reader | wc: 1k a/n: based on that one tiktok trend where people ask their significant others to make them a coffee // I am so late but - happy (belated) birthday minghao i adore you

The first gentle rays of dawn peek through your window, casting a golden hue over the tangled sheets and throwing soft, shifting shadows across the room. You’re not fully awake yet, lying in the delicious limbo between sleep and consciousness, cocooned in the warmth of the bed and Minghao’s steady presence beside you.

His arm is slung over your waist, anchoring you against him, and you feel his breath fanning lightly against your neck, a slow and steady rhythm that mirrors your own. His legs are tangled up with yours beneath the blankets, every inch of him pressed close, as if even in sleep, he’s instinctively reaching out to keep you near. You shift slightly, just enough to pull him closer, and you feel him stir, his fingers instinctively tracing little, sleepy circles along your hip as he presses his face further into the curve of your neck.

A lazy smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a soft, breathy laugh. He hums in response, his lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder as he lets out a long, contented sigh, seeming to wake up just enough to squeeze you tighter. “Good morning,” he murmurs, voice thick and warm with sleep, a sound so comforting it wraps around you like the blankets you’re both cocooned in.

“Good morning,” you whisper back, closing your eyes and savoring the cozy quiet of the early morning, feeling like the world beyond these four walls doesn’t exist. His hand moves up to your back, fingers gliding softly over your spine, tracing invisible patterns that make you shiver, and you feel a little thrill at how easily he knows just how to make you melt.

In a lazy, playful tone, you ask, “Hey, baby, would you make me a cup of coffee?” There’s no rush behind your words, no real expectation—just the gentle banter that comes with mornings like this.

You feel him pause behind you, and he shifts, lifting his head just enough to look down at you, an amused glint in his barely-open eyes. “Coffee?” he echoes, his voice lilting with that endearing mix of surprise and mischief that always manages to make your heart skip a beat.

Then, without warning, he leans in closer, brushing a trail of soft kisses from your shoulder to the curve of your neck, pausing to nuzzle his nose against your skin. You giggle, helpless against the tickling warmth of his breath, and he lets out a low laugh, savoring your reaction.

“Beloved,” he says, his voice a soft murmur in your ear, holding that playful, poetic tone he uses when he’s in the mood to make you blush, “if you but asked, I would rearrange the very heavens so that the stars spelled your name. I would carve your likeness onto the face of the moon so that everyone who looked into the night sky would know the joy I feel when I look at you.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you can’t hold back a grin, biting your lip as you meet his gaze, his words sinking into you like honey. “You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, but there’s no real protest behind it. You’re too charmed, too wrapped up in the intensity of his gaze, the softness in his touch.

He just raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “What, you don’t believe me?” he asks, his voice light and teasing. But before you can respond, he’s shifting again, propping himself up on one elbow, leaning over you so that his face is only inches from yours.

“I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, no trace of the earlier humor—just a steady, quiet sincerity that steals your breath. “If a cup of coffee is all you want, it’s yours. But if you asked me to give you the whole sky… the gods themselves would find themselves slain at my hand if they tried to stop me.”

You’re silent, momentarily struck by the intensity in his gaze, the raw honesty of his words. He reaches up, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, and you lean into his touch, your heart thrumming at the tenderness in his eyes.

Unable to hold back, you reach up and pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a slow, lingering kiss. He kisses you back just as softly, savoring the moment, his hand resting lightly against the curve of your jaw as if you’re something precious, something he doesn’t want to let go of.

After a long, quiet moment, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, and you’re both quiet, breathing in sync as you stay tangled up in each other. It’s the kind of morning that makes time feel like it’s stretching on forever, where you could stay wrapped up in him like this, in the warmth and softness of the moment, for as long as you like.

He lets out a long, contented sigh, finally opening his eyes to meet yours again, his expression so full of quiet affection it makes you feel like you could melt. “So,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smirk, “about that coffee?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you playfully nudge him. “All that, and you’re still leaving me to get it myself?”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, resting his chin atop your head. “Alright, alright,” he says, finally untangling himself from the blankets as he sits up, stretching with a soft groan before leaning back down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “One coffee, coming right up.”

As he slips out of bed and heads for the kitchen, you watch him go, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the morning sun spilling across the room. He glances back over his shoulder, catching your gaze with a soft smile before he disappears around the corner, and you find yourself smiling back, your heart full in a way that words can’t describe.

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rubensmuse · 2 days ago

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i don't think i phrased this very well so i wanna add on that like. i don't think the (predominantly) women who make these are lying or otherwise misrepresenting their diets. i think the foods they make or buy throughout their day are genuinely the foods they authentically enjoy and eat with some frequency. but all social media content, especially on photo or video platforms, is heavily curated in apprehension of a potential audience's response, and the same is definitely true here.

the premise of these videos - that the creator is a fat person existing in the world and not harming themself in an attempt to become thin - is already going to get them hate and negative attention. fatphobia is just that deeply ingrained into most people, that "i am a fat person eating normally" is a statement that drives certain people into a frothing rage. and because of this, it wouldn't surprise me if most of these videos are showing the least "objectionable" meals that person could theoretically eat. you don't pick a day where you got pizza, you don't pick a day where you ate almost nothing for breakfast and compensated with a big lunch, maybe you even avoid the day where you got "healthy" takeout. instead you pick the day where you have loads of uninterrupted time to execute the most perfectly nutritionally coordinated meals in your repertoire (comprised of foods you do like, foods you do eat, but might be a pain to prepare with regularity). because then, the quiet fatphobes are satisfied that your fatness is not "your fault", because your meals look "healthy" to them; and the loud ones look like bigger assholes to more people when they take issue with you eating anything at all. it's a trade-off - making an important statement about your right, and others' right, to not care about being thin, but losing a little authenticity in the process to protect yourself.

and i dunno. i just wish we didn't have to do that

honestly never was a fan of those "what i eat in a day as a fat person not trying to lose weight" videos, bc the ones that get any substantial attention and reach are the ones made by body positive or whatever influencers who have time (or can make time) to homemake meals that would still be entirely inoffensive and "healthy" to all but the most virulent fatphobe. all rolled oats with fruit or tofu-chikin sandwiches grilled at home in a pan. just once i'd like to see a video that's like "for breakfast i lacked the executive functioning to make real food so i had half a bowl of special k with almond milk that my roommate's boyfriend bought too much of, and a cookie. then for lunch i got a bacon egg & cheese on a croissant at dunks on the way to work, with one of those shitty seasonal iced lattes, then i went to work where i ate a third of a bag of chocolate peanut butter trail mix at the register, then by the time i got home i was feeling super duper tired so i just cracked an egg and shook some frozen veggies into instant ramen. then for dessert i had half a pint of ben & jerry's (americone dream) aaaand that was my day 💗" i'd just feel a lot more seen by that i think

#i am fat btw - and i wasnt always and i got a lot of grief when i became fat - so i get it i really so #just squirrelly things #also ik it was coined with good intentions but I dont like the term intuitive eating #like why's it only intuitive when we do it eh? why's it just 'eating' for everyone else eh??

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novaursa · 3 days ago

Text

The Blackwood Flame

- Summary: You saved his life and won his heart.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Davos Blackwood

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crackle of flames and the heavy scent of burning timber fill the air as you descend on the battlefield, Sheepstealer’s mighty wings blotting out the sky above. Below, the chaos of the Battle of the Burning Mill plays out, iron and steel clashing against the smoldering earth. But even amidst the din of war, a strange, tense silence falls as your dragon's shadow sweeps across the soldiers, both Blackwood and Bracken alike, turning their gaze upwards in a mixture of awe and terror.

With a signal, you command Sheepstealer lower, his form casting an intimidating silhouette as he glides down with an almost predatory grace. As you prepare to strike, you catch sight of the Blackwood forces struggling against Bracken forces along the tree line, each side locked in fierce combat. Sheepstealer releases a roar that splits the heavens, and the men below freeze, eyes widening as they realize the sheer destructive force looming above them.

"Dracarys," you whisper, the word slipping from your lips like a prayer. Fire pours from Sheepstealer's maw, engulfing the enemy lines in blazing flame. The Bracken men scatter in terror, leaving behind smoldering ash and broken steel, their will shattered by the fury of dragonfire. Those who don’t fall immediately are cut down by the reinvigorated Blackwood forces, who rally around the sight of you, their silent ally from above.

The battle is won, and as Sheepstealer circles the battlefield, his flight low and slow, you survey the scorched ground below. The once fertile valley has become a field of death, bodies strewn across the smoldering remnants of what was once a mill and its surrounding woods. A grim sight, yet necessary.

But it’s then that your eyes land on a familiar figure sprawled amidst the dead. A streak of raven hair, dark armor, and the unmistakable sigil of House Blackwood upon his breastplate: Davos.

Your heart seizes in your chest. No, it couldn’t be… But the pang of fear pushes you to guide Sheepstealer down to the earth, sliding off his rough hide before running across the bloody terrain, weaving between fallen men and discarded weapons. You find him lying on his back, eyes half-lidded, face pale beneath streaks of grime and blood. His breaths are shallow but steady, a faint tremor in his body as you kneel beside him.

His eyes flicker open, a small, pained smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he meets your gaze. "Am I dead, then?" he murmurs, his voice weak but laced with a soft wonder. "Because I see a Stranger… or maybe just a ghost."

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "A ghost wouldn’t bother risking her life to bring you back to Raventree Hall."

He chuckles, though it quickly turns into a wince as he attempts to move. "Careful there, princess. I might just believe you."

“Stay still,” you murmur, inspecting his wounds. Blood seeps from a nasty gash along his side, and several bruises bloom across his skin, yet none appear fatal. Relief washes over you, mingling with a bitter anger at the state he’s in.

“Why did you do something so foolish, Davos?” you ask, your voice quiet but charged. “Riding to the front lines as if you were invincible…”

"Couldn’t let my men fight alone," he replies, managing a smile that’s both proud and defiant, even as the pain etches deeper into his features. “We all play our parts in war, don't we?”

You don’t answer, only lift him gently, securing an arm around his shoulders. "Come, let’s get you out of here."

He blinks, startled, as you half-carry, half-drag him toward Sheepstealer, whose immense form waits patiently. Davos’s gaze remains fixed on you, a bewildered look in his eyes as if he’s seeing you anew.

“Still lookin’ at me as if I were some apparition?” you tease, though there’s a softness in your voice that betrays your own worry.

His hand finds yours, grasping it weakly but with surprising warmth. “It’s hard to believe you’re real, here with me. You look like something out of a song, Y/N.”

Despite the grim setting, his words stir a warmth within you, one you suppress with effort. “Hold tight,” you say as you help him onto Sheepstealer, securing him behind you. He gasps, though whether from pain or awe, you can’t tell. He clutches you as the dragon lifts into the air, his grip growing tighter as the ground falls away below.

The flight is short, yet every moment feels stretched as the wind carries you swiftly to Raventree Hall. The sun begins to set, casting the land in hues of gold and amber, and as you feel Davos’s head rest against your shoulder, a strange, aching tenderness blooms within you. He’s quiet, barely moving, and you worry he’s slipped into unconsciousness until his voice murmurs in your ear, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you, Y/N… I thought I was lost… until I saw you."

His words linger, carried away on the wind as you hold him close, focusing only on the steady rhythm of his breaths as Sheepstealer descends toward the courtyard of Raventree Hall.

The smoky light of early dawn spills across the training yard of Raventree Hall. Davos swings his sword in practiced arcs, letting the rhythm and heft of the blade chase away lingering aches. It’s been weeks since that fateful battle, but a faint stiffness still lingers in his side, a constant reminder of how close he’d come to joining his ancestors.

A deep, booming laugh pulls him from his thoughts, and Davos glances over to see his friends, Gawen Rivers, Orwen Blackwood, and young Tomm Casker, approaching with wide grins and a glint of mischief in their eyes. Davos sighs, already suspecting where this is heading. Gawen, the bastard cousin of the Blackwoods and an incorrigible tease, leads the pack, his bulk casting a shadow over Davos as he claps a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Look at him, lads,” Gawen says, his voice thick with amusement. “Our own brave Blackwood knight, nearly taken by the Stranger himself—only to be saved by a Velaryon princess on a dragon. Doesn’t it sound like a tale for the bards?”

Orwen, the quiet but sharp-eyed archer of their group, smirks, shaking his head. “I don’t think the bards would be telling it right. They’d have to add in how he looked at her after, like some lovesick calf.”

Tomm snorts, barely able to keep a straight face. "He was probably half-dead, thought she was the Maiden come to sweep him off. Ain't that right, Davos?"

Davos feels the heat rising in his cheeks, and he scowls, pushing Gawen’s hand off with a grunt. “I thought she was a ghost or worse, if you must know. And I didn’t look at her like a lovesick anything,” he adds, though the denial feels weak even to his own ears.

“Oh, but you did!” Gawen presses, grinning like a wolf. “Orwen’s right, you were gazing at her like she was a fine Dornish wine on a cold night.”

Davos sighs, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the small smile creeping at the edges of his mouth. “I’ll have you know, my first thought was that I’d finally gone to the afterlife, because no living woman should look like that.”

Orwen chuckles, shaking his head. “You might be the only man who’d say he’d prefer death over looking at a woman like her.”

Davos shrugs, sheathing his sword. “I was half-conscious, in case you lot have forgotten. But you should have seen her…a dragon behind her, flames and smoke around her. It felt more like something out of a nightmare than a dream.”

“A nightmare you wouldn’t mind falling back into, though,” Gawen jests, winking as he leans in closer. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve been wandering around in your own mind ever since that day. Sighing at the moon, staring off into the distance—never seen you so quiet.”

Davos’s face grows hotter under their laughter. “It’s not like that,” he protests, though the words sound feeble. “She’s… She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Strong, fearless. And she saved my life when she had no reason to.”

Tomm snorts, giving Davos a knowing smirk. “I think you’d like to give her a reason, though, eh?”

Orwen arches an eyebrow, his expression one of playful seriousness. “Davos, mate, be honest with us. Are you planning to write a love song about the dragon-riding princess who swept you off the battlefield? Because if you are, we’ll help you rhyme it up right.”

Davos groans, running a hand over his face. “Enough of this,” he says, though there’s no bite to his tone. "The lady’s got her own path to walk, and it's a thousand leagues above us. You think someone like her would give any thought to the likes of me?"

The three men exchange looks, Gawen shaking his head with a grin. “Oh, I don’t know about that. From what I heard, she risked quite a bit to drag you back here. Seems to me she might just have noticed you.”

“Aye, seems to me she noticed,” Orwen agrees, his voice softer now. “But even if she hadn’t, it wouldn’t change how she’s got her hooks in you. I don’t think you’d stop thinking about her even if she never came back here.”

Davos lets the words settle in, staring out over the training yard, watching as the first of the sun’s light crests the rooftops of Raventree Hall. It’s true, he hasn’t been able to get her out of his mind—the sight of her standing amidst the battlefield, like some fierce warrior queen from the old tales, her hair wild, her armor stained with ash, and her dragon looming over them all.

There was something in that moment, something that went beyond the blood and smoke. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite name, but it had taken root in him, stubborn as any Blackwood loyalty. He hadn’t admitted it to himself fully, but he couldn’t shake the memory of her or the way his heart had raced when she looked at him.

“Aye,” he says at last, voice barely above a murmur. “Maybe she has her hooks in me. But whatever she may be to me, I’m nothing to her. And that’s enough, lads.”

“Is it, though?” Gawen challenges, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “Is it really enough?”

Davos chuckles, his face softening. “Maybe not. But it’ll have to be.” He pauses, a smile tugging at his lips. “For now.”

The others let out a collective groan of disappointment, but he only laughs, feeling, perhaps for the first time since the battle, that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

The winding corridors of Harrenhal cast long shadows that seem to cling to every corner, giving the ancient fortress an almost ghostly air. Davos Blackwood feels each step echoing in the vast, hollow halls, his nerves a raw and pulsing thing within him. Lord Samwell Blackwood had been unable to come to the meeting, so the task fell upon him, a chance to prove himself to Prince Daemon and House Targaryen. A chance he knew he couldn’t afford to waste.

The doors to the hall creak open, and Davos enters, straightening his shoulders, trying to summon every bit of confidence he can muster. Prince Daemon sits at the head of the table, clad in dark leathers and fine cloth, his silver hair catching what little light seeps through the high windows. And beside him, with an almost ethereal glow, sit you, Y/N Velaryon, your gaze falling on him with a quiet intensity that steals his breath.

Swallowing hard, he tries to focus, feeling the weight of your stare, aware of every inch of distance—and the faintest, foolish hope that it might someday be closed.

“Lord Davos,” Daemon greets him, his voice a smooth rumble, almost amused. “I trust the journey here was not too troublesome?”

Davos bows, hoping his words come out steady. “A bit long, Your Grace, but… well, I mean, not that long, of course, just… a journey.” He falters, feeling his cheeks redden as he realizes how utterly inane he sounds.

Daemon’s mouth twitches with the faintest hint of a smile, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Davos. “A journey, yes. Much like the one we are on today,” Daemon replies, a glint in his eyes as if finding this moment far more entertaining than he should.

“Yes… precisely, Your Grace. We—uh, I mean, House Blackwood… we look forward to working with you. I mean, your family,” Davos stammers, mentally cursing himself with every garbled word. He tries desperately not to look at you, who sit beside Daemon with your hands folded, a serene expression on your face, though he catches a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes as well.

“Good to hear,” Daemon says, leaning back, his gaze sharp. “Lord Blackwood has long been a staunch ally to House Targaryen. We have need of such loyalty—something… binding.”

Davos nods vigorously, hardly trusting himself to speak but feeling compelled to respond. “We’d be honored, Your Grace. To bind our houses, in… well, in whatever way you see fit.”

At that, Daemon exchanges a glance with you, and a smirk edges across his lips. “Very good, Lord Davos. I think you and my companion here would… complement each other well.”

Davos’s mind blanks momentarily, his cheeks reddening again as he tries to decipher the meaning behind Daemon’s words. “Yes… well, yes, indeed. Complement… Yes, Your Grace.”

Daemon inclines his head, his gaze piercing. “Then it’s settled. House Targaryen and House Blackwood will be bound, and I’m certain you’ll both find your paths much improved.” He rises, nodding to you, and you stand beside him gracefully. You send Davos a lingering look, and he feels his pulse quicken, though he dares not meet your gaze too fully.

“Until next time, Lord Davos,” Daemon says, voice almost lilting. He and you make your way out of the hall, leaving Davos standing there, his thoughts a chaotic whirl of half-formed ideas and inexplicable emotions.

Lord Simon Strong, a shrewd man with a knowing glint in his eye, approaches him, clapping Davos on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Lord Davos,” he says with a broad smile. “I can only imagine the festivities your family will prepare for such an occasion.”

Davos blinks, still a bit dazed. “Festivities? I don’t… I don’t follow, Lord Simon.”

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. “For the union, of course! You’ve just accepted the alliance with House Targaryen. I’d say a marriage to a Velaryon princess is something well worth celebrating, wouldn’t you?”

The words crash over him like a tidal wave, and Davos stares at Simon, his mouth slightly open as realization dawns. “Wait… A marriage?”

Simon only laughs, giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Yes, a marriage, my lord. I suggest you start rehearsing how to speak to her without turning as red as a beetroot.”

Davos’s face burns as the truth settles in. He had just—unknowingly—agreed to marry you, the woman who’d haunted his thoughts since that fateful day on the battlefield. He felt both mortified and strangely exhilarated, his heart racing as he replayed the scene in his mind, Daemon’s knowing smile and your quiet amusement.

All he could manage was a faint, “Seven hells…” as Simon roared with laughter beside him.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #hotd davos #davos blackwood #davos x reader #davos x you #davos x y/n #house blackwood #house velaryon #house targaryen #sheepstealer

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