#he said it was rude to text him about it when he has to work in the freezing cold for 10 hours | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gumii-bearr · 3 months ago

Text

❝ i'm already yours ❞

summary: megumi learns to be honest with you and tell you what he wants.

featuring... megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, angst, fluff, some rude guy (ino slander im SORRY), mentions of alcohol, mentions of megumi's ex, fighting, megumi still being emotionally stunted but hes learning, ozawa x itadori mentions, maki x yuta mentions, nobara is a menace, megumi being such a cute lil baby, swearing, smutttt, fingering, mirror sex, missionary, p in v sex, loss of virginity, belly bulge, unprotected sex (dont do that!), pulling-out method, subspace a bit, squirting, aftercare!!

word count: 9.3k

author's note: oh BABY, this one GOOOOOD

chapter one

Megumi Fushiguro is starting to really like you.

Like, more than just ‘like-like’, as you so eloquently put it those few months ago while lying naked in his bed. Megumi’s heart races at the sight of you. Granted, that has always been the case but he’s starting to think about you all the time.

You still sleep in your separate rooms, though you’ll occasionally sneak into his room in the late hours of the night holding your pillow and softly chanting ‘sleepover’. And Megumi’s heart just swells, moving aside in his tiny single bed to make room for you to curl into his side, your leg thrown over his waist and your hand clutching his shirt.

You are his first thought every morning.

Whether you’re still sleeping beside him, cooking breakfast, doing your makeup in your room or already at work or college; you are all he thinks about. Most of the time he thinks about good things, but sometimes he thinks about the not-so-good things.

Like if you’re getting tired of him.

Or if you think he’s too possessive or too clingy or too needy or too much–

“I’m home!” you exclaim from the front door. You have your hands full holding take-out bags, your apron still tied around your waist (Megumi pictures you walking around in public still wearing the brown-coloured apron with the little bear on it and your name tag still pinned to your shirt because you always forget to take it off).

Megumi is quick to appear in the hallway, effortlessly lifting the bags from your hands as you attempt to kick your shoes off, hopping on one foot and cursing like a sailor when they don’t cooperate.

“Hi,” Megumi greets, voice soft and a little tired.

He always waits up for you, even when you have a midnight closing shift and he’s been awake since five in the morning. When he knows you’re finishing late, he makes sure to text you at exactly 12:16, a minute after your shift actually ends. He likes to make sure you’re okay, even if he won’t admit it.

“Hi, Gumi,” you beam, a wide smile on your face as you press up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. You giggle when his face flushes slightly and he averts his gaze to avoid you catching him blushing. But you think it’s so unbelievably cute.

“How ws’ work?” He asks, dropping the take-out bags on the counter in the kitchen.

“Boring,” you whine, dropping your car keys (Megumi’s car keys) in the bowl by the door and shrugging off your jacket. “Some guy had me re-make his coffee, like, five times at 11:55! How rude.” You mumble the last part with a scowl on your face.

“Mm, you should have just pretended to remake it,” Megumi mutters, unpacking the take-out from the plastic bags and grabbing some plates for the two of you.

“Oh, I did,” you reply with a cheeky grin, “after the fourth try, I just shook it and gave it back to him… It seemed to work ‘cus he said it was perfect.”

Megumi gives an amused smile, “that’s my girl.”

You smile sweetly at the nickname, padding over to Megumi and wiggling your hands through his arms to wrap your hands around his waist, pressing your front to his broad back.

“I missed you, Gumi,” you nuzzle into his warmth just between his shoulder blades.

“Missed you too,” Megumi says after a beat, lifting a hand to squeeze your arm still wrapped around his waist.

Megumi seems tired, though his voice is laced with something else a little sadder and you know when Megumi gets like that it’s because he’s thinking. And you’ve been so busy with work and the rapidly approaching final exams, that you haven’t been home as much as you want to.

“What’s wrong?” You ask quietly, twisting yourself around Megumi to peer up at his tired face.

“M’fine,” Megumi replies after a short pause.

You frown, “...what’re you thinking about then?”

Megumi hates how you know him. After the catastrophe that was his confession to you, you’ve been more sensitive to and observant of Megumi’s changes in behaviour. You can now so easily tell the difference between Megumi’s genuine exhaustion and when his thoughts start to spiral into insecurity and anxiousness.

“Just stuff.” Ah, Megumi Fushiguro, a man of many words.

“You wanna tell me about it?” You don’t ever push. Sometimes Megumi does want to talk about it, other times he just wants to curl up on the couch with you to distract himself. It worries you no matter what though.

Megumi knows he should talk about it with you. He’s been trying really hard to tell you about things that are bothering him since when he used to talk about it with his ex, she would rattle off insults about him being too clingy or too nervous or too paranoid.

But you’re different.

You pay attention to him, holding his hand so gently and letting him get the words out on his own, no matter how long it takes or how much he stumbles over his thoughts.

It took him about forty minutes to ask you if you’d be his girlfriend.

“And I… I think that–” Megumi cuts himself off, running a hand through his messy hair and avoiding eye contact with you by staring at the ceiling then the floor.

Your hand holding his is making him even more nervous. Your thumb strokes over his knuckles, your knee touching his as the two of you sit on the couch, the movie you were watching long forgotten.

“Do you… Is it okay with you if we, uh. Fuck… We’re dating, right?”

You chuckle softly, “yeah, we’re dating,” you ponder for a moment. “You’ve been taking me on dates, right?”

Megumi gives an amused huff, “that’s what they were intended as.”

“Okay, then I’m confident in saying that yes, we’re dating,” you giggle.

Megumi always over-thinks the plans he makes. Wondering if you will like the picnic he planned (with the help of Nobara and Yuko who were sending him far too many pinterest screenshots at 3am), wondering if you’d like the restaurant he picked (you’re determined to try almost everything on the menu and claim he’ll have to roll you home), and wondering if you still like him.

He knows it’s irrational. You are always so excited to see him at the end of every day, always so excited to tell him about your day and ask about his even if he spent the whole day at home.

“Will you… Would you want me to be your boyfriend?” Fuck. He asked it wrong. “Wait, I meant will you be my girlfriend?”

The smile that spills across your face is so happy and so bright and you crash tackle him onto the couch, squealing in delight and pressing kisses to his face as Megumi just chuckles (mostly with relief). “I would love to be your girlfriend!”

“Really?”

“Of course! …It was so worth the forty-five minutes of stammering–”

“Hey!”

“M’just thinking about you,” Megumi finally forces out, a nervous pit forming in his stomach as his eyes flicker around the room, unable to meet your gaze.

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, slipping your hands into Megumi’s and playing with his warm fingers. You know deep down he’s feeling anxious and worried about things regarding you and your relationship, you know none of it is malicious because that’s just the way Megumi is; always thinking.

Megumi shrugs, “js’ worried about me being… too paranoid and stuff.”

Your expression softens and you reach a hand up to cup Megumi’s jaw, gently forcing his head to tilt down and his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes flicker between his and you smile softly, “you’re not too paranoid, Megumi. You’re a good person and you worry about doing and saying the right thing.”

Megumi chews on the inside of his cheek, “...you sure?”

“Always,” you beam. “You never have to worry about me… ‘cus I like-like you,” you giggle quietly.

Megumi’s lips tug into a smile, “I like-like you too.”

You press up on your tiptoes, hands snaking around Megumi’s neck to toy with the shorter baby hairs at his nape. His eyes glance down to your lips, still tinted pinkish with the strawberry-flavoured lipgloss you love so much.

You smile before leaning up to press a slow peck to his lips, revelling in the way Megumi gently pulls you closer by your waist, hands so big yet so gentle as they hold you close to his body. You taste like strawberries, some of your lipgloss smearing onto Megumi’s lips.

You chuckle lightly, lifting your thumb to rub the gloss off his lips, “Ozawa asked if we wanted to hang out Saturday night too.”

Megumi moves some of your hair out of your face, “doing what?”

“Mm, bowling and arcade games? Maybe some drinks? I thought it would be nice to hang out with them since we haven’t in a while,” you shrug.

Megumi hums, “if you want to.”

You smile softly, “only if you want to.”

“I never want to.”

“Yeah, I know,” you chuckle. Megumi isn’t exactly social, he would prefer to stay cooped up in the apartment with you, both of you lounging around in your pyjamas and watching movies or playing video games (a.k.a. Megumi playing CoD while you play Animal Crossing).

Megumi watches your expression falter a little and his heart squeezes, “but I’ll go.”

Your face lights up, “really?”

“Mhm,” he hums, “I’ll win you a plushie in the claw machine.”

“A Hello Kitty one?”

“Sure.”

“Yay!”

—

You practically sprint toward Yuko when you see her. She’s sitting at a bar table next to Yuji, his hand resting on her thigh, but she promptly swats his hand away and leaps off the barstool to tackle you in a crushing hug.

“Eee! Y/N, I’ve missed you!” Yuko sways you from side to side, able to bear hug you with how much taller she is than you (and with her chunky heels on). “I haven’t seen you in, like, so long.”

“I saw you three days ago,” you giggle against her shoulder.

“Yeah, but that was work, it doesn’t count,” she tuts, pulling away from you and giving you a disapproving look.

“Right, of course,” you roll your eyes playfully.

Yuko peers behind you at your bored-looking boyfriend who stands a few feet away from you with his hands stuffed in his pockets and your adorable pink kitty bag slung over his shoulder, “hi, Fushiguro… cute purse.”

Megumi sticks his hand up in a half-assed wave, “m’trying something different,” he jokes with a bored expression. Anyone who didn’t know Megumi would think he was being dead serious with how his jokes tend to come across.

Yuko chuckles, “come on, we’ve been waiting for you guys forever.” Yuko tugs on your hand and you reach your own hand out for Megumi, who catches you easily with his long strides and laces his fingers with yours.

“Heeey!” Yuji drawls, “what took you dorks so long?”

“Traffic, you know,” you shrug.

That’s a lie; Megumi was too busy laying you down on the dining room table so he could stick his head under your skirt and eat you out because you looked so damn cute in your pretty outfit.

“Sure,” Yuji gives a Megumi a shit-eating grin, to which Megumi rolls his eyes and moves to pull a chair out for you at the table.

“You want a drink?” Megumi asks, peering down at you as he helps you into your chair.

“Mmm, surprise me,” you smile, pressing a kiss to Megumi’s cheek and inwardly beaming at how his cheeks dust a little pink at your affection, especially in front of his friends.

“Sure,” Megumi ruffles your hair, but not enough to ruin it because he knows you spent a lot of time making it look pretty in the bathroom mirror. Megumi promptly disappears into the huge crowd forming around the bar (given it’s a Saturday night, you’re not exactly surprised).

“You two are so cute,” Yuko nudges your shoulder playfully.

You smile, “he’s cute.”

Nobara makes gagging sounds from across the table, “boo, get a room.”

Maki elbows her, “you’re just jealous ‘cus you don’t have a boyfriend,” she says cooly, taking a sip of her martini.

“Rude,” Nobara retorts, dramatically rubbing her shoulder.

“S’okay, Nobara, we’ll fine you a boyfriend,” Yuko chuckles.

“Ew, no thanks,” Nobara scoffs, “men are gross.”

“That’s not very nice,” Yuji whines, his voice muffled from the mouthful of burger shoved in his face.

Nobara raises her brows and points at him, “see?”

Yuko chuckles and picks up a napkin, gently wiping the sauce and crumbs from Yuji’s cheek. He just sits there with a little smile on his face (if he was a dog his tail would be wagging happily, let’s be honest).

You chat with everyone for a while, finally meeting Maki’s boyfriend Yuta and his friend Inumaki (who doesn’t talk much from what you’ve gathered). But as soon as the boys leave to grab more drinks from the bar (they noticed Megumi was at the front of the line and decided to hijack his spot), Nobara and Yuko lean in toward you while Maki rolls her eyes.

“So…” Nobara drawls, scooting her chair closer to yours.

You look at your friends, the tips of your ears feeling hot from the sudden attention. “What?” You huff out a nervous laugh.

“You and Fushiguro done the ol’...” Nobara wiggles her brows childishly to emphasise her point.

You roll your eyes playfully, “that’s none of your business.”

“So that’s a no,” Maki chimes in matter-of-factly.

You’ve only met Maki a handful of times but you like her. She’s quiet and intimidating but she always offers sound advice as opposed to Nobara who lives for disrupting your peace.

But no, you and Megumi haven’t had sex yet. You’ve come close a few times but Megumi is quick to hold back, instead kissing down your tits and your tummy to eat you out or slipping his fingers into your panties to get you off.

It’s not that you don’t want to have sex. You absolutely do. You don’t want anyone other than Megumi to be the one to take your virginity.

But Megumi avoids it and he always seems to be battling some kind of inner turmoil when you hint at him having sex with you. Whether you ask if he’s got a condom or you reach for the waistband of his pants– he’s quick to redirect you and you want to ask him, you really do, but it makes you wonder if he’s unhappy with you or maybe he simply doesn’t want to have sex with you.

You try not to be insecure about it because Megumi loves being between your legs, he loves touching you behind closed doors and worshipping you with kisses and lovebites. And he loves it even more when you’re on your knees in front of him, his hands wrapped around your hair and pulling into a makeshift ponytail so you can take him into your mouth uninterrupted (you’re getting pretty good at it, you think).

But it still makes feel insecure.

“You should do it whenever you’re ready,” Yuko smiles warmly, her hand holding yours. You love your best friend to pieces, always the voice of reason in these situations.

But the thing is; you are ready. It’s Megumi who holds back.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh, squeezing Yuko’s hand gently.

“I got you this… thing,” Megumi suddenly appears behind you, placing down a fizzy sweet-looking pink drink topped with edible glitter and a little umbrella. “The bartender said it was popular.”

You smile in delight, “oh it’s so pretty! Thank you, Gumi,” You turn in your chair and plant a hard kiss to the underside of Megumi’s jaw.

“‘Welcome,” Megumi replies, nursing his own drink (which looks exceptionally normal compared to yours).

Megumi pulls a chair around to sit beside you, basically forcing Nobara to move over (who attempts to put up a fight but Megumi simply moves her himself). You rest your head on Megumi’s shoulder and he goes a little stiff at the simple form of affection.

Megumi isn’t big on PDA, he prefers to show you how much he cares for you in the privacy of your apartment or when he’s confident that the two of you are alone. But you like showing him off, holding his hand, peppering his face with kisses, hugging him from behind as you wait in line at the grocery store. You’re a little snuggle bug and Megumi is slowly, slowly, getting used to it.

“You gonna win me a Hello Kitty plushie, right?” you tease, wrapping your hands around Megumi’s muscular arm.

“Even if it takes me five tries,” he replies with an amused smile.

It takes him more than ten.

“This shit is a scam,” Megumi grunts, giving an annoyed kick to the neon purple machine filled with soft pastel plushies.

You stand beside him laughing into your hand, “s’okay, Gumi–”

“I’ve spent like forty dollars,” he huffs, “on one machine.”

“Come on, we should play something else,” you tug on his arm, “I already have about four of every sanrio plushie anyway,” you shrug.

Megumi’s jaw clenches and he sighs in frustration, eventually giving in to your protests and letting you tug him off the claw machine to play some other game. The arcade is huge, there are plenty of other games to spend forty dollars on instead of a goofy claw machine.

“We should play space invaders– oh! Or DDR!” you beam.

“I don’t have the coordination for DDR… or the energy,” Megumi grumbles.

You giggle, “right, let’s play space invaders.”

Megumi trails behind you the whole evening, playing games with you and absolutely refusing to let you pay for any of them. You always pull some coins out or your card and he promptly swats your hand away or wraps his strong arm around your middle, pinning your arms to your sides and lifting you away from the machine so he can pay.

You appreciate him doing this with you considering he doesn’t like being social all that much (all his friends think it’s crazy you managed to get him to come along tonight). But really, you know Megumi isn’t doing it because he wants to, he’s doing it because you want to and it makes your heart swell and your body want to melt into a puddle of happiness.

“Oh, boo, this is a scam,” you mutter to yourself as you attempt to win yourself a My Melody plushie in a new claw machine. Megumi was dragged off by Yuji to play some shooting game with Yuta and Inumaki and you snuck off to play another claw machine (and pay without him knowing). You saw that the plushie looked loose and you were sure you could win it if you nudged the claw just right.

You gave up after three tries and grabbed your bag to rejoin your boyfriend and his friends on the other side of the arcade. You spot your pretty boyfriend quickly, giggling as you hear him bickering with Yuji over not shooting straight.

“Uh, hey,” a voice appears beside you.

“Hm?” You peer to the side and notice a taller guy wearing a beanie looking at you, he’s holding a plushie out toward you.

“I saw you trying to win that pink bunny thing…” he holds out the My Melody plushie you were attempting to win.

“Oh,” you beam, “that’s really sweet!”

He laughs softly, “that’s okay… I’m Ino.”

“I’m Y/N–”

You suddenly feel a looming presence behind you. You peer up at Megumi, his eyes harsh and narrowed toward this guy talking to you.

“Uh, hi?” Ino forces out.

“Can I help you?” Megumi deadpans, his jaw slightly clenched in annoyance.

Ino barely offers him a glance, “I was just giving this pretty girl the plushie thing she was trying to win–”

“She doesn’t want it,” Megumi forces his lips into a condiscending smile.

Ino looks between the two of you before clearing his throat, “boyfriend, huh?”

“Mhm,” Megumi hums, his hand snaking around your waist and grabbing at your hip.

“Right,” Ino nods, “sorry, man.” He doesn’t seem sorry with how he mockingly laughs at Megumi’s protectiveness of you.

“Whatever,” Megumi huffs.

Ino promptly disappears, handing the plushie off to some other drunk girl on his way out. You chew on the inside of your lip before turning to Megumi, “Gumi–”

“What?” Megumi spits, a little harsher than he meant it.

You press your lips together, “nevermind,” you sigh, forcing his arm off you and leaving to join Yuji, Yuko and the others, Megumi trudging behind with his hands in his pockets and feeling his mood rapidly plummeting into a mix of annoyance and insecurity.

Megumi’s jaw is tight with tension and he feels like shit because he didn’t watch his tone when he talked to you. He gets protective of you and perhaps a little jealous. And he knows it’s stupid being annoyed and upset over not being able to win you a fucking plushie from a children’s arcade game, but he promised you and this guy managed to do it in one try and actively sought you out to give it to you.

“You two okay?” Yuko asks curiously, almost startling Megumi as he stands at yet another claw machine.

Yuko saw the way your mood immediately changed after your interaction with that guy, instantly becoming a little sad and not as bubbly and talkative as your little group moved around to play more games.

Sure Megumi wasn’t always super affectionate toward you in public, but he wasn’t even staying near you or holding your hand anymore.

“Fine,” Megumi retorts, eyes still glued to the pink plushie he’s trying to win you.

“...Did she upset you?”

“No.”

“Did you upset her?”

“I don’t know,” Megumi shrugs.

Yuko sighs, “maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Yuko lets out an amused laugh, “Fushiguro, she always wants to talk to you.”

Megumi feels a pang in his chest at that, feeling bad that he didn’t even attempt to drag you off to the bathroom or outside so he could talk to you. He’s still trying to get better at the talking, he was just fucking embarrassed.

The machine suddenly chimes, a little song playing as a plushie falls in behind the collection door.

“Hey, you won,” Yuko beams.

Megumi bends down, pulling the plushie out of the machine and scoffing; it wasn’t the My Melody plushie he as aiming for.

Yuko laughs, plucking the bored-looking penguin plushie from his hand and holding it up, “I see the resemblance.”

“Who even is this?” Megumi takes it back, squeezing the soft toy in his large hands,

“It’s Badtz Maru,” Yuko replies, “looks a bit like you.”

“Mm,” Megumi makes a noise of annoyance.

Yuko nudges his shoulder, “she might like it even more,” she sings softly.

Megumi walks around the arcade looking for you, peering around corners and looking through the claw machine section in search of you. He can’t find you. He spots Itadori, Inumaki, Yuta and Maki but can’t find you anywhere. He asks Yuko and Nobara and they shake their heads with a shrug.

How did no one know where you were?

“Where’d she go?” Nobara looks around for you.

“I’ll call her,” Yuko offers.

“S’okay, I’ll call her,” Megumi replies, pressing on your contact and holding his phone to his ear. The call rings before your voice message comes through. Megumi grunts in annoyance. He starts to worry as he texts you a few times, asking where you are. You don’t respond in the record speed you normally do and he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

He walks around the arcade a few more times, then he finally spots you.

He relaxes a little at the sight of you, but it’s short lived when he spots that fucking guy again. He’s leaning against the wall, basically trapping you in a corner as you attempt to curl away from him, your back flush against the wall.

“U-Uh, I should get back to my friends,” you laugh nervously, your hands wrapping tightly around the strap of your purse.

“Lemme walk you t’them then,” he offers.

You look around anxiously, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Uh, no thanks, I can go myself–” Ino suddenly puts a hand on your upper arm.

Megumi surges forward, slightly blinded by anger and annoyance as he pushes the guy away from you, forcing some space between you. Ino stumbles back, clearly intoxicated with how he struggles to catch himself, his hands flailing around to catch himself against the wall.

“She said back off,” Megumi spits, forcing himself in front of you protectively.

“I ws’ just talking to her,” Ino slurs back.

“And she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Megumi retorts, forcing him onto his feet and half-pushing him away. “So fuck off.”

Ino scoffs, “whatever, bro. Was just tryna be nice.” Megumi rolls his eyes at the shitty excuse, jaw clenched angrilly until the guy finally leaves, stumbling off back to the bar.

Megumi suddenly hears you sniffle and his expression instantly softens, shoulders relaxing as he spins around to look at you. You have your back pressed against the wall, your face a little flushed with embarrassment. Your hands are pressed to your face, hiding yourself from him.

“Baby?” Megumi coos, reaching a gentle hand out to pull your hands away from your pretty face.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, your bottom lip quivering as your eyes gloss over with tears.

Megumi’s heart sinks and he sighs, pulling you to his chest to crush you in a hug, a hand stroking the back of your hair. You press your face into his chest, staying there for a moment and melting into his warmth.

“M’sorry I was mean,” he says against your hair.

“You weren’t mean,” you mumble, “I was being dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Y/N. You thought he was doing a nice thing for you,” Megumi replies. He pauses for a moment before deciding to admit his thoughts to you, “...I was js’ jealous.”

You pull away from him, a bit of your makeup staining the fabric of his black shirt. “Why were you jealous?”

You never thought Megumi could be jealous. He always seems so laidback and bored that you assumed everything was water off a duck’s back to him. But you were obviously sorely mistaken.

“M’always jealous when it’s you,” Megumi shrugs, eyes glancing away as he admits it to you, his face dusted a light pink.

You grin cutely, “you like-like me,” you poke his chest.

“Shut up,” Megumi mumbles, earning a soft laugh from you. He suddenly remembers the Badtz Maru plushie in his other hand. He lifts it up toward you, “I won this for you.”

You pout, “really?”

“Mhm,” Megumi nods, handing it to you.

You squish the softness in your hands before giggling, “looks like you.”

“I don’t see it,” he grumbles.

“He could be your son!”

“It’s a plushie, Y/N.”

Megumi has a winning streak after the two of you make up, winning you a bag of sweets, a pair of earbuds in that impossible to win string-cutting game, and wins you a Hello Kitty plushie that is almost half the size of you.

You carry it around with a big smile plastered across your face and earning jealous glances from other people who have obviously been trying to win the massive toy. You walk around with it under your arm, your other hand in Megumi’s.

“You guys ready to go?” Yuji asks, “‘cus I am officially broke.”

Yuko giggles, “okay, lets go, baby.”

Yuji plants a kiss on Yuko’s nose, then another on her cheek, then another on her forehead before peppering kisses in a circle around her face, his hands resting on her hips as she giggles.

You smile softly at them, your hand unintentionally squeezing Megumi’s.

“Yuck, get a room!” Nobara gags.

Megumi watches you smile at your friends, resting your head against his shoulder. He feels his heart thumping in his chest, suddenly feeling the urge to show you the same affection. He doesn’t like PDA, he thinks its gross and people should just save it for the privacy of their home. But he can see how people like it, being able to show off their partner in public so people know they belong to them and no one else.

You feel Megumi’s eyes on you and you peer up at him, “you okay, Gumi?”

He suddenly presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You smile against his lips and he pulls away, planting another kiss to your cheek then your hair.

You grin at him when he pulls away from you, “what was that for?”

Megumi shrugs, “I just wanted to.”

You point your finger at him, “who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, “oh, ha-ha.”

—

You sigh with relief once you kick your heels off at the door, your shoes landing haphazardly in the corner as you lug your new plushies down the hall. Megumi follows you, dropping his keys in the bowl on the side table in the hallway.

You and Megumi have made up, but Megumi still has something on his mind. He knows exactly what it is but he feels weird bringing it up again since you’ve already worked it out.

But you can tell there’s something on his mind.

You drop your plushies in your room, putting your Badtz Marui plush on your bed so you can sleep next to it (it can be your Megumi stand-in when he’s busy or away). Megumi is sitting on the couch when you come out of your room, he’s scrolling on his phone absentmindedly, jaw tight with tension.

You pad over to him, gently pulling his head back to rest on the back of the couch. You peer over him, your hands gently resting on his shoulders.

“You okay, Gumi?” You ask, lifting your hands to stroke your thumbs across his jaw.

“M’fine,” he replies.

You frown, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Not tell me,” you sigh. “I can tell when you’re sad or you’re thinking about stuff, I want you to be able to talk to me.”

“I really am fine, Y/N,” he huffs, pullin away from your hands and getting up off the couch.

“I’m not your ex, Megumi,” you stare at the back of his head.

Megumi visibly stiffens, “...I know that.”

“Do you?” You ask without thinking, “because I really care about you n’ I’ve been trying to be patient and understanding but I–” you cut yourself off, sighing sadly.

Megumi turns to look at you, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek like he always does when he’s nervous. “I know you’re not her, Y/N. You’ve never made me feel the way she has.”

Your shoulders relax and you glance away. You still get insecure about Megumi having an ex, mostly because she’s got to see parts of him you haven’t yet, but in the same breath, she was awful to him and is part of the reason he’s wound so tight and struggles to talk.

You don’t even think when it falls from your mouth, “why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

Megumi’s eyes widen and he feels his heart in his throat. He stiffens, unable to form anything other than– “W-What?”

You sigh, “I know it’s stupid. I just… I wanna have sex… with you. And it just seems like you don’t want to… with me.”

Megumi’s heart aches painfully. Of course he wants to have sex with you. He wants to every day like some kind of maniac, but you’re too good for him (at least that’s what he thinks). And it’s important to him that your first time is perfect and special and Megumi can be a fucking wreck a lot of the time, unable to communicate simple things with you, unable to convey his feelings in a way that’s coherent and not total gibberish.

He can’t shake the fear of him being too needy and paranoid toward you. You’re so special to him and he fears losing you. Fears that one wrong move will send you packing or make you hate him.

“I…” Megumi squeezes his hands into fists, trying to release the tension inside his chest. “Y/N, I do want to.”

You peer up at him, eyes glossed over, “...I’ve beent trying to like… hint at it but you–”

“I’m scared,” Megumi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I mean… I’m not scared, m’just worried.”

Your brows furrow, “worried?”

“I want it to be special for you,” Megumi admits, “I’m just always thinking that I’m not special enough for you.”

Your heart cracks and you feel like crying and wrapping Megumi up and crushing him in a bear hug and covering him in kisses. Because how could he not think he’s special enough for you?

“Gumi,” you sigh out his nickname and he wipes his eyes. You pout, padding around the couch to press your body against him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a tight hug.

He hugs you back, chin resting on your head gently.

“You’re perfect for me, Gumi,” you murmur. “There’s no one else I trust more in the world than you.”

Megumi squeezes you a little tighter, “I’m not good at talking.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I know.”

“I want to be better at it, ‘cus you’re my priority now,” he says, heart beating rapidly in his chest at his confession. “And I’m worried that I’m too paranoid or needy… I don’t want to– I can’t lose you.” You pull away from him a fraction, a tear slipping down your cheek. Megumi catches it, “don’t cry. Please.”

You sniffle, “I don’t want to lose you either, Megumi.” You wrap your arms around his neck, his strong arms still wrapped around the small of your back. “But you need to talk to me, even if you think it’s stupid… Because I tell you stupid stuff all the time and you still listen.”

Megumi chuckles softly, “yeah, I know.”

You cup his cheek, beaming as he leans into your touch, “offer yourself a little kindness, Gumi. You’re too hard on yourself.”

He knows you’re right, you’re always right.

He nods, “I’m gonna try,” he sighs.

“You’re already doing good,” you praise, “I’m still going to be here no matter what.”

“Promise?”

You grin, “I promise.” You hook your pinky with his.

“Then I have something else I need to tell you,” he forces out.

You frown, “okay…”

“I didn’t like that that guy grabbed you,” Megumi huffs, “it made me really fucking mad.”

You chuckle softly, “you handled it, though.”

“But still,” Megumi’s jaw clenches. “Asshole.”

“You don’t like that some other guy touched me?”

“I wanted him dead right then and there,” Megumi’s arms squeeze around you a little tighter.

“Mm, that’s pretty hot,” you giggle.

“...Hot?” Megumi seems confused.

You shrug, “yeah… I like that my boyfriend wants me all to himself.”

Megumi pauses, any words that he could possibly think of getting caught in his throat. Your giggles die in your chest as Megumi’s steely eyes bore into you, an intensity settling in the air.

“Gumi?”

Megumi’s eyes flicker down to your lips, “m’gonna kiss you.”

You grin, “I’d never be opposed to that,” you whisper.

Megumi’s lips are on yours in an instant, his big hands resting on your hips and pulling you against him. One of his hands rests on the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss. He forces a whine from your lips when his tongue swipes across your glossed lips. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, slowly backing you up against the wall and knocking some poor unsuspecting vase onto the floor.

It smashes on the ground and you yelp in surprise, “G-Gumi–”

“We’ll fucking clean it later,” he grunts, forcing your jaw to tilt upward so he can kiss you again. Your hands squeeze the fabric of his shirt, your tits pressing against his chest as he grinds his hard-on against your thigh.

The two of you awkwardly crash through your apartment before you finally get to your bedroom door, giggling at how eager Megumi is to get you onto your bed. Your bed is a little bigger than his and always makes it easier for cuddle sessions and Megumi always looks so cute with his dark hair and dark clothes in your pretty pink, white and pastel room.

Your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up his abdomen and chest. Megumi helps you, finally pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. His lips connect with yours again, forcing you back until the back of your thighs hit the mattress. Megumi lets go of you, letting you fall back.

You giggle, scooting yourself up your bed and eyeing your strikingly hot boyfriend with his pretty abs out and staring down at you like he wants to devour you. Megumi just stares at you, his eyes raking over your pretty spread thighs, peeking at your lacy pink panties under your skirt, almost salivating at how pretty your tits look almost spilling out of your top– his eyes meet yours, your pretty eyes wide with lust and just pure adoration.

You are his favourite person.

“I love you.”

You pause, lips parting slightly as Megumi’s words finally sink in. You press up on your elbows, eyes widening, “what did you say?”

Megumi presses his lips together, wondering if he should back track. But no, he needs to be honest with you and himself, he owes it to you and to himself. “I said I love you.”

“You love me?” you pause, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

Megumi crawls onto the bed, body hovering over yours and his hands pinned on other side of your head as he just looks at you, taking in every part of you. “You told me I should be honest.”

You beam, “Megumi–”

“Don’t say anything,” he says softly, “js’ let it stay out there for a minute.”

You close your mouth, a smile tugging at your lips. Megumi grins at you, the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen, before he leans his head down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s slow and so loving, he’s gentle with you as one hand comes up to cradle your face.

He pulls away after a minute and you smile, “I love you too.”

Megumi pauses before he lets out an amused laugh, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

“Say it again,” he teases.

“I love you,” you whisper, holding his face in your hands. Megumi leans down, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You tilt your head up to give him more access as his teeth gently nip at your skin.

“Again.”

“I love you, Gumi,” you whine out as he sucks on a particularly sensitive part of your neck, leaving a angry red mark on your skin.

Megumi’s hand slips under your top, pushing it up your tummy and over your tits. You help him pull your top over your head, leaving you in your skirt and your pretty pink lacy bra that makes your boobs sit like pretty soft pillows against your chest.

“S’beautiful,” Megumi mutters, trailing kisses down your neck and down between your tits, his hand snaking under your body to unclasp your bra.

No matter how many times Megumi sees you naked, you still get nervous under how intense yet adoring his gaze is. You feel your heart hammer in your chest as Megumi toys with your hardened nipples, his eyes occasionally flickering up to your face to catch your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whine.

Megumi chuckles, “like what? Like I love you?”

“Like you want to devour me,” you correct with an amused laugh.

“Mm, no promises,” he smiles, pressing a peck to your lips.

Megumi’s large veiny hand squeezes your soft breast, kneading the flesh in his hand while flicks his tongue over your hardened nipple, leaving hot wet kisses all over the pretty mound of skin. Your hand tangles in his hair, forcing his mouth down further. He gives a gentle bite to your skin, forcing a pretty whimper from your lips.

Megumi kisses down your tummy, one hand still squeezing your breast while the other trails up your thigh and underneath your skirt. You feel your skin prickle at the feeling of his gentle fingers trailing across your soft skin, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your body.

You tug on Megumi’s wrist, forcing him back up your body, “what is it, baby?” He asks breathlessly.

You press a peck to his lips, “I wan’ you to touch me,” you murmur against his slightly chapped lips.

“Oh yeah?” Megumi asks, his tone a little teasing.

“Mhm,” you nod quickly.

Megumi chuckles, trailing his hands up the inside of your thigh and pressing his fingers against the damp patch forming on your panties, “mm, someone’s excited,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you mutter, forcing his lips back onto yours.

Megumi rubs against your clothed clit, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers at the sounds you were making because of him. The smell of your arousal lingers in the air of your room as Megumi forces your legs to spread open a little more, finally slipping his hand down your panties to feel your slick pussy against his fingers.

“S’wet, princess,” he murmurs against your cheek.

“All f’you,” you whine as Megumi nudges your clit with the tip of his middle finger.

Megumi pulls his hand from your panties, forcing you to whimper at the loss of contact but he quickly slips his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling the soaked fabric down your legs and tossing them onto the floor.

Megumi manhandles you into his lap, laying his upper body against your headboard and forcing you to sit between his legs with your back to his chest.

“W-What are we doing?”

Megumi gently holds your jaw, forcing you to look at the mirror across the room in front of your bed, the same mirror you take your cute little outfit of the day photos in every day. You suddenly feel embarrassed seeing yourself so vulnerable. Your legs are spread, one knee hooked over Megumi’s muscular forearm while the other is propped up, forcing your soaked pussy lips open.

“Look how pretty you are,” Megumi mutters against your ear, his large hand squeezing at your tits.

“Gumi, this is embarrassing,” you whine.

Megumi presses a kiss to your cheek, “just watch.”

You press your mouth closed as Megumi trails his fingers down your tummy, dragging two of his fingers down your glistening slit. You throw your head against his shoulder as he nudges your neglected clit, fingertips circling the little bundle of nerves agonisingly slowly.

“F-Faster, Gumi, please,” you moan, your hands squeezing Megumi’s strong thighs.

“Shh,” Megumi coos, “be patient, baby.”

Megumi slips his fingers down your slit, pressing his middle finger against your sopping hole. Your thighs instinctively spread apart further and Megumi slowly slips his finger inside you, his long finger dragging against your gummy walls.

You whine, hand gripping his wrist as he starts to curl his finger inside you, pressing against that spongy spot inside you, “m-more.”

Megumi chuckles at your desperation, pressing a second finger into you. You whine at the burning stretch, subconsciously grinding your hips down on his fingers, your ass unknowingly grinding on his hard-on in his boxers.

“Look at you,” Megumi mutters against your ear.

Your eyes flicker up to your reflection. Your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your baby hairs are stuck to your forehead and Megumi’s eyes are glued to your cunt, watching his thick fingers disappear inside you. You whine, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks them into you.

Megumi presses against the spongey spot inside you, the ball of his palm rubbing against your clit and making you fucking dizzy. You feel your tummy start to burn, your nails scraping against Megumi’s clothed thighs as your hips grind and roll against his hand.

“G-Gumi, m’gonna cum,” you whimper.

“S’okay, baby,” Megumi coos, “cum f’me.”

“N-No,” you force out, your hand wrapping around his strong wrist in an attempt to stop him from forcing an orgasm out of you.

“No?” Megumi slows his movements, the lewd squelching sounds in your room silencing as he gently pulls his fingers from your sopping pussy. “What’s wrong?”

You pant, whimpering as the burn in your tummy fades and you feel so fucking pent up. Megumi’s face is laced with concern as he turns you on your side in his lap. You give him a tired smile, “please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please,” you whine, “I need your cock, Gumi.”

Megumi grunts, “fuck, baby.”

“Please,” you beg, “please, I’ll be s’good.”

Megumi cups your face, pressing his lips hard against yours. Your swollen lips move against his, your hand tangling in his messy hair. Megumi pulls away from you slightly, pressing his arousal-soaked fingers against your tongue. You whine when you taste yourself on his fingers, your tummy jumping with excitement as you suck his fingers clean.

“Such a good girl,” Megumi praises, kissing your forehead.

Megumi forces you onto your back, your body bouncing against the soft mattress slightly. Megumi rests his thighs on either side of your hips, tugging your legs over his hips. You’ve never had your pussy this close to his cock and your mind is reeling with excitement.

Your shaky hands reach for the waistband of his pants but Megumi quickly forces your hands above your head, pinning your wrists together, “you said you’d behave.”

“Mm, you can’t blame me for being excited,” you whine pathetically.

Megumi only chuckles at how damn cute you are before he forces his pants down his hips, kicking them off across the room, leaving him in just his boxers. There’s a wet patch forming on his boxers and your mouth salivates at the idea of him finally fucking you with his big cock that you’ve had in your mouth many times before.

“S’big,” you compliment, wrists wriggling against his large hand still pinning them above your head.

“You sure about this?”

There’s a sudden intense seriousness in the air. You peer up at Megumi and he looks nervous, his teeth nipping at the inside of his bottom lip. He lets go of your wrists and you reach up to cup his face, forcing his steely eyes to meet yours, “Megumi Fushiguro,” you call softly.

“Mm?”

“I love you,” you sigh. “There’s no one I want more to take my virginity than you.”

Megumi lets out a shaky breath, “...you sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” you grin.

“Because I really want you to be mine.”

“I’m already yours, Megumi.”

Megumi lets out a huff of a laugh, leaning down to pepper kisses across your forehead and down your nose to your lips, forcing a soft giggle from your chest.

Megumi reaches down slowly, pulling his boxers down his hips until his cock springs free, the angry red tip leaking with precum. You peer down at his pretty cock, eyeing the vein you trace with your tongue every time you suck him off, noting how heavy it is as it struggles to hold itself up.

Megumi sighs, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and pumping a few times, his eyes never leaving yours. You cup his face, forcing him to kiss you one more time before he sits up, scooting his hips closer to yours.

He eyes you one more time, looking for any sign of regret or hesitation. You don’t offer any, eyes wide and almost sparkling with anticipation. Megumi holds his cock and lets it slap against your tummy, the tip almost reaching your belly button.

Your brows furrow and you wonder what he’s doing. Then it sort of dawns on you.

He’s sizing you up.

“M’gonna be right here,” Megumi presses the tip of his finger to the spot just below your belly button. His eyes meet yours and all you can do is meekly nod, your heart slamming against your chest. You knew Megumi was big but now that he’s fucking sizing you up and showing you where he’s gonna be inside you, you’re starting to get a little nervous.

But fuck you want him inside you.

You buck your hips up and Megumi chuckles, “s’eager.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” you grumble playfully. Megumi smiles, scooting your hips up and leaning over to quickly kiss your forehead one more time.

“You tell me if it gets too much,” Megumi says seriously. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You smile, “you won’t hurt me.”

Megumi nods slowly before gently gripping the head of his cock, rubbing the precum-covered tip against your swollen clit. Your hands grip the sheets and you bite your lip to keep the whines at bay. Megumi breathes heavily as he dips his tip down to your soaked hole, your arousal slipping out of you and dripping down your ass.

“Look at me,” Megumi orders softly.

You open your eyes, not realising you’d pressed them closed.

“Please,” Megumi sighs, “I wanna watch your face when I put it in.”

God, this fucking guy is gonna be the death of you.

He presses the tip into your cunt, groaning softly at your tightness as your pussy swallows his tip eagerly. Your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate his size. He presses into you slowly, letting your tight cunt stretch around him to get used to his size.

“G-Gumi–” you whine out.

“Y-You okay, baby? What’s wrong?” Megumi stills his movements.

You pant slightly, chest heaving, “feels s’good.”

Megumi sighs a little in relief, hand coming up to cup your jaw as he presses his thick cock into you. He’s over halfway when you let out another whimper, your thighs shaking slightly with the stretch.

“Still okay?”

“Mhm, almost in?” you ask.

“Just over halfway.”

“Halfway?!” you force out.

Megumi chuckles before pressing his fingertip to the space between your pretty pussy lips and your belly button. “M’about here.”

“Holy fuck,” you pant. “So fucking big.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he chuckles. “It’ll go straight to my head,” he jokes.

“Mm, s’true.”

Megumi laces his fingers with yours on the sheets, his steely blue eyes staying glued to your face as he pushes the rest of the way in, your soaked pussy sucking him in. Once he finally bottoms out, you let out a shaky sigh at the fullness.

“F-Feel okay?” Megumi’s voice shakes, feeling like he’s gonna cum like a damn teenager with how tight you are around him.

“Mm,” you screw your eyes shut, “you can m-move.”

“You sure?”

“Uh huh,” you nod slowly.

Megumi leans down, lifting your arms and forcing them to wrap around his neck. He plants a kiss to your lips before pulling out– you whine– then he pushes himself back in. Your arms wrap around his neck, forcing Megumi’s head to rest against your shoulder as he pulls almost alllll the way out before plunging back into your tight heat.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Megumi groans, his hips snapping against yours as you hook your ankles together behind him, your thighs squeezing his waist. “S’good, princess.”

You moan and whine against his neck, feeling like he’s rearranging your fucking guts with how big his cock is and how hard he’s fucking you. It almost seems like Megumi needed this more than you with how his hips snap hungrily against yours.

You tip your head back, mouth falling open as he forces moan after moan from your pretty swollen lips. Megumi reaches a hand down between your bodies, rubbing his thumb over your neglected clit, forcing you closer and closer to orgasm.

His cock drags against your gummy walls, slick pooling around the base of his cock and soaking the sheets below as your nails drag against Megumi’s strong back, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

Megumi hisses at the feeling, groaning into your hair as he snaps his hips into yours a little faster, thumb still rubbing your clit, your room is filled with lewd squelching sounds, your pussy so wet and tight around him.

You feel the white-hot pleasure of your orgasm approaching, your belly burning as you arch your back off the bed, letting go of Megumi’s shoulders to grip the sheets.

Megumi suddenly sits up on his knees, lifting your hips in his strong hands, creating a new angle that makes you scream out in pleasure. His tip fucks against your cervix, surely leaving a bruise. You feel him in your tummy, his sheer size forming a bulge in your tummy.

“F-Fuck, look at you,” Megumi groans, eyeing the bulge in your tummy.

You toss your head from side to side, your toes curling as Megumi reaches for your hand, forcing you to press down on the bulge in your tummy, his hand over yours.

Then you just cum. There’s no warning as you gush around him, your vision going stark white as you spray your orgasm across Megumi’s pelvis, his thighs, your own thighs and all over the sheets.

“Fuck, did you just squirt?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. You’re mumbling incoherent noises as Megumi fucks you through your high, his hips snapping harder and harder against yours as he chases his own orgasm. You’re both covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Megumi feels his orgasm fast approaching.

He pulls out of you with a quiet pop, quickly jerking himself off, your arousal making his cock slippery as he cums across your tummy. Hot ropes of cum paint your abdomen and tummy, Megumi panting as he squeezes the base of his cock.

“Mm, you’re fucking perfect, sweet girl,” Megumi praises, panting as he comes down from his high.

“Mm, Gumi,” you whine, voice quiet.

Megumi gently lowers you onto the bed, crawling up your body to cup your face, “are you okay? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “mm-mm, felt s’good.”

Megumi sighs with relief, “we gotta get you up, you have to pee and I gotta clean up–” he peers down at the utter mess you’ve made of the sheets, “–somehow.”

“Sleepover?” You beam.

Megumi chuckles, “sleepover.”

Megumi carries you to the bathroom, running you a warm bath. The two of you share a bath together, Megumi gently washing you hair for you while you make him a bubble crown. You’re obviously sore with how you limp down the hallway to Megumi’s room, clutching your pillow under your arm.

You rest your head against Megumi’s chest, his fingers gently smoothing over your wet hair and tracing down your bare arm.

“Any regrets?” He asks curiously.

“Mm, no,” you reply with a smile. “You made me squirt my first time having sex… I think you have to marry me,” you giggle.

Megumi chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “mm, maybe one day.”

You giggle, sitting up to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” Megumi pauses, “what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” Megumi points to the bored-looking penguin plush he got you. It’s pressed to your chest right between your boobs.

“Oh, you mean your son?”

“Y/N,” he groans. “Get that thing out.”

“I will not!”

“I’ll throw it out the window while you’re sleeping.”

You gasp, “don’t do that to your son!”

“It’s not my son!”

author's note: HEHEHEHEHEHEH

taglist: @starpachinko @2ukika @sukunabish @somethinglikero @wannabewolf @milliex01x @princessa143 @hrithi11 @katsukita69 @slayzzz @arcanefeelings @shirabu-k @izzzzzzig @zah2890 @evergumi @aerareads @flashilyquinn @raedollsstuff @happylildeath @anormieee @l1v1ngzomb1e @kimkimoruo @sunnyf4lls @saekolust @kalulakunundrum @xastoriaaurax @feliaeae @sleepyxzn @raya4643 @kaidostwin

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nicholasgoodgirl · 7 months ago

Text

that was mean- nicholas

summary: nicholas was having a bad week and gave you the silent treatment.

warning: argument, crying, happy ending

a/n: i couldn't stop thinking abt this no joke. so ofc i had to write it out

from late at night till he left early this morning for work nicholas has been either quiet rude or both.

we haven't spoken to eachother or not even silents acts of love. nothing.

he cut his alarm clock off and i tried to give him a hug before he got out the bed and he pushed me off of him "not right now" he grumbled and got out of bed

when he left for work i said 'bye' to maybe break the silence shared between us, but i got no response. it was starting to get lonely. i missed my bestfriend that was also my boyfriend

i had nobody to mess with or someone to talk to about my day.

to stop these lingering thoughts i go back to bed to maybe get my mind off of things.

i wake up around 8 am which was later than the time i usally woke up around, but today was sorta a lazy day.

it was gloomy not much sun was shining, it rained a little here and there. it was more of a slow day for me so the extra rest was very much needed

i text my boyfriend forgetting about the whole silent treatment ordeal.

me: how's your day going so far?? :)

and to no suprise i was left on delivered and soon left on seen. i messaged him periodically throught the day; hoping that maybe he would reply

it was almost time for dinner which normally nicholas cooks cause he's just better at it, but i didn't know when he was coming home or if he would even do it, so i look up some quick easy recipes and nothing struck my fancy but the pizza recipe. cause how hard could it really be?

i put a packet of yeast into my bowl along with some flour, water, oil, and salt. i let that sit for 30 minutes then im back to cooking again.

spreading flour onto the counter and placing the dough onto it; kneading it into a circle shape. this was harder than i thought

i look around for the marinara sauce and i put it into a different bowl and add a few light seasonings.

i paste that onto the dough, then i sprinkle some alot of cheese onto the pizza and my additional toppings bell peppers, spinach, and mushrooms.

i was so proud of myself especially sense i wasnt the cook, out of me and nicholas. i was really excited for him to try what i made but again i highly doubt he would even eat the food.

i put the pizza away into the oven completely forgetting to set a timer and put on a movie while i wait.

a smell of burning was the first thing that woke me up. "shit shit shit" i repeat totally freaking out remembering i left the pizza in the oven.

i get a rag and ineffectivley wave smoke out the air. when i open the oven it smelled horrible. i was coughing from all the smoke that had entered my lungs.

i take the burning pizza out and throw it into the sink, and hose it down with the water.

thats when i hear the front door open and mentally face palm. "what's that smell?" he asks "i kinda burnt a pizza that i tried to make"

"of course you did" he mutters sounding unimpressed. "and the fuck you mean 'kinda' you obviously did burn a damn pizza" he gestures to the chunk of charcoal burnt pizza

"it's not like i did it on purposes or something if thats what you think" my tone sounding a bit confronting.

"It's smells fucking horrible so open a damn window first off" he took a step closer raising his voice.

"you don't pay for shit so i don't understand why you almost had this place in flames secondly. then you also wanna blow up my phone while im working for crying out loud what do you want from me!" he yelled directly in my face

and im sure he knows by now i hate being yelled at. it's something my parents did and overall doesn't solve anything

i just take it, i didn't wanna fight so i go over to the nearest window and crack it open so the smoke clears.

my eyes watered from all the harsh words he could dish out but not the equal amount of attention "well.. you are- when i was.. ugh s'not my fault" i couldn't get a full sentence out. i felt so belittled in this moment

"im going to bed i don't have time for your stupid ass shit" those words hurt more than he thinks.

he had the most patience for me, always making time for us and now he doesnt.

"that's so mean.. you're being so mean" i wipe some tears that had fallen. i turned away from him silently crying.

the peices of my hair stuck to my tear-soaked cheeks. "wait- I'm sorry please don't cry" nicholas' voice was filled with regret.

i lazily push him away from me but he doesn't budge. his arms wrap around me bringing me into his familiar embrace. "I'm so sorry for being an asshole. I've been having a long shitty week and i know thats not an excuse so you don't even have to forgive me."

"you're everything to me. i swear i didn't mean it." he adds

the unforgettable cruel words he'd said to me earlier shoved ontop of his sweet loving words made me cry more.

i let him hold my trembling body as sobs tore through my chest, each inhale was ragged and uneven.

my hands clutched the material of his shirt "im so sorry sweetheart i never wanna make you cry" he explains in such a low voice, giving my hair strokes in attempt to calm me.

my face still burried into his neck tears now starting to dry away, and my breathing starting to even out. he carried me over to the couch and placed me in his lap

i was drained from all the crying, the tense feeling in my body beginning to melt away when i really started to feel nicholas' touch. my eyes drooped again this time staying shut for longer.

i was too tired to resist the sleep that had tooken over. and being cradled in his arms didn't help.

"I'll order pizza for the both of us alright?" he took me off of his lap and placed me on our couch. then lays one of our throw blankets ontop of me. "can we talk in the mornin'?" is the last thing i remember asking before dozing off.

a/n: can yall tell idk how to make pizza

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez fluff

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tarotbyjam24 · 1 month ago

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Pick a card : Lemme describe your bf\gf\fs\lover\crush :

Pile 1 pile 2

pile 3 pile 4

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗 Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️ Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

Masterlist \ pick a piles feedbacks piggy bank

Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

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Pile 1

funny without trying

doesn't hide you from their friends

sometimes boastful

extremely popular

knows everything about you

extremely smart

sometimes sassy

loves to look after you

usually hungry

sometimes rude without knowing it

loves listening to rap

never at home

doesn't realise they're very hardworking

sometimes feels underrated

remembers everything about you

sometimes pessimistic

get your personalised readings

Pile 2

18+ read at your own consent

Reckless

very indecisive

always eating

a bit of a fattie :D

party boy

gives the best advice

yolo mindset

best outfit/music taste

Doesn't care what other think

JEALOUS AF

Loud af

Dom

"ooh, sexy"

"Babe"

"How do you feel?"

*SPANKS*

Horny 24/7

Your friends like his look but hates his personality

"Send Nu*es"

"Nice Ass"

BUYS EXPENSIVE SHITS TO EXPRESS HIS LOVE OR APOLOGIZE

LOYAL BUT HARDLY SAY NO FOR A GOOD ASS

huge book reader

obsessed with one girl

quiet but loud

comfort > style

with the right people

best secret keeper

get your personalised readings

Pile 3

ALWAYS looking at you

acts goofier around you

warm hugs

sends "this reminded me of you" texts

remembers every single word you've ever said

princess gf - bf who does anything to see her happy "baby"

"that's cute"

"hmmm?"

falling asleep on call

You've good taste in music

gm and gn texts

holds hands with you

"i can't wait for our future together"

big hands

"doll"

"go ahead... what "speak up. "were you saying?"

"don't be shy"

-grabs inner thigh-

holds your chin up w/Index finger and rubs lower lip w/thumb while making eye contact

"when they smirk and lick their lips"

"eye contact"

madly needs your attention

always ready to fight for you

impulsive and stubborn

seems terrifying but he's a warm bean

"duuude"

doesn't like horror movies

gives and wants kissies all the time

moms love him

high pitched scream

always fails when he tries to intimidate you

does everything to make you feel safe

"yooo"

enjoys causing chaos

pretty good at video game

feels a lil insecure sometimes

has some chad energy

can be hella sassy

afraid of being put aside

get your personalised readings

Pile 4

super clingy

wants forehead kisses

loves to sit on ur lap

spoiled brat

cuddles

short

"call me your angel, anon!"

caring & sweet

veryyy emotional

always sleepy

"yes please"

will cry if yelled at

sub

"i love you, anon :("

apologizes 24/7

tall straight ADHD bf who loves games - 5'3 mentally ill gf who loves astrology

actually a huge nerd

protective af

secretly gay

super duper nice

very pretty eyes

insecure

music

lowkey clingy

og sk8r boy

loves 2 cuddle

likes plants a lot

old soul

probably the coolest person u will ever meet

loves cartoons

handsome af but also pretty af

baggy clothes

get your personalised readings

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰 I'd love to hear which pile you chose

Loads of love , jam🩷

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dreamsteddie · 5 months ago

Text

There is an AITA out there that I can't find but it's been haunting me for weeks with visions of semi-angsty Steddie that I need to release onto the world. (If anyone happens to know what I'm talking about hit me up and I'll link it)

Edit: @jazzathebunny found the original AITA from Reddit linked Here for anyone who wants to read it. I'm definitely not doing exactly the same premise but this was my jumping off point 😊

Part Two! ------

Modern AU, Eddie and the guys are a moderately successful local band in the Chicago area playing gigs on the weekends and doing small tours whenever they all have the time. Gareth and Jeff are both in college while Eddie and Freak are both working part-time at a game store. Eddie managed to lock down that assistant manager position that lets him work 30 hours a week with weekends off for gigs. All in all, it's a pretty sweet deal and they can't complain.

Eddie had sworn off dating after a small handful of disastrous relationship attempts in their first year in the city. He dismisses any advances from people who attend their shows and tries not to think about how much he wants to make a genuine connection with someone and have something real. He's been burned one too many times to try and make something with someone he met in a bar or at work.

He knows the guys talk about it behind his back sometimes, he catches Jeff and Gareth fervently whispering to each other and stopping when they catch him entering the room one time too many to not suspect they're talking about him and he can't think of anything else going on in his life that they would feel the need to whisper about.

The fervent conversations take a slight uptick one day and about a week and a half after they do, Gareth hits him up and tells him he wants to set Eddie up with a guy from one of his classes. At first, Eddie is skeptical and cites all the reasons why he doesn't want to try with anyone right now but eventually, Jeff jumps in to plea the case and Freak jumps in on top of that and under the combined weight of his best friends he agrees to meet up with this Steve guy.

The guys set up the whole thing and before Eddie knows it it's Saturday night and he's wearing his best black jeans and a gray button-down, untucked, to go on an honest to God blind date like his life is some low-budget romcom.

Steve is not at all what Eddie thought he would be. Not the kind of guy he thought his friends would pick out for him given they know he usually goes for other alternatives like himself. Steve, who is shyly waving him over and getting out of his seat to great him, is the very epitome of prep. Well-fitted polo, light blue chinos, and what Eddie assumes this guy thinks are casual loafers. He's handsome to be sure, a 12/10 at least with perfect hair and defined biceps but Eddie is fairly sure he's being punked.

But, Eddie doesn't want to be rude so he goes to meet Steve at the table, confirming just in case that he's actually here to meet with a guy named Eddie. Steve gives him a bit of a confused look, saying that Gareth showed him a couple pictures of Eddie before he agreed to meet and figured he'd done the same for Eddie off Steve's Instagram. Gareth had, in fact, not done anything of the sort but they both dismiss it and get on with their date.

In all honesty, Eddie is expecting it to be a complete wash, but it turns out that even if Steve is not at all what Eddie would have previously said what his type, Steve is damn near perfect. He's funny, kind, a little bitchy, and even though he proves himself to be every bit the sports nerd he looks like he doesn't turn his nose up at Eddie's own much more classically nerdy interests. By the end of the date, Eddie has a new type and that type is Steve Harrington. He's quick to lock down a second date for the next weekend which Steve happily agrees to. They exchange numbers and Steve gives Eddie a chaste kiss on the cheek that has him floating all the way home.

Steve texted him that next morning letting him now he had a great time and is really looking forward to their next date and Eddie thinks this might be the start of something big for him. When he gets to practice he's clearly still floating on cloud nine and in his own little world designing their marriage invitations and matching tombstones so he doesn't notice the sly grins on his bandmates' faces.

"So...how'd it go last night? Everything you dreamed it would be?" Gareth asks, a strange glint in his eyes that Eddie doesn't clock.

Eddie goes on and on about how nice Steve was and how he might be The One, thanking Gareth profusely. Freak looks pleased for him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder in congratulations but when Eddie finally tunes back into the real world he's greeted by Gareth's livid expression and Jeff's overly concerned one.

He asks the guys what the fuck is up and it turns out that Gareth and Jeff set this whole thing up as a prank of sorts. Eddie was never supposed to hit it off with Steve who Gareth selected specifically because he's a "totally brain-dead prep" and as far away as someone could get from Eddie's previous relationships. He was supposed to be someone Eddie could go on a date with and not form a connection with without getting completely burned at the end like all his previous relationships in the hopes of getting him out of his slump.

Jeff was in on it as well. He wanted to get Eddie back out there, so when Gareth presented the plan he sat in on a couple of Gareth's general credit business class sessions to help pick the guy out.

After Jeff and Gareth finish explaining he does a complete 180 and just...leaves. In any other situation, he would be raging and verbally tearing his friends a new asshole but instead, he completely disengages and walks out the garage door, ignoring his friends' shouts to come back.

He goes back home, socked and hurt and so very confused about how the hell he found himself in this position when his phone lights up.

New Message: Steve H.

Fuck.

-------

Part two coming soon??? Maybe???? We'll see.

#is this something?#idk #It's so clear in my head but it hasn't been flowing correctly #so here's this instead #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #corroded coffic #eddie munson #stranger things #dreamer speaks

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cursedcola · 3 months ago

Text

Prompt: “I Lived Bitch” <- You send them a text message of an an image. Said image is a headshot of you with bandages around your head, a couple of bruises on your face, and the staple cheeky peace sign to tie it all together. Context Varies. Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Overblot Homies Format: TEXT.IMG + Bullets.

Parts: (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil) (Here) , (Vil, Idia, Malleus) Masterlist: Link A/N: Saw some of these floating around and thought the text format would be good for some mixed scenarios <3. Sorry they’re not all in one. Tumblr has a picture limit. Edit: HUZZAH I have discovered a way to put more images. Less parts hehe.

A gradual spiral. Riddle isn’t one to dwell until order is disrupted. He initially thinks you’re off causing mischief with Ace and Deuce - already preparing for whatever comes.

When they arrive on their own, knowing nothing about you? He’s uncomfortable. When Grim struts in on his own, he’s concerned. When Crewel stops him saying that you missed half your classes and didn’t have any absentee excuse? He’s panicking.

The controlled type of panic where it feels like that first month of Sophomore year all over again. Grim’s already earned a collar. How could he not know where his prefect is? The Headmaster is irresponsible surely, but you were a good student. Riddle wouldn’t partner with someone unable to uphold their basic responsibilities.

Riddle was one hour short of marching to Crowley’s office, because perhaps it was STYX scenario again and he wasn’t having a repetition.

You finally respond when he’s desperately trying to study - he wasn’t going to sacrifice his schedule.

Which gets forgotten regardless. He leaves the books abandoned (not that he could get past one page without drifting) and speed walks to the clinic. That anxious red poking out from his collar, heels smacking against marble. It’s rare for him to ever walk with his head in a screen - such a thing is rude, but his eyes are glued as he turns each corner.

He’s not happy you chose to downplay the situation. Considering his history with medicinal magic, Riddle’s already bombarding the nurse for your medical report once he enters. Then he sits silently at your bedside, flipping through the clipped papers. The occasional scoff turns to a tick in his jaw when reading the incident report.

Cave in of the Ramshackle stairwell? Looks like he’s having a word with the Headmaster after all.

Unlike Riddle, there’s an instant agitation with this one. Call it the princely charm of wanting instant responses.

Also. You don’t ignore him for silly reasons. When you say that you’re meeting him somewhere, you do. Same for Leona. He might gripe but he always shows up.

So he doesn’t need to wait. There’s already a nagging feeling in his stomach after the first twenty minutes pass.

He’s logical. Knows all your spots. Knows your schedule and would honestly even text Azul (if you’re working that day). Pain in the ass, but he’ll do it.

So first instinct is to do a play-by-play of the past week in his head. Look for any reason you might be pissed or too ‘busy’ to hold your plans. When he comes up empty, he’ll strut up to the little frosh table. Stir some anxiety with a glare or whatever, which gets serious when no one has any idea where you’re at. Not even the little weasel.

Any longer and he might’ve gone to Rook. We all know how Leona feels about Rook, but he’s the best when it comes to tabbing someone.

Your text comes during Spelldrive practice. He’s standing on his broom, looking over the field, arms crossed and agitated with the TWST equivalent of a bluetooth headset in his ear.

Dips out so fast. 0mph to roughly 50 after waving Ruggie to finish without him. Flies right out the practice court, overhead main campus, and outside the infirmary. Not in the mood to deal with the nurse or any of that crap. Comes in through the window.

Pissed. Pissed he didn’t think to check here, and pissed he should’ve had to. Did you learn nothing from the Spelldrive tournament? Broomwork isn’t easy, and not meant for two people unless someone with strong magic can support it.

Wants to know which idiot let you fall, but he’s been on edge all day. He can grill it out of you later. Scoot over and make room, he’s owed his mid-day nap. No. He’s not sleeping in a free bed. The scent of antibacterial spray is shanking his nose, so he needs yours to mask it.

In truth he is NOT okay. He’s very pissed and doesn’t sleep a wink. How could he? Pulls the curtain around your bed and flops over you with his tail curled around your leg. Hurts? Tough luck. Don’t pull a stunt like that ever again.

Azul is tweaking out - just so you know. First out of panic and then for the little sweettalk - even if he asked for it

Already used to you getting knocked over the head - Floyd's a bit too rough for his liking when swinging ya around, but what can he do?

Amidst packing up his belongings in a rush, the VIP lounge's empty so he can skidadle along like he normally would when alone. The moment the picture loads, he's honestly glad you texted vs. video call since it's easier to feign that cocky attitude of his via message.

Despite sassing you about the twins - he's a bit miffed you'd think for a moment he isn't coming himself. If anything to get the story from word-of-mouth vs. whatever Jade's going to relay.

Speaking of, oh look - one of the lounge couches is already set up to accommodate one injured prefect. A light meal and some tea too. Floyd's itching for a squeeze, but the most you get is a rough toss on the cushion before Azul's got him in one of those rare gridlocks where Floyd backs down. Did you think he couldn't? Octopi are freaking strong.

Rather than be outwardly miffed, he's already regained his composure during his walk to the infirmary.

So...you fell while trying to get an overhead shot of campus for the newspaper? And you were just...given access? To one of the high towers? You. A student without a broom or ability to cast a safeguard charm.

....Hmm. Someone gave you access? Curious. Only Professors are allowed to hand out access passes. Sounds a bit 'fishy' but he's satisfied. Looks like Floyd might get to play after all.

....oh he's not mad, he's just disappointed (ouch)

He's too busy to sit and worry over where you're at. Jamil trust (ed) that as the only other mildly-sane person at this school, you'd make educated decisions

Okay. That's a lie. You're not sane, but he accepted as much when he begrudgingly fell for said insanity...damn hearts and their lack of logic

Honestly? He was shocked you put him as an emergency contact. Flattered even. Until the simmering frustration began to boil - because of course you went of campus. Of course you took the trolly down to the Isle shops, and of course you got hit by a car trying to stop Grim from running across the street (he saw a sushi shop and bolted).

Of course Jamil can't just go on his own. He has to finish his tasks, get permission, and using the carpet means telling Kalim. Which will then lead to him getting worked up and lo behold it is an event now.

At least using the Al Asim name gets the permission granted without a fuss...Jamil just wants to see that you're okay in person for himself...and also lay into you for being reckless. No holding back.

Hah. Haha. -_-

Don't try getting out of this by acting cute with the little 'i love you' and grabby hands once he gets there. He's not that soft-hearted...yet. Jamil has his principles.

Kalim might jump off and barrel in past medical professionals without thinking twice. Jamil will do his casual glance-over, speak with the nurses, and pull up a chair once he realizes you won't be let go until morning. Great. Now it's just you three stuck in a small hospital room (Kalim got ya booted up to a private stay) as some strange impromptu sleepover.

Just...give him a bit. Wait for Kalim to pass out on the spare cot and then he'll stop looking so emotionally repressed. Believe it or not, he'd trade places with you in a heartbeat if he could.

Not because he feels obligated, but because getting the 'hey, your partner is off in a clinic miles away' call during his normal schedule was a heart attack Jamil wasn't prepped for.

He thought the worst news could be that you'd gone home without saying anything. Somehow? This was nearly on par. 90% on par.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #cola writes #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

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Deku - Midoriya Izuku

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere

gn reader

Thinking about being childhood friends with Izuku, who’s always had a bit of a crush on you.

You’ve always known, but you’ve never humored it. He’s your friend – anything else would just be awkward. If you had to put it in any other term, you’d say he felt more like a little brother.

You wish he’d allowed the two of you to grow apart – as normal people do.

There wasn’t really any reason for the two of you to stay friends after middle school. His quirk suddenly manifested, and he got into UA – became a pro-hero – and then the symbol of peace. And you were still… kind of just doing your thing – studying, working, struggling to pay rent – struggling to keep a date…

The two of you never had much in common anyway, and you never really knew what to talk about with him anymore – only knowing to ask him how his mother was. After all, you grew out of your otaku phase a long while ago – and otherwise, you felt out-educated in any and every conversation the two of you had with each other. You swear talking to him makes you feel like a toddler learning your first words – it’s humiliating, and you don’t understand how any of it’s remotely stimulating for him, either.

Still, he’ll text you when he has the time, asking if you’d like to meet up at a café – talk, catch up – and you, not wanting to be rude, always accept.

You’d gone wide-eyed the first time you’d met him after middle school. Jeez Louise – he’d had to have grown twice his size – jacked and scarred to no end. It only got worse over the years. Now, adults – he must be twice your size. Bigger even.

You blush now when he flirts with you. But not so much for the reasons he wants.

Honestly, it’s more uncomfortable than it’s flattering. It was Izuku, after all – Deku – no matter how little he resembled the crybaby from your childhood – he’d always be that same nerdy loser friend who’d chased after you ever since you first met.

He might have grown up, but his crush on you hadn’t.

His doe-eyed look of longing and adoration had always made you feel a little awkward – a little sorry for him. And now that he’s become a man, it’s only become even more… desperate… a little pathetic, actually…

Bedroom eyes that make you laugh nervously, pretending to brush it off as a joke but really wishing he’d just give it a rest already. Surely, as a pro-hero and public figure, he could get a date? One of the many screaming fans that pine for him everywhere he drags that awful golden cape he has on his shoulders. And if not any of them, then maybe a model. A movie star even.

Why is he so hung up on you?

The funny thing is, you’d tried vying him of his crush by telling him about hook-up after hook-up, boyfriend after boyfriend – treating him like a girlfriend you could gossip with.

But it’s almost like he takes it as a challenge – talking and helping you through your relationships, giving his input and advice – just like a real friend would… only… always implementing something… something condescending, something suggestive, something saying you ought to be with him instead – he’d never treat you like that, he’d never do you wrong, you’d be taking good care of with him.

You’d made the mistake of saying you were struggling with a class at university – just to make conversation – just to talk about something trivial. But of course, he’d seen it as an opportunity – quick to offer his help, saying he’d taken that class as an extracurricular – just for a bit of fun, he’d said, light reading material he’d done on the side of his internship.

You don’t know why it’s so hard to tell him no.

Suppose it’s the possibility of being wrong – the guilt of thinking he has impure intentions when he’s supposedly the purest person in the world.

But you should have trusted your instincts.

“Please, Izuku-” You’d immediately restored to begging. Who wouldn’t? He’s a two-meter-tall monster of a man – jacked with muscles fatter than a bear.

Your phone’s been missing since you came back from the bathroom – your lips wet with his unwanted kisses – your neck sore from having his fist wrapped around it when you tried stopping him.

You’d only managed to break free after biting – blood salty in your mouth. You nearly vomited, choking on a mix of bile and fear.

Fuck – your legs are so weak, you might just buckle from the dread alone – feeling like a bunny snagged on fox teeth.

“You used to take me when we’d play wrestle... you remember?”

The comment is pulled out of nowhere.

He stalks you, a fond look on his face as though the two of you were reminiscing good old times. As though his eyes weren’t a nocturnal green like foxfire on the fen. As though he wasn’t radiating black whip – ready to snare you.

“Think you can take me now?”

You had your hands raised apprehensively – but the hopelessness took its toll and made your entire body shake on the spot.

Your only hope was to talk him out of it. If only you could think past the fear and string a sentence together that wasn’t along the lines of “Please-”

But something about that look on his face told you he wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. Not manic, not like a person who’d finally snapped – but controlled – resolute – and playful even. Nothing like you’d ever seen. Nothing you could understand.

“What’s wrong, hm?” He smiles, head tipped in that charming way that used to make you want to pinch his cheek. Now it just makes you sick to look at – swallowing thickly as you tack another step back away from it. “I’ll go easy – so don’t worry… I know it's not exactly a fair fight anymore…”

Your better judgment failed you – fight-or-flight kicked in, and you made a break for it.

Budging into the couch on your way, it’s a messy scramble for the door – but you manage. Feeling feverish with dread and pumped full of adrenaline, you brush the cold handle with just your fingertips before something wraps around your midriff in a snug grip – pulling you back into the living room.

You’re lifted from the ground, kicking – now screaming – flailing in the air before you’re flipped on your back against the couch.

“Don’t be like that~” He murmurs. “Always so wishy-washy~” Voice in a low purr that makes you feel like coughing up your heart – squirming beneath him and his heavy hands as they paw your thighs – manhandling you like nothing you’d ever imagine him to do.

Raking his fingers through the dough before squeezing your ass greedily – kneading his fat crotch against the thin fabric protecting your sex.

“Complaining about all your weak-dicked boyfriends as if begging me to come fuck you myself – yet such a flighty little slut when it comes down to it.” He sneers, and blackwhip tightens some around your limbs. “Let me help you out.”

One hand tugs your underwear until it rips, whilst the other hand pulls up to grab your face – squeezing your cheeks to keep you still when forcing his kisses on you.

“After all… what are friends for?”

♡ DEKU - MIDORIYA IZUKU masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

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ekybrini · 19 days ago

Text

Alienated | Will Smith

request: Hii can I please request a fic with Will Smith? Maybe with a plus size / curvy reader? Like a hurt / comfort fic with lots of angst then lots of fluff? Thank you!

— ⟡ summary | After overhearing hurtful comments you start pulls away from Will, feeling insecure. Will’s confused by your silence, not knowing what went wrong, while you struggles with your feelings and the doubts creeping in.

— ⟡ warnings | rude comment relating to ones body figure (not said but implied)

— ⟡ word count | 3.6k

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im sorry to the person who requested this almost a month ago!! after spring break some of my teachers decided that some students don't have a life outside of school and gave us possibly twice the work we got 1st semester. also these next to months are going to be BUSY with my ap classes and ap test that are coming up!! so if anyone request something I won't be able to get to write it soon, but I will when I have time!!! also my inbox is glitching which isn't allowing me to see everyones request until a week later so it may take a while for me to see it.

The music thrums softly through the upscale restaurant, glasses clinking, conversation flowing easily between players, staff, and their plus ones. It’s supposed to be a celebration, a night out with the team, no pressure, just good food and laughter.

You’re here with Will, of course, lingering at the edge of the room while he’s caught up in conversation with a few teammates. He looks so at ease, laughing, effortlessly slotting himself into the dynamic of a team that has quickly become his second family. You’re happy for him, proud, even.

But the longer you stand there, the more out of place you feel.

You’re scrolling through your phone, interested in whatever mindless feed is in front of you, when the words drift over from somewhere nearby. Soft enough that they probably think no one is listening but loud enough to cut right through you.

"I mean, Wills is an NHL player now. You’d think he’d be with someone, y’know…"

"Yeah, like, I’m just saying, he could have anyone he wants. And he’s with her?"

A laugh. One of them laughs.

Your fingers tighten around your phone.

You don’t recognize the voices. That almost makes it worse faceless, nameless strangers who don’t know you, don’t know Will, don’t know anything about your relationship. And yet, their words still sting.

You force yourself to breathe, staring down at the screen like you didn’t just hear every syllable. It doesn’t matter. Who cares what they think? But the words cling to you, wrapping around your ribs, constricting until your chest feels tight.

You knew people might think this way. You’re not the type of girl they expect an NHL player to be with. You don’t fit into that glossy, effortless mold the one that looks good in Instagram posts and fits neatly into the public eye.

But Will doesn’t care about things like that. Right?

You chance a glance across the room. He’s still laughing with his teammates, unaware, completely unbothered. He hasn’t looked for you in a while. Hasn’t checked in.

The thought slithers in before you can stop it. Has he ever thought the same thing?

The noise of the restaurant suddenly feels overwhelming, pressing in on you from all sides. You need air.

Your hands shake as you fire off a quick text to Will. “Hey, not feeling great. Heading home. Love you.”

You don’t wait for a response. You slip out quietly, out of sight before anyone can stop you.

The night air is sharp against your skin as you step out of the restaurant, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that will keep the words from sinking in any deeper. You walk quickly, head down, weaving through the crowded streets, desperate to get away.

You don’t even realize how fast you're walking until you reach your car, hands fumbling with the keys. Your breath stutters as you slide into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you. Silence. Blessed, suffocating silence.

And then it all crashes down.

Your fingers dig into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you try to keep yourself together. But the words keep playing in your head, over and over, like a song you can't turn off. He could have anyone he wants. And he’s with her?

You swallow hard. It’s stupid to be this upset. It’s so stupid. They don’t know you. They don’t know him.

But still.

Your mind drifts back to every little moment that suddenly feels like proof that they’re right. Hasn’t it been months since Will posted a picture of you? At the start of the season, he’d proudly introduced you to everyone, arms slung around you, never caring who was watching. But lately, it’s different. He never hides you, but he doesn’t show you off either. He talks about hockey, the team, his new life in the NHL, but when it comes to you it’s quieter.

Your stomach churns as you unlock your phone. No text back yet. You check your notifications again, just to be sure. Nothing.

He’s busy. You tell yourself that, over and over. He’s with the team. He’ll probably see your message soon and call.

Except, part of you wonders if he even noticed you were gone.

The drive home is a blur. You don’t remember changing lanes, don’t remember stopping at red lights. It’s all muscle memory, your body moving on autopilot while your mind replays the night in excruciating detail.

Every moment twists inside you like a knife. The way those voices had laughed, casual and cruel. The way you’d felt smaller, invisible, like you didn’t belong there. The way Will hadn’t noticed you leaving.

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Stop it. Stop overthinking. He loves you. You know that.

But doubt lingers, coiled in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

By the time you pull into your driveway your hands are trembling. You cut the engine staring blankly at the dashboard, willing yourself to get out. For a long moment you just sit there, the quiet pressing in on you the weight of the night sinking deeper into your bones.

Your phone buzzes.

Your heart jumps as you glance at the screen. A message from Will.

“Hey, you okay? Just saw your text. Sorry I didn’t notice earlier.”

You swallow, something thick and heavy settling in your throat.

Sorry I didn’t notice earlier.

It shouldn’t hurt. He’s busy. He’s out with the team. Of course, he didn’t notice right away.

But all it does is confirm the awful thought you haven’t been able to shake.

He hadn’t noticed.

Not when you left the restaurant. Not when you didn’t send a follow up text. Not when you weren’t by his side for the rest of the night.

And if he didn’t notice that, how long before he stops noticing you?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard hesitating. The urge to just type yeah I’m fine is strong. To pretend everything is normal. To bury this feeling before it can spill over into something you can’t take back.

But you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Instead you lock your phone and step out of the car heading inside without another word.

You toss your keys onto the counter, take off your shoes and sink onto the couch pulling a throw blanket over yourself even though you’re not cold. You should shower, should change, should do something to shake this feeling off.

But instead you curl in on yourself staring at the darkened screen of your phone willing to sleep.

The blanket wrapped around you offers little comfort. It's not warm enough but not heavy enough, not enough but it’s all you have. The quiet hum of the refrigerator fills the silence but it only makes the emptiness louder.

You roll onto your side pulling your knees to your chest as you stare blankly at the arm of the couch. You still haven’t answered Will’s message. He’s texted again.

“Wanna call me? I just got home. I can come over if you’re not feeling good.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The worst part is, you want him to come over. You want him to hold you, want his voice to drown out the thoughts that have been running wild since the restaurant. But something inside you pulls back, whispering don’t let him see you like this.

Because if you tell him how much those words hurt, the way he didn’t notice you leave, the growing silence between you, what if he agrees with them? What if he says the one thing you're barely holding together against?

What if he doesn't even realize something’s wrong?

So you leave his texts on read.

And you lie there your fingers trembling over your screen wondering if it would be better to lie and say you’re sick. Or tired. Or just need space.

Instead, you say nothing.

The minutes pass slowly. Your phone buzzes once more before finally falling quiet, the screen dim.

It feels like giving up. Like choosing the silence. But it also feels like protection. Like if you just keep it all inside, you can manage the pain on your own without letting him confirm your worst fear. that maybe he is ashamed. That maybe, deep down he’s been slowly letting go without saying it out loud.

You bury your face into the pillow and let the tears slip out silently, each one hot against your cheek, each one dragging a new weight down with it.

You’ve never felt so small.

You must fall asleep at some point, but it doesn’t feel like rest.

When your eyes flutter open it’s still dark outside the sky outside the window a murky shade of gray. You’re still curled on the couch, blanket twisted around you, head aching and throat tight. The room is freezing now but you can’t bring yourself to move.

You blink up at the ceiling for a while, heart heavy in your chest like a stone that refuses to settle.

Your phone lies face down on the floor beside you. Part of you hopes there’s a good morning text from Will waiting for something gentle, something normal, something to tell you you’re overthinking all of this.

But when you flip it over and see the screen the hope fizzles.

“Hope you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

No call. No follow up. No joke to make you smile.

You want to scream at yourself for being disappointed. He did text. He’s checking in. It’s kind. It’s more than what most people would do. So why does it still feel like not enough?

You stare at the messages, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You even type out a few things

Sorry, just tired.

Delete.

It’s nothing

Delete.

I’m fine.

Delete.

Can’t talk right now.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

you toss the phone aside and push yourself upright. Your limbs feel heavy as you shuffle to the kitchen, half heartedly starting the coffee maker even though you know you won’t drink it.

You catch your reflection in the microwave door, eyes puffy, hair a mess, mouth drawn tight and quickly look away.

All morning, the world moves around you like you’re watching it through thick glass. You answer texts from friends with one word replies. You scroll through social media numbly, skipping past every glimpse of Will’s life photos from the restaurant, comments tagging his name, short clips of the team laughing over drinks. He looks happy. Carefree.

You didn’t even cross his mind, did you?

The ache sharpens again.

And when your phone rings around noon his name flashing across the screen you freeze. Your stomach flips, and your fingers twitch with the instinct to answer.

But instead, you watch it ring out.

You’re not ready. Not when you don’t know what you’ll say. Not when the pain still feels too raw to hide.

Because if he hears your voice, if he asks you what’s wrong, you're afraid everything you’ve been trying to swallow will come spilling out in a mess you can't clean up.

So you do what you’ve been doing best lately.

You stay quiet.

And Will just keeps texting you.

The pings on your phone are the only signs that the world outside your apartment hasn’t stopped spinning. You read every message the second it comes in your breath catching every time his name lights up the screen. But you never reply. You don’t even type anything this time.

You can’t.

Not when everything feels so tangled. Not when you’re still trying to figure out if this ache in your chest that's been building and building.

Your mind replays the night at the restaurant in a loop every look, every word, every laugh that didn’t quite reach your ears. The conversation you overheard keeps echoing in the quiet spaces of your home, loud in the places where it hurts the most.

It’s not his fault. You know that. He didn’t say those things. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t join in. But he also didn’t notice you slip away. He didn’t chase after you.

And that's the part you can’t ignore.

So you leave his texts unopened now. Not out of anger, but out of fear. Because answering means feeling, and feeling means you’ll have to say something. And once you say it, it’s real.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the floor watching clips of the recent sharks game. Time slips by in moments that blur together quiet tears, unanswered texts, the sound of your own heartbeat thudding painfully in your chest. The apartment is cold. Or maybe you just feel cold. It’s hard to tell.

Your phone buzzes again.

You don’t check it. You can’t. You already know who it is. And you already know you don’t have the strength to lie.

You wish you could say something. Anything. But how do you even explain it? That some careless strangers at a dinner lit a match you’ve been holding too close to your chest for years? That their words didn’t start the fire, but they sure as hell helped it spread?

You hated how easily it got to you. Hated how quickly you’d turned inward. Hated even more that Will had no idea.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been laughing with his teammates, being his usual goofy self. He hadn’t even heard it. But the silence that followed? The way he didn’t notice you leave? It stuck to your ribs like shame.

You hear a knock.

You freeze. For a second, you think you imagined it. Then another one comes, louder this time, familiar even in rhythm. Your heart stutters.

Will.

Panic floods your body before you can stand. You’re still in the oversized t shirt you threw on this morning, hair a mess, eyes probably red and puffy. You didn’t think he’d come. You thought he’d give up.

Part of you wanted him to.

But most of you didn’t. Most of you just didn’t know how to let him in without unraveling.

Another knock. Then his voice, soft through the door: “y/n? It’s me. Can you open the door?”

Your hands tremble as you unlock it, the click louder than you expected. When the door swings open, he’s standing there with that boyish face that always makes you feel safe. But now his brow is furrowed, his eyes scanning you in quiet concern.

“Hey,” he says gently.

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. Your throat feels tight. He steps forward, slow, like he doesn’t want to startle you. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was getting scared.”

You look down. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His expression softens hurt flickering across his face. “You haven’t answered me in two days. You missed the game. You’ve never…” He pauses, exhaling hard. “I didn’t know what was going on. You just disappeared on me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, eyes burning. “I just couldn't.”

“Couldn’t what?”

You shake your head trying to keep it together. But the pressure in your chest tightens and suddenly it’s all too much. You press your lips together trying not to cry but your eyes betray you. Tears slip out before you can wipe them away.

Will steps inside and shuts the door behind him without a word. Then he’s there in front of you, hands on your arms, not trying to fix anything, just being there.

“Talk to me,” he says softly. “Please.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to do this. But you also don’t want to keep hurting alone. So you let yourself whisper the words you’ve been choking on since that night.

“I heard them,” you murmur, voice barely audible. “At the restaurant. A couple girls...they were talking about me. About how someone like you shouldn’t be with someone like me.”

Will blinks. “What?”

You laugh bitterly through the tears. “They said you could have anyone you want. And they couldn’t believe you were with me. And I know it’s stupid, I know it shouldn’t matter, but it felt like they were just saying out loud the thing I’ve been afraid of since we got together.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to understand a language he’s never heard before. Like none of this makes sense to him because it doesn’t.

You keep going, because now that the words are out they won’t stop.

“You haven’t posted about me in months. You barely introduce me as your girlfriend to your teammates. You act like I’m just there sometimes. And maybe you don’t mean to. But it’s hard not to wonder if you’re ashamed of me.”

Will’s mouth opens but no words come out. His hands tighten around your arm and for a moment all he does is breathe slowly and heavy like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

Then finally he whispers, “I had no idea you felt like that.”

You drop your gaze but he gently tilts your chin up so you have to look at him.

“I'm not ashamed of you. I love you. And I hate that you even had to wonder.”

Your bottom lip quivers. “Then why don’t you show it?”

He pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders so tightly it knocks the air from your lungs but in the best way. His hand cradles the back of your head, voice muffled against your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think I needed to prove anything. I thought you knew. But if I made you feel less than ever, that's on me.”

You bury your face into his chest, letting the tears fall freely now.

You don’t know how long you stay wrapped in his arms.

Long enough for your breathing to even out. Long enough for the sobs to stop wracking your chest. Long enough that your t-shirt is probably damp from tears and your fingers are curled tightly into the fabric of his suit like you’re afraid he might slip away if you let go.

But he doesn’t move. Not even a little.

He just keeps holding you. His thumb gently strokes back and forth along your shoulder. Every once in a while he presses the softest kiss to your hair. Nothing rushed. No expectation. Just quiet love in every little movement.

When you finally pull back a little your face is hot and your nose is stuffy. “Sorry,” you whisper.

His brow furrows. “For what?”

“For all of this. For shutting you out. For crying all over you. For ruining your suit.”

Will doesn’t even blink. “You didn’t ruin anything.” Then, quieter, “And don’t ever apologize for feeling something.”

He brushes a thumb gently beneath your eye, wiping away the last of your tears. “I’m sorry you had to hear what was said. You should’ve told me I would’ve dropped everything if I knew. I wouldn’t have let you leave that night without me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. I just didn’t want it to be real. I kept thinking I’d wake up i'd forget about it. But it just got worse. I kept replaying everything in my head. What they said, the way they said it, how no one stopped them-”

“They’re assholes,” Will cuts in, a sudden spark of frustration in his voice. “I wish I’d heard them. I wish-” He stops himself, jaw clenched. “No one talks about you like that. Not while I’m in the room.”

You stare down at your hands. “I don’t think it would’ve mattered. They weren’t saying it to me. They were just saying it. Like it was obvious. Like I wasn’t good enough for you and everyone was just too polite to say it out loud.”

Will exhales sharply and then does something you don’t expect.

He stands up and offers his hand. “Come with me.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Come sit with me on the couch.”

You take his hand because it’s instinct now falling into his touch letting him guide you. He pulls you gently toward the couch, sits down, and tugs you into his side like he needs you close.

You curl into him, resting your head on his chest. His arm wraps around your back, fingers tracing soothing circles along your spine.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I love everything about you. And I’m sorry I haven’t shown that enough. I thought you knew. But if you didn’t, if I ever made you feel like a secret or something I’m hiding then I’ve been doing this all wrong.”

You feel the words settle deep in your chest, warm and grounding.

“I guess I just didn’t want to be a reason you got made fun of,” you whisper.

Will sits up slightly, just enough to look at you fully. “You are never a reason for anything bad. And if anyone can’t handle the fact that I’m with the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, that’s their problem.”

You swallow hard, emotions tugging at your throat again but this time, the tears feel different. Softer. Safer.

He smiles gently. “I’m posting you everywhere, by the way. I’m making you my lockscreen. You’re gonna be so sick of me.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” His voice is firm, but tender. “You’re mine. And I’m proud of that. I want people to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You press your forehead into his collarbone, heart beating a little steadier than before. “Can you spend the night?”

Will kisses the top of your head, his voice low and certain. “always”

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rebelssvy · 1 month ago

Note

hello could you perchance do bakugo with a reader that is oblivious/ doesn’t get hints so he has to be very forward??

catching up on recs rn!!! lfg

clueless ✧.*

bakugo x reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: total fluff!!! bakugo likes you but has to be bold about telling you because you can’t quite get a hint.

as soon as bakugo met you it was wraps. if you know what i mean.

you transferred to UA highschool your third year. not having many friends or people to get to know you kept to yourself untill you started to fit it. when the group accepted you, you still had a tendency to do things on your own.

most days it was bakugo who would be up in the kitchen late at night and early in the morning, helping you and keeping you company.

you didn’t mind his company, and if your being honest you didn’t think much of it. he was just being friendly. you were a new person to a new area, he’s just being nice.

well that’s what you had thought at least.

about a month into being at UA, you and the other girls had a sleepover. they made you tell them everything you were thinking and more.

“so anyone catch your eye y/n?” jiro said, boyish grin on her face.

the answer to you was simple. “i don’t really know, i think ive been spending the most time with bakugo.” the room was filled with gasps and laughs. you titled your head in confusion.

“you and bakugo? bakugo spends time with people other than his weights..?” mina said through laughs.

“i’m confused..” you said bluntly, feeling left out of their joke.

“bakugo is probably the meanest and most annoying person in our class… has he not been rude to you?” mina said now with a straight face.

“no.. actually he hasn’t..” you responded. everyone shook their heads and moved on with their night.

yet the way everything went down made you question what they meant by ‘mean’ or ‘rude’ but wtv you just dropped it.

on the other side, bakugo fell for you the first day he saw you moving boxes into the dorms. everyone knew they were getting a transfer. but he didn’t expect to see someone like you walk through the dorms.

he even offered to help you move in and carry boxes. going out of his way to be chivalrous. you didn’t think much of it.

days went by and he found himself looking for ways to spend time with you. once you settled in he slowly got to know your schedule. when you are in the kitchen, working out, all of it.

bakugo had been utterly obsessed with you. slowly he decided to start dropping some hints he liked you. if you liked him back than great, if not atleast he could get on with his life.

but through everything he did, it seemed like you didn’t get the hint.

one morning he finally came face to face with what he was going to do. he was just going to tell you.

as you got ready for your work out, you received a text like all others,

‘i’m up. want to work out?’ -bakugo

you responded like you always did,

yes!!! on my way down alr

you hurried down the commoners and found yourself outside with him. you normally ran to the gym, so did he.

“hi!” you said to him. you would be lying if you said he didn’t look good. his work out gear being grey sweats, black hoodie and what you were guessing compressions under all of it.

of course you thought he was attractive. but he was way out of your league. being as nice as he was he had to have a million girls that liked him.

“good morning.. you ready?” he asked while bending over for a quick stretch. it was early, so early no one else was up.

“yep.” you answered before starting a jog.

the run there was silent, it left you in your thoughts. how could he, be an asshole? he was only ever nice to you. i mean yes ive seen the media of him, but that was from years ago, right?

lost in your thoughts you were at the gym before you knew it. on your agenda today, sparring.

“ready to fight dynamite?” you toyed with him. a subtly flush on his face. probably red because we just ran 2 miles. you thought.

“ya.” his answer was short. you shook your head and began through the gym. finally you two found a mat.

without any words you two prepared yourself for your match.

no gear, just hands. once you were done stretching you looked above you to see he had shed his sweats, now only in a compression shirt and regular shorts. god he was muscular.

“go easy on me..” you joked before reaching out for a hand. he helped you up and gave you a chuckle in response.

you began your match. you have fought him about a handful of times now. still each time he’s shocked you with somthing new. before you knew it, he had you pinned. only once did you tap out he let you go. you two just sat there trying to regain your breath.

“i heard your quiet the asshole.” you attempted to start a conversation. breathing still frantic, starting to slow.

“who said that.” his answer sounded more like a statement then a question. his tone a little upset.

“nobody. it’s just.. i never saw you like that.” you tried to cheer him up, smiling softly at him. you truly have never seen him be an asshole.

“maybe you don’t know me.” he shrugged.

“or maybe you just like me” you joked. you weren’t seriously. you knew he didn’t like you back.

bakugo had already decided he was going to tell you this morning. he was more glad the opportunity came to him naturally

“i do.” he replied

“what?” your mouth dropped into an O. shocked at his response.

“i do like you.” his boldness was sudden. unlike any you have seen

“seriously?”

“yes. i’ve gone out of my way to not be an asshole to you. and i’ve also gone out of my way to give you hints… i guess you can’t take them..” he chuckled

you laughed in joy.

“so when are you gonna take me out king explosion murder”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

i love your guys recs. sorry about not really getting to them super quick i’ve been super busy.

#x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki x y/n #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha headcanons #mha x reader #fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader fluff

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joemama-2 · 4 months ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 7.4k (shorter chap woop) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Year: Early 2018

He hasn’t been answering your phone calls. Or your texts. A growing sense of anxiety and worry forms in your gut. You've trained yourself to push down the more insidious thoughts that threaten your already deteriorating relationship. It’s been a long day for you. From work, to your annoying mother, and now to your M.I.A boyfriend. You wanted to relax at home with a movie and soothing music, maybe even food. However, it’s been hard to eat for the past few weeks.

The last place you wanted to be was at some house party with snobby people who probably never have realized the true meaning of a dollar. The music is loud and the blue lights do nothing but further annoy you, reminding you of just how much you hate parties. Pushing through the throngs of people, either too drunk to high to give your rudeness a huff.

It’s not hard to spot him, but the sight makes you dig your nails into your palms. Feeling bile rise in your throat when a girl—one you’ve never seen before—is getting too close and personal with your man. And worst of all? He’s not even pushing her away. He’s obviously drunk. Still, you assumed he would have that much decency to push back flirting advances from random girls. He always did.

But things have been changing recently, slowly but surely. Ever since that happened.

Your feet work quickly, forcing yourself to stay determined and not break down and cry right now. You’ve been doing too much of that. “Satoru.” You call out, voice loud and firm enough that he swivels his head to meet your eyes on just the first try. The girl does so also, head tilting in a scrutinizing way that you hate. “Are you drunk?”

The tint on his cheeks is proof enough. But so is his lazy grin. “What do you think?”

The girl giggles, leaning into your boyfriend’s arm. Watching her do so sends a wave of fury down your spine. You would have stepped in if it weren’t for Satoru finally being a decent man and pulling away from her. “Sorry, you gotta go.”

“Excuse me?” The girl huffs, scowling in disgust. “For what? I thought we were having a good time.”

So, they were together the whole night, huh? They probably would have stayed together if you didn’t make an appearance. What if they would have taken things further? What if Satoru imitated something? You can already feel the familiar tingle at the back of your throat, turning around and heading back for the door. He follows, grabbing your arm in an attempt to stop you. “Y/N—“

“Don’t.” You grit, yanking your arm away and pushing your way back out to the front of the large house, ignoring some of a drunken couple’s protests as you ruin their make-out session. When you make your way onto the sidewalk, you feel a more insistent tug at your wrist that causes you to face him fully. Meeting his glazed-over eyes with your own teary pair, biting down on your quivering lip. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why are you ignoring me?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face when he lets go of you. “I’m not ignoring you, Y/N. I’m sorry, I should have told you I’d be out. But it was last minute.”

A scoff falls from your lips. “Last minute, huh? Is that what you call it? Hanging around some random girl and acting like you don’t have a worried girlfriend waiting for you?”

“Y/N—“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your tears now flow freely down your face, eyes red. The expression you adorn does nothing but break his heart. He hates seeing you cry, he always has. And the small, sober part of him is cursing at himself for being such a jackass tonight. But the dominant, drunk side wants no part of an argument tonight.

“No, I didn’t. I’d never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to be a good boyfriend for once!” You croak out, pushing him back by his shoulders. “Y-you know what I’m going through, you know how hard it’s been. And what do you do? You go out and party, you don’t tell me, and I find some random girl all up on you. And then you smiled like it was funny. D-do you know how much you’re hurting me even more, Satoru?” The trembling of your voice pokes at his heartstrings.

Satoru stares at you, his expression faltering. For a moment, you think you see guilt flicker across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder—defensiveness. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, alright? I was just...blowing off steam.”

“Blowing off steam?” you repeat, your voice rising as fresh anger bubbles in your chest. “You call this blowing off steam? Ignoring me? Letting some girl throw herself all over you? You’re unbelievable.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay at home and sulk all the time? I can’t—” He stops himself, biting his lip, but you know what he was going to say.

“You can’t what, Satoru?” Your voice cracks again, but this time it’s laced with more rage than sorrow. “You can’t deal with me? With everything I’m going through? You promised you’d be there for me. You said we’d get through this together.”

“I am here for you!” he snaps, but the slight slur in his voice takes the edge off his words. “But you’re acting like I can’t breathe without you questioning every little thing I do. I’ve been going through shit too, Y/N.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know it’s not. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t love you—I wouldn’t be here, trying to fix this.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t cheat on you, Y/N. I swear I didn’t. But I—” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know how to handle all of this, okay? It’s a lot.”

Your breath hitches, his words cut deeper than he probably intended. “You think this isn’t a lot for me too?” you ask, your voice trembling. “I’ve been trying so hard, Satoru. To hold on. To be strong. For both of us. But you’re slipping away, and I don’t know how to bring you back. I know how to handle things just as much as you do.”

He looks up then, his blue eyes clearer now, filled with something that looks almost like regret. For a brief second, you think he might apologize—might say the words you so desperately need to hear. But instead, he shakes his head and says, “Maybe we just need some space.”

The world tilts beneath you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the music still blaring from the house behind you. “Space?” you repeat, barely able to say the word. “You want to take a break?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just...I think we’re both hurting each other more than we’re helping.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. “No, Satoru. You’re hurting me. You’re the one who stopped trying. You’re the one who’s giving up.” He flinches at your words, but he doesn’t argue. And somehow, that hurts even more. You shake your head, stepping back from him. “If space is what you want, then fine. But don’t expect me to be here waiting when you figure yourself out.”

You turn and walk away, your heart shattering with every step. This isn’t how you imagined the night would go. It isn’t how you imagined your relationship would go. But as you leave him standing there on the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder if this was inevitable all along.

The same song begins to play. Because soon, his arms are wrapping around you before you even know it, shoving his face into the side of your neck. “No, no, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk, okay? Please don’t leave, please. L-let’s just go home, my parents aren’t there. Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

And like a broken record, you give in. Because the broken part of you still craves him. His touch, his comforting hugs, his words. His everything. You feel like a puzzle with pieces too big or small to fit, some pieces lost. But with Satoru, he makes them fit. He finds those pieces of you; the ones you can’t find yourself. In a way, you know things are failing and falling apart.

But you’re laying back in his bed, feeling the constant vibration of your phone. Texts from your mother and you have no doubt she’s blowing up your phone about the way you snuck out and demanding to know where you are. It’s interesting, you’re twenty-one but she treats you like a kid. All because you still live with her.

Your heart feels heavy, your stomach twisting with nausea and you’re not even the drunk one. His hands hold your teary cheeks, meeting your gaze with watery ones of his own. Combined tears wet his pillow until there’s no more to give out. He’s been crying with you, but sometimes it feels fake.

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask again, whispering in a shaky tone.

His lips purse and he shakes his head. “…no, I didn’t. I told you, I’d never.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the foundation of his words. His sorrowful eyes, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands—all of it feels sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not so much anymore. “You’re sure?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. Never.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear on your cheek, and for a moment, the warmth of his touch almost convinces you.

Almost.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily as his hands cradle your face. You want to believe him. You need to believe him. But the doubt lingers like a shadow, clawing at the edges of your mind. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Satoru flinches, his hands momentarily faltering before steadying again. “You’re not losing me,” he says quickly, almost desperately. “I know I’ve been...different lately, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just—” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to handle this, Y/N. I don’t know how to be what you need right now. There’s so much and I…” his voice trails off, fearing he’s saying too much and it’ll only make you feel worse. Make himself feel worse.

Your chest tightens, his confession cutting deeper than you expected. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Satoru. I just need you to try. To be honest with me. To stop shutting me out. You…you’re the only one—you’re all I have right now.”

“I’m trying,” he insists, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I swear I’m trying. But it feels like...like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And I hate it. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at something in you, making it harder to keep the walls around your heart intact. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression mirrors your own. “I don’t want to lose you, Satoru,” you say softly. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, his hands tightening slightly on your face as if afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re not, Y/N. I know I’ve messed up, but I’ll do better. I promise. Just...don’t give up on me. Please.”

The plea in his voice, the tears in his eyes—they’re enough to make the broken pieces of your heart shift, trying to fit back together even if they don’t quite align. Against your better judgment, you nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whisper. “But this is your last chance, Satoru. I mean it.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t mess this up. I promise.” But Satoru isn’t the best at promises. He’s only good at making them for others, not keeping them for himself.

As he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you might vanish, you can’t help but wonder how many more promises you’ll let him break before there’s nothing left of you to give. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, hoping—maybe foolishly—that this time will be different. Because he’s all you have. All you know. He knows you inside and out—the way your voice wavers when you’re holding back tears, the way your hands fidget when you’re nervous, the way you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. And you know him just as deeply. Every freckle on his skin, every scar that tells a story, every mole you’ve discovered in moments of intimacy. You’ve memorized him like a favorite book, reading him over and over until the lines blur but still feel familiar.

You two are like each other’s canvases—painted with touches, kisses, and shared memories, even the messy ones. Every fight, every tear-streaked night, every whispered “I’m sorry” adds another layer to the masterpiece that is you and him. But lately, it feels like the colors are running, bleeding into one another until the picture is unrecognizable. And you don’t know if you can fix it, or if you even should. Never did you think that things would change so much, and all because of one failed situation.

What a weak body you have, what a weak person you are.

He holds you tighter, his fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “I know I’ve been a mess, but I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”

But his promises feel like paint on a waterlogged canvas—fading, smudged, and far too fragile. Still, you nod, letting the comfort of his warmth lull you into silence. Because no matter how fractured you feel, no matter how much the doubt weighs on your chest, he’s all you have. You can’t handle the thought of facing everything alone now, can’t handle the thought of not having someone to hug you when you burst down in tears.

You hate the way things are now, but you’ve sunk too deep into him. And him the same. Over time, you feel like he will retract his hold from you before you do so yourself. You can almost feel it coming, one way or another. It’s why you’re holding him tighter, pressing your body deeper into his. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. Awaiting the inevitable hurts so bad. Knowing that no matter what, your end is visible. You can see the finish line just a few yards away. It’s like a race, and you’re letting Satoru win. Envisioning him running his long legs to the checkered line with a smile on his face like he’s happy—relieved. You don’t want to hold him, that’s the last thing you want to do. However, you’re being as selfish as you can be right now. Before every privilege is stripped from you in a cold manner that will leave you shivering for warmth. But his presence is something. And for now, that’s enough to keep you here and sane.

Little did you know, you'd win that race before he did. You just needed that little push. He's the hare, and you're the tortoise.

You stay in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a constant reminder of the closeness you’ve always shared. It feels almost like an illusion, the peace between you both. But underneath, there’s a tension that hasn’t quite loosened, a thread pulled tight between the two of you, holding you close but threatening to snap at the slightest tug. His grip tightens, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your two worlds together. The quiet hum of the room feels almost suffocating now. Your phone continues to buzz with your mother’s increasingly frantic texts, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that right now. Not with Satoru’s breath warm on your neck and his hands gently caressing your skin. Not when it’s easier to let him hold you in this fragile moment of peace.

You close your eyes, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. The quietness stays for a long moment, But when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth that might spill out.

“I’ll try. I’ll be here for you, Y/N. I swear it.”

You wonder if you can truly believe him this time. If you can let yourself hope that things might really change. But the doubt is a familiar companion, lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of the cracks in his promises. Still, for tonight, you let it go. You let yourself sink into him, giving into the small piece of comfort he offers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

You wake up in a cold sweat, dried tears staining your cheeks. Your stomach feels sensitive, nails already digging into your palms so hard that the skin is growing red and prickly. Every emotion you felt from that dream—nightmare—whatever it was feels ten times more real. You don’t know why you’re having these weird dreams about something from years ago.

But it still hurts all the same, nonetheless.

You still feel hollow, drowned, and ready to pour your heart out into your pillow. But it’s morning and time to get up for bed. Christmas Eve is in three days and you’re just counting down until when you won’t have to go into work. Going through your routine, getting Koji ready for the day, opening the door for Sana. Leaving your place of solitude, it feels like you barely even lived through this morning.

The chill of the morning air hits your skin as you step outside, tugging your coat tighter around you. The weight of your dream lingers, like a fog that refuses to lift. You keep telling yourself it was just a dream, just a memory from a time you’ve tried so hard to bury. But it clings to you like a ghost, whispering doubts into your ear, even as you force yourself to move through the motions. you can’t help but glance up at the sky, the gray clouds reflecting the heaviness in your chest. Christmas Eve is in three days, and you can’t wait to take a break from not just work—from everything.

If only escaping your past was as easy as flipping the calendar to a new year.

Satoru texts you around the 2-hour mark that he’ll be going over to your place soon to see Koji and bring the gifts he got. You let Sana know of the change, she replies back with a simple ‘okay!’

You sigh, willing yourself to forget about the drama your life entails, and focus on your work.

However, another thought is creeping in through the door, and this time—it’s not such a bad one. You feel a fluttering sensation in your gut, holding back a peal of stifled laughter as the memory of last night makes its presence known. After the whole shirt incident, Suguru stayed. He kept his word about not making anything weird, and you two ended with a simple chat and a movie. It felt nice.

Of course, there were hints of lingering peeks, that strange tension tossed up in the air that neither of you fully addressed. But it’s fine, it didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. Although, when it was time for him to leave, you did have a second of hesitation about whether you should hug him or simply say goodbye. He decided for you when he carefully opened his arms up, you followed suit.

Inhaling his scent felt heavenly. Manly, but also feminine at the same time. An earthly scent that felt like hints of incense. The memory of his embrace lingers like the faintest trace of his cologne, warm and comforting. It wasn’t just the way he held you—it was the way he made you feel. Secure. Understood. Like you weren’t just surviving, but living, even if just for that moment.

You haven't hugged a man in so long. You forgot how good they hug.

You shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t be anything. Suguru’s always been like that—gentle, kind, and just a little too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly when to stay and exactly what you needed without you even having to say it. Still, you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picked up when his arms wrapped around you, the way your cheek brushed against his shoulder, and how your fingers had almost lingered a little too long against his back. It felt natural, but also entirely new.

Suguru’s presence was so easy, so effortless. It felt like slipping into an old favorite sweater, soft and familiar but with a spark of something you couldn’t quite place. You’d been so wrapped up in keeping everything together, in pushing through every day for Koji’s sake, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen.

You wonder if Satoru holds the same longing you do.

You shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. Don’t think about him. There’s no point in overthinking any of this.

“Hello, you must be Koji’s father.” Sana greets Satoru who stands in the doorway. With him, two armfuls of gifts. Even more on the floor next to his feet.

Simply nodding and looking over her shoulder to see Koji eating his lunch. “And you’re the babysitter.” Without much else, he carefully pushes past her, bringing in the gifts. “Mind getting the rest? Thanks.”

She nods, grabbing what was left on the floor before bringing it in, closing and locking the door. When she turns back around, Koji is in his father’s embrace. She smiles at the scene. “Ms. Y/N told me you’d be coming. He’s been good so far, he’s just eating his lunch now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Satoru replies, pulling away from his son. Doing a quick scan of the place before his eyes land back on the young woman. “How long have you been watching my son again?”

“A couple of years.”

He hums, walking closer to her. “And you’re how old?”

Sana blinks, surprised by the question. "I'm twenty," she says cautiously, her polite smile wavering slightly under his scrutiny.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Twenty, huh? Pretty young to be taking care of kids."

“I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen,” she replies, straightening her posture. “I’m studying early childhood education, so it’s not just a job to me. I care about Koji.”

His expression softens a fraction, and he glances back at his son, who’s happily munching away at his sandwich. “He does seem to like you,” Satoru admits, his tone less probing now.

“He’s a great kid,” Sana says warmly. “Very smart, just like his mother.”

That earns her a faint smile. “Yeah, just like his mother.” He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. “So, Y/N told you I’d be stopping by today?”

“Yes, she mentioned it when I got here this morning.”

Satoru nods, tapping his fingers against his forearm thoughtfully. “Good. Thanks for helping out today. I know it’s probably not easy juggling school and babysitting.”

“It’s manageable,” Sana replies, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor. “Koji makes it worth it.”

Satoru’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he straightens up. “I’ll take over from here. You can go ahead and clock out early if you want.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, waving her off. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ve got this.”

Sana hesitates briefly, glancing at Koji, who’s still blissfully unaware of the conversation. “Alright then. Have a good evening, Mr. Gojo.”

As she gathers her things and heads for the door, she feels his eyes on her. It’s not hostile, but it’s assessing. Like he’s trying to gauge something about her. She doesn’t dwell on it, though—whatever it is, it’s not her place to question. “Oh!” She turns around as if she just remembered something. “Ms. Y/N leaves a list. It’s taped to the—”

“I don’t need a list to take care of my son.” He cuts her off smoothly, his one eyebrow raising. “Thanks again, have a good day.”

She falters, once again caught a little off guard. This is her first time meeting him, and while she’s of course seen the articles and comments about the drama surrounding the small family, she has no bias. In fact, she sympathizes greatly with you for going through all this alone. As she’s leaving the apartment, she can’t help the small opinion of Satoru that he’s already given her.

He’s so intimidating!

After she leaves, Satoru focuses back on his son—this shitty apartment. He hasn’t explicitly voiced his opinions out to you—of course you already know what they are. And as you said before, it’s all you could afford, and Koji’s happy. However, he can’t stop himself from grimacing at the so-called ‘decorations’. This place needs some serious revamping.

“Hey, buddy?”

Koji looks over, wiping his mouth. “Yes, Papa?”

“When you’re done eating, want to help me with something?” And Koji doesn’t need to be told anymore. He loves helping—especially his mother and father. So he nods excitedly, practically scarfing down the rest of his sandwich. Bubbling with giddiness only a child could have.

Satoru chuckles at his son’s behavior, heart warming. This is the first time he’s doing something festive with Koji. The bitter part of him tells him that he could’ve had more chances to do so if it weren’t for your cowardness. But he shoves that away, focusing on the jolly joy the holidays can bring.

Today was more tiring than usual, with the cafe gaining more attention, there’s been rush after rush after rush. You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wear you down by the time you clock out. And your day isn’t even done yet. Slugging your way to your front door, lazily opening it with your key. Tossing your coat on the nearby rack, your bag with it.

“I’m ba—”

You sniffle. One. Twice.

A pinecone-y scent fills your nostrils. Which is strange because you know you have no candles that house that aroma. Confusion, but wariness takes over your senses. Following the sound of laughter down the hall until you’re standing in the living room.

The sight you see is more than startling.

Your eyes dart around in a frenzy, landing on one new thing after the next. The small, simple Christmas tree you’d put up last week? Replaced by a towering, impeccably decorated monstrosity with shimmering lights and a star that looks like it came straight out of a luxury catalog. It barely even fits in the room. Luckily, the small picture ornament of you and Koji is still there. But it looks so out of place.

The garlands you’d strung across the walls? Gone, swapped for lush, sparkling ones adorned with oversized ornaments. Even your modest stockings have been replaced with personalized velvet ones embroidered with gold thread, hanging perfectly above a faux fireplace setup that definitely wasn’t there this morning.

It’s like a winter wonderland exploded in your living room, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or scream.

Koji is sitting on the couch, giggling as Satoru playfully pretends to tangle himself in a string of fairy lights. Your son’s laughter is contagious, but you can’t shake the growing irritation bubbling inside you. When Koji notices you, his eyes brighten even more. Gaping and rushing over to your leg, hugging it. “Mama! Mama! Look what Papa and I did! It’s so pretty and there are so many presents!”

There is. There’s a lot of presents. Practically stacking on top of one another under your refurbished tree. Hidden somewhere in the splurge are the gifts Suguru got for you and Koji.

Gulping, you feel your throat tighten. You feel nothing but overwhelmed. But in the face of your son, you can’t exactly show that. You force a smile as you ruffle Koji’s hair, trying to push down the irritation clawing its way to the surface. “Wow, it’s… definitely something,” you say, your voice strained but managing to sound somewhat amused for Koji’s sake.

Satoru, now untangled from the lights, looks up from the couch with that boyish grin of his. “Do you love it or do you love it?” he asks, gesturing to the extravagant decor like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

You blink at him, incredulous—but still attempting to keep yourself calm. “What… what happened to the decorations we already had?”

“Oh, those?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say they weren’t really up to par. I mean, come on, Y/N. That tree you had? It was like something out of a Charlie Brown Christmas special. I couldn’t let Koji’s holiday spirit suffer like that.”

Your jaw tightens, the forced smile threatening to slip. “So, you just… decided to replace everything? Without asking me?”

He stands, brushing off invisible dust from his jeans as if the weight of his decision is nothing. “You were busy, and I figured you’d appreciate coming home to something nice for once. Besides, look at Koji—he’s thrilled!”

Koji tugs at your sleeve, his wide-eyed excitement piercing through your annoyance. “It’s so cool, Mama! Look at all the shiny ornaments! And Papa let me pick out the star!” Your son runs over to show off a few of the many, many presents he has. Showing extra excitement for the heavier and larger ones. “Papa says it’s magical. I want to have a magical Christmas every time, Mama.”

The words, innocent but heavy, almost make you physically kneel down. You feel your chest tighten, your throat closing up even more. The lump that forms is difficult to swallow down. The implication of Satoru’s and your son's words feels a bit degrading. And you don’t blame it on Koji, he means nothing malicious. But for some reason, being faced with the physical line of difference between you and Satoru, watching your son’s face light up in a way that you’ve never seen before…

It reminds you that your enough has never been enough. Each Christmas, it’s dull. Your Christmases aren’t magical. Your life isn’t.

You feel the weight of it all crashing down like the oversized star on the new tree is pressing on your chest. Satoru's extravagance, Koji's innocent excitement, and your own feelings of inadequacy swirl together into a storm you’re barely holding back.

Your forced smile falters, but you quickly kneel to Koji's level, brushing his hair away from his glowing face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” you say softly, voice trembling but steady enough to reassure him. “I’m glad you had fun with Papa.”

Koji beams, and for a moment, his joy is a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Mama?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “So pretty.” Standing slowly, your hand lingers on Koji’s shoulder. “Really pretty,” you repeat quietly, not committing to anything. You can feel Satoru watching you, his casual demeanor only adding to your irritation. The worst part of it all is that it seems like he genuinely has no idea what he did wrong.

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t his intention to make you feel like a shitty mother, but Satoru is good at pointing out the differences in his own ways.

When Koji bounds back to the pile of gifts, you finally let yourself meet Satoru’s gaze. “You really didn’t think to talk to me about this?”

His grin fades just a fraction, replaced by a look of confusion. “What’s there to talk about? I wanted to do something special for Koji. And let’s be honest, Y/N—this is special.”

“It’s not about the decorations, Satoru,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “It’s about you making decisions without considering how I might feel about it. Again.”

He tilts his head, the glower returning, though it feels sharper now. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just Christmas decorations, Y/N. Look at Koji—he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

You clench your fists, the tightness in your chest threatening to spill over into something you can’t control. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about the decorations. It’s about you coming in here and acting like everything I do is subpar. Like I’m not enough.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Satoru’s expression falters. But he recovers quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the arm of the couch. “Y/N, no one’s saying that. You’re reading too much into this. I just wanted to make things nice for Koji, that’s all.”

Your laugh is bitter, and it catches even you off guard. “Right. Because your version of nice is always the right one. I’m just the placeholder until you decide to step in and fix everything, aren’t I?”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the playful spark he had with Kojidimming. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, your voice breaking despite your effort to stay calm. “You swoop in with all your money and your grand gestures, and I’m supposed to just smile and be grateful. But do you even realize how hard I’ve worked to give Koji a Christmas he’ll enjoy? How much I’ve sacrificed just to keep things normal?”

His silence stings more than any retort could.

Koji’s laughter in the background feels distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s too distracted with the tree, his presents, everything. You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, before forcing a calmness you don’t feel. You won’t fight in front of him.

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter, not waiting for a response.

As you leave the room, Satoru calls after you, his voice softer but no less exasperated. “Y/N, come on. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

But to you, it already feels like a chasm. One that grows wider with every passing second.

You shut your door, leaning against it with your forehead. Breaths coming in short, hands trembling slightly. Biting your quivering lip, you maneuver your body to change into your uniform. All the while, tears are getting on your hands and clothes. Accidentally, you let out a small, broken whimper.

Quickly, you place a palm to your mouth, stifling and quieting your soft cries. Once you’re done changing, you fall back onto the bed. Curled up with knees drawn to your chest, as the burden of your own self-consciousness rains down on you. The room feels suffocatingly small, your emotions clawing at your throat, demanding to be let out.

The tears come harder now, soaking into the fabric of your uniform as you press your hands to your face, muffling the quiet sobs. You hate this—how easily Satoru gets under your skin, how he makes you feel insignificant without even trying. You thought you were past this. Past him. But somehow, he always finds a way to remind you of all the ways you’ve fallen short. Or at least, all the ways he makes you feel like you have.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is muffled through the wood, quieter than usual as if he’s trying not to disturb you. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer, biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.

“Look,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Can we just… talk?”

For a moment, you consider staying silent, letting him stew in his own discomfort. But the tension is too thick, and you know Koji is just down the hall. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears. Wiping your face and straightening your clothes, you open the door. “I have work.” You mutter, expertly enforcing a placid emotion. “Will you watch him?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk past him. But he grabs at your wrist, instinctively you pull away. “Stop, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight. We’re adults, we can talk this out. I don’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted to make Koji happy.”

“And do you think he’s not happy with me?” You snap back, looking up at him. Feeling your vision already beginning to blur. “Do you? Do you think he’ll be happy with you? I-Is that it?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your outburst, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between you feels like it could snap under the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand hovers near his side, as if he wants to reach out again but knows better now. “No,” he says softly, his voice steady but lined with regret. “That’s not what I meant. Koji is happy with you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Then why do you keep acting like what I do isn’t enough?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been doing this alone, Satoru. Every scraped knee, every fever, every night when he cries because he’s scared of the dark—I’m there. Not you. Me. So don’t you dare come in here, throw your money around, and act like you can just fix everything with some… Christmas wonderland.”

“But you didn’t let me come in sooner, Y/N.” He replies, exasperation in his voice.

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I know I fucked up…”

“Then stop getting mad at little things.”

Your fists ball up, your expression growing firmer by the second. But so is the need to cry again. He’s right, everything he says is right. It’s your own fault that you’ve been forced to handle everything alone. But, don’t your feelings matter just a little bit in this situation? Is he allowed to just come in and fix up everything you have? What he thinks is a mess, it’s something that holds significance to you. What he thinks is a little thing, it’s a big one in your eyes.

So while this scenario is blowing up into something bigger, your decorations are something you have control of. You only have control over so many things in your life.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Y/N. I swear. I just… I wanted to give him something special. Something I never had growing up.”

It makes you feel even more guilty. You can’t find it in you to say anything else, turning back around and walking to the living room. “Goodbye, Koji. Mama will see you later.” Giving him a brief hug and kiss, you hurriedly grab your coat and purse, exiting your apartment just as fast as you came.

Unbeknownst to you, Koji is left staring at the closed door. His head tilting in curiosity, while a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks up at his father when he enters the living room again, the two owning matching guises. “Why’d Mama leave so fast? I wanted to show her the drawing we did.” The white paper in his hands pictures three figures. Each one smiling, the smaller boy in the middle holding hands with his two parents on either side of him. He even drew blue snowflakes.

There’s a red heart around them with the words My family! at the top.

Satoru stands there, staring at the door you just closed, feeling the weight of Koji’s innocent question settle on his shoulders. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances down at his son, whose big, curious eyes are filled with disappointment.

“She’s just tired, buddy,” Satoru replies, crouching down to Koji’s level. His tone is softer now, more measured, as he tries to mask the turmoil bubbling under his calm façade. “She’s been working really hard, you know? Grown-up stuff.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his little brows furrowing. “But we worked hard too! We did the tree and the presents and everything!” His tiny hands gesture to the decorated room, his frustration clear. “Mama’s s’posed to be happy.”

Satoru feels his chest tighten at the words. He places a hand on Koji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She is happy, Koji. She just… needs some time, that’s all. Grown-ups can be funny like that.”

Koji looks down, fiddling with his fingers before glancing back up. “Is it my fault?”

Satoru’s heart aches at the question, and he immediately shakes his head, pulling Koji into a firm hug. “No, not even a little bit. You didn’t do anything wrong, Koji. Don’t ever think that, okay?”

Koji nods slowly against his father’s shoulder but remains quiet. Satoru pulls back, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “Mama loves you so much, Koji. More than anything in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay…” Koji mumbles, still not entirely convinced. He inhaled deeply, then spoke again. “Do…does Mama love you too?”

The question catches him off guard, putting an even bigger weight on Satoru’s shoulders. He should’ve expected it, Koji is a curious kid who still doesn’t completely grasp the complexities of his parents’ relationship. Satoru smiles faintly, kissing Koji’s cheek. “Mama has a lot of love.”

The answer satisfies Koji. For now.

Satoru ruffles his son’s hair. “How about we finish that drawing? We’ll save it for her when she gets back.”

Koji perks up slightly, nodding. “Okay! But you gotta color inside the lines this time, Papa.”

Satoru chuckles, relieved to see even a small smile return to Koji’s face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to make fun of me if I mess up. I’m sensitive.”

Koji giggles, taking his father’s hand to lead him back to the small table. As they sit down to continue their drawing, Satoru steals a glance at the door again, his smile faltering for just a second.

He’s trying—he really is. But he wonders if it’ll ever be enough. It’s like no matter what he does, you don’t like it; and vice versa. He’s being as understanding and nice as someone in his situation can be. At times, he feels he’s being even too nice to you. He knew things wouldn’t be easy, but he wants to spend time with his son. Make up for all the lost time, and even the littlest moments. It’s almost a little bit unfair of you to throw the fact that he has money and you don’t in his face like that. He didn’t ask to be born rich. Just like you didn’t ask to be born…like that. You’re the adults in this situation, there’s a kid involved. So truly, he wishes he could just have a single conversation with you that doesn’t feel anger-surged or bitter. Of course, it’s hard because of what has happened before, but there’s a time and a place, is there not?

Whatever. He’s more than happy to color with Koji and do whatever the little boy asks while you have your own moment. Satoru knows best of everyone else you like having space. And while many years have passed and his feelings for you have grown less than savory, he stills wants to respect your wishes after an argument with him.

He can’t help but think the obvious, though. Is it even worth attempting to mend whatever little shards of semblance there is left with you?

Probably not. Because after all, he’s here only for Koji.

Right?

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nadvs · 1 year ago

Text

watch and learn (part six)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The thick, heavy feeling of humiliation floods Rafe’s body when he hears rapid knocks at his door. Someone must have heard his father’s shouting.

He avoids eye contact with Ward as he stalks past him to open the door. And of course, you of all people, are standing there.

Your eyes are deep with something he hasn’t seen in them before. Concern?

Rafe flits his gaze away from you, clenching his jaw, sure you can tell he just wiped a tear away before you knocked.

“What?” he says stiffly.

“Everyone can hear you,” you say. Rafe is ready to snap at you for daring to scold him when he’s so obviously in the middle of something tense.

But you’re gazing past him, staring right at his father, who’s clearly embarrassed. Your mouth is set into a hard line. Rafe has seen you irritated, but he realizes he’s never seen you angry.

“I don’t know what the issue is, but I doubt you need to scream about it,” you say. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. The last time you and Rafe spoke face to face, he was a jerk. But here you are, defending him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” his father says.

“It does when the whole building can hear you,” you snap. “Calm down.”

You glance at Rafe, whose eyes are red and glossy. He looks away from you again.

You can only scoff at this point, too worked up to go back to your room. You turn and rush down the hallway to take a walk.

Hearing Rafe’s father mock him for crying has tied a painful knot in your chest. Rafe’s not the warmest person, but he definitely doesn’t deserve that.

Rafe shuts the door, shoulders a little less tight than they were before you knocked. A moment passes before he looks back at his father, who shakes his head at him.

Ward seems a bit rattled. The fact that you did this to him would be funny to Rafe if he wasn’t so hurt right now.

“Get yourself together, alright?” Ward mutters, collecting his jacket and storming out of the room.

As you walk around campus, you can’t stop thinking about how broken Rafe looked after the verbal lashing. You hate to make excuses for the guy, but maybe this is a common occurrence for him and that’s why he’s so mad at the world.

An idea strikes you to try to cheer him up. Or at least make him laugh.

As you make your way back to your dorm, you text Rafe: you alone? can i come over for a sec?

Rafe wants you over for much longer than that. He replies a minute later: ya.

When he opens the door moments later, he’s embarrassed all over again. Knowing you saw him in that state makes his heart drum with anxiety. He was so vulnerable, so exposed.

“Hey. You okay?” you ask. You hold out a plastic bag from the on-campus drugstore.

“I’m fine,” he says, apprehensively taking the bag out of your hand. “What’s this?”

“Was that your dad?” you ask. He only nods.

“I know I shouldn’t say this, but he’s kind of a jerk,” you say. “I got you something.” You point to the bag. “You can use it when you run out of the one you already have. In like a year.”

Rafe can’t help but laugh when he opens the bag and sees a small plastic jar of protein powder. He thinks back to you teasing him for the massive tub sitting on his desk.

“Why…?” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not used to getting presents.

“We’re… kind of friends now, right?”

“I guess,” he replies. Now that he thinks about it, it’s true. He has fun with you, and not just when you’re hooking up.

“Hearing what he said just… it pissed me off,” you continue. “And I have no idea how to cheer you up, but I do know you like this stuff.”

It’s such a silly gesture. But it’s so sweet, too. It makes Rafe’s heart twist in a confusing way. You care about him. As a friend.

“I just wanted to tell you that whatever you did… it didn’t warrant that,” you tell him. He watches you with an indistinguishable look.

He almost opens up about how painful it is when his father lays into him like that. Almost. But it’s awkward. Completely uncharted territory. He’d prefer to brush away the tension between you.

“You know what would really, really cheer me up?” Rafe slides his hand up the door frame, eyeing your chest, leaning closer to you. You laugh.

“Why don’t you tell the girl from last night?” you say. He wishes you’d seem jealous, but you don’t.

“Come on,” he whines, tilting his head back to silently beckon you into his room. Arousal and excitement bubble inside you, but you want to make him work for it.

“My back hurts from… what we did on the boat,” you admit. You’ve had a dull ache in your lower back since yesterday morning.

Guilt rocks him. You’re in pain? And he’s the reason? Shit.

It’s an uncomfortable feeling and yet again, he doesn’t know how to navigate it. Rafe has to pull the conversation back in the easy territory he knows.

“Why are you still so shy?” he says with a smirk.

“What?”

“Say it. What we did on the boat,” he teases, eyes hungrily trailing down your body.

You step back and roll your eyes, feeling your body flush all over again. While he has helped you gain some confidence, you’re not exactly as bold as he is just yet. Even saying you had sex in casual, sober conversation still feels a little weird.

“You’re annoying,” you sigh.

“You’re annoying,” he echoes. At this point, the exchange has become an inside joke. “And I think you need more practice if you’re still so nervous.”

Rafe tenses as he waits for your response. What if you say you’ve had enough of him? Or that you’re focused on Blake now?

You love the anticipatory look on Rafe’s face. You love that this arrangement between you two isn’t over.

“Did you not hear me say my back hurts?” you tease.

“I’ll make it better,” he flirts.

“How?” you ask.

“I’ll show you,” he promises. He puts the bag on his desk then pulls you in by the hips and leans down to kiss you.

The door slams behind you. His fingers slip beneath your shirt as he slowly paces backwards, taking you with him.

He settles onto his bed and you straddle him, resting your arms on his shoulders as you share slow, deep kisses. You feel his cock hardening at your groin.

“Where’s it hurt, baby?” he rasps, his nose nudging yours, his hand dragging up your spine. “You need a massage?”

He’s so tender during these heated moments. If he was like this all the time, you’d probably like him as more than a friend. But you know letting yourself develop a crush will bring nothing but bad.

“Everywhere,” you reply with a smile.

“I thought you said your back-”

“Nope, I said everywhere.” Rafe smiles against your lips and kisses your neck, slowly pulling your shirt off. He continues to pepper kisses over your skin as he unhooks your bra.

He gently squeezes your breasts, palms kneading you carefully.

“Even here?” Rafe asks.

“Especially there,” you say. He smirks, playing along, massaging your breasts. You start to writhe on top of him, head swimming in pleasure.

His hot mouth finds your nipple and you gasp at the sensation. With your cheek pressed against his temple, you rake your hand through his hair, feeling how damp your panties are.

You apprehensively part your lips to speak, telling yourself to say what you’re feeling like he always encourages you to.

“I’m already so wet,” you whisper. Rafe’s grasp on you tightens once he hears the words spill out of your mouth.

“I’ll massage you and then I’ll fuck that cunt nice and slow,” he says, meeting your eyes again, voice thick with longing. “You want that?”

“Mhm,” you nod breathlessly. His hands drag down to your ass, squeezing. His breath is shallow and ragged as he digs his fingers into your asscheeks, pushing you forward.

You bunch up the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders, tugging it off.

“Lie down,” he tells you. “On your stomach.”

You sink onto his bed, head on his pillow. Rafe takes your pants and panties down in one languid pull, his stomach numbing at the sight of your bare ass propped up just for him.

He starts at your calves, running his palms up and down. You sigh in contentment as he massages your legs, inching up to the backs of your thighs.

“I can tell you’ve done this before,” you say, your smile apparent in your tone. “You’re so good at it.”

Rafe breathes a chuckle. He hasn’t. He’s never touched a girl like this, never wanted to cherish and worship someone else’s body before. But he lets you believe he has.

When he reaches your ass, you tremble with the way he rubs you. Rafe watches his fingers digging into your flesh, squeezing, his cock aching at this point.

He moves up to the small of your back, his grip gentler now, thumbs rubbing into your hips.

“Here?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Rafe thinks back to the view of you on the boat in the moonlight as he thrusted in and out of you. You looked and sounded like you were enjoying yourself. He hates to think you were in pain.

“Did it hurt when we were doing it?” he asks.

“What?”

“On the boat,” he says. “Did your back hurt then?”

“No,” you laugh. “Or maybe it did and I didn’t notice.”

Rafe wants you to know how sorry he is. But mushy words have never come easy to him, so he leans over and decides to show you, instead of tell you, how guilty he feels.

His lips press between your shoulder blades in a warm, sweet kiss. You giggle at the sensation. He lowers and kisses you again, then again, then again, trailing down your spine, thumbs still rolling over your hips.

You’re reeling. The feeling is unbelievable. And romantic. This is like last weekend, when your time together felt less like fucking and more like… well, something deeper.

You realize you must be teaching him well. Because the sex doesn’t just physically feel good anymore. It’s emotional now, too.

You feel the mattress shift beneath you as Rafe settles on his knees over you, his legs boxing in yours.

He watches his hands run up your back, massaging deep into your muscles. You let out sighs of contentment and he fucking loves knowing he’s making you feel this good.

You feel Rafe put more of his weight on you as he kneels over, rubbing you tenderly. The change in position allows him some relief on his erection, rubbing up against your ass.

He hates that he’s still in his jeans, but at least his cock is getting some attention.

“Not too rough?” he asks.

“No,” you say, your eyes closed, your pretty lips parted. “Keep going.”

He continues to massage you, denim grinding against your ass.

“You gonna take your pants off?” you ask brazenly. Rafe smiles. He loves when you share what you’re thinking, especially when you’re telling him how much you want him.

He sits up to unbutton and unzip his pants, pulling them off and dropping them to the floor. He throws his boxers on top of his jeans and settles back over you.

The feeling of his smooth cock against your ass makes your blood feel like it’s burning through you. He shifts and leans over so that his length is between your asscheeks, his hands continuing to soothe the muscles in your back.

It’s overwhelming, how badly he wants you. And how he realizes that every time he fucks you, he’ll be wondering if it’s the last time.

Rafe continues to caress you, slowly rocking against your ass.

He can’t take it anymore. He sits up to grab a condom out of his nightstand. You exhale in relief when you hear the wrapper crinkling.

Before he enters you, he slides his hand down past your ass and presses two fingers against your hot, wet entrance.

“You ready for me?” he asks.

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips so he can ease himself in.

When Rafe kneels over again, he guides his cock into you slowly. You moan at the sensation of him stretching you out with every inch.

The way your pussy wraps around him is perfection. He looks down to watch his cock bury into you, his arms hardly keeping him up.

He shifts to rest his forearms on the bed. His hard torso presses up against your back, his breath hot on your cheek.

“This pussy feels so fucking nice,” he groans into your ear.

He bottoms out and you can feel his thick cock fully immersed in you.

“I love feeling how deep you go,” you say. Rafe might just lose his damn mind. You have such a mouth on you.

He rocks his hips back, then plunges into you again. His teeth graze against your cheek and when he nips at your earlobe, you huff a laugh of pleasure.

“You take it so well,” he praises through heavy breaths, plunging in and out of you. “You’re perfect. Say it. Say you’re perfect.”

“I’m perfect,” you echo, and in the wild heat of the moment, you believe it for a second.

The sound of how wet you are is like a drug to him. He fills you over and over again, loving how you’re squirming beneath him, your hips circling.

“On your knees,” he whispers, propping himself up again.

You obey, back arched, giving him full access to you. His hand slips down your stomach and between your legs, finding your clit immediately.

He knows your body now. He knows it so fucking well.

He rubs in circles, his other arm locked and keeping him perched up, while he melts into you. His thrusts start to get harder and your moans get louder.

“Oh…” you whisper. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” he rasps. “Be a good girl and let me hear how nice it feels.”

Your walls are clenching around him now, your moans loud as you reach your peak, and he couldn’t stop his orgasm if he tried.

“Fuck,” he draws out, trembling as he cums. You flutter around him, climaxing at the same time, your sounds tangling together and your bodies shaking in harmony.

You’re twitching with aftershocks when he pulls out of you. Rafe runs a hand down your back, dazed as hell, appreciating how good you make him feel. Nobody’s ever had this effect on him.

He throws out the condom as you remain in his bed, coming down from the high. You turn to your side, watching him as he cleans up, your eyes taking in the sight of his taut, naked body.

This time, Rafe didn’t say anything about him, a man he wouldn’t name, not being able to fuck you as good as he can. But he called you perfect.

“Rafe?” you breathe.

“Yeah?”

“Did you notice that we didn’t have pointers for each other this time?”

If Rafe knew he’d be hearing that a couple of weeks ago when all this started, he’d assume he’d be elated. But his whole body feels heavy. Does that mean you’ve got what you wanted out of each other? It’s over?

“I guess we’re experts now,” he says with a laugh.

“I guess so.” You sigh deeply. “I’ll get up soon. I’m just so cozy.”

Rafe is glad you know you shouldn’t stay. A part of him wants you to, and it’s kind of jarring that he wants that. But it’s too intimate and meaningful if you sleep over after sex. He can’t handle it.

He typically puts his boxers on after cumming almost immediately, even when he’s still hard and coming down. No girl’s ever seen him soft before. It feels so vulnerable for some reason.

But he lies down next to you, facing you with his head propped up in his hand, both of you naked and panting and sweaty.

“A-plus?” Rafe asks, remembering you saying the same thing in his car.

“Without a doubt,” you say. Your smile is weak and sexy.

Holy shit. He realizes this is the definition of pillow talk.

No. This is aftercare. You taught him that it’s important.

Rafe gazes into your eyes, thinking about the look in them when you interrupted him being berated earlier.

You give him a small smile before standing to get dressed.

He turns onto his back to watch you and the gift in the plastic bag sitting on his desk catches his eye. He sits up in his bed, seeing you pull your underwear on as he covers his groin with his comforter.

“Thanks,” he says, with difficulty. “For, uh… the present.” And for caring enough, he thinks. For defending him in front of a man you’ve never met. For refusing to embarrass him with the fact that you saw him crying.

“Oh, sure,” you laugh. You enjoy the view of him sitting up in bed, muscles flexed and skin sheened with sweat. But mostly, you enjoy the way his hair is all tousled and messy, the way his eyes are half-lidded and content.

“Did… the whole building really hear?” he asks. You freeze for a moment, remembering how you snapped at his father.

“No,” you respond, hooking your bra. “I was just trying to make him feel bad. Sorry if I was out of line.”

Rafe chuckles. You have nothing to be sorry for.

“You weren’t,” he replies. He thinks about what you said when you came by again. Whatever you did didn’t warrant that. He needs to be sure.

“I racked up my credit card bill,” he admits. You meet his eyes as you pull up your pants, placing your phone on his desk.

“That’s it?” you scoff. “What bullshit.” It’s such a simple reaction, but it grants Rafe a sense of validation he’s not sure he has ever felt before.

He wonders how he can possibly tell you that he’s never had someone defend him against his father without sounding like a pathetic crybaby. If he even should. Why the hell does he have the impulse to share that with you?

A few seconds of silence settle between you. Before he can speak, your phone vibrates loudly on his desk. You peer at the screen and chuckle at the notification before putting on your top.

“What’s funny?” he asks.

“Blake just told me what an ABC party is,” you say, rereading the text. It stands for anything but clothes lol. People get really creative. “You guys are hosting one on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Rafe replies coldly. He bets you don’t smile or laugh at his texts like that.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he snaps.

You meet his gaze and feel your brows furrow.

“No, seriously. What?” you ask.

“Just go,” he responds. You huff, anger brewing inside you.

“Rafe,” you say, annoyed. Why’s he so angry? Does he not want you at the party? Or is this jealousy?

He’s silent. Expressionless.

“God,” you snip. “Your temper is… I never know when you’re gonna fucking snap at me. Like the other day at the lakehouse. Before I left. I don’t know why you were such a dick out of nowhere.”

He completely forgot about that exchange. He didn’t know it affected you. That it stayed with you. All he could remember was how mad he felt seeing you with Blake.

Goddamn it. Why is he so jealous? What the hell does he want? Exclusivity? No fucking chance. The pressure of a relationship is the last thing he needs in his life.

“So?” you demand. Rafe just stares at you. “You can’t even apologize?”

He’s confused and bitter and frustrated. He simply shrugs carelessly, face blank.

You shake your head in anger, leaving his room without another word. You told yourself you would only expect coldness from Rafe from now on. You hate that you broke your own promise.

Rafe needs to stay away from you. This effect you have on him has him so damn disoriented, like he just got off a rollercoaster and doesn’t know which way is up.

He doesn’t want to be a boyfriend. And at the same time, he doesn’t want you to be a girlfriend. To anyone.

On Wednesday morning, Blake texts you asking if you want to study at the frat house in the afternoon.

You’ve looking forward to continuing to see if your chemistry is as good in-person as it is over text. You haven’t had much time with him, but you enjoy his company.

When you make it to the house, Blake opens the door with a bright smile on his face. He leads you upstairs to his bedroom, where he has blankets laid out on the floor and draped over the foot of his bed frame and desk chair.

“Did you make a fort?” you say with a chuckle.

“A study fort,” he replies. “There’s not a lot of space to study around here. I had to get creative.“ You laugh and settle on the floor.

Over the next hour, you talk more than you study. Conversation doesn’t always flow very easily, but Blake’s a sweetheart, through and through.

Rafe’s heart drops when he hears your voice. He’s sitting on the couch playing video games with Sam, craning his neck to look back at the staircase.

You’re smiling, your hand skimming the bannister as you make your way down the stairs. And of course, Blake’s beside you, the one making you smile.

This is hell. And he’s the reason you two even fucking know each other.

Rafe catches your gaze. You look so relaxed. As if it’s normal, the way you’re walking around looking beautiful and breaking his heart.

“Thought you hated frat boys,” Rafe says, eyes floating down your body, like if inspects your clothes hard enough, he can tell if you took them off upstairs.

You catch his harsh tone immediately. Of course he’s being mean. Again.

“They’re not all bad,” you respond.

Rafe might just break the controller in his hands. He looks back to the screen, stomach turning. He hears you say goodbye to Blake and shut the front door behind you.

As you step out of the house, you think that if you’re right, if Rafe really is jealous of Blake, why he doesn’t just do something about it. Why he doesn’t just ask you to be with him. Because even though he pisses you off so much, maybe you’d accept.

But if there’s anything you know for sure about Rafe, it’s that he is not boyfriend material. He said it himself. No couple shit.

“What’d you do up there?” Sam calls out. Blake laughs and settles on the couch. Rafe keeps his eyes on the screen.

“Studied,” Blake replies.

“Sure,” Sam replies.

“Seriously,” Blake says. “I’m not trying to jump into that with her.”

“Why not? Rafe did,” Sam chides. Rafe smirks at this. He’s glad the reminder’s there that he had you first.

“You two still messing around?” Blake asks. Rafe can finally make eye contact with him.

“Yeah,” he says firmly. “She didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t ask,” Blake says. He seems unbothered. This pisses Rafe off even more. As if Rafe isn’t a threat at all.

“You’re whipped,” Sam says. Rafe’s stomach drops, eyes darting to Sam. But he’s not talking to Rafe. He’s talking to Blake. “You haven’t even gotten any yet and you’re whipped.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Blake laughs.

“He didn’t deny it,” Sam tells Rafe, who wishes he did. “You making it official?”

“Gonna try,” Blake says. At least you’re not exclusive yet, Rafe thinks. He probably has a few more nights with you as long as you’re not eternally pissed off at him.

Blake taps Rafe’s shoulder.

“She’d be off limits if you actually liked her, man,” Blake says. “We don’t let girls get in between us.”

Rafe has to stop himself from scoffing. He doesn’t feel like Blake is his brother anymore. He doesn’t know the exact moment it happened, when he went from looking up to him to disliking him.

But if he wants a future at this frat, he needs to get along with everyone. Especially an upperclassman. And besides, what’s he gonna say? That he doesn’t want him to date you because the sex is too good?

“Right,” Rafe says, turning back to focus on the game.

That Friday night, another fraternity is hosting a mixer at their house. While it’s mainly for frat boys and sorority girls, Blake shoots you an invite. You accept, arriving at the house with Liv around 10 p.m.

Rap music is blaring through Rafe’s ears at the party. He realizes he’s checking the door to see when you’ll arrive. Blake said you’re coming.

He hates hearing your name come out of Blake’s mouth, but at least he hasn’t seen you together since Wednesday.

When you finally arrive, Rafe takes another swig of his beer and makes his way to you. He was supposed to stay away but you’re like a magnet and he’s fucking hopeless at this point. He actually misses you.

Rafe approaches you, blue eyes trailing down your body.

“Pretty sure you’re not in a sorority,” he says in your ear, ducking so you can hear him over the music. You smell his cologne, realizing just how much you’ve missed it.

Your last exchange was after your study date with Blake a couple of days ago. You’re still pissed off at how he snapped at you then. And on Monday, after you hooked up.

“Oh, are those the rules?” you say, an edge to your voice. “Since when did you care about rules?”

Rafe’s pulse quickens. You have this ridiculous effect on him, making him feel like he’s being pulled out of water he didn’t know he was drowning in every time he sees you.

“Since always,” he responds.

“Sure,” you say, squinting. You don’t return his smile. Rafe nervously scratches the back of his neck.

“What’s up your ass?” he mutters. You cross your arms.

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask. You try to give him some leniency, knowing what you know about how his father treats him. But it’s infuriating how rude he was to you. You know you don’t deserve it.

Rafe’s eyes dart away. He wishes you’d just forget about how he left things a few days ago. He grits his teeth and leans forward again.

“Sorry,” he says.

“For?” you ask. “Use your words.” He scoffs and sucks his teeth.

“I was a dick,” he finally mutters.

“Again.”

“Again,” he echoes.

“Be nice to me. I’m not friends with dicks,” you say. There’s that word again. Friends. Rafe swallows down his frustration.

“You seem to like mine,” he responds. You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder, but the smile on your face gives you away.

The moment is quick and small, but it makes his heart pound with a feeling only you give him.

“I need a drink,” you say. “Try not to piss anyone else off.”

Rafe hates that you leave his side so quickly. He realizes he’d prefer to spend the rest of this party talking to you instead of mixing.

As the night goes on, he forces conversation with his frat brothers, his eyes searching for you.

When a sorority girl strikes up a conversation with him, Rafe tries not to focus on how he’s comparing her to you and how you win in every category.

He’s standing by the staircase when he sees you again. You’re with Blake, standing inches away from him, laughing with him.

It’s a countdown at this point, Rafe realizes. Every day, he gets closer to losing the best no-strings-attached sex he’s ever had.

Fuck. It’s more than that. He knows it’s more than that when he sees you playfully push Blake’s shoulder the same way you do to him.

He’s drunk and annoyed and pissed off and wants to make you feel how you make him feel even though you’ve friendzoned him, so he cuts off the sorority girl in the middle of her sentence with a kiss.

She seems taken aback, but then she returns the kiss, her arms quickly wrapping around his neck.

Rafe keeps his eyes locked on you, and when you meet his gaze, seeing his mouth on another girl’s, your stomach swirls with uneasiness.

You turn your attention back to Blake and take his hand, leading him away so you don’t have to look at Rafe any longer.

(part seven)

author’s note: love you @rafesgiirl for the suggestion!

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

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asahicore · 1 year ago

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bad news first - sjy (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact pairing. jake x fem!reader synopsis. From the moment you'd met at eight to the day he moved to South Korea at fourteen, you and Jake were inseparable. But after years of being apart, you've come to terms with the fact that at twenty, you and Jake just aren't what you used to be. That is until you get a text from him, and all of a sudden, he's back by your side, doing his year abroad at the university you study at, and all your feelings for him float back up to the surface. genre. college au, childhood friends to ???? to lovers, painful mutual pining, one bed trope..... a sprinkle of angst (my hand slipped) but mostly fluff i promise and smut (mdni!!!), also i made sunghoon really weird in this and idkw, this is set in scotland.. edinburgh uni rep!! word count. 23k author's note. everybody say happy belated birthday to @zreamy.. happy belated birthday zo!!! being 22 years and 6 days old is cooler than just 22 years old anyway.. hope you like it bestie... if you dont... well theres a building on campus thats 17 stories high sooo.. enjoy! i hope everyone else enjoys too, since this is a bday fic for zo she couldnt beta read so i had to raw dog this so if its terrible.. not my fault! lmk what u think!! i also made a playlist for this, do listen along!!

“Alright kids, good news or bad news first?”

You looked at your teacher, then at the boy next to you, then back at your teacher. “Bad news first,” you said in unison.

You were only eight, but you were both wise enough to know that hearing good news second would assuage the blow of whatever these bad news were. Miss Dawson sighed as she crouched in front of you. “The bad news is your bus driver is on strike and won’t be coming. The good news is that your parents have been informed and are coming to pick you up soon.”

Following her instructions, you headed to the gymnasium and sat there silently among the other kids. Not many kids in your class rode the bus home, and the ones who did seemed to have drivers not on strike, so it was just the two of you. You were used to that, though - over January and February, you had made a sort of silent pact to stand and wait for the bus together. You sometimes shared snacks, but you never spoke. For some reason, you felt at ease with this boy, even though you didn’t know much about him. You had heard he had moved to Brisbane just at the start of this year, all the way from South Korea. You were pretty sure his name was Jake.

You handed him one of your Twix bars. Then he spoke. “I thought a strike was when you did really well in bowling.”

“Same,” you replied, mouth full of chocolate and caramel. “I’m not sure why that would keep the bus driver from picking us up.”

Jake looked at you with wide eyes, distress clear in them. “Do you think he went bowling instead of picking us up?”

This made you frown. “That’d be really rude.”

“It would. I always make sure to go bowling on the weekends, ‘cause if I missed school that’d be rude to Miss Dawson.”

You nodded your head in fervent agreement. “For sure.”

That weekend, his mum called your mum to ask if you wanted to go to the bowling alley with them. From then on, for the next six years, you were stuck together by glue.

Twelve years later, Jake’s name appearing on your phone screen has become such a rare sight, you don’t believe it right away. It takes you a few seconds of intense squinting at the letters to actually realise your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

jake.sim15 hey y/n!! you go to edinburgh uni right?

You type and delete three different responses before settling for a simple yeah, I am! what’s up?, hoping you sounded nonchalant even though you very much felt chalant. You thought that whatever you sent wouldn’t be as weird as taking forever to answer such a straightforward question.

As you wait for Jake’s reply, you scroll through your previous shared messages, noting with sadness that for three years in a row, the only instances you’d texted were to wish each other a happy birthday or when he reacted with a fire emoji to Stories of your dog, Milo. Before that, your last conversation was to congratulate each other about getting into your top choice universities and to discuss plans for your respective futures.

Futures that used to include each other, you think. His reply appears at the bottom of your screen before melancholy can fill your heart.

jake.sim15 i applied to go there for my year abroad next year annnnd i got in !! heh

You shoot up straight from your seat on the lounge chaise you’d been sunbathing on, a loud “Oh my God!” involuntarily escaping your mouth.

“What? What happened? Is everything okay?” Chaewon asks frantically, rushing over to your side. “Oh,” she says when she sees your phone. “It’s a text… from a boy?”

This makes Yunjin, previously unbothered by your panic, rise from her seat and take off her sunglasses. “A boy? Show me,” she demands, snatching your phone from your hands before you can protest. Upon seeing the texts on your screen, she lets out a loud gasp. “It’s not just any boy! It’s the one and only Jake Sim himself.”

“Give that back!” you plead, hand reaching for your phone, but Yunjin is already walking away.

“And he’s coming to Edi this September, apparently. He says he’s sorry for not saying anything earlier, but he was waiting for an answer up until now.” She scoffs. “Leave it to our uni to tell someone they’re in less than two months before term starts. Oh, you’re the first person he’s told, Y/N! After his parents. How cute,” she coos, protesting when you snatch your phone back from her. “Hey! I was reading that.”

“Those are my texts, Yunjin. I’m the one who’s meant to read them.”

She shrugs. “You would’ve told us anyway.”

“What are you going to reply?” Chaewon asks. With the both of them hovering over your shoulders and watching as you type a response, a sort of stage fright comes over you, making you send what might be the most unoriginal reply known to man.

“Awesome? Seriously, Y/N?” Yunjin reads, disproportionately disgusted with you.

“That’s a lot of exclamation marks. It almost makes it look like you don’t mean it,” Chaewon says.

“I do mean it!”

“Well, he seems to like it. A smiling-with-teeth emoji is a good sign, right?” she asks in an attempt to make you feel better.

“He has automatic caps off. That man is run-through,” Yunjin says, shaking her head as she walks back to her sunbed.

“You were excited about him texting me just a second ago,” you reproach.

“Yeah, before I found out he was a whore.”

“Yunjin, you know we don't slut-shame here!” Chaewon exclaims. Before Yunjin can say anything even worse in response, your phone starts ringing, and Jake’s name appears on your screen. “He’s calling you?” Chaewon gasps, making Yunjin sit up with a start for the second time in less than five minutes.

“This man is insane,” she remarks with all the seriousness in the world.

You run away from your friends, finding refuge in the outside kitchen area out of earshot. They don’t need to hear your conversation with Jake. You love them, but they can be weirdly unsupportive in moments like these.

“Hey, Jake,” you greet, hoping he doesn’t notice the breathlessness in your voice. It was because you had just ran, of course - you didn’t want him to think you were so nervous about talking to him after such a long time, you could barely breathe. Because you weren’t. At all.

“Hey, Y/N!” he replies, and the excitement in his voice makes your heart melt. “I hope it’s not weird that I called, I just thought it’d be nicer than texting, is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s nice to hear your voice,” you say before you can really think about it, and cringe at your own words. Years without talking and the world’s worst line is the first thing you say to Jake. Thankfully, before you start excruciating yourself, a chuckle pours out of Jake’s throat and blesses your ears.

“It’s nice to hear your voice, too. What are you up to?”

“Oh, I’m on vacation with my friends. One of them has a rich aunt who owns a villa in southern Italy, so we’re just chilling by the pool right now.”

“You always wanted to go to Italy! That sounds so nice,” he says. Your breath catches gently in your throat - he remembers, you note.

“Yeah, it really is. What about you, how are you spending the summer?”

Jake tells you about the local bookstore owned by a grandpa that’s always had a soft spot for him and that gave him a part-time job for the summer. “I’m trying to save up as much money as I can before I leave. If I treat you to a meal, will you show me around the city?” he asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice. It makes you realise how much you’ve actually missed him.

“You don’t need to treat me to a meal, I’ll show you around anyway.”

Still, he insists, and you find yourself giving in quickly - because it’s Jake or because free food is on the table, you’re not sure. Probably both.

You and Jake get to talking, but fitting years and years of catching up into one conversation is an impossible task, and before you know it, when you check your phone, you’ve been talking for over an hour. Yunjin is angrily waving at you, pointing at her stomach to indicate hunger like a caveman who’s just learned how to communicate. You apologise to Jake, telling him you have to go, and plan to meet during fresher’s week before you hang up.

A few hours later, you get a text from him saying it was nice talking to you and jokingly asking whether Yunjin was satisfied with lunch. It’s innocuous, but it opens a gate for more texting, which leads to long, rambling voice messages, which leads to late-night phone calls that remind you of when you were fifteen and still kept in touch. When August fades into September, you feel like you’ve got your best friend back.

You remember why you were so in love with him at fourteen.

You see Jake before he sees you.

Among the throngs of people, you manage to spot the dark, messy flop of hair on his head weighed down by a nice pair of wireless headphones. After a thirteen-hour flight from Seoul, a four-hour layover in Frankfurt and a final, two-hour flight to Edinburgh, he looks rightfully exhausted, using what looks like the last of his energy to spot the exit and the airport bus stop. Even wearing a simple denim jacket, white tee and grey sweatpants, he’s so gorgeous you forget what you came here for, until he almost walks right past you without seeing you. You put yourself in his path and hold your hand-written banner up, making yourself as obvious as you can as you call out his name.

When he sees you, he stops dead in his tracks for a second, someone almost running into him before he remembers the crowd behind him. His tired features break out into a bright smile that has your heartbeat speeding up so much, you think it might run out of your chest.

He had told you not to come, that it would be late for you and he didn’t want to bother you, but you had managed to get the information of his arrival before he forbade you from picking him up so you did it anyway, wanting to surprise him. After years of being apart, rather than waiting another day, you wanted to see him as soon as possible.

Jake briskly makes his way to you, dropping his bags next to him on the floor as he engulfs you in a hug, warm and tight as if he’s trying to make up for all those years. You hug him back as if someone would appear out of thin air and take him away from you again.

“This was the longest day of my life, I’m so happy to see you,” he says when he pulls away, and you’re so happy you can’t even say anything back, resorting to giggling and lightly swatting non-existent dust off of his shoulders.

As you wait for the bus, he tells you about every trivial thing that happened to him on his trip, from how expensive a sandwich is at the airport to the German kid sitting in front of him that kept turning around to stare at him on his second flight.

“How did you know he was German?” you ask, amused.

Jake pauses. “Just vibes.”

Conversation on the bus is slightly disjointed as you jump from topic to topic with random pauses here and there before one of you finds something to talk about - but it’s okay, you hadn’t expected for the two of you to be as easy as before. It’s more awe at seeing each other after such a long time than awkwardness. Even though you’d caught up over summer, there was a world of difference between speaking on the phone and actually sitting next to him. You notice things like the shine of his hair, the creases that form on the sides of his lips when he smiles, or, unfortunately for you, the veins that run along his forearms and hands - things you hadn’t noticed previously thanks to the sometimes questionable quality of the front camera of his phone. Once in a while, your thigh brushes against his, and it reminds you that he’s really here. Even that he’s real, at all.

In a tragic turn of events, Jake lives in the student accommodation you used to live in in first year, and coming back to it two years later is slightly traumatising. His three-person flat is in a different building as your old one, and you marvel at how it somehow still smells the same - like dusty, decade-old carpeting and the permanent stench of students’ dubitable cooking. He’s the first one to move in, which makes the place slightly eerie, but it means that you’re not bothering anyone by unpacking Jake’s stuff and cooking Shin Ramyun the previous tenants had left behind at 11pm.

Your late dinner was meant for you to take a small break, watch a couple episodes of Friends which Jake had been shocked to learn you’d never watched, and you had been shocked to learn he was a die-hard fan of (since one year ago), then get back to unpacking. But the ramen sends an already exhausted Jake into a food coma so intense, he falls asleep on your shoulder five minutes into the second episode.

You let him sleep as long as he needs, turning the volume down on his laptop and stifling your chuckles as much as you can. You feel like a cat has fallen asleep in your lap - you are now obliged by law to stay still until Jake wakes up. It’s not until an hour later that Jake’s uncomfortable sleeping position forces him awake, lifting his head off of your shoulder with a grunt. He looks around himself, at his room that’s not quite familiar to him yet, then at you, eyes still scrunched with sleepiness as a grin blooms onto his lips.

“Sorry,” clearing his throat of its grogginess. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost one a.m,” you reply, and his eyes go wide.

“You should’ve woken me up! Does your shoulder hurt?” he asks, much more alarmed than he should be, and it makes you laugh.

“It’s all good. But now that you’re awake, I should probably head home.”

“I’ll get you an Uber,” he says, already pulling out his phone.

“It’s fine, Jake, my place is a ten-minute walk from here. I live just up the road.”

Jake’s fingers on his phone pause as he looks up at you. “Then I’ll walk you home.” He lifts a finger in warning when he sees you start to protest. “And don’t fight me on this. You did so much today, it’s the least I can do.”

As much as you love the idea of spending more time with Jake, even if it’s just ten minutes, you still don’t want to bother him when you know how tired he is. “It’s really safe around here. I can just text you when I’m home, if you’re worried about me getting kidnapped or something,” you say, taking his jacket from his hands and placing it back on his desk chair.

He grabs it back, putting it on before you can take it from him again, and rummages through one of his suitcases for a black, woolly scarf. Neither of you speaks as he wraps it tight around your neck, even though the early September weather isn’t cold enough to warrant it. His hands stop briefly on the scarf and a small smile spreads on his lips. You hope he doesn’t hear your sharp intake of breath when your eyes meet. “It’s not about that,” he says simply, voice low and unlike you’ve ever heard it before. You don’t think his voice had quite finished cracking when he’d moved away back then.

Suddenly, he steps away, grabs his keys, and heads for the door. “Let’s go!” he says, voice back to its usual cheery tone. You don’t find it in you to question him, so you just follow him out, welcoming the night breeze that cools down your burning cheeks with open arms.

The walk to your place is mostly done in comfortable silence, but it still goes by too quickly for your liking. You keep your hands in your pockets to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like reaching out for Jake’s hand that swishes back-and-forth as he walks. Instead, you bury your nose in his scarf and relish in the unfamiliar but comforting smell that his cologne has left behind on the fabric. You hug goodbye when you reach your flat, and you have to remind yourself to let go. He insists on you keeping the scarf. “My mum packed me, like, three, so you can have that one.”

“Your mum still pack your things for you, does she?” you ask, tone playful.

“No-” he says, voice slightly whiny, before he realises you’re just teasing him. “Whatever,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair. You hope the streetlights aren’t bright enough for him to notice the flustered look on your face. The both of you stand there awkwardly for a second, before he lets out another chuckle. “Right. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you beam.

“Okay,” he says, but still doesn’t make a move to leave. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll be off then.” He gives you one last smile then turns around, burying his hands in his pockets, and you watch as he walks away.

“Get home safe,” you call out after a few seconds.

He pivots on his heels, and, with a wave of his hand, says, “I will! Go inside.”

“Good night!”

“Night, Y/N!”

When you walk into your living room, Yunjin is sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, gaze trained on the wall opposite her, one lamp lighting the otherwise completely dark room. She looks like a detective in one of those bad cop shows.

“Gosh, what’s all this for?”

“You’re back awfully late,” she says, neither looking at you nor answering your question.

“Yeah, I was with Jake,” you shrug, heading into the kitchen for a glass of water. She abruptly gets up from her seat, following you into the other room and staying close behind you.

“And?” she demands, mouth way too close to your ear and making you start.

“And what?” you ask.

“What do you mean and what?!” she says, clearly agitated. “I want to know everything!”

“There’s nothing to say, really. He seemed happy I picked him up from the airport, then I helped him unpack. He lives in Riego, by the way.”

“Ew.”

“I know, it was awful going back there.”

The two of you stare at each other as you drink your water. “Well?” she asks.

“What?”

“Is that it?”

You fill your glass again to take it into your bedroom. “I don’t know, we just ate and watched Friends.”

“You hate shows with laughing tracks,” she states like it’s an accusation.

“It wasn’t actually that bad,” you reply, shrugging.

She tuts. “Love will do ugly, ugly things to a person.”

“You’ve been in a loving relationship for the past two years.”

“This isn’t about me. Can we talk about how you’re still in love with the same loser from when you were ten?”

“I was fourteen, and don’t call Jake a loser when you haven’t even met him.” You ignore the roll of her eyes. “And I’m not. Not anymore. I’m just happy to have my friend back.” Yunjin gives you a look. “Okay, maybe I’m still a little bit in love with him. But it’s so little, it’s barely there.” Her expression is unchangingly unimpressed and you can’t help but throw in the towel. “Alright, fine. I still love him, what about it?”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I know that, no need to remind me.”

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

“My patheticness? I’ve tried, didn’t really work.”

“No, idiot, about Jake. You should go and get him! It’d be so sexy if you got together as 20-somethings after knowing each other since you were babies.”

“We were eight when we met. And I don’t know if sexy is the word I’d use here.”

“Anything is sexy if you try hard enough,” she says, and you have to laugh. “Anyways, you should confess your undying love and tell him you’ve felt that way since you met.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Guys might not show it, but they probably get all hot for stuff like that. Boosts their ego and shit.”

“Yunjin, I just got my friend back, I’m not gonna risk it. Plus, who knows, I might not actually be in love with him. It might just be my emotions acting up, like, seeing someone I used to like after a while. We’ve both changed so much, once I get to know him more now, I might not even feel the way I used to.”

“Notice how you’ve used the word might twice in ten seconds? You’re just trying to find excuses.”

You groan. “This is why I hate English Lit people.”

“You do English Lit.”

“I know, and I’m the only nice person that does it.” In your head, you add and Jake, but saying it out loud would only make this conversation worse for you.

“What’s that scarf, by the way? Did he give you that?”

You look down at the scarf like it’s a piece of incriminating evidence. “Can you stop grilling me, please? It’s late.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You sighed deeply. “Fine. Yes, he gave me-”

“It’s not even that cold outside!” she exclaimed in an outrage. “Don’t tell me he also walked you home?”

You pause. “He did.”

She gasped. “He walked you home because he’s in love with you.”

“He walked me home because he’s a good friend that looks after me.”

“He walked you home because he realised how hot you’ve gotten and he wants some of that.”

All you can do is sigh. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“If you weren’t such a coward, you wouldn’t be going to bed alone.”

“Whatever!” you say, shutting the door behind you, shaking that preposterous conversation out of your head. When you get into bed, it takes you at least half-an-hour before you can settle down, but you know your constant tossing and turning isn’t due to your inability to find a comfortable enough position to sleep in. Between your evening with Jake and Yunjin’s pestering, thoughts run wild and incoherent through your head.

You want to tell her every little thing that happened with Jake tonight, but you’re afraid it might do you more harm than good. She is most definitely the type of friend who will take the smallest action a guy did for you or the most meaningless thing he might have said and turn it into a sign that he has the hots for you, which usually does wonders for your confidence, but right now, you don’t need that kind of delusion. Did seeing your childhood best friend you used to secretly harbour feelings for make you feel some type of way? Of course, but that doesn’t mean you still love him after all this time, after six years of being apart, the majority of those years spent with no contact. It wasn’t like you parted ways with resentment, or anything of that sort, far from it; rather, you drifted apart naturally, as two teenagers with over 7000 kilometres between them would. At first, you’d call frequently and even write each other letters - but as you became more preoccupied with school, friends, and extracurriculars, your phones gradually rang less and your mailboxes became gradually emptier. You don’t even remember who sent the last, unanswered letter.

Tonight isn’t the first time you replay the moment Jake announced that he would go away, but it’s the first time it’s a bittersweet memory. It used to only be bitter - but now that you’ve reconnected, you can look back at it with fondness, wishing you could tell fourteen-year-old you the hurt would only last so long.

It hadn’t started unusually.

“So, bad news first, right?”

In your six years of friendship with Jake, this had been the first time you’d really been wary of what he would say next. The look on his face told you that this bad news wouldn’t be as easy to shake off as usual. Your definition of bad news was things like I got grounded so I can’t hang out, I forgot we had a test tomorrow so I can’t hang out, my allergies are acting up again so I can’t hang out.

“I’m moving to Korea next month.”

I’m on another continent, so I can’t hang out.

You remember the words not quite making sense at the time. “Oh? How long are you staying there?” you said, taking a bite of your strawberry ice cream which Jake had insisted on paying for, even though you knew he didn’t get much allowance.

“Forever.”

You stopped chewing, and the ice cream melted uncomfortably in your mouth. You don’t know how long you stayed there, frozen as you stared at your best friend in disbelief. It wasn’t until he lightly shoved your shoulder, only meeting your eyes for a split second, that you remembered to swallow and to say something.

“Forever as in… You won’t live here anymore? At all?”

Jake shook his head. He kept his eyes trained on the vanilla-chocolate ice cream sandwich he’d left in its wrapper. In the blazing hot Brisbane summer, it had probably fully melted two minutes ago. “At all.”

“Oh,” was all you found yourself able to say. For some reason, you hoped that continuing to eat your ice cream would stop you from crying, but to no avail. Hot, salty tears quickly started raining down your cheeks, mixing with the sweetness of your ice cream when they reached your lips.

“It’s my dad’s work. Same reason why I moved here when we were kids in the first place. They wanted him here then, they want him back there now. We just have to follow,” Jake explained, sounding just as upset as you felt.

“Right.”

“Are you mad at me?” Jake asked, worry clear in his voice, and finally turned to face you. At the sight of you crying, he let out a small oh, tears of his own pooling in his eyes.

You frowned. “Of course not. I’m never mad at you, you know that. I just… You’re my best friend, Jakey. It’s gonna be so lame around here without you.”

“It’ll be lame there without you, too.”

You attempted a smile. “Well, of course. But at least you’ll get to make new friends, see new places. You’ll be in a whole other country, I’m sure you’ll have fun there. I’m gonna be stuck in boring old Brisbane for the foreseeable future.”

“Do you know how offended our friends would be if they heard you speaking right now?” he asked, nudging your shoulder with his.

You sniffled and let out a chuckle. “They’re all great, but… I don’t like them nearly as much as I like you,” you said, staring down at your hands, hoping he wouldn’t realise exactly what you meant by that statement.

A weight was lifted off of your shoulders when Jake answered. “I like you the most too, Y/N.” You tried not to think too much about whether he’d meant it platonically or romantically - none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth enveloping your whole body, his familiar scent that you already missed.

You felt him take a deep breath against you before he pulled away. He sniffled and did his best to put on a smile. “Right, enough of that. I’m not leaving until next month, so don’t think you’re rid of me just yet,” he joked, and it helped alleviate the weight on your heart, even if just a little. “You said you had something to tell me? Good news after bad news, and all that.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that.”

You thought for a second. Today was the day you had planned to confess your feelings to Jake - you’d only told him you had good news to share. But what was the point now that he was leaving? If he felt the same way, it would only make his departure that much harder, and if he didn’t, it would ruin your last moments together. It just wasn’t worth it.

Jake tilted his head, waiting for you to speak. In a split second, you made yourself forget your disappointment over having built the courage to tell him how you felt only for it all to fall through, and resolved to make the most of Jake’s last month here. You wiped your tears and mirrored his small smile as best you could. “Um, it wasn’t anything much. My mum made those cowboy cookies you like.”

Jake’s head fell back as he groaned in anticipation. “If she wasn’t happily married with three kids, I’d marry your mum. Let’s go right now.”

You laughed. “There’d be a bit of an age gap there.”

“We’d make it work,” Jake joked, throwing his arm around your shoulders as you walked towards your house. He beamed down at you, his bright, boyish smile that you loved to bits, and you beamed up at him as you grabbed the hand that hung off your shoulder in your own.

You walked as happily as you could. “Do you even speak Korean?” you suddenly asked.

Jake halted abruptly in his steps, a gravely offended look on his face. When you looked back at him in confusion, he rolled his eyes and started walking again, pulling you with him. “It’s literally my mother tongue, Y/N. I speak it every day at home.”

“Oh, right.”

At the time, you thought nothing could come between you and Jake. Not anyone, not anything, neither distance nor time. But they did. A week after he’d left, a boy from your class you’d talked to maybe once or twice asked you out on a date. You weren’t sure why, but you said yes. Then you said yes to being his girlfriend, even though you didn’t like him all that much, and you even said yes to reducing your texting with Jake because it made him jealous. When you’d broken up with him and wanted to catch up with Jake and apologise for your absence, you’d found that his new school in Seoul was a lot more demanding than yours in Brisbane, and he had to spend most of his evenings in academies if he wanted to get into a nice university. It’s when you learned that he’d be staying in South Korea for college that you decided to leave Australia too. Brisbane was a lot less fun without him there - why bother staying? You couldn’t go to him because of the language barrier and the cost of university there. If you were to essentially uproot your life, might as well go somewhere you could get a scholarship and understand the people around you.

It seemed insane that someone you had thought would be by your side for the rest of your life, someone that was part of your most cherished memories, had been reduced to someone you casually texted once in a while. It seems even more insane that now that you’re finally done essentially grieving your friendship with Jake, he stands in front of you again, six inches taller but still donning those puppy-like eyes and smile of his.

For your sake, you just hoped you wouldn’t be as in love with him at twenty as you were at fourteen.

The next day, you show Jake around campus, which wouldn’t normally take more than ten minutes, but takes double that time because of the sheer amount of people there. Between the Societies Fair taking up most of the square, the tour guides leading freshers, walking slowly and taking in their new campus, and the pizza and drinks stands, freshers’ week always turns campus into what feels like the busiest place on Earth. You try not to let it hit a nerve for Jake’s sake, who’s clearly ecstatic at all the activity, but you like this place a lot more when it’s quieter. You walk through the Fair, laughing as Jake marvels at all the different clubs and societies at the Uni.

“Gardening Society? Dungeons & Dragons Society? Wine society?” he exclaims, astonishment growing with every passing stand.

“And this is only the first day. They also have a Taylor Swift Society.” He grabs a flyer from about every society, even though you know he’ll join between two to zero of them.

When you walk out, there’s a girl handing out samples of shampoo and conditioner, and you let her give you one, more out of politeness than anything.

“These are so useless,” you start, and Jake chuckles, unaware of the incoming rant. “I had that job of distributing them last year, and we would get a tip if we gave them all out. So naturally I put a bunch in my bag, but then I had to use them for like two weeks.” You sigh. “First of all, my hair did not like it. And second, the ratio is so off. There’s way more conditioner than shampoo when it should be the other way around, so you have to condition your hair even though it’s not properly clean. So stupid.”

“Sounds terrible,” Jake says, laughing. “Is that why you’re not doing it this year?”

“Oh… Not really. I dated the guy that takes care of this promo stuff, so it would’ve been kinda awkward…” you trail, immediately wishing you could backtrack on conversation. Talking about your ex with Jake wasn’t on your to-do list for today. Or ever.

“You dated your boss?”

“The manager, yeah, I guess. He was only 24, though, don’t worry.”

“I’m more worried about the power imbalance than the age gap there.”

You shrug, looking down at your shoes. “It’s not like he was that high up.”

“So, what happened? Why did you break up?”

“Well, he acted like our four-year age difference meant he could treat me like a little kid. It was nice being taken care of at first but then I realised how condescending he was and dumped him.”

“How long were you together?”

You pause. “Two weeks,” you admit abashedly, making Jake chuckle. “At least he didn’t waste my time and showed his red flags early on.”

“Any boyfriends since?” he asks, and you wonder whether you’re making up the unsure tone of his voice. As if he’s curious, but doesn’t want to show it too much. You hope you’re not making it up.

“A few, but they never last very long with me,” you say, a meek smile on your lips. “Furthest I got was three months.”

“And why didn’t it work out with three-months-guy?”

“He started comparing me to his mum a bit too often.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I ran out of there without looking back.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve got high standards. I would hate to see you date just any loser.”

You want to say, High standards or issues?, but you don’t want to make it weird, so you play it cool instead. “I would never. I have a mental checklist with everything a guy needs to have for me to date him.”

“A checklist? I have to hear about this.”

You sigh, debating whether you should tell him about it. Would he notice it’s based on him? Would he notice the only person that could tick practically every box was none other than him? Jake gently elbows your side, goading you on. When you look at him, he’s got a shit-eating grin playing on his lips, and you give in. You look off into the distance as you start listing your requirements. “Well, there’s all your basics like funny, taller than me but not too much, ‘cause I don’t want neck cramps, smart, takes uni seriously, has plans for his future, easy to talk to, not emotionally stunted and can actually have a vulnerable conversation. It’s also a bonus if he has a nice face.”

“How much of a bonus?”

You think for a second. “It’s more a dealbreaker than a bonus, actually. Nice smile is a must, definitely.”

“Okay. Got any more specifics?”

“I do have some particular ones. It’s nice if he’s a reader, but it’s terrible if it makes him think he’s better than everyone or if he tries to sound smarter than me. I like it if he has experience, I don’t want to have to teach him everything. But obviously I don’t want him to still be in love with his ex. Guys and their first loves, I swear… I also don’t really like picky eaters.” You look over at Jake and take a double-take. He’s typing away on his phone, but because of his privacy screen protector, you can’t see anything. You huff. “I also don’t like it if he has those protective screens on his phone. What’s on there that’s so important that I can’t take a peek? What are you even doing?”

The sweet sound of Jake’s giggles erases any trace of annoyance that you felt seconds ago. He turns his screen towards you, showing the list of mostly ticked boxes that he’s written up. “See? I check most of these,” he says with a proud smile. “Guess your standards aren’t that high.” You don’t tell him that your standards are high, he’s just that amazing.

You do your best to look only amused at this even though inside, you’re all but freaking out. “Which are you missing?”

“Well, I clearly own a privacy screen. And I don’t have much experience. Not nearly as much as you, by the sounds of it,” he admits, somewhat sheepish. “But other than that, I’m practically the perfect man for you.” He looks down at you with a smile so bright, it makes you wish you had brought sunglasses. It takes everything in you not to scream right then and there. Yes, Jake, you are the perfect man for me, but I wish you wouldn’t say it like it was a joke.

You let out a stiff chuckle, and, rather than saying something stupid and possibly damaging, shift the conversation to him. “What do you mean by not much experience? Have you not dated anyone?”

Jake sighs. “Nope, not anyone. I went on a few dates, you know, went through a few talking stages and all that, but it never went much further. There was always something…” He glances at you then. “Missing.”

“I know that feeling,” you say with a chuckle, and he laughs too, a breathy sound.

“I don’t have a checklist to pinpoint what it is, though.”

You smile. “You should try, it might help.”

“I just… I guess I’m like you in that I also have high standards. But it made me not even want to give anyone a chance, especially since I knew it wouldn’t end up anywhere.”

“Don’t tell me no one has ever managed to reach the great Jake Sim’s standards?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course someone has. She’s the whole reason I have standards in the first place. It’s not my standards I compare people to, it’s her.”

Jealousy has never made you feel as sad as it is right now. “And… it didn’t work out between you?”

Jake looks at you, eyes searching for something in yours but seemingly not finding it, and so he turns his gaze away. You don’t know why you feel so disappointed. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “She didn’t feel the same way.”

Whoever this girl is, you can’t believe how stupid she is for passing up the opportunity to have Jake Sim. “That’s… It sucks, I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t think spitting on this girl would make him feel any better, so you keep those thoughts to yourself.

“It’s okay,” he says with a small smile. “It was a while ago already.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re quite over it, though,” you say, and you’re surprised but glad to see his smile widen.

“That’s true.” His eyes meet yours again. “I don’t think I’ll be over her anytime soon, either.” You have to look away to shield the pain that flashes through your eyes from him.

Pretending you don’t have feelings for your best friend and that you’re okay with him being in love with someone else is like riding a bike: even after years of not doing it, it only takes a few minutes for you to be able to do it perfectly again. Muscle memory, if you will. So you sigh dramatically and throw your arm around Jake’s shoulder, slightly pulling him down to your level. “Don’t worry. We’re going to have so much fun this year, you’ll completely forget about her. Promise. She doesn’t know what she’s missing. Yeah?”

He smiles down at you. You want nothing more but that glint of melancholy in his eyes to be gone. “Yeah.”

Jake is only half-glad to see you haven’t changed much from your childhood and early teenage years. You’re still just as pretty, just as warm; it’s still as comfortable to be around you. You’re also still as dense.

Then and now, he did everything he could to make his feelings for you very, very obvious. Either you’re completely oblivious, or the idea of dating him is so horrifying to you, you understand but pretend you don’t. He really hopes it’s the former.

He arrived in Edinburgh just a bit over a week ago, and you’ve seen each other almost every day. Out of those times, there isn’t a single one where he hasn’t tried to send something your way - something that says, hey, what if we stopped being friends and dated instead? Wouldn’t that be cool? Can’t you see how desperately I love you?, but you never latch on. The ball’s in your court, and he wants you to throw it back, but it’s been feeling more like a boomerang that always hits him right in the face when it circles back than a game of catch.

But he’s reminding himself not to be too greedy. Even if it’s just as friends, at least he has you back, so he’s satisfied with that. For now.

His first class of the year is on the following Tuesday morning, a ninety-minute seminar specifically made for exchange students called Discover Scotland. (He has Mondays free, resulting in a three-day weekend, which you and your 9am Monday tutorial are very envious of.) As interesting as the English Lit courses he’s taking seem, it’s this one he’s most looking forward to - except for the one class he shares with you, of course. Not even because of the seminars themselves, which will be about all sorts of topics on Scottish culture and history, but because of the coursework, as crazy as that sounds. It consists of a singular project, not due until the very last day of the semester, in which he has to travel to at least three different places in the country, research its background and provide a detailed account of his experience there. It can take any form: a written report, an in-class presentation, a podcast, anything. He could even film a TikTok if he wanted. Jake knew that being part of the Arts & Crafts club for two years in a row back in Seoul wasn’t for nothing - his scrapbooking skills would finally have their time to shine.

That afternoon, he practically snatches you as you come out of your lecture, giving you little time to say bye to your friends, and makes you take him to the biggest stationary store you know in the city. If he wants to ace this project, he will need supplies. Many, many supplies. And it’s more fun shopping if you’re with him. You seem happy following him around the store, and when he asks you if you want to come on his trips with him, he can pretend it’s because you seem so excited about his project and not because he had thought of you accompanying him as soon as he heard about it.

As you stand in line at the till, you tell him that if he wants to start his project now, you could go to the beach together. You raise your eyebrows at him when he snaps your head towards you. “There’s a beach here?!”

“Did you not look at a map before coming here?” you ask, amused.

“I guess I didn’t…” he says, distraught at the new information. It only lasts a second, though. “Okay, let’s go now.”

“Now?” you echo, and he nods. “But-” you start, but are interrupted by your thoughts. “I guess there’s no reason not to. The weather’s nice and it’s not like I have any uni work yet. Let’s go,” you agree, looking up at him with a smile. You’re so pretty he almost forgets to look away, until the employee calls Next in a bored drawl.

An hour later, you’re at the beach, barefoot on the sand and ice cream in hand. Strawberry for you and vanilla for him, he notes with a smile. Really not much has changed, he thinks. From the sand, to the water, to the promenade along the beach, Portobello is worlds away from the beaches back home in Australia, or those of Jeju Island. But it’s still nice, and because you’re with him, it’s even better. You’ve been walking around for an hour, splashing each other with water and mercilessly ruining sandcastles left behind before he realises you technically came here for his project. He writes down things he doesn’t want to forget on his phone and snaps a few pictures, sneaking a few of you when you’re not looking. He wants to tell you how beautiful you are with your hair blowing in the wind and the way the chill bites at your cheeks, but he keeps it a secret between him and his Notes app.

Even though he lives two stops further down, he gets off from the bus with you, containing his excitement as best he can when you invite him up for a cup of tea. “Depends. What tea do you have?” he asks, trying and failing to play it cool. He’s just grateful he doesn’t have to come up with an excuse to spend more time with you.

You roll your eyes playfully as you unlock the front door to your building. “I can make you hot chocolate, Mister Tea-Is-For-Old-People.”

He chuckles. “Actually, I’ll have you know I started drinking tea at uni.” When you turn around to look at him, a surprised look on your face, he nods proudly. “Mh-hm. I got addicted to caffeine very quickly into first year so I started drinking black tea for the sake of my heart,” he explains.

“God,” you say breathily, sounding mildly horrified. “A caffeine addiction sounds intense.”

“It was, yeah,” he says, laughing as he follows you into your flat.

Yunjin and Chaewon are sitting at the living room table, watching an episode of what he thinks is Gossip Girl, and they greet him as normally as these two can, but he wonders what the knowing look they exchange is all about. He’d met them the previous weekend when you had all gone for drinks together, along with Jay, Yunjin’s boyfriend, and they had all but grilled him on his relationship with you. He hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it up to your friends feeling protective of you, and truthfully, he was just happy to get to talk about you. But now, he was wondering if you had told them anything about him that made them so curious about him. If you did, he hoped it was something positive.

He stands awkwardly in the kitchen, chatting with you as you boil the water and get cups out, but he can feel their gazes burning the back of his head. Clearly, whatever conversation he’s having with you, he’s also having it with them. “How do you take your tea?” you ask.

“Um, three sugars and lots of milk, please,” he says, smiling innocently when you slowly turn to look at him, a mix of disapproval, disgust, and offence on your face.

You sigh deeply. “I mean, I’ll do it, but I’m not sure that’s even tea anymore.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss Caramel Frappuccino,” he says, recycling your bad joke from earlier.

“At least I don’t claim to be drinking coffee when I order a frap,” you argue. “And this is how you battled your coffee addiction? You’ll be getting another kind of heart problem, Jakey.” He doesn’t know if you even notice your use of his old nickname - the first time you’ve used it since he’s been here - but you don’t make a big deal of it, so he doesn’t either. Not outwardly, at least. Mentally, he’s running laps around your small kitchen.

Jake laughs it off. “I thought I came here for tea, not a health check-up,” he says, smile growing wider at the sight of yours.

“Right, sorry,” you say, giggling. “I’ll make your tea just how you like it,” you add in a sweet voice. Jake knows you’re just doing it as a joke, but it still manages to make butterflies erupt in his stomach.

His tea tastes even sweeter that day.

A few days after your impromptu trip to the beach, you’re waiting for Jake outside of his class. He heard of this donut shop he “absolutely needs to visit” and is dragging you along with him - well, “dragging” is a big word considering you’d follow him anywhere. You got here a few minutes early, not needing much of a reason to leave the library, so you scroll through your feed until Jake calls out your name. You’re only mildly surprised to see Jay leaving the classroom behind him.

“Y/N! Can you believe that Jay and I are in the same class?” he says excitedly as the two boys walk toward you. You feel like a dog owner being greeted by their over-enthusiastic dog after a long day (about three hours) of being apart.

“I can believe it, actually. You two do the same degree.”

You exchange quick greetings with Jay before the three of you start heading out. As you walk, Jake throws his arm around your shoulders so casually, it almost throws you off balance. Physical contact always came easy to him, but there’s something about him doing it next to someone else that catches you off guard. It reminds you of walking somewhere with Jay and Yunjin as they discretely held hands. It makes you feel like it’s not the three of you, but Jay with the two of you. Like you and Jake come as a pair rather than as two individuals.

All of that from a simple arm around your shoulders.

Jake asking you in a very unsubtle whisper whether Jay can come with brings you out of your head and back into the conversation. “Yeah, of course,” you say, smiling. It’s not a bad idea to have Jay along: hanging out with someone else might snap you out of your delusion.

Most of the walk to the shop is done in laughter as Jake and Jay realise how much random stuff they have in common, from their peanut allergies to the embarrassing Harry Potter phase they had as fifteen-year-olds. Grassmarket is really busy on Friday afternoons, and there’s a bit of a queue of other donut-enjoyers in front of the boutique, but you don’t mind. The sun is shining down gently on the square and it gives you time to choose your donut out of the ten or so flavours available. In the end, you go for white chocolate and raspberry, while Jake chooses Biscoff and Jay, tiramisu.

“My friend Sunghoon would love this,” he says after taking a hearty bite. “He goes crazy over tiramisu. Like a cat with catnip.”

Jake chuckles, mouth full of Biscoff. “That’s funny, I also have a friend named Sunghoon who loves tiramisu back in Seoul.”

Jay punches Jake’s shoulder, eyes wide in amusement and shock. “Bro, that’s crazy. You have to be lying at this point,” he says, but Jake shakes his head fervently.

“I promise I’m not. I’ve even saved his number with the tiramisu emoji.”

“There’s a tiramisu emoji?” Jay asks, already over questioning the existence of Jake’s Sunghoon.

The conversation circles back to the courses you’re all taking this semester, and Jake tells Jay about Discover Scotland and the trips he’s planned so far. “Well, if you really want to discover Scotland as a student, you need to go on a night out in Glasgow,” Jay says. Going by the look on Jake’s face, Jay’s idea seems to have struck a chord in him.

“Y/N?”

You nod, finishing your mouthful of donut before speaking. “Yeah, Glasgow’s really fun. We should go,” you say, laughing when the two boys high-five in victory. Between the train, the drinks and the club entry, going out isn’t a cheap ordeal, and getting to and fro also takes a while - even so, the smile on Jake’s face makes it worth it.

He wipes some raspberry jam from the corner of your mouth, shooting you a wink, and you want to disintegrate right then and there, become one with the bench you’re sitting on and never have to face him again. The conversation resumes as Jay tells Jake about all the best places to go out in Glasgow, but you don’t hear a word - the feeling of Jake’s thumb so close to your lips takes away your ability for coherent thought.

“It’s decided, then. We’re going out tomorrow night,” Jay loudly announces. “Let me gather the troops.”

That’s how you find yourself in line for the club the next day, already tipsy from pre-drinking on the train and at the pub. It’s still warm enough for you and the girls to wear as little clothing as you want, but Jake insisted on giving you his flannel jacket anyway. If not for the warmth it brings, you’re glad to have his scent enveloping you.

The five of you work exceptionally well together. You, Chaewon and Yunjin have been a given since you met in first year, and Jay and Yunjin went so well together that he was but a natural addition to your little group. Jake’s only been here for over a week, but it’s like he’s always been around, and you couldn’t be happier about it. Him and Jay hit it off immediately, and although the girls needed some time to warm up to him (it’s not everyday that you meet your friend’s ex-best-friend she’s practically always been in love with; you understand why they might’ve been wary at first), they now tease him just as relentlessly as they do Jay. He takes it like a champ.

For a little while, you watch your friends speaking over each other, bickering over nothing, a smile on your face. Two pints of cider and some of Jay’s fancy vodka have made you more grateful than ever for them - if you drink too much in the club, you’ll be hugging them and crying about how much you love them. You’re not sure what that might look like around Jake, so you decide to keep yourself in check for the night.

It takes about thirty minutes before you manage to get into the club. It’s not coat check season yet, so you head straight to the bar. “Sunghoon said he’d meet us here,” Jay says, lifting his head to spot his friend in the sea of drunk students. “Oh yeah, there he is! Hoon, hey!”

You hear a loud “Jongseong!” being shouted from somewhere in the crowd, but you’re not sure who Jay is waving at until a boy whose face is mostly eyebrows is standing - well, standing as best as he can, with the copious amount of alcohol he’s obviously already consumed - in front of you. He gives Jay a hug and the three of you a nod of his head, a lopsided smile on his face. When he turns to Jake, his eyebrows lift first, then his face breaks into a wide grin.

“Jake, my man!” he shouts, taking a stunned Jake’s hand and bringing him into a hug.

“Sunghoon? What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, chuckling and frowning in confusion.

“I’m just partying, man! Same as you!”

“No, I mean here in Scotland, you dumbass!”

“You two know each other?” Jay asks, looking back and forth between his two friends.

“Jake’s my man!” Sunghoon exclaims, unhelpful and stumbling as he throws an arm around his man’s shoulders. Jake shoots you a distressed look but you just laugh at him.

“This is Tiramisu Sunghoon I told you about,” Jake says, helping Sunghoon stand up straight.

“God, what I would do for a tiramisu right now,” Sunghoon says, looking at Yunjin like she might relate. She chuckles awkwardly.

“I have no idea what he’s doing in Scotland, though. Hoon, I thought you were going to NYU for your exchange?”

Sunghoon pauses to think for a second, looking like he’s never heard of NYU in his life. “Oh, that! Yeah, I did an online orientation thing and… it did not go well. Let’s just say there’s someone in New York City who wants me dead,” he says conspiratorially. You all stare at him but he gives no further explanation. On your right, you hear Yunjin whisper what the fuck under her breath. “So I transferred here instead!”

“I didn’t know you were an exchange student,” Jay says, still looking just as confused.

“Yeah, man! But anyways, let’s not talk about uni right now. I’m on a bender, day three, baby! Do not talk to me tomorrow,” he says, chuckling until the smile suddenly drops from his face. “I mean that.” You look around yourself, glad to find everyone is just as baffled as you. “Let’s party!” Sunghoon cheers, intoxicated grin back on his lips. Jake and Jay follow, but you and the girls stay back for a second, taking in everything that has just happened.

“That. Is the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” Chaewon blurts, staring blankly at the spot Sunghoon stood in a second ago.

“Yeah, he also seems to be a raging alcoholic. And he’s what, twenty-one?” Yunjin says, a scowl on her face.

“I could fix him.”

“Okay, let’s go,” you say, grabbing your friends by their wrists before either of them can say something worse.

Feeling generous, Sunghoon buys shots for all six of you, and you quickly down them before heading to the dancefloor. On your way there, a group of sober-looking girls hand Chaewon a giant, still almost full jug of red liquid, something that costs at least twelve pounds here. They say they’re leaving and don’t need it anymore, smiling as you profusely and astonishedly thank them. You look at your friends, mentally weighing the risk and drugging possibility this might present, but shrug and pass the jug around after taking hearty sips anyway. It tastes so much like fizzy cherries that you wonder if it even contains any alcohol, but sure enough, twenty minutes later, the three of you are spinning around on the dancefloor, screaming the lyrics to your favourite pop songs at the top of your lungs. Jake at a club is a completely foreign sight to you, and you can’t stop laughing at all the silly moves he pulls.

You’re shaking your whole body to a Nicki song from the early 2010s when you suddenly feel a hand on your hip. Before you can turn around and slap whoever this random man is that thinks he can touch you, a familiar voice whispers it’s just me in your ear, and you simultaneously relax and tense up knowing that Jake is standing right behind you. “There’s a creep staring at you,” he explains, lips and breath gently tickling your ear as he speaks. You look around the room and quickly notice a man standing in a corner, drink in one hand and the other in his pocket, unmoving as he eyes you with a smirk so slimy it makes your stomach turn. To avoid his gaze, you turn around, but you’re not sure the sight you’re met with is much better for you.

Jake peers down at you, eyes slightly glossed over and cheeks flushed from the alcohol, jaw locked in annoyance. He glances at the guy in the corner, who you assume is still staring when you feel Jake’s hands brush along your sides until they reach your waist. His gaze returns to your face as he brings you a step closer to him. Reflexively, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Is this okay?” he mouths. All you can do is meekly nod. You watch as his eyes deliberately scan your face, going down and down. Time stills when they reach your lips and stay there. It’s like someone has put the booming music of the club on mute, and the only thing you can hear is your heart loudly beating in your ears. You suddenly feel very sober.

You swear Jake’s face is slowly inching its way towards yours when you’re abruptly taken away. Yunjin has grabbed you by the forearm, leading you and Chaewon to the bathroom as she chants “Bathroom break! Bathroom break!”, clearly unaware of the moment she’s just interrupted.

Because of the queue for the girls’ bathroom and Chaewon’s decision to console this random girl who was in the middle of a breakdown, it’s not until half-an-hour later that you emerge back into the crowd. You spot the boys at a table, two empty shots each in front of them and all three with a beer in hand. They will not be happy checking their bank accounts tomorrow morning.

“Y/N! You’re back!” Jake calls out happily when he spots you, and you can tell right away that he’s much drunker than when you left him. His whole face is flush, his eyes don’t open quite all the way, and a lopsided smile won’t leave his lips - even like this, he’s so pretty that you want to grab his hand and take him somewhere it’s just the two of you.

Chaewon gets drinks for the three of you and then you’re dancing again. It’s already one am at this point, and the remaining two hours until the club closes, fueled with alcohol and good music, go by in a flash. Before you know it, the DJ is playing All of Me by John Legend and the lights have been turned on, clear signs that you’re overstaying your welcome. The few people that have made it to closing time stumble out of the club and into the street, heading for either the nearest subway stop or the next party of the night. Since there are no trains at this time, your group walks to the close-by bus station, listening to Jake and Sunghoon grumble about how the clubs in Seoul don’t close until at least five or six and how trains run all night there.

The bus is already at the station when you get there, and the driver doesn’t seem too pleased about having six mildly drunk kids get on his bus, but he’s probably used to questionable people taking public transport at this time of the day anyway. Physically, Sunghoon is sitting across from you, but mentally, he’s off somewhere far, far from this bus. With his head against the window and mouth wide open, saliva pooling at the corner of his lips, he looks like he’s any second away from obnoxiously snoring. Jay and Yunjin are sitting somewhere you can’t see them, probably eating each other’s faces; she once told you they had their “most mind-blowing sex” when both a little drunk, and much to your dismay, you haven’t been able to get that piece of information out of your head since. Chaewon is on the phone to her long-distance bestie Sakura, for whom it’s a nice eleven in the morning right now.

This means that you and Jake are left alone, both of you still tipsy and not tired enough to fall asleep. You drop your head on Jake’s shoulder, and not only does he let you, he also takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers and placing them atop his thigh. Clumsily, because he now has to use his left hand, Jake slips his phone out of his back pocket and shows you the photos he took all evening. As the night progresses, they get blurrier and blurrier, so much so that towards the end, you can’t tell what he was even trying to capture, and you laugh at how inappropriate some of these would be to submit in a university project.

When he softly says your name, you don’t raise your head, simply humming to let him know you’re listening. You close your eyes, cherishing the way your name sounds on his lips. It’s his tone, tentative and vulnerable as he tells you there’s something he’s been wanting to ask you, that makes you look up at him. He, however, won’t meet your eyes, and settles his gaze on the window, even though it’s so dark outside you can’t make out a thing.

“How come you never replied to my letter? I know it’s been ages, but… I still find myself wondering about it.” The question is softly asked and you know he by no means wants to hurt you, but it still feels like a punch to the throat. You hadn’t remembered who it was that had sent the last letter, while he’d been wondering all these years why his words had been left unanswered.

He seems set on not looking at you, so you rest your head back on his shoulder. Your hand is still in his. “I’m not sure, Jakey. I’m sorry,” you say, aware it’s not a satisfying answer. You’ve thought about why you and Jake had stopped talking for hours on end; you’ve discussed it with your friends and your mum, looked at it from all sorts of angles, tried to come up with real reasons other than time pulling you apart. But now that Jake himself is asking you about it, the words don’t come easy. You’ve theorised that you were afraid putting effort into sustaining your friendship would only hurt you in the end, because it was just that - a friendship. You could fool yourself into thinking you were okay only being friends with him when he was with you, that putting your feelings aside was worth it since you could at least spend time with him. But now that he was away, you didn’t have that anymore - it just hurt. So what was the point? And how could you phrase all this without betraying your feelings for him?

“Our letters were so sparse anyway back then, even our texts and calls were getting less and less frequent… And whenever I had a new boyfriend, I’d get into the same argument about being too close to you over and over again, even though you were literally on another continent.”

“You know, I always felt sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“Those boyfriends of yours. I felt like you waited for me to leave before you started dating-”

“It wasn’t like that!” you exclaim, lifting your head again. Finally, he meets your eyes, gaze softening upon seeing your affronted expression. “It wasn’t like that,” you repeat, relaxing your tone. “If anything, they were the ones that waited for you to be gone. I'm sorry I let their jealousy get to me.”

Jake smiles, the tenderness in his gaze making your whole body turn to jelly. He squeezes your hands. “It’s okay. I just… I felt like I was always in the way of your relationships, even after I left.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry about that. They should’ve had more trust in me.”

He pauses, gaze dropping down to your intertwined hands. “I would’ve been jealous.” When his eyes find yours again, there’s something in them that you quite can’t place. It creates a ball of nerves that pull at your stomach. “If I were dating you, and you had a guy friend you were as close with as we were back then, I’d be jealous. You know, I’d assume he had feelings for you. And that you might have feelings for him, too.”

Because I did, you think. I did, and I still do. You try to communicate that thought to Jake, but telepathy works especially bad when one has as much alcohol coursing through their veins as you do right now. So instead, you say the opposite of what you’re thinking, turning away from Jake to avoid his gaze. You watch the dribble of saliva trickle from Sunghoon’s lips. “That’s not a great view of male-female friendship.”

Jake’s retort comes immediately. “But we were different, right?”

His words echo through your head until they make even less sense than they did initially. Different from what? From who? You’re not sure - but you like the idea of you and Jake being different, special. You especially like the idea of Jake thinking so. So you look at him and smile. “Right.”

Slowly, his grin fades and turns into a worried expression. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“We’re still different now, aren’t we?”

You want to wrap him in your arms so tightly neither of you can breathe. You settle for running a hand through his hair and pinching his cheek. “Course we are.” Your whole being relaxes when his face breaks into a smile again.

The next morning, you wake up to Yunjin plopping down on your bed unceremoniously, shaking you awake, and asking you if you want anything from Snax Café. On one hand, you’re grateful that she thought of you and that in thirty minutes’ time, you’ll have the greasiest sausage wrap and hash browns known to man in your hand; on the other, you’d like to think that she knows you well enough to know to order your regular from there without asking. But that’s probably the hangover talking.

You stumble out of bed, thanking last night’s you for having remembered to take headache medicine before crashing. Even if your stomach is very upset with the copious amount of alcohol it needs to rid your body of, and your throat is begging for water, at least your head doesn’t feel like it’s been split into two. As Yunjin barges into Chaewon’s room just as she had done yours, you head for the kitchen to get yourself a tall glass of revitalising tap water. You’re only mildly surprised to find Sunghoon passed out on your living room couch - it takes you a few seconds to remember that the three of you took pity on him when you learned he lived over an hour’s walk from the station, so you let him spend the night on your uncomfortable, cold leather sofa. While you down your glass in three gulps, you hear Yunjin shaking Sunghoon awake and asking him loudly if he wanted something from Snax.

“Fuck, I’d kill for a Snax right now,” he groggily says before he’s even opened his eyes. When he does, they dart around the room until they land on Yunjin, who's crouching in front of him. He looks like he thought her question was asked in a dream and not in real life. He also looks like he's not quite sure where he is, or who Yunjin is. It isn’t until Jay comes wobbling out of Yunjin’s bed to the couch opposite Sunghoon that the memories seem to piece back together in his head. The three of you watch him like he’s an unstable mental patient and you’re his doctors.

“No need for that, I’m ordering it on Deliveroo.” He nods his head and goes back to sleep for the time being.

Just as you’re about to text Jake, your phone rings with a call from him. His raspy morning voice as he asks you whether you slept well makes you want to put your head in an oven heated at 200 degrees Celsius. However, you resist the urge, and answer him with a smile, then ask him the same question.

“I slept pretty well too. I’d have slept in longer but one of my flatmates decided to have a Sunday fucking brunch and his friends are so loud. Can I come over?”

You’re very aware of the other people in the room, especially of Chaewon who has just walked in and is eyeing you suspiciously as if to say, Why are you smiling so hard at ten in the morning? You know the girls would jump at any opportunity to tease you about Jake, and with the added presence of Sunghoon in the room, you can’t have that. So you stifle the giggles bubbling in your throat and answer as nonchalantly as you can. It also gives you the chance to reflect on why Jake Sim asking you whether he can come over makes you want to giggle like a giddy schoolgirl so much.

(Maybe it’s because when it comes to him, you’re still the giddy schoolgirl you used to be.)

“Yeah, of course. I was going to ask you if you wanted anything from Snax, actually.”

“Snax? What’s that?”

“Oh my God, Jake, am I about to introduce you to Snax right now?”

Twenty minutes later, the six of you are sitting around your small living room table, all varying amounts of tired, dehydrated and famished as you dig into your breakfast. Given your current levels of energy, it’s fairly quiet; plus, the food hits such a spot that it’s hard to talk and eat at the same time. Jake eats like he’s never had a breakfast wrap and hash brown in his life. It’s an endearing sight if you’ve ever seen one.

You spend the afternoon together, watching movies curled up in your bed, and you try desperately not to think about the implications of that - except that’s hard to do when Jake is right next to you, legs and arms ever-so-slightly brushing against yours, his warmth so close yet so out of reach. You purposefully let him pick movies you’ve already seen so that you don’t have to focus on anything but your own thoughts and the faint but dizzying scent of his body wash. The both of you had an innumerable amount of sleepovers as kids, so this shouldn’t feel weird, but it decidedly does, probably because you’re much more aware of him now in a way you weren’t before.

As hard as you try to figure out what exactly he meant by “different,” you draw a blank. The only way you’ll understand is if you ask him, and you’re far too scared to do that. You don’t want to seem so hung upon a singular word he used when he was tipsy. It might be slightly dramatic, but you felt like some sort of balance had been restored since Jake was back in your life - the problem was it made you scared to do anything that might threaten this newfound equilibrium. It at least seems like different means a good thing to him, and that’s enough for you.

You look over to him when the second movie comes to an end. He’s sleeping peacefully, lashes caressing the skin under his eyes and cheeks looking rounder than usual. It’d be so easy to reach a finger out and trace the line descending from the top of his forehead to his chin, gliding along the bump of his nose and feeling the plumpness of his rosy lips, but you settle for drawing that line with your eyes instead.

You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep with him next to you and your heart beating so loudly in your ears, but you find yourself waking up a few hours later, the sun already starting to set. Jake is already awake, scrolling on his phone, one arm casually behind his head as if being in your bed is as comfortable to him as being in his own. When he sees you’ve woken up, his honey-coated smile washes warmly over you, and he makes a joke about how he keeps on falling asleep when he’s with you. “I feel that at ease, I guess,” he says, and you hope you’re not making up the small blush that spreads over his cheeks.

Semesters are always a short and intense affair, but this one passes by even quicker with Jake by your side. Before you know it, it’s midterms already, and you and Jake have travelled enough for him to complete his project and make another one just for the hell of it. He had scoured the internet for the cheapest train tickets and most noteworthy sites, planning trips that lasted anywhere between three hours and a day for the two of you. All you needed to do was follow and trust him, which was the easiest thing anyone could’ve asked of you.

You’ve gone back to Glasgow, during the day, this time, as well as St. Andrews and Aberdeen. You’ve practically visited every loch and castle in a one-hour train ride radius of Edinburgh, and Jake has more lined up for the second part of the semester. He’s even said that your trips should continue being a thing next term, and you couldn’t have agreed faster. With every new destination, every train ride spent looking out a window or laughing about everything and anything, any odd Scottish food you try for the first time, you somehow fall for him a bit deeper. You didn’t know your love for him could bloom any more than it already had - but Jake is the gift that keeps on giving, and, unwillingly or not, he always finds new ways to make your heart speed that much faster.

Attentionate, affectionate, sweet Jake who always makes sure you’re comfortable wherever you go, always gives you his jacket or tucks your hair behind your ear to prevent it from falling in your face. Who, as time passed, grew more touchy, would hold your hand, ruffle your hair, pinch your cheek, which was simultaneously devastating and elating. Who, you could tell, started to linger more, both in his touch and in his gaze. Questions of does he love me back or am I seeing what I want to see? nearly drove you mad.

“I feel like at this point the only way she’ll understand that I like her is if I kill myself and write in my suicide note that it’s her fault for not loving me back.”

Jake has been pacing back and forth in Jay’s living room for approximately twenty minutes, with no end in sight. At least he’ll have gotten most of his ten thousand steps of the day in.

Jay sighs heavily. “Okay, I really don’t think you need to go that far.”

“Sounds romantic to me,” Sunghoon says, mouth full of salted caramel popcorn.

“I hope you never get a girlfriend,” Jay retorts, looking at his deranged friend with a scowl. He turns back to his (slightly more) normal friend and gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I mean, I told her we were different. Different. That we weren’t like regular friends. I tell her she’s pretty every chance I get. I give her my jacket all the time, even though this country is fucking cold. I’ve even given her a t-shirt of mine, sprayed with my perfume and everything. And don’t get me wrong, I do it ‘cause I love doing that for her-”

“Simp,” Sunghoon snickers.

“But what the hell else can I do? Like, she has to be ignoring it on purpose at this point.”

“You could always, you know… tell her?”

Jake scoffs, fixing his friend with a derisive look. “Wow. What a great idea, Jay, I never thought of that one before!”

A popcorn lands right on Jay’s cheek. “You’re so clueless, man,” Sunghoon says, a shit-eating smirk on his lips. As if he knows any better.

Jay looks back-and-forth between his friends, an expression on his face like he’s been disparaged. “Sorry, I didn’t know being straightforward and honest was such a bad thing. It would just make things a lot clearer for the both of you.”

“But… I’m scared,” Jake says.

“Man up!” Sunghoon suddenly yells, punching the sofa next to him, making his friends jump. “How can she ever figure it out if you don’t tell her?”

“You were on my side just a second ago, man, what are you doing?” Jake asks, confusion written all over his face. Sunghoon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two boys, retreating into silence as he stuffs his mouth with another handful of popcorn.

“Just ignore him,” Jay says. “But for once, he did say something that makes a modicum of sense. You think you’re being really obvious, but you might not actually be. Which could be a good sign, you know. I heard girls were super aware of a guy liking them if they weren’t into him, but being totally oblivious if they did like him.”

“Where did you hear that?” Jake asks, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“...Instagram Reels,” Jay reluctantly admits, frowning at Sunghoon who bursts into laughter.

Jake holds the bridge of his nose between two fingers like his head aches. “You’re both so useless, I’m never coming to you with my problems ever again.”

“I’ll pretend I’m not offended by that.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, anyway,” Sunghoon says. He’s smiling but Jake genuinely can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“But seriously, if you think you’ve done everything, then just do one last thing that’s so obvious she can’t misinterpret it,” Jay says.

“Like what?”

“Like kissing her, or some-”

“Kissing her?!” Jake echoes.

“That’s wild, man,” Sunghoon uselessly butts in.

“It’s just an example, calm yourselves,” Jay says. “Or, again, just straight up tell her how you feel. It’s what I did with Yunjin, and it worked.”

“You and Yunjin are dating?” Sunghoon asks, bewildered.

Jay shakes his head at him. “Where the hell have you been, bro? We were literally cuddling on the couch the other day.”

“I just thought you were really good friends, or something.”

Jake groans, holding his head in his hands. Sunghoon was of no help whatsoever, and Jay was so on point that it annoyed him. Confessing was the only solution - but Jake was so afraid of being rejected and losing your friendship that he had barely entertained the thought. But he had found the courage to do it once, and even though his planned confession had fallen through back then, he could get himself together and do it again.

It was the day he had told you he was moving to Korea, which he himself had learned that morning. Originally, he’d texted you because he had news to share - good news. Or at least, he hoped they were good. He hoped the soft, lingering looks you gave him weren’t a figment of his imagination but rather the confirmation he needed that you liked him back. He hoped that like him, you cared too much about your friendship to make the first move into something else; that by confessing first, you’d be relieved of that responsibility; that his wish to hold your hand and kiss your forehead wasn’t one-sided.

He decided not to prepare anything - just a couple sentences that he’d rehearsed over and over in his head. Declarations of love, bouquets of flowers, chocolate and couple keychains, all that could wait until after you’d said yes to being his girlfriend. He didn’t want to win you over just once, he wanted to show you every day how much he loved you. Fourteen-year-old Jake was absolutely head over heels for you; so imagine his disappointment when, as he was getting ready to meet with you, his parents called him downstairs, a tone to their voice Jake wasn’t familiar with, but that couldn’t mean anything good.

“Your dad’s job is sending us back to Seoul next month,” his mom announced, not beating around the bush. He felt everything quite literally crumbling down around him. His friends in Brisbane, his school, his hobbies, but above all, you. He’d lose it all. And what was the point now in telling you how he felt? If you felt the same way, it would only make his departure that much harder, and if you didn’t, it would ruin your last moments together. It just wasn’t worth it.

What he had planned to be good news turned into the most awful ones. The thought of it happening all over again makes twenty-year-old Jake shudder. But he wouldn’t let himself be trapped by time again - sure, in seven months, the academic year would be over, and he would go back to Korea. But that didn’t mean that those seven months should be spent in agony, or the following ones either, for that matter. You would make it work. What was long-distance to someone who loved someone else as much as Jake loved you?

But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. He has to start by really resolving to do this, and in the off-chance that it actually goes in his favour, he’d start worrying about long distance then.

First, he has a trip to plan.

You should’ve known that a trip to the Scottish Highlands in the middle of November was a risky choice in terms of weather. The day started off nicely enough - no sign of rain when you woke up or as you watched the sunrise through the train window. Clouds turned the sky a bright white at first, then increasingly greyer and greyer. You feel the first drops of rain after lunch as you walk around a small village. By four pm, it’s pitch black and storming like you’ve rarely seen before. You head into a pub to grab a drink as you wait for the rain to subside, but subside it does not. You end up ordering fish and chips, one each, although one serving is enough to feed three. Even after taking your time eating, the bad weather does not let up. The last train, which is meant to be at eight pm, has been cancelled. Luckily, there’s an inn right across the road from the pub; you have no choice but to spend the night.

The inn receptionist is sitting so low on her chair, you can barely see her over the desk until you’re standing right over it. Her face is hidden by a book and it’s only when you say hiya that she seems to realise you’re there. You had never heard of the book or of its author, but you recognized the cover design as that of those romance novels with repetitive plots and weirdly misogynistic love interests your mum and every other middle-aged woman was obsessed with.

Her smile widens as she looks between you and Jake. “Hi there. One room for the lovely couple?”

“Oh, we’re not-”

“Yes, please,” Jake interrupts, smiling down at her, then at you. “It’ll be cheaper if we share a room.”

“Our only room with two single beds is already taken, I’m afraid. One double bed okay for you two?”

You feel like you’re about to faint, so you’re glad Jake is there to answer. “Yeah, of course.” How the idea of sharing one bed with you is so okay to him, you’re not sure - granted, you’ve done it before, but this feels different. For all intents and purposes, this is a hotel room you’re staying in. And you’re staying in it with Jake.

You try to calm your breathing as the receptionist guides you to your room, chatting casually with Jake on the way there. As she unlocks the door for you, she informs you that check-out must be done before eleven in the morning tomorrow, then bids you good night and leaves you to it, still wearing that smile you swear has mischievousness to it. The door clicks shut behind you, and it’s just Jake and you again, together in this small room until tomorrow morning. Your chances of survival are very, very low.

Your room is a humble one, consisting of a desk, a cupboard, two armchairs, a small, separate bathroom and the infamous bed. Every surface seems to be covered with wood, from the ceiling, to the walls, to the old-fashioned furniture. Only the floor is a soft, beige carpet. Especially with the darkness outside, it makes for a gloomy room until you turn on the lamp by the entrance; it casts a warm, golden light in the room, one that would make you feel at ease if it wasn’t for Jake’s presence next to you. The implications of being essentially trapped in a barely-lit room with him are heavy on your mind, especially when he looks this gorgeous with his hair still damp from the rain and the soft lights playing on his face.

His voice brings you out of your thoughts. “Right. Do you, um, do you wanna shower first?” he asks, setting his bag on one of the armchairs.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” There has never been such an awkward tension between the two of you, but you know you’re not doing anything to ease it. You hope a shower will help you get out of your head and make you relax.

You feel the tension leave your muscles under the hot water, but your stomach is still in knots. You’ve never been this nervous around Jake before; back when you were fourteen and again in these past few months, you’d gotten so used to dealing with your unspoken feelings for him that you could almost forget about them when you were with him. They’d come back to you when you were alone and dwelling on the moments you’d spent together, on his words and actions you desperately tried not to read too much into but always ended up doing anyway. But right now, they’ve floated to the surface, becoming as obvious to you as a stain on your skin you can’t rub away. You’re scared Jake will notice it, and, in the worst case scenario you often thought about, would run away and never speak to you again.

At least the raging storm outside would make that a bit harder.

When you step out of the shower, you curse yourself for not having worn more comfortable clothes on this trip. You definitely can’t wear these jeans and button-up sweater to lounge around. Thankfully, the inn provides two long bathrobes that you could wear over underwear and your tank top, but you wonder where on the scale of inappropriate this would be to wear with Jake in the room. He’s seen you in short pyjama shorts before, but this, like everything else that would usually be normal between the two of you, feels weird today.

You wrap the bathrobe around yourself, tying it in place around your waist, and decide that it’d only be weird if you made it weird. And if Jake found the sight of your bare legs weird, then he was the weird one.

The scene you’re met with as you walk into the room makes you want to retreat into the bathroom immediately. Jake is lying on the bed with his upper half against the headboard, one leg extended and the other one bent, resting his head against one palm, using his free hand to scroll through his phone. His t-shirt has ridden up slightly, putting the waistband of his Calvin Kleins into view. Worst of all, when he sees you, his face breaks into a grin.

Your stomach twists when he gives you a once-over, letting his gaze linger on your legs. “Did you bring a bathrobe with you or was it included?” he asks with an annoyingly handsome smirk.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I bring a bathrobe with me wherever I go,” you say sarcastically. “Now shut up and go shower, you stink.” Reverting to insults is always the solution when you’re internally freaking out.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He takes so long in the shower that by the time he comes out, you’ve dozed off in bed. As if you were a child, he wakes you up with a boop to the nose, crouching next to the bed and smiling at you. His wet hair falls on his head like that of a movie star in a shower scene, which you find extremely unfair, and his cheeks are red from the warmth of the water.

“It’s still early. Do you wanna go grab another drink?”

“In our bathrobes?” you say, laughing. “Nah, I don’t really feel like drinking anyway.” Read: I’m not sure what I’ll do with alcohol in me.

“Okay, no worries. Um, I think I saw they had board games in the lobby?”

Your ears perk up at this. “Ooh, what kind of board games?”

Putting jeans on underneath his bathrobe, Jake slips away for a minute and comes back with Monopoly, Uno, and a deck of cards. “They didn’t have much for two players,” he says, dumping everything on the bed.

You already knew that anything would become fun if you did it with Jake, but you definitely didn’t expect to spend almost five hours just playing Monopoly and card games with him. Neither of you stays put for very long, always switching from sitting criss-cross to laying on your stomach, making fun of the other’s bathrobe even though you’re wearing the exact same thing. You make each other laugh as you make up your own nonsense rules and disregard the laws of your games, attacking the other ruthlessly for a couple extra points or coins. Jake even makes you go get snacks from a corner store that’s miraculously still open because you lose the first round of Uno.

After some time, Jake lets out a loud yawn, which in turn makes you yawn too. He checks his phone to find that it’s close to midnight already. “Time for bed?” he asks, and your nervousness that had finally dissipated as you played came rushing back.

You nod. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you clean up before brushing your teeth. Even that, with Jake by your side, becomes a silly affair as he pulls faces in the mirror and nudges your hip with his. You stay behind to use the toilet, and when you come back out, Jake’s already in bed, bathrobe tossed on one of the armchairs. This means that Jake is just casually in a t-shirt and boxers, waiting for you to join him in bed. Luckily, his back is turned to you, so you quickly take off your own bathrobe and slide under the sheets, careful to keep your distance from him. The sheets are cold underneath you, and you know it’ll take a while before your body heat warms them up - although you feel very hot and bothered because of the man lying next to you.

“Gosh, I’m really sleepy all of a sudden,” he says, words distorted by a yawn. You only hum in response, and he reaches for the lamp to turn it off. Just like that, you’re in complete darkness, and Jake’s body is mere inches from your own.

It’s eerily quiet for a while, and when you’ve managed to slow your heartbeat and regularise your breathing, you start trying to fall asleep. You toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position until Jake’s low, sleepy voice breaks the silence. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, and you freeze.

You sigh. “No. I’m sorry for keeping you up,” you say guiltily.

“It’s okay. I can’t really sleep either. It’s a bit cold in here.”

You pause. “Right. Yeah, it is,” you say, even though you feel like you’re sweating buckets.

The room plunges into silence again, long enough for you to think Jake has fallen asleep. You feel something cold against your foot, only realising as it slides up your calf that it’s his foot. “Jake!” you whisper-yell, withdrawing your leg as he bursts into giggles that warm your heart. “Your feet are so cold,” you say in-between chuckles.

“I’m cold all over,” he whines. “Have they not turned the heating on yet? It’s already mid-November.”

“People are used to the cold here.”

“Well I’m not. Can we cuddle?” he suddenly asks, and he must somehow feel the way you freeze in place because he stammers out a justification straight away. “For, I mean, just for warmth, you know. I don’t think I’ll sleep otherwise.”

His foot finds yours again and you can’t help but laugh. “Sure, fine,” you say with a sigh as if you were doing only half-heartedly for his sake. As if this was some big sacrifice you were making, and not something you’d daydreamed about one too many times before.

Your heart is beating a thousand miles a second when you scooch closer to Jake, his hands finding your waist as easily as if they’d been there a hundred times before. He pulls you in much closer than you had expected, holding you tightly against his chest, one arm for you to use as a pillow and one hand resting on your lower back. You try to calm your respiration so that he can’t hear how short of breath you are, but based on his own breathing, he seems to be out in five minutes. It takes you longer to fall asleep, every shift of his body sending shivers down your spine, but you manage to relax after some time, letting his warmth envelop you as you drift off to sleep.

The feeling of waking up with you in his arms is so unreal, Jake thinks he might still be dreaming.

He looks down at your peaceful sleeping face and can’t stop the smile that spreads on his lips. Jake always thinks you’re pretty, but this is a sight he particularly wants to commit to memory. He watches fondly as the bright sun rays of the early morning hit your face, making you scrunch your eyebrows and bury your face deeper against him. You grunt softly, and when he feels you shifting and stretching your legs, he pretends to fall asleep so you don’t catch him staring. It seems like you’ve raised your head, chin tilted towards him - if he’s lucky, you’re watching him “sleep” just like he did seconds ago.

He contains a smile at the joke that forms itself in his brain before shooting his eyes open, catching you off guard during what you thought was a private, secret moment.

“Shit!” you yelp, practically jumping off of him and rolling onto the other side of the bed. He bursts into laughter, proud that his little prank was effective. Before you can scold him, he makes his way to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing your back against his chest. He thinks he feels your body tense; but then you bring your hand over his, swiping your thumb back and forth against his skin, and you relax in his hold. “You’re so annoying,” you complain, but your voice is tender, almost weak.

He buries his face in your hair, trying not to be too loud when he inhales there. “Sorry,” he says, the smile evident in his voice. “The opportunity was right there. Caught you staring, huh?”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Jake is more than happy to enjoy this moment in silence, but there’s something burning the tip of his tongue. It’s been there for a while now, but he thinks he’s finally found the right moment. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“There’s something I couldn’t tell you last night, but I feel oddly okay saying it right now. Are you listening?”

“I am, yeah,” you say gently, voice so soft it caresses his skin and draws goosebumps from it.

His chest expands and falls with a deep, shaky breath. With your back right against it, he’s scared you’ll hear that his heart is beating faster than it should. “Bad news first?” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“Uh-oh.”

“There’s no roundabout way to say this, so here goes, I guess.” He takes another breath. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.” You tense in his embrace, and he waits for you to say something, anything before he continues.

“Oh,” is all you say. He hopes it’s a good oh - even if it isn’t, he doesn’t let it deter him.

“Yeah. I really debated telling you this… I know you might not feel the same way. But I also know that if I don’t say anything and make the same mistake twice, I’ll beat myself up over it for the rest of my life.”

“The same mistake?” you ask, looking at him over your shoulder.

He gazes down at you tenderly, pushing hair away from your face with a gentle hand. “I already felt that way back when we lived in Australia. I was about to tell you but when I learned that I was moving, I didn’t wanna risk ruining the little time we had left together.”

The look on your face both breaks his heart and patches it up again. “Jakey…” you say, voice just a whisper. You turn around to face him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. The fact that you’re not saying much is making his stomach twist in agonising stress, but he takes it as a good sign that you’re still holding him tight and not running away.

“I think I’d be the luckiest guy on Earth if you felt the same way,” he says, hopefulness clear in his voice.

And then he finally hears the words he’s been dying to hear all these years. “Of course, I feel the same way, Jake,” you say, eyes meeting his. “This isn’t bad news at all, it’s like, the best possible news ever.”

It takes him a few seconds, but when your words sink in, a bright smile graces his features. He feels tears coming up - tears of relief that you feel the same way, of sadness that it took the both of you so long to get here, of happiness that something new might start - he’s not sure. Perhaps everything at once.

“Of course?” he echoes, smiling wildly. “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

“Oh, gosh,” you murmur, burying yourself into him once more. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

He tightened his hold around you, bringing you to him as close as physically possible. “Me neither.”

The feeling of you tangling your bare legs with his and bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt in your fist awakens something in him - he had been in his head, thanking the heavens that you loved him back, reeling from his belated confession, but he was now very aware of his body. And of yours. He was reminded of Jay telling him to kiss you - although he hadn’t needed to go there to reveal his feelings to you, it was still a possibility. It was even more so now that he knew you felt the same way.

He tries to be subtle as he brushes a hand up your back to the nape of your neck, gently grazing his fingernails against the skin there. He has to suppress a self-satisfied smirk when he feels you squirm under his touch, lifting your head to fix him with a scolding look. Your stern expression fades as soon as his eyes fall on your lips, however, and you quickly mirror his gaze. His lips part, and he feels his whole body shake as he takes a deep breath in. Who knew that you’d share your first kiss on a random Sunday morning in the fuckass middle of nowhere in Scotland?

Maybe you take pity on him, or you recognise the effort put into being the one to make the first move, or, as he’d like to think, you just really want to kiss him - either way, you’re the one who closes the gap and presses your lips to his.

Your lips. So soft, so delicate against his, absolutely perfect. It’s a simple, tentative touch, but he’s craved it for so long that it makes his head spin. He frowns, despite himself instantly needing more than this feather-like feeling of your lips brushing against each other. His mind tells him to calm down and take it slow, but his body takes over, urging him to grab the nape of your neck a little harder, to hold you a little closer to him, to kiss you a little stronger. Thankfully, you let him do all of this and more, hands finding purchase in his hair and returning his intensity tenfold.

He doesn’t know what’s better - the fact that you’re kissing him or the kiss itself. The way your lips move against his is intoxicating; it wraps itself around its mind and leaves no room for thoughts that aren’t of you. You seem to want him as desperately as he wants you, to have waited for him as long as he did for you, and this is what drives him crazy. You press your body against his and he sees stars; you let out a moan against his lips and he kisses you deeper, ready to do anything to hear that melody again.

Unfortunately, the only melody he gets to hear is that of his phone alarm, informing you that it’s quarter to eleven and that you have fifteen minutes to leave. Check-out at eleven am had sounded nice yesterday; now, he would stay in this dingy inn his whole life if it meant he got to keep kissing you.

The both of you reluctantly break apart, bursting into giddy laughter when your eyes meet. As said before, Jake always thinks you’re pretty, but with your pupils blown and your lips plump from kissing, this might just be the prettiest he’s ever seen you.

“You know, I like you a lot, but I’d like you even more if you could stop time,” you say.

He looks down at you with a smile, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen on your face. “Sure, I’ll learn how to control time for you.”

“Thanks, Jakey.” You peck his lips, lingering, and he closes his eyes to savour your sweetness.

“Anything for you, baby.” His eyes widen at the nickname slip, but you erupt into giggles.

“Baby?”

“Would you look at the time, we really got to go,” he says, detangling his limbs from yours. He pauses for a second. “Baby,” he repeats, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before bouncing from the bed.

You get ready together, and the mundane tasks of stripping sheets from a bed and packing bags become the funnest things he’s ever done. You’re all over each other, attacking the other with kisses and hugs; Jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this happy.

And this is only the beginning.

There’s a glint in the receptionist’s eyes when you check out of your room, as if she knew something you and Jake had been oblivious to all along. It’s the only one in town, so you go back to the little pub for a full breakfast with eggs, hash browns, haggis, and sausages. You get coffee so strong you think you might not sleep for the next four days, while Jake drinks tea that is equal parts sugar, milk, and actual tea.

From the moment you leave the pub to the moment you arrive at your doorstep, Jake’s hands barely leave yours. When they have to, like when you’re searching for the perfect seat on the train or when the controller checks your tickets, they’re back together within a minute, like two magnets that can’t stay apart for too long. The rain has long subsided, leaving place to a bright blue sky and wet blades of grass that shine in the sun.

Now that your mutual feelings don’t need to be kept secret, you tell each other about everything you had to go through, like you pretending your good news was your mum having baked the cookies Jake liked and him seeing your new boyfriends every two months on your close friends story. He tells you about all the hints he’s dropped, causing you to facepalm over and over again. It feels like two friends catching each other to speed on all the latest gossip, except the topic of that gossip is you.

The juxtaposition of your familiarity with Jake with the novelty of behaving like a couple, of not having to hold back with your touches or gazes or words, is nothing if not jarring. But you have a feeling you’ll get used to it in no time.

As you unlock the front door to your building, you don’t ask him if he’s coming up - to you, it’s a given that you’ll be spending the rest of today and every day after that together. So when he doesn’t follow you, staying still on the threshold, you turn around with a questioning look on your face.

“There’s something I need to do this afternoon,” he says, taking both of your hands in his.

“Can’t I come with?” you say. Jake wavers for a second, but sadly, he stays firm in his decision.

“Sorry, baby, it’s a surprise. I’ll be back at seven with takeout?”

You can’t possibly be mad at him when he calls you baby and offers food in the same breath. “Only if you bring takeout.”

“You only love me because I feed you, don’t you?” he asks, a smile on his face.

“Yup,” you reply. You’re standing on a step, so you bend down to kiss him - you intend for it to be a peck, but when your lips touch, you’re unable to pull away. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips on yours, in the warmth that takes over your body and makes your brain all fuzzy.

A loud, affronted gasp from behind you makes you jump from Jake, and when you turn around, Chaewon and Yunjin are standing in the stairwell, staring at you with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“So this was a sexcapade?” is, much to your horror, the first thing Yunjin says.

Thanks to Chaewon, neither you nor Jake have the time to dwell on this sentence as she comes running down the stairs and pounces on you. You don’t know how a woman so small can have such force, but her hug is so tight you can barely breathe, let alone hug her back properly. “I knew you could do it!” she exclaims. When she pulls away, she seems so moved, it looks like she’s about to cry. “You finally popped your Jake cherry,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for Jake to hear. A bark of laughter escapes his throat.

“Okay, thanks, guys,” you say, escaping this awkward situation and going up the stairs. “I’ll see you later, Jake!” you yell over your shoulder. The girls seem to be on their way out, and you’re more than happy leaving him to deal with them on his own. God knows you’ll get the worst of it when they come back.

As soon as you get to your flat, you make a beeline for your bedroom, plopping on the bed. You’re the same person, and this is the same room. But something within you feels entirely different, like a scar that you had been carrying around had, without you even noticing, healed so well you could barely see it anymore. You lifted your hands in the air, looked at the back of them, then at your palms. They were the same old hands that had been with you your whole life, and you were almost shocked that there wasn’t something utterly different about them after having held Jake’s hand for so long. Just to be sure, you sniffed your right hand, but it didn’t smell any different, either. But you still felt Jake’s hand on yours, like headphones you’d been wearing for hours and still felt on your ears after taking them off.

Yunjin and Chaewon are back from their shopping half-an-hour later; they got you a chocolate fudge cake from Tesco to congratulate you. “You guys are acting like this is my birthday…” you say, eyeing the cake greedily as Chaewon cuts it into three equal parts (even though it says serves eight on the packaging).

“This is more important than your birthday, Y/N,” Yunjin states as she pours oat milk into three cups of Earl Grey tea. “This is, like, the moment of a lifetime.”

“Are you saying a girl’s importance depends on her having a boyfriend?”

“Yes, Y/N, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Especially when said boyfriend is the guy she’s been pining after for all of her teenage and adult life.”

You sigh. “Well, he hasn’t exactly popped the boyfriend and girlfriend question yet.” They both turn to look at you, an annoyed look on their faces. You stand up straight, uncomfortable under their gazes. “What?”

“Usually, I’m all for clarity on this issue,” Chaewon starts. “But isn’t it pretty obvious here?”

“You’re still gonna have to tell us everything in minute detail, but Jake’s already told us what happened. He had no qualms referring to you as his girlfriend, so I really don’t think this is something you need to worry about. What you should worry about is when and where you’re going to hop on that dick.”

Chaewon bursts into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit. “Gosh, Yunjin, you really do have a way with words.”

“I know. This is what having a Jane Austen hyperfixation at fifteen will do to you.”

Following Yunjin’s orders, you tell them about the events of the previous day and this morning over tea and cake. They ooh and ah and gasp in all the right places, ask you very specific questions and even make you draw a picture of the room you stayed in. You’ve talked to them about Jake so many times that there’s only so much to say now - but still, you talk for hours on end, deviating off-topic so often you end up talking about something else entirely.

You’re in bed reading for your Middle English Literature class when the doorbell rings. It’s seven on the dot, so it can be no one else other than Jake. It’s been mere hours, but you’ve missed him enough to last you for weeks.

He brought takeaway from the Indian place you’d raved about a hundred times but hadn’t brought him to yet. Somehow, your heart grows even fonder as you watch his reaction to the food, the raise of his eyebrows, the widening of his eyes, the excited shimmy of his shoulders. When you ask him about his afternoon, a wide smile breaks out onto his face, like a lightbulb illuminating a room. Without a word, he scurries to your room, bringing back some sort of book with him. He hands it to you with a shy smile and curious eyes, eagerly anticipating your reaction. The cover reads Y/N and Jake in his clumsy but endearing handwriting, with the date of his arrival in Edinburgh and an em-dash scribbled underneath. “I haven’t booked my flight home yet, so I’ll add the second date later,” he explains.

When you flick through it, you’re met with photographs of you and Jake on all of the trips you’ve done so far, as well as the various adventures you got up to in the city. There’s even one of you sleeping in the library at two am during midterms when you had forgotten about one of your essays, due at midday. Jake had come with coffee and words of encouragement, and now he could brag that the high mark you got was thanks to him. It’s not only photos - it’s also ticket stubs, receipts, stickers, and even a dried flower you had found pretty on your trip to St. Andrews. He’s also written quite a lot, from diary-like entries about what you got up to that day or songs that reminded him of you.

“You misspelt right here,” you say, pointing to a sentence that reads This is the café write next to the hotel where the last Harry Potter book is said to have been written!!! under a photo of you drinking a massive cup of hot chocolate. The more you look at the typo, the more it makes you laugh, until you have tears brimming in your eyes.

Thanks to Yunjin’s messiness, pens and pencils are strewn over your coffee table. Jake, flushed red in embarrassment at the small mistake, snatches a pencil and aggressively erases write, spelling it correctly the second time around. “This is the level of today’s English Lit undergrads,” he murmurs under his breath. His frown disappears when he looks at you and he laughs along.

You continue looking through the album until you land on a page titled Why I love Y/N. From top to bottom, left to right, it’s filled with Jake’s tiny handwriting. You can tell he put effort into making it neat. There’s a singular photograph of you, one that dates from the first days after Jake’s arrival when you were walking around in the Meadows, the park right next to campus. The sun shone down on you and you smiled brightly at Jake behind the camera.

You’re not a quarter through reading when tears swell in your eyes, rendering your vision blurry. You wipe them away before they can fall and stain the page. Jake has detailed every last thing he loves about you. It can hardly get cornier than this, but the fact that he wrote this about you makes your heart so full, you’re afraid it might explode in your chest. It ranges from basic things like the way she makes me laugh or her pretty face when she falls asleep in the train (or anywhere, for that matter) to more you-specific things like the strict pastel colour-coding she uses for her notes and her perseverance when eating spicy food even though she can’t take it. He mentions things about you that you didn’t even know, and that feeling of being known in-and-out, of being really seen by someone else only brings more tears to your eyes. Your favourite line comes at the end - the way she makes any place feel like home. A proper sob pushes past your lips at this, and Jake, who had been watching you with an anxious smile, rests a palm on your knee and inches closer to you.

“Why are you crying, is- Did I write something bad?”

You shake your head fervently. “No, no, Jakey, this is… It’s perfect. I’m just…” you trail, letting out a half-sob, half-chuckle. You look at him with a smile before pulling him into a tight hug. “I love it so much. I love you so much.”

You can feel Jake relax against you. “I love you too, baby. I’m glad you like it.”

You pull away after a small while, and turn the next page over. It’s a picture of you over breakfast this morning, with words WE’RE DATING!!!! written underneath it, and those simple words make you so happy, your cheeks ache from smiling. But every page after that is empty. Jake scratches the back of his neck. “I, um, I thought we could fill the rest out together. I debated just doing it myself and giving it to you at the end of the year, but I thought it’d be more fun doing it together.”

“It would. This is such an amazing idea,” you say, flicking back through the pages.

“I thought of it because of that project I had. When I started working on it, all the photos I wanted to include were of you, but I wasn’t sure how much my professor would appreciate that… So I decided to make one more personal. One for us,” he says shyly, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“Thank you so much, Jakey.”

He smiles. “It’s no worries.”

“Did you do it all this afternoon?”

“I had started it before, but I added it most of today, yeah. Which, by the way, awful timing. I wanted nothing more than to spend today with you.”

Your heart leaps. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to hearing such words from Jake’s mouth.

Sometime later, you’re laying in bed with Jake between your legs, watching the most recent animated Spiderman movie. With the tips of your fingers, you draw random patterns on his forearm, and if it wasn’t for his occasional chuckles, you’d think he had fallen asleep. You chat for a bit after the movie, but you find that after such an emotionally-packed day, you’re ready to call it a night fairly early. But when the lights are off and it’s just you lying against Jake’s chest, his fingernails grazing your scalp and his familiar, comforting scent clouding your judgement, all thoughts of an early night are thrown out of the window.

You shouldn’t feel so nervous - you had fallen asleep in his arms last night, and it had gone well. Really well.

“This is different from yesterday, isn’t it?” Jake suddenly says, breaking the heavy silence with a low voice. It’s like he read your mind.

“Yeah,” you whisper against his skin.

No other words are needed. You brush the tip of your nose along his neck until you reach his jawline, pressing soft kisses there and delighting in the increasing shakiness of his breath. The feeling of your lips meeting is so intense, so all-encompassing, that you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle anything more.

This is still new territory, but you’re both so eager to discover it that it makes for a messy kiss, lips moving against each other ravenously, tongues beckoning moans from the other. It’s a kiss that somehow leaves you breathless and breathes oxygen back into your lungs at once.

In a matter of seconds, Jake has flipped you on your back and is hovering over you, one hand holding him up and one hand free to roam your body. He slips it underneath your t-shirt, brushes it along the side of your waist, his touch leaving behind a trail of fire blazing on your skin. It’s so distracting, you can’t even kiss him back properly anymore. Jake doesn’t seem to mind. At first, when he starts pressing hot kisses to your jawline and your neck, you think he’s giving you a respite - but when he gently sinks his teeth into the skin there, leaving marks that will later remind you tonight wasn’t a dream, chuckling as you squirm and whine under him, you understand that this is anything but a respite.

You curse your earlier decision of not wearing a bra, because it gives you no preparation whatsoever to the sensation of Jake brushing his thumb against one of your nipples. With a loud gasp, your back arches off of the bed, which only aids Jake in raising your t-shirt up over your breasts.

He takes a minute to admire the sight of you panting and half-naked underneath him. It makes you feel shy, and you want to do something so that he stops looking and starts doing, but his gaze holds you in place. His pupils are blown with lust, eyes raking over your body and taking everything in. You have a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that it’s you he’s looking at with those eyes.

His soft lips attach themselves to your nipple while his fingers continue their work on the other one. You’ve never felt this sensitive, never felt this on edge, like you might fall apart at any second even with so little simulation. Your core throbs, impatiently waiting to be tended to, but you’re already trembling so hard from Jake’s attention to your breasts that you don’t know what will happen to you once he actually touches you down there.

“You doing okay, baby?” he asks, the rasp in his voice making you want him impossibly more. You grip his hair and he looks up at you, a tender smile on his lips. You nod your head yes and he laughs. “Yeah? You want more?” You pause at his question. You do want more, but is it worth your sanity?

It takes you a second to decide that it’s worth that and more. You nod again.

Jake seems to have sensed your hesitation. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I am. It’s just a lot.”

His expression of worry softens into a smile. “I’ll take it slow for you, love. It’s a lot for me, too.” He leans in to press soft kisses to your cheek, and some of the tension in your body diffuses. Whatever happens, Jake will be there to take care of you. “But it feels good, right?” he asks, lips moving against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“So good, Jakey,” you reply shakily.

“Good.”

You can tell that Jake really does want to take it slow - his movements are more deliberate, gentler. But eagerness, both yours and his, soon takes over, and a minute later, he’s trailing kisses down your body until he reaches your lower stomach. Your breath quickens as he hooks fingers underneath your leggings and underwear, sliding both garments down your legs and leaving you bare to him. You think the feeling of his lips on the fleshy parts of your inner thighs is what might actually do you in, make you lose your sense of reality forever - but then his tongue darts out against your clit, a barely-there touch, and your whole body flatlines.

Your reaction eggs Jake on, who, more confident now, takes the sensitive bud in his lips and alternates between sucking and licking motions. A knot ties itself embarrassingly quickly in your stomach, a knot that tightens and tightens as Jake flattens his tongue against you, licking up your juices from your entrance to your clit; a knot that threatens to come loose when he slides a long finger inside of you. You can’t take more than thirty seconds of this.

“Jakey,” you say, voice practically a moan. Your brain is fuzzy and it takes a distressing amount of time to form a simple sentence. “Can you come here?”

“Is something wrong, baby?” he asks breathily, sliding his finger out of you and coming back up so that his face is right above yours.

“No, just… I want you.”

Any trace of worry on Jake’s features dissipates as he cocks an eyebrow, one corner of his lips tugging up into a smirk. “Is that so?”

This kind of boldness would usually have you rolling your eyes, but here, it only makes your core throb more violently. It’s almost humiliating how much you want this man. It’s definitely humiliating, how easy it is to swallow your pride and play into his game. “Yes, please,” you say, eyes pleading with him.

He smiles almost giddily before burying his face against the side of yours. “My baby’s so polite,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Take this off, then,” you say, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt.

“So she says please and gives orders,” he jokes, quickly obliging anyway.

Not once in your time apart had Jake posted any sort of beach trip or pool photos, so this was the first time you saw his bare chest. God, was it one for the history books. You trace the defined lines of his muscles with a finger and wonder how he had managed to get even more perfect. He lets you marvel at him for it, clearly proud that you’re gawking so shamelessly, but your mind drifts back to more urgent matters when he presses himself into you, his clothed cock, hard and hot, brushing against your folds. “Fuck,” you sigh, bucking your hips into his to feel him over and over again.

It’s so much, but it’s not enough; Jake instantly gets your message when you hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, pulling him to you and kissing him feverishly. Your lips don’t part as he slides his boxers off, and you drink up the nectar that are his moans as you take him in your hand, pumping him a few times.

“Condom?” he asks, but you shake your head.

“I’m on the pill. And even so… I usually always use a condom, but I don’t want to now. Not with you.”

Jake closes his eyes as he takes a deep, stabilising breath. “I feel totally normal about that. Not crazy at all.”

You giggle, and he opens his eyes, a wide smile gracing his lips before he bends down to kiss you. “You ready for the night of your life?” he asks against your lips. “It’s gonna last five minutes, tops,” he says, making you laugh again. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t do anything about it. I think I could’ve cum just from eating you out.”

“That would’ve been hot.”

“Really? We’ll make it a challenge for next time, then.”

When Jake plunges into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He fills you up, slow inch by slow inch, until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. You both need some time getting used to the feeling - Jake drops his head in the crook of your neck and lets out a sound between a grunt and a moan, something you’ve never heard from him before. You grab onto his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as you try to tether yourself to him. You hold him so tight that he has no choice but to let his body rest on top of yours, his arms coming to circle your waist and bring you even closer.

His movements start out halting, the pleasure so overwhelming that it makes it hard for him to move steadily. In time, he falls into a torturously slow rhythm, but it’s the perfect kind of torture, the kind that has tears brimming in your eyes. It’s so hard to take, and yet you want more. You’re brought closer to the edge with every thrust of his dick into you, especially as he picks up the pace and lifts your hips to meet his. The new angle has his tip brushing against that spot deep inside you that makes it hard to breathe.

You can tell he’s just as close as you when he loses that steady rhythm he had found, his motions growing more desperate, harsher, quicker. Conscious of your roommates, you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as your orgasm washes over you, your whole body on fire, so sensitive that the few more seconds Jake needs to come undone himself drive both your body and your mind into overstimulation. Even the feeling of him pulling out, drops of hot liquid dripping out of your entrance, is too much and makes you let out a small, tired whine.

Jake peppers your face with kisses as he holds your waist tightly, brushing his thumb back-and-forth on your warm skin, sticky with sweat. “You did so well, baby. So good for me.” You think you might be ready for a second round if he keeps talking to you like that. “I love you so much.”

You sigh deeply, as if you were just told disconcerting news. “Okay.”

“Okay?!” he echoes, looking up at you with an outraged expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, I love you too, I just- I’m not used to this yet! You can’t just tell me you love and expect me to be normal. You have to warn me first.”

“Can I just warn you now that I’m going to tell you I love you every time I get the chance?”

You sigh. “I guess.”

“Can I tell you now?” he asks, and you hum. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Jake tuts. “I highly doubt it, but whatever makes you happy.”

You hold Jake close to you, one arm around his shoulders and the other hand playing with his hair as you come down from your high. You think he might’ve fallen asleep, and you’re close to drifting off yourself when he speaks. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Not just the sex, although that has been on my mind for a while now,” he says, making you laugh, “but all of this. Being together, getting to be in your arms like this, kissing you whenever I want. Calling you my girlfriend.”

“Me too, Jakey. I waited so long I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

Jake chuckles. “How stupid were we not to have noticed we felt the same way?”

“Very stupid. I think we felt so sorry for ourselves that we were stuck in one-sided love, that we didn’t even realise the other was going through the exact same thing. But at least we’re now.”

“At least we’re here now.” You and Jake yawn at the exact same time, making you burst into giggles, giddy with sleep and love.

“Let’s sleep, baby,” you say.

Jake hums, burying himself deeper against your body. “Sleep well, my love. I’ll be here.”

After years of pining after each other, you and Jake find it a bit hard to keep your relationship to yourselves, or your hands off of each other.

At the beginning, all of your friends had been happy for you, but that quickly went away when your and Jake’s honeymoon phase never died down and the PDA just kept on going. If the glue you were stuck with previously was metaphorical, this one was pretty close to being real. Superglue kept you together, your moments together rarely spent without some sort of physical touch. Yunjin fake-gagged so often, you were afraid she might actually vomit one of these days. It took Sunghoon two weeks longer than everyone else to clock you and Jake had started dating.

This meant that in private, there was truly no holding back. Jake back-hugged you any chance he got, to the point you started to think he was more koala than human - although that’d imply he saw you as a tree. Make-out sessions were a particular favourite of yours - how could they not be when your boyfriend’s lips seemed to have been carved by God himself, soft and plump to the heavens, like they were made to be kissed. Really, you were just honouring God’s will when you kissed Jake.

The goodbye that comes at the end of the year is not an easy one, and the month spent at home before you fly to Korea seems to never end. But you get there eventually, and as nice as it is to catch up with Jake’s parents after so long, you feign sleepiness after lunch as an excuse to get some time alone with your boyfriend. Ironically, this “time alone” is spent so intensely that you do end up falling asleep afterwards.

You have to admit, you really did a number on your boyfriend this time - what can a girl do when she missed her boyfriend this much? Jake is still passed out when you wake up from your nap, so you slip out as discreetly as you can from his embrace and get out of bed. You head for the closet first and swipe the comfiest looking sweater of his that you find there so you can stay warm as you look around his room. A pang of melancholia hits your chest - most of the pictures and objects on his walls and shelves are parts of his life you weren’t around to witness. Friends you don’t recognize, places you’ve never heard of, phases you’d never known he’d gone through. But then you see the frame on his desk, a faded photo of the two of you at ten years of age, eating ice cream on the bench outside of your house. Milo is sitting at your feet. Jake’s family hadn’t adopted Layla yet. You realise that even if there’s whole parts of your life you didn’t get to share with each other, nothing could touch your memories, or your future.

You want to go back in time and tell fourteen-year-old you that no matter how painful it might seem at the moment, it will all be worth it for the sight of Jake Sim slowly drifting into wakefulness, patting the bed next to him, and noticing you’re missing with furrowed eyebrows. When he opens his eyes and they settle on you, a sleepy smile will grace his dazzling features, and he’ll say, “Come back to bed.”

You’ll be even more in love at twenty than at fourteen.

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