#i actually really like talking about my fics

[psychemochanight]

I was thinking about the last comics that came out, and... I have two thoughts that have nothing to do with each other, but I'm going to mix them up here anyway.

First, It makes perfect sense that Dick h has the blood type that can give the most, but receive the least. (Empathy: It means you give blood until there is nothing left to bleed).

A long time ago, I had read a fic where Bruce commented on this, actually. I don't remember the name because it wasn't from ao3, but I want to look it up again sometime.

Dick told Bruce that he wasn't his son (because he wasn't adopted), but when something happens, and Dick needs a blood transfusion, Bruce is the donor.

Clark and Bruce are talking, and Bruce tells Clark that there is only one person in the League who can donate blood to Dick... Bruce himself, since they both are O-

He tells Clark that Dick has more of his blood than John Grayson's running through his veins. That's his kid, his son.

Which brings me to my second thought, which is that Dick's parents, according to the new issue that came out, had him training 10 hours a day from the age of three.

A typical workday is usually 8 hours a day, and many adults find it tiresome.

Dick has been training 10 hours a day since he was 3 years old.

And he seems to think this is okay, or something to be proud of.

Also, there's another comic where Dick says he sometimes wishes he was just a kid, watching the show, not being part of it.

And it's terrifying to see how this is always overlooked, how his situation is romanticized. Like, there's talk that Bruce should have done better, that he shouldn't have let a kid take such risks, that if he loved him he wouldn't have let Dick be Robin...

What about his biological parents? Mary and John?

I firmly believe that his parents loved Dick, I really do. But I also think they are simply terrible parents.

Sure, at that time it was normal for children to work in circuses with their parents, for acrobats not to have safety equipment... But the Graysons were known for going further. For their extremely dangerous stunts.

And Dick trained that since he was 3 years old.

Even in the older comics, where it's not specified that he's been training since that age, even if it had been since he was 7 or 8, it's still horrible. He was a kid. He should have been among the children in the crowd, not up there risking his life.

Shit, his parents should have used a net just to have a chance of surviving, to live for their son.

Maybe the trapeze act was their way of showing love. Maybe it was all they knew. Maybe they just wanted to share their life with their son.

But still, Dick shouldn't have been exposed to that. What if he was the one who fell, not them? How would they live with it?

Also, what psychological consequences did Dick suffer? They are always attributed to Batman, but were they really due to his time with him?

Sure, being Robin meant doing your job well or dying... But being an acrobat did too.

Dick always lived with the thought that if he does something wrong, he will die, that someone he loves will die.

It's no wonder he's a perfectionist, as much of a "control freak" as Batman himself.

It would also explain many things, such as the type of response he has. When you face a dangerous life of constant stress, your body loses its ability to react normally to stress, even if it's because of small things like an exam or something even less important. Adrenaline is pumped anyway, because your body recognizes the situation as a survival situation... And it makes you addicted to adrenaline.

Damn, even his heart stopping in the last issue makes sense if we could connect the dots.

They're two totally separate things for two separate comics, I know. Just... Damn.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi,

I came across your account not to long ago and I've been binge reading almost all of your fics, (specifically the spencer reid ones). I've giggled and kicked my feet with the biggest smile to so many of them, they're amazing.

I had an idea of someone on the team getting reader a gift either as like a congratulations or a birthday present. Doesn't really matter. Then spencer sees and is like you should have gotten her *what you decide* instead, she loves it. Then proceeds to talk about a date they went on were she was talking his head off about it. Expect the team doesn't know they are dating and he's just outing them in front of everyone without even realizing it. Then reader walks in and greets everyone and they all just stare, then proceeds to ask questions and tease.

Again love your fics, they make my day. If you do this thank you! :)))))

bracelet — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: secret relationship a/n: hiii !! thank you so so much <3 i'm so so glad you like them <3 also i love your idea and i hope you like it :)

“What is that?” Garcia’s eyes zeroed in on the expensive-looking bag in Rossi’s hand as he walked in. The bag had a logo that screamed luxury, and Garcia was already halfway out of her chair to inspect it.

Rossi held the bag up with a proud smile playing on his lips. “Late birthday gift,” he explained, setting it down on his desk . “I couldn’t make it to the dinner over the weekend, so I thought I’d make it up to her.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow as he sipped from his coffee mug, leaning casually against his desk. “Looks expensive,” he remarked. “What’d you get her? A diamond-encrusted tiara?” 

“It’s probably worth more than my entire apartment,” Emily muttered under her breath, glancing up from her paperwork.  

Rossi ignored the jabs, his pride in the gift undiminished. “It’s a bracelet,” he said, opening the bag and carefully pulling out a velvet box.

He flipped it open to reveal a delicate silver bracelet adorned with white charms. “Silver, with these beautiful charms. Elegant, timeless, and perfect.” 

Spencer, who had been quietly writing away at his desk, glanced up at the mention of the bracelet.

His brow furrowed slightly as he listened to Rossi describe the gift, his pen pausing over the report. He tilted his head, as if considering something, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. 

 “She actually prefers the pink one,” Spencer said, as though he were stating a well-known fact.

“The one with the flower charms. Last week, when we were on our date, she wouldn’t stop talking about this little boutique we passed. They had this pink bracelet in the window, and she went on and on about how much she loved it. She even made me go inside with her to look at it.” 

The room fell silent.

Garcia’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in shock. Derek choked on his coffee, coughing loudly as he tried to recover. Emily froze, her smirk fading into a look of pure disbelief. Even Rossi blinked at Spencer, momentarily speechless. 

Spencer, oblivious to the reaction he’d just caused, continued writing, his focus seemingly back on his report.

“It’s not that the silver one isn’t nice,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “But the pink one would’ve made her happier. She’s really into those kinds of details.” 

Spencer wanted to buy it for you. Not even a day later, he had gone back to the boutique, determined to surprise you with the pink bracelet you’d admired so much. But when he arrived, the store clerk had given him an apologetic smile and told him it was already sold out.

Garcia was the first to break the silence. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand as if to physically stop the conversation. “Did you just say date? As in, you and her? On a date?” 

That’s when Spencer realized his mistake. His pen halted in his hand, mid-sentence, and he froze. His brain suddenly went completely blank.

His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “No, I meant—uhm—I—” 

But it was too late. The damage was done. The entire team was staring at him now, their expressions ranging from shocked to downright gleeful.

Garcia’s eyes were practically sparkling with excitement, Derek was grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and even Rossi looked amused, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. 

Emily raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning full force. “Oh, this is rich,” she said, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort. “Reid, are you telling us you’ve been dating this whole time and didn’t think to mention it?” 

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

 “I—uh—it’s not—” Spencer stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He adjusted his tie nervously, his fingers fumbling with the knot. “I didn’t mean to—” 

“Oh, you so meant to,” Derek interrupted, his grin widening. “Come on, pretty boy, spill. How long has this been going on? And why are you keeping it a secret? You know we’re all about love here.” 

 Garcia clapped her hands together, practically bouncing in her seat. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week! Spencer Reid, secretly dating our girl? I need details! How did it happen? ” 

Before Spencer could respond, the elevator dinged, and you walked into the bullpen, holding a coffee cup and looking completely unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded.

“Morning, everyone!” you called out, your cheerful tone cutting through the tension in the room. 

The team turned to you in unison.

You paused, glancing around at their faces. “Uh… what’s going on?” you asked, your smile faltering slightly. 

Garcia was the first to pounce. “Oh, nothing,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence. “Just that Spencer here was very casually telling us about your date last week. You know, the one where you talked his ear off about a pink bracelet?” 

Your eyes widened, and you shot a panicked look at Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk, looking like he wanted to disappear. “You told them?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief. 

Spencer blinked up at you, his face still flushed. “I didn’t mean to,” he said weakly. “It just… slipped out.” 

You stared at him for a moment, your lips twitching as you tried to suppress a smile. Of all the ways for your relationship to come to light, this was definitely not what you’d expected.

“Of course it did,” you said, your tone fond rather than annoyed. You weren’t mad—how could you be?

Spencer’s accidental confession was just so him, and honestly, you’d been wondering how long the two of you could keep your relationship under wraps anyway.

The team was bound to find out eventually.

Rossi, who had been quietly observing the chaos , decided it was time to intervene. He picked up the fancy bag from his desk and walked over to you, holding it out with a flourish.

“Here,” he said. “This is for you. A late birthday gift. I was going for subtle elegance, but apparently, I should’ve gone for pink and floral.” 

 You took the bag, grinning at him. “Thank you, Rossi. You really didn’t have to,” you said, genuinely touched by the gesture. 

 Rossi shrugged, his smirk widening as he glanced over at Spencer, who was still looking like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Well, I figured it was the least I could do after missing your birthday dinner. But clearly, I’ve been outdone by Dr. Reid here. Who knew he had such a knack for romance?” 

Spencer sighed. “I didn’t mean to ruin your gift,” he muttered under his breath.

 “Oh, you didn’t ruin it,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You just completely stole the spotlight. No big deal.” 

The team burst into laughter again, and even you couldn’t suppress a grin. “Don’t worry, Rossi,” you said, opening the bag and pulling out the velvet box. “I love it. Really. It’s beautiful.” 

Rossi gave you a satisfied nod, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good. At least someone appreciates my taste.” 

Garcia, who had been practically vibrating with excitement, couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Okay, but can we please get back to the important part here?” she said, clapping her hands together. “You two are dating! Why were you keeping it a secret? ” 

As the team continued to tease and prod, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your secret was out, but in a way, it was a relief.

And as you glanced at Spencer, who was finally starting to relax, you realized that maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

[electricneonvalkyrie]

If you think Abby Anderson would hurt her partner just because she can deadlift a bear, you haven’t been paying attention.

This powerhouse of a woman would drag a wounded stranger through a burning village and then apologize for getting ash on their clothes.

Listen.

Abby sees you flinch when a door slams, and her heart breaks in six different directions.

She doesn’t push for details right away and she waits. She gives you space to process. When you’re ready to talk, she listens like there’s nothing more important to her in the universe. To her, there isn't.

Abby is not the type to throw mantras at you without thinking. She doesn’t try to convince you that you’re safe with her, or that you’re safe now.

She shows you. Over and over again.

She gently untangles your trauma narratives and walks beside you as you unlearn the voice in your head that whispers it was your fault. She reminds you that love is not supposed to hurt like that, and surviving isn’t weakness. You’re strong as hell, and Abby helps you feel it.

And goddamn, if you freeze in public, this girl shifts into protective mode instantly. She’s got one arm around your shoulder before you even realize you need grounding. She knows what you need because she’s been in your shoes and it’s her priority to pay attention.

One of my personal favourites? She’s brilliant at building routines that work with your sensory needs. Bad day? No problemo. Abby has the lights low, all the cozy textures within reach. She’s your stability when everything shakes beneath your feet.

She isn’t a miracle worker, obviously. She is healing, too. She makes mistakes. They're never the kind of mistakes that force you to question her integrity and trustworthiness, though.

The first time you spiral, she asks what helps you. Hell, she may need to do this a few times over. The difference is, she memorizes your answers. This badass soldier gives a shit. She isn’t perfect, but she doesn’t leave you to suffer alone, ever. She reminds you that you’re not a burden and that your meltdowns aren’t brokenness.

With her actions. Because she shows up in a real way and not some regurgitated thing she saw go viral.

When you casually apologize for being too much, she looks at you like you’ve just insulted Mother Earth.

Okay and yeah, so she encourages you to hit the weights. It’s one of her personal coping mechanisms, and she’s fallen in love with it alongside the trauma that pushed her to pick up that first dumbbell. She wants you to know what it feels like to have quick access to taking your power back. But she doesn’t just slap you on the ass and tell you to hit the gym like some common douchebag. She wants to spend time with you and share her passions.

She lifts with you. She stretches with you. This girl wants to learn trauma informed exercise goals that aren’t about punishing your body because she has sure as shit punished hers. Abby wants better for you.

Maybe through this, she finds ways to be gentler with herself.

And my girl is a praise queen.

Enough said.

You did good. I’m so fucking proud of you.

In a modern setting, Abby definitely helps you set up your own bank account and encourages you to track your finances in a way that gives you full control over your safety and your future. She wants you to succeed, with or without her.

People assume far too much based on Abby’s build. I’ve seen her written like a man (at one point, most, if not all fics permanently fixed her to a strap-on, without ever acknowledging her actual body), fetishized as a monster, and stripped of her softness entirely.

Strength and tenderness coexist.

Writers who recognize this, understand the weight of characterization and how misrepresentation can be harmful.

I appreciate those of you who respect it and pour your heart into your art. It really shows, no matter how many kudos or whatever.

Keep going.

Abby would want you to.

[disaster-guys]

So, someone just liked this post from forever ago, and I realized that I never posted that I did actually end up writing something for one of these! It’s short, but I thought I’d share :}

I love you. Please don’t forget that. by me (booksy_bombus) on ao3, fic under the cut as well

@t1oui thanks for reminding me this existed, tagging you in case you wanted to read it :}

(since I now have a side blog for jercy I’m rebloging from here instead of main)

Jason hugged Percy’s back, head resting above his boyfriend’s hoping he could provide the other with comfort that he knew his words wouldn’t manage. Percy was shaken by the nightmare Jason had woken him out of but he wouldn’t talk about it. Jason knew most nightmares were memories, he wondered what this one might be that had Percy curled into himself, unwilling to talk.

—//—

“Jason, did you- in the first war did you have to kill-”

Jason felt Percy’s head turn against his chest, he felt the son of Poseidon pulling away. Jason wrapped his arms around him and pulled Percy closer, the demigod was rigid and shaking with unshed tears.

“Did you kill other demigods?”

Jason pulled Percy tight to his chest. “Oh gods Percy…” he breathed his frightened words into the black hair of his boyfriend.

His words trembled and he really wished they wouldn’t, “No. No, the titans didn’t recruit any Romans. I had heard that- I heard that one man was possessed by Kronos and that he died for the demigods’ cause.”

“Luke,” he sniffed, “he died," Percy swallowed, "he died a hero. He was supposed to be Kronos’ new body. Our downfall." After a shuttering inhale he continued, "He had the Achilles curse, he was impossible to win against. Luke took control from Kronos at the last minute, I still remember his eyes. They were so blue, so full of determination, full of tears. He stabbed himself. I was there, Annabeth convinced him to do it. I helped.” Percy swallowed again, Jason was running a hand through Percy’s hair, and he could feel the tears on his face.

“I also had the Achilles curse, you know, and Luke wasn’t the only one fighting for Kronos. His ranks were mostly monsters but my friends were there too, people I had known, even some that I didn't—people who'd been at camp and I hadn't even taken the time to learn their names. I- with the Achilles curse- I hardly even remember fighting. I was there and I was mad. They were taking the lives and peace of my friends, so," Percy let out a wet sob and Jason felt as his boyfriend shivered against him, "I killed. Riptide was in my hand, nobody could land a blow, and I left blood in my wake Jason.

“Monsters don’t bleed. Sometimes I think that they do though. Those kids weren’t but sometimes-”

Percy was shaking hard and started to really cry. Sobs that hurt to hear, heart-wrenching and quiet, gasps of shaking breath and coughing when his throat couldn’t handle the strain of muting the sounds.

“Don’t dare finish that sentence Jackson. I don’t care if you bleed gold or red or any other fucking color. I just want you in my arms and I want, god fucking damnit Percy, I want,” Jason rolled Percy over so they faced each other and hugged Percy to his chest, “I want you to be happy. You didn’t deserve any of this, neither of us did and you can’t blame yourself for a damn thing the gods decide to pull puppet strings on.”

Percy rolled until he was on top and wrapped his arms around Jason burying his face into his warm chest.

“I just- Percy, I love you. Please don’t forget that.”

flower language prompts ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱

❀ calla lily (beauty) — “you’re so beautiful.”

❀ aloe (affection, also grief) — “i miss them so much.”

❀ basil (good wishes) — “i just want the best for you.”

❀ begonia (beware) — “just be careful, okay?”

❀ gardenia (secret love) — “i don’t love you any less just because no one else can see it.”

❀ red chrysanthemum (i love you) — “i love you. please don’t forget that.”

❀ red columbine (anxiety) — “can you hold my hand? please?”

❀ daffodil (unequaled love) — “no one will ever come close to you.”

❀ edelweiss (courage, devotion) — “touch them again and i promise, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

❀ candytuft (indifference) — “i said that i didn’t care, but i lied.”

❀ holly (domestic happiness) — “i never want to leave this bed.”

❀ myrtle (marriage) — “i can’t believe it. we’re really married!”

❀ oak (strength) — “you’re stronger than you think.”

❀ aster (symbol of love, daintiness) — “i’m not fragile, y’know.”

❀ arborvitae (unchanging friendship) — “i’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

❀ blue salvia (i think of you) — “here. this made me think of you.”

❀ yarrow (everlasting love) — “i don’t think i’ll ever stop loving you.”

[bitchinbarzal]

please part 2 to the marriage pact please please please 🙏🙏🙏🙏 my fave kells fic ever!!!!

You wake up the morning after your wedding in a tangle of limbs and sunlight. Clayton’s already awake, lying on his side, one arm tucked under his head, watching you like he still can’t believe this is real. His hair’s a mess, his face is still soft with sleep, and his wedding ring glints in the morning light.

Yours does too.

You stretch lazily beneath the covers and blink over at him. “So… did we really do that?”

He grins. “Unless we’re both having the same very detailed dream.”

You glance down at your hand again. The ring still feels foreign on your finger, but not wrong. Not strange. More like a soft weight you weren’t expecting to love. You turn back to him. “You freaking out yet?”

Clayton reaches out to push your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your cheek. “Not even a little.” He smirks. “I already ordered room service.”

“Of course you did.”

You don’t say the thing that’s pressing at the edge of your chest—that you’re a little scared of how right this already feels. How easily your body curves into his like you were made to fit there. You don’t say it, but you think he knows anyway.

You stay wrapped up in the warmth of your hotel room longer than you should. He gets syrup on your fingers from the pancakes and kisses it off, laughing. You steal his eggs. He lets you.

It doesn’t feel like the first day of a brand-new life. It feels like the continuation of something you’ve always had.

Eventually, you have to go back to real life. You return to Boston. Clayton flies back to Utah. And despite being married, everything feels half-suspended. The vows were real. The rings are real. But life hasn’t caught up yet.

So you talk. Every night. FaceTime calls from hotel rooms and car rides and your kitchen. He tells you about the guys giving him shit in the locker room, about how Knies keeps calling him “Hubby Keller” in front of everyone. You tell him your boss noticed the ring and asked when the honeymoon was. Neither of you had an answer.

“I think we should live together,” Clayton says one night. His face is half-lit by the glow of his bedside lamp, hair still damp from a shower.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s… generally what married people do, yeah.”

He shrugs, casual. “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

You close your laptop and climb into bed, smiling at the screen. “We’ll figure it out. After playoffs. I’ll start looking for jobs out there.”

“I’ll help. You’re not doing this alone.”

And he means it. Because that’s who he is—reliable in the most quiet, steady way. The kind of person who says, “I’ve got you,” and actually does.

Moving in together is chaos and cardboard boxes and furniture that doesn’t fit through doorways. The first night in your new place, you both fall asleep on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and a pizza box balanced dangerously close to the edge. His arm is flung across your waist. You’re using his hoodie as a pillow. And it feels perfect.

Three weeks in, you fight for the first time.

It’s stupid. About groceries. He gets home from practice, opens the pantry, and freezes. “Where are the granola bars?”

“I moved them,” you say without looking up from your laptop. “That cabinet was a mess.”

He checks another cabinet. Then another. “I can’t find anything in here.”

You blink, annoyed. “Well, maybe now it’s more organized.”

“I’ve lived here for months,” he snaps, closing a cabinet a little too hard. “You’ve been here for two days.”

And just like that, your throat tightens. It’s not about granola bars, not really. It’s about space. About belonging. About whether or not this is really yours, too.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says quickly, the moment he sees your face.

You shake your head, brushing past him. “No, I get it. I’m just the girl who showed up with a marriage certificate and started rearranging your life.”

“Hey.” He follows you to the bedroom, voice softening. “Don’t do that.”

You don’t look at him. “Maybe this is crazy.”

“Okay,” he admits, gently. “It is crazy. We got married after one conversation and ten years of history. But I don’t regret it. Not even a little. You’re not just the girl who showed up—you’re my wife.”

That word, spoken so simply, lands right in your chest.

He reaches out, thumb brushing your hip. “I’m sorry I made you feel like a guest in your own home.”

You exhale, leaning into him just a little. “I’ll move your granola bars back.”

“I can get used to the new spot.” He grins. “I already got used to having you here.”

And just like that, the tension breaks. You fall asleep that night wrapped around him, legs tangled, heart light again.

It’s not always perfect. There are awkward mornings and mismatched schedules and learning curves you didn’t anticipate. He leaves his laundry in piles. You forget to close the cereal bag. You burn the toast. He eats it anyway.

But then there are the moments that make all of it worth it.

When you go to his games, and he looks for you in the crowd before puck drop. When he gets home late, tired and sore, and collapses onto the couch beside you with a content sigh. When he reaches for your hand without even thinking. When he kisses your shoulder in the morning just because.

One day, six months in, you’re curled up together on the couch, the quiet hum of the TV filling the room, and you murmur, “I think I loved you before we ever made that pact.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I know I did.”

You sit up slightly. “You knew?”

He laughs softly, brushing your hair back. “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Your heart beats so loud you’re sure he can hear it. You lean in, kiss him slow, like you’re finally letting yourself feel everything you’ve been holding in for years.

And it’s not about a pact anymore.

Not about convenience. Or fate. Or some college joke turned real-life vow.

It’s about love. Real, intentional, quietly consuming love.

He kisses your cheek and murmurs, “You know we still haven’t taken a honeymoon.”

You smile into his neck. “Let’s go somewhere warm. Somewhere with no schedule and no alarm clocks.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Wherever you go, I’m going with you.”

And you believe him. Because he always means it.

That night, you fall asleep with your wedding ring pressing warm into his chest, his arm wrapped securely around you, and not a single doubt in your heart.

Because this isn’t just something that happened.

This is something you chose.

And you’ll keep choosing it—every day, for the rest of your lives.

[anakinca]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT

Anakin AU where’s Shmi is still alive and Anakin is in college with reader and he had never brought a girl home and for the first time he bring her with him for dinner. And she get along so well with his mother and Anakin is just blushing the whole time.

Fic or not, but this has been in my mind for too long.

(based on a real event where my younger sister brought her gf home)

—❝fit so seamlessly❞

modern au!anakin skywalker x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; GUYS IM SORRY I KEEP FORGETTING TO DO REQUESTS😭 i literally am dying in a spiral of writers block and im DYING OF SICKNESS RN SIGHHH. but anyways.. i LOVEDDD THIS PROMPT AND I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING IT. hope u enjoy this, angels <33

THE FIRST TIME ANAKIN BRINGS YOU HOME TO MEET HIS MOM, HE’S NEVER BEEN SO NERVOUS IN HIS LIFE. Which is ridiculous. He’s a grown man and he’s in college. He’s faced high-pressure exams, late-night study sessions fueled by way too much caf, and a near-death experience trying to fix his own car’s engine. And yet, standing outside the small apartment door with you at his side, his palms are sweating like he’s twelve again. You, on the other hand, seem completely at ease, rocking on your heels as you glance up at him with a grin. “You’re acting like you’re bringing me home to a mob boss.” You tease him, rolling your eyes playfully. Anakin huffs and glares at you, even as his lips twitch at the corners. He shifts the bag of fruit he brought for his mom to his other hand nervously. “It’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never brought anyone home before.” Your grin softens then, something warm flickering in your eyes. “Well, I’m honored to be your first.” He swallows. Hard. Because that sentence should not make his brain short-circuit the way it just did. But before he can embarrass himself further, the door swings open, and there she is—Shmi Skywalker. She’s small, but she has this presence, this warmth that instantly makes you feel like you’ve walked into the safest place in the world. Her dark hair is streaked with gray, her smile soft and her warm brown eyes twinkling with affection as she immediately pulls Anakin into a tight hug.

He sinks into it without hesitation, burying his face against her shoulder for just a second, because no matter how old he gets, he’ll always be her son.

You stand watching with a smile, the way his shoulders relax—the way he looks like he can breathe again—makes your heart warm.

Then she pulls back, her gaze flickering to you.

And suddenly, Anakin is sweating again.

“Mom,” he says, clearing his throat. “This is—” But before he can even finish introducing you, Shmi’s already pulling you into a hug too. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says, her voice warm and full of nothing but love. “I’ve heard so much about you.” You blink in surprise before easily melting into the embrace, feeling all giddy inside. “All good things, I hope.” Shmi pulls back just enough to give Anakin a look. “He never shuts up about you.” She chuckles, pulling back to place her hands on your arms, her eyes crinkling with her smile. He wants to die. Right then and there. Just drop dead in the entryway. You, of course, find this hilarious, shooting him a teasing grin as you turn your head to look at him. “Really, Anakin? Didn’t know you were such a talker.” He groans, running a hand down his face as his mother laughs—actually laughs at his suffering. “I—okay, inside. Everyone inside,” he mutters, already pushing you both through the doorway before he collapses on the spot. And it only gets worse from there. Because dinner? Yeah. You and his mom get along instantly.You’re helping set the table before Shmi can even tell you to sit, and when she asks about school, you answer like you’ve known her forever. You listen to her stories with actual interest, laughing at the way she talks about Anakin’s childhood, nodding like you already knew about all his quirks as a kid.

And Anakin? He’s just sitting there, blushing, because this is new. He’s never had this before. Never had someone fit so seamlessly into his life, someone who just belongs at his table, in his space, with his family. And you do. It makes his heart swell with pure and utter love for you, feeling like he’s truly found the one who’s for him.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

At some point, Shmi excuses herself to grab dessert, leaving just the two of you at the table.

You glance over at Anakin, smiling softly at the dazed look on his face. “You okay there, Skywalker?” He blinks and clears his throat, trying to pretend he hasn’t just been sitting there like some kind of lovesick idiot for the past hour. “Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… you and my mom.” You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head to the side with a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “What about us?” “I don’t know.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You just—fit.” You blink at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice, the way his words settle over you like a quiet, unspoken truth. And then, because you can’t help yourself—because he’s adorable when he’s flustered—you grin. “So, when’s the wedding?” And Anakin chokes on his glass of water while you giggle to yourself.

@thesassypadawan @anakinstwinklebunny @sydkneez @dessxoxsworld @nikiloveshayden @sweetcheesecakesblog @throughparisallthroughrome

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, angels <3

[flibbertygigget]

McCoy-Centric Fic Rec List

Long as hell and split into slightly nonsensical sections because I have too many bookmarks :/

Episode/Movie-Centric Codas/AUs

Lots of "Mirror, Mirror"/"The Empath"/Post-TSFS stuff in here for Obvious Reasons.

Fal-Tor-Pan or: How to Accidentally Get Married on Vulcan by mymetalphantom - 5.7k, Spones. Lighter than the usual Post-Fal-tor-pan fic, very silly premise and excellent execution.

Oh, sinners, let's go down by raven (singlecrow) - 4.7k, Gen. The best Post-Fal-tor-pan angst I've ever read, bar none. Angst with a bittersweet, ambiguously hopeful ending.

Seven Times by SwissArmyKnife - 2k, Gen. Seven times McCoy got telepathically violated and it's all canon 😭

For This Space Would Be Hollow If You Were Gone by releni - 4k, Pre-Slash Spones. FTWIH has SUCH great angst potential, and this fic takes full advantage of that.

The Cause is Sufficient by Cirth - 2.5k, Spones. They're talking about the whole katra deal! They're talking about the whole martyr complex! They're kissing!

bad luck and broken soul by Rev (apathetic_revenant) - 12k, Gen. There are SO MANY Post-"Mirror, Mirror" fics, but this one is hands down one of my favorites.

Memories Are Made of This by GenuineSnoof - 6.5k, Gen. Another post-"Mirror, Mirror" fic, I really like how creative the reveal part is in this one.

Evasive Action by kcscribbler - 2k, Gen. "Space Seed" episode coda with some wonderful hurt-and-kinda-grumpy-about-it McCoy.

Incubation by SwissArmyKnife - 9k, Gen. Post-"The City on the Edge of Forever", featuring McCoy working through illness and really going through it and Spock being worried and protective.

something bright, traveling fast by inkatesbush - 7.5k, Spones. Mostly a Spock character study post-Fal-tor-pan, but when McCoy gets there his parts are really, really good.

Plotty/Case Fic (mostly McCoy Getting Hurt And Being Awesome)

I won't say these genuinely resemble actual ST episode plots but they're plot-centric ig.

40 Miles From The Sun by slash4femme - 10k, Spones. Didn't know whether to put this here or in the shipfic section, but it's mostly the BEST rape recovery fic in the fandom and only very slowly Spones. Excellent fic.

The Dogs Days Are Most Certainly NOT Over by ThatSassyCaptain - 35k, Gen. Pure episode-style casefic and a great one. Get adopted, idiot 😆

Rate of Exchange by scioscribe - 9k, Gen. Bulletproof premise of "get captured by Mysterious Bad Guys, get forced to hurt each other, get out and have Feelings about it". Perfect.

all in by milostollbooth - 13.5k, Spones. Spock gets to be in charge of the Enterprise and things Get Complicated. Like 50% casefic and 50% developing Spones.

A Hippocratic Proof by stillwaters01 - 5k, Gen. Less plotty, more of a friendship fic. McCoy doubts his abilities and Spock goes about reassuring him in the most logical way possible 🥰

it ends or it doesn't by Muir_Wolf - 28.5k, McSpirk. Bones being a martyr! Time loop shenanigans! The complicated process of getting together when you're also under an insane amount of pressure! I love them your honor.

Mudd in Your Eye by Avirra - 61k, Gen. Ok, it's an alternate take on "Space Seed", but it does its own thing so effectively that i'm putting it under plotty fic. Really big fan of how competent Bones is and his relationships with the various OCs in this one.

Shipping-Centric (mostly Spones)

Some McSpirk as well ig. There's some overlap with the previous two categories, but these are more shipping than plot.

Surgeon's Mate by belmanoir - 4.5k, Spones. It's the most-kudos'd Spones fic for a reason, and that reason is an EXCELLENT Spock POV with impeccable characterization.

Holocene by greenbloodedcomputer - 4.5k, Spones. Old Married Spones on Vulcan dealing with the in-laws :)

Traditions of Intimacy by swimmingwolf59 - 8.5k, Spones. Spock and McCoy sharing meals and slowly getting closer to each other. Just fantastic.

First Impressions by swimmingwolf59 - 16.5k, Spones. Y'all KNOW I love Sarek and McCoy being awkward buddies, and this fic has an emphasis on the AWKWARD. Love it!

Two Thirds of a Whole by sleepymccoy - 18.5k, Spones. Alternate universe Spock is such a sweetie and Prime Universe Spock is UNHINGED near the end, this whole premise is excellent and the Spones is immaculate.

Courtship Rituals by fangirlandiknowit - 30k, McSpirk. I love love love fake relationship shenanigans that become way too real partway through.

wish i was a better liar by Muir_Wolf - 17.5k, McSpirk with an emphasis on the McKirk. Uhhh, "The Enemy Within" dubcon threesome. Also Spock's there and being protective. Also it's HOT.

Symbiosis by weekend_conspiracy_theorist - 6.5k, Spones. Diplomatic function fake relationship! That very, very quickly becomes less fake lol, Spock's kind of a mess emotionally in this one.

i've seen time tell tales by Rusoe - 1.5k, Spones. Old Married Spones my beloved. Domestic fluff with a hint of angst.

Off-Beat/Stuff I Can't Fit Anywhere Else

For all your confused-by-how-the-author-got-there fanfic needs.

Bones - A Biography by Spock Grayson by AlyssiaInWonderland - 4k, McKirk and Spones. Early First Contact AU where Vulcan first interacts with Earth during WWI. The premise is excellent and the whole vibe of it is heartbreaking, I honestly wish this were longer because I want to live in this universe for like 100k words.

Nothing Unreal Exists by eigenvectrix - 16k, Gen. EXCELLENT fic. Transfem Spock, lots of examination of Vulcan culture, McCoy being both competent as a doctor and generally trying his best during difficult conversations as a friend. 10/10, it made me give up on the trans Spock fic I was kicking around in my head because tbh I could never live up to this.

AOS

I don't even like the characterization in the AOS movies, but these fics are great :)

Lessons by madwriter223 - 1.5k, Spones. Honestly, I always forget this is an AOS fic. Love Spock being so methodical in his romantic intentions/techniques.

Honorable Enemies by Zauzat - 24k, Spones. McCoy being sad, war being hell, Spock being surprisingly emotionally astute in his own way. Gets plotty in the last third. What more do you need from a fic?

Now the Sons Look For Their Fathers/ But Their Fathers Are All Gone by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton - 30.5k, Gen. McCoy taking care of Vulcan kids post-Star Trek (2009). Has great versions of Sybok and T'Pring for the Kelvinverse.

Fortunate Son by mardia - 50.7k, McKirk. I'm usually not a fan of putting anyone except Kirk on Tarsus, but it sometimes works with AOS since we don't get anything on that whatsoever. This is easily the best "McCoy on Tarsus" fic out there!

The Tribunal of Lieutenant Commander Leonard H. McCoy, MD PhD by stealthestars - 3.5k, slight McSpirk. I love fics where everyone's being all official while internally freaking out ♥️

This Must Be The Place by therev - 38k, Spones. A really sweet, existential look at the absolute mindfuck of finding out just what alternate universe you was getting up to and slowly realizing you want something somewhat like that as well.

Shameless Self-Recs

Just a couple of my fics that I'm personally very fond of. Because I'm shameless lmao.

some people crash to earth three times (and then learn from their mistakes) - 8k, Gen. Dropping TOS characters into a shortly post-First Contact scenario for shits and giggles. I loved writing street medic McCoy and his teenage bullshit.

the wind counts lost goodbyes - 2.8k, Gen. Look, give me an opportunity to write some Vulcan culture and angst and I'm bound to go all in. MCD warning.

sing for the damage we've done (and the worse things that we'll do) (2k, Gen) and i speak in smoke signals (and you answer in code) (6k, Gen) - Uhhh, the inherent limitations of the Prime Directive, Federation politics, McCoy being ride or die for his patients, Spock being ride or die for his friends.

strike another match (let's start anew) (3k, Spones) and hearing a voice i'd known (a couple of lightyears ago) (4.7k, Gen) - These are both post-Fal-tor-pan AUs where it, like, Goes Wrong in different ways. I love doing a little fal-tor-pan AU, mostly because I don't think it was given nearly enough focus in canon.

[cyreneduvent]

Okay I mentioned that I lost my voice for a while after neck surgery and @super-powerful-queen-slayyna was curious so here’s the rundown for fic writers and the generally curious, feel free to ask more questions I like talking lol

(Contains: No gore, light discussion of recovery from surgery, a medical diagram and a photo of a healed scar)

So, five years ago I needed surgery on my thyroid. It sits at the base of your neck in front of your oesophagus

The scar ended up here:

(The photo isn’t quite centred but the scar itself is also longer on one side)

The issue with necks is that there’s too much stuff in them, and there’s a much higher risk of running into something.

That’s a lot of stuff right? It doesn’t actually include what I was looking for though, which is this:

Everybody’s favourite evolutionary quirk, the recurrent laryngeal nerve! Note how it runs along the thyroid on its way back up.

My nerves have always been a little bit dicey, so when they were taking my thyroid out that nerve got disturbed and stopped working. As a result, my right vocal cord was paralyzed before gradually recovering. Okay long winded explanation done, here’s the useful info:

Early symptoms:

-I couldn’t talk above a whisper for about two months because I couldn’t engage my vocal cords

-I couldn’t swallow liquids properly. I really wish thick liquids had been a meme a few months sooner because they would have been so useful. Solids I was alright with, but liquids would always end up with a little bit stuck on top of the paralyzed one and I’d end up in a coughing fit dislodging it every time I drank something

-(that was especially a problem early on because coughing *hurt*)

-It took me a couple months to realize but it also gave me a bit more difficulty breathing because it was cutting off some of my airflow

-This will be familiar to anyone who’s had major surgery, but I never exceeded the ten pound object lifting limit because whenever I picked up five it felt like my head might come off

Recovery:

-Before my actual voice started coming back, I coped by a) it being covid and b) learning how to whisper louder by using more air

-My vocal range came back from the bottom up, similar to the one time I’ve lost my voice from illness but much more slowly. I’d say it was at least two months between when it started coming back and when I could consistently talk normally without it cutting out

-It would cut out or fry as I was talking when the nerve signal went choppy

-Trying to talk louder could also make it fry

-Singing did not work for a long time

-The swallowing liquids problem went away gradually over the course of a month

Long term:

-It took six months for me to be able to sing at all, and a year before high notes stopped being weird

-I don’t think it permanently affected my vocal range in any physical way although it may have made me more likely to sing lower

-Speaking stopped occasionally being weird after about five months

-The scar was quite prominent for the first several years

Ending tips:

-There’s no way that scar would be symmetrical

-Everything was very gradual, with the exception of the first time I actually got a proper sound and the first time I managed to shout, both of which I remember

-The shortness of breath made me panic a couple times, especially before I figured out what was going on, and especially when I was going to sleep

-The liquids thing would be a nice touch

In conclusion, I hope this was helpful for anyone wanting to write a fic, and interesting for the morbidly curious!!

🚨🚨: New 8x12: Disconnected synopsis from the ABC Newsletter:

“This week, Maddie returns to work, only to find the trauma of her recent kidnapping has an unexpected impact - the loss of her voice. Meanwhile, in Texas, Eddie settles in but struggles to find work.”

[inawickedlittletown]

Thoughts on 8x11 and BuckTommy

Word count: 1.3k

Here’s the thing about this episode. It has fed us. It has brought us back from the depths of our post break up despair. I know some bobs are celebrating thinking that the way Eddie was talked about opened a door for buddie. I know they’re reading it that way and to that I mostly say keep reading the show the way you want to and then write the fic you want to write, but also accept what the show is doing. Accept that bucktommy shippers got Buck and Tommy making out and tearing each other’s clothes off on screen and that despite what the morning brought, it was made clear to the audience yet again that they both want to be together. 

Buck and Tommy’s relationship was treated differently than any other of Buck’s relationships. The break up wasn’t a clean break never to be spoken of again. It was very clearly the two of them wanting to be together but not communicating properly enough to stay together. And afterwards Buck pined…and Tommy almost texted him and we know now he wanted to call and he drove by the loft. He was pining too. He wanted Buck back just as bad. 

I doubt that Tim ever had it in his mind that Tommy saw Eddie as competition until this episode. That’s just not present in all the time he and Buck spent with him at the start of this season, but also we can buy that Tommy felt that way and hid it well. Especially when you consider what came before Buck and Tommy’s first kiss. 

Tommy can be concerned about this. He himself has been through discovering his sexuality at a late age and also maybe some denial so maybe he sees that in Eddie, who knows. He’s been right there seeing Buck and Eddie’s friendship, we got so much of the three of them together that I mourned — after the break up — that we got so few scenes of just Buck and Tommy. And even if Tommy isn’t questioning Eddie’s sexuality, that doesn’t change that Buck could have feelings (unknown ones or known ones). What queer person hasn’t had a crush on an unattainable straight friend? 

I actually like that Tommy’s concerns about this highlights that and makes Buck say plain as day to Maddie that he is not pining for Eddie. His exact words are: “As much as everyone wants me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend it’s not like that”. That’s as much coming out of his frustration at what Tommy thinks of the matter and Maddie’s questions that lean towards making Buck really consider things, as it is directed at a certain part of the audience. 

It adds to so much to the break up and the reasons that Tommy was convinced Buck was going to break his heart. In this episode, Buck even asks if Tommy is less afraid now and Tommy confirms that and boy do I wish he hadn’t explained why. But he does, he chooses to communicate and be vulnerable and I do commend him for that. Eddie is not your competition, Tommy, he really really isn’t. So if the whole time Tommy was just waiting for Buck to realize his feelings for Eddie or just for Eddie to come out…or both, then of course he knows in his mind that he and Buck won’t be forever. Buck is the one that once more doesn’t say the right thing and he later admits to Maddie that he was kinda mean. Yes, Buck, yes you were. 

Now it’s time for Buck to really show him otherwise. It’s time for Buck to take some time and be completely sure and so he’ll keep baking and keep thinking about Tommy like he has since the break up. And when Tommy returns in a couple of episodes, like we know he will, we’ll see a continuation of this thread. And because this show doesn’t know quite how to drag anything out and also loves to mix in big emergency story lines with relationship drama, what we can expect is for Buck to know for sure who he loves. Tommy. And for Tommy to accept that and know it and have no fears about Buck breaking his heart. 

You know what else might be great, after everything is done and over, a scene where Tommy and Eddie talk about this and Eddie reiterates his straightness and how silly it was for Tommy to think he and Buck could ever be anything but platonic. Really put that extra nail in the coffin because to be honest, the buddie shippers might need that. 

From the moment the possibility that Tommy could be back for 8x11 existed, I thought it was definitely a choice made for a reason. By that point we knew he’d be back for the two part thing coming up in 8x14-8x15, and we all had reason to question the leaks, but I for one thought that if he was indeed back in 8x11 that we’d be getting bucktommy endgame without question even if the extent of Tommy’s role in 8x11 was a glimpse of him at a call. 

In the moments I allowed myself to think about Tommy being back in 8x11, I had to think about the importance of bringing Tommy back to Buck’s life in some way to remind the general audience (though could they forget with how Buck has mentioned him and kept baking about it), but also to bring the emotional thread back to the forefront. A lot has happened since the break up. But if you bring Tommy back a few episodes early and have Buck and Tommy reconnect, then the audience is left wanting that resolution and then you hit the audience with a situation that might put Tommy in danger…that’s good eating. That’s Buck on an emotional rollercoaster thinking about how he never wants to lose Tommy when presented with a situation where he might. 

This is how you do the angst of a third act break up and an endgame relationship. No show puts this much work into a relationship to then break them up for good or to shoe in a different relationship that has been shot down directly on the show and that has no narrative value where the characters stand currently. (I’ll add here that I used to ship buddie and I could see how that might have worked in the past, but it’s been years since I thought that it could ever be canon. That ship was shot down ages ago, it never even made it off the dock out to sea). It also doesn’t do it to kill off Tommy as some people have suggested might happen, not when that would absolutely destroy Buck. Do you want Tommy to haunt the narrative more than he already has since the break-up? That’s what would happen if Tommy died. Buck would never get over him. Tim has incidentally made that mistake once before by killing off Shannon and he’s been very open about regretting that. 

I am so excited for what the show has in store for us. I think bucktommy shippers lost a lot of trust in the show and in Tim, with good reason, but there’s definitely something being built up here. When the break-up happened, a lot of us were not happy, but optimistic about the reconciliation and what would come next. We saw it as a third act break up because that is what the show painted for us, and had the show been the only thing we had to go off of, we would have all been happily waiting for what happened tonight. Instead, some “journalists” made it their mission to punch bucktommy shippers when they were already down. We’ve learned from that. We’re not quick to take a too good to be true leak to heart and we’re just more cautious. But logic and having watched this show for years just tells me to give them a little bit of trust because Tim seems to be cooking something here and just like Bobby’s secret ingredient for chili is chocolate, we can’t judge the random ingredients that don’t make sense until we taste the dish in full.

[insomniac4000]

I love ur Chris fics!!

Pretty please can I have one of him being all nervous on a first date and trying to impress her and he thinks its gone badly but she texts him the next day and hes like all surprised? Thx

Thank you so much! :)

Here we go

Chris would be the first person to tell you he was no good at dating, he knew deep down that he was the main reason why a lot of his dates failed, he wanted to find love so badly but he was just… bad at it. Still he was a romantic at heart so he persisted with the apps, he had to believe the right person was still out there. He stared at his phone screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard as he reread the last message from Y/N. They had been exchanging texts for days, a steady back-and-forth of witty banter and playful teasing. She was funny, quick with her comebacks, and surprisingly unimpressed by his YouTube career, which he found both refreshing and terrifying.

His stomach twisted with nerves as he typed, "How about drinks tomorrow? 7 PM?" and hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

Seconds later, the three little dots appeared. "Sounds good! See you then :)"

Chris exhaled. He was actually doing this.

The next evening, he arrived at the bar five minutes early, bouncing on the balls of his feet outside before forcing himself in. The low hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filled the space as he took a deep breath, scanning the room. Then he saw her.

Y/N was already at a table, scrolling on her phone. She looked up, met his gaze, and smiled. Chris felt his pulse speed up.

"Hey!" he greeted, perhaps a little too enthusiastically as he slid into the seat opposite her.

"Hey yourself," she replied with an amused smirk. "Early bird?"

"Oh, you know, just being punctual. Super responsible and all that," he said, reaching for the drink menu to hide his nerves.

They ordered their drinks, and as soon as they arrived, Chris took a deep breath. He wanted to be charming. He wanted to be cool. Instead, his mouth ran away from him, she asked him about his job and his mouth just went to overdrive,

"So, uh, yeah, football. It’s kind of my thing. I mean, not like pro-level, but I’m not bad. Actually, I’ve not long played at Wembley and honestly, it was insane. Scoring in front of 90,000 people in the UK’s most iconic pitch I mean come on. People were saying I could’ve gone pro if I hadn’t done YouTube. Well, maybe not pro, but, you know, pretty close…"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, sipping her drink. Chris caught himself rambling but couldn't seem to stop. "And, oh! There was this challenge video where I hit the crossbar from, like, halfway down the pitch. First try. Not saying I’m a genius, but…"

He trailed off, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. Y/N was still watching him, her expression unreadable. Was she bored? Annoyed? He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I—uh—I talk a lot when I'm nervous."

Y/N tilted her head. "You nervous?" she teased. "I never would've guessed."

Chris laughed, a little too loudly, and went to take a sip of his drink. Except his grip fumbled, and suddenly, the glass wobbled precariously. He lunged to steady it, knocking against the table in the process. A bit of liquid sloshed over the rim.

"Smooth," Y/N said, her lips twitching.

"I swear, I’m not usually this much of a mess," Chris groaned, setting the glass down carefully.

"You sure? Because I feel like you might have a whole highlight reel of awkward moments."

Chris buried his face in his hands. "You have no idea."

Surprisingly, Y/N just laughed. Not in a mocking way, but in a genuinely entertained way. He peered at her from behind his fingers.

"So, you’re saying if I Google 'ChrisMD awkward moments,' I’m in for a treat?"

Chris groaned. "Please don’t. The internet never forgets."

Y/N grinned. "Noted."

Trying to steer the conversation somewhere else, Chris found himself talking about the footballers he’d met and worked with. "It’s mad, really. I’ve played in videos with some proper legends—like I once did a challenge with Eden Hazard. Absolute wizard with the ball. And then there was Bukayo Saka—genuinely one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet."

"That’s cool," Y/N said, seeming actually interested. "Do they ever give you tips?"

"Oh yeah. Some of them take it really seriously. I’ve filmed with Ronaldo too.

Y/N laughed. “Did you stumble this much with him too?” She asked, Chris laughed.

"Harsh but fair."

Chris could tell she was genuinely enjoying the stories, which made him feel slightly less like an idiot. The rest of the night went… not terribly. He still overtalked a little, still tripped over a few words, but somewhere in the midst of it, the nerves settled. Y/N was easy to talk to. She had stories of her own—about her terrible first job, the time she accidentally walked into a glass door in front of a packed restaurant, and her unexpected obsession with obscure trivia. Chris found himself genuinely laughing, which was a relief.

By the end of the night, they walked out together. "Well, thanks for, uh, tolerating my Ted Talk on my football greatness," Chris joked, scratching the back of his neck.

Y/N smirked. "I’ll be honest, I was expecting more of a sales pitch. 'Date me, and you get exclusive football lessons from a YouTube icon.'"

Chris groaned. "Great, next time I’ll bring a PowerPoint."

She chuckled. "Next time, huh?"

His heart stuttered. "I mean—if you want?"

Y/N just smiled. "Goodnight, Chris."

As she walked away, Chris started heading home, shoving his hands into his pockets. He replayed the night in his head and immediately winced. "Idiot. Absolute idiot. Why did I have to go on about Hazard and Saka? She probably thinks I’m a name-dropper. And the drink? Nearly spilling it like some nervous schoolboy? Brilliant, Chris. Just brilliant."

He kicked a stray stone down the pavement. "You had one job—be normal. And what did you do? Talk about your football achievements like you were on a press tour. I sounded like an overexcited fanboy listing my favourite players."

He groaned, tilting his head back to look up at the night sky. "She’s never texting me again. No chance. She probably thinks I talk about myself too much, and to be fair, she’d be right."

By the time he got home, he had convinced himself she wasn’t going to text him again. He flopped onto his bed with a groan, already bracing for the ghosting.

Then, his phone buzzed.

Y/N: Last night was fun. You free this weekend?

Chris blinked at the screen. He hadn’t ruined it? A grin stretched across his face as he quickly typed back.

Chris: Definitely. Let me know when.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as bad at this dating thing as he thought.

[kittycatfite]

Stobotnik fic! It's called "People Throw Rocks At Things That Shine"

I don't have an archive account yet (I am working on figuring out how to) so here you go! I wrote out the tags I plan to put (if people have suggestions for more I will gladly add). Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik/Agent Stone, Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik, Agent Stone, Male OC who was created to be a jerk for Agent Stone to kill, Commander Walters, People talking shit about Robotnik, Badass Agent Stone!!, Maybe a little OOC but I am trying my best (God damn is it hard to write Robotnik), Robotnik is an asshole but hey Stone's going to stay, Latte with steamed Austrian Goat Milk, Stone centric (It's from his pov), Agent Stone is in love with Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik, Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik has no idea what love is but he's trying, Protective Agent Stone, Possessive Dr Eggman | Dr Robotnik, Title is a lyric from Ours by Taylor Swift, Swears! I put swears in here!, I will get better at tagging this when its actually on Archive, First Fic! Whoop!,

This is somehow 3,600ish words so it is below the cut:)

fic time!

“Don't you worry your pretty little mind

People throw rocks at things that shine

And life makes love look hard

The stakes are high, the water's rough

But this love is ours"

And it's not theirs to speculate if it's wrong and

Your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong and

I'll fight their doubt and give you faith with this song for you”

-Ours by Taylor Swift

Every person who had ever worked for or met Dr. Ivo Robotnik agreed the man was insane. He was a genius, of course, but that genius came with a level of cruelty and brutality that was so extreme it was considered a punishment position to be assigned as an assistant to the doctor. No agent lasted longer than a week before either quitting, being fired, or experiencing an injury so badly that they were unable to continue working. (The best record for being fired the quickest was 13 minutes and 37 seconds) Sometimes an agent would come along, someone slightly smarter than the rest, that had quick reflexes, or knew how to keep their mouth shut. Those agents would last longer, but even then it was only a month or two before they were sent packing. The other government agents would watch the poor souls as they ran out crying, yelling profanities, vowing revenge, or just dead inside. Robotnik did not tolerate anything below perfection and no human could ever be held to his sky-high standards. There were rumors and betting games about how long each assistant would last. No one who valued their money bet over a week. 

Or at least that was what Agent Stone had heard.  

“-You’re the greatest G.U.N has ever had, Agent Stone. Which is why we need to assign you to Dr. Robotnik.” Commander Walters said “Of course, working so closely with the Doctor will come with higher pay because the hours he demands are irregular and the level of attention this job will require is high.”

“I am happy to accept the position.”

“Wait, really? I usually have to promise everything under the sun to even get someone to consider working for the doctor. Are you sure, Agent?”

“Quite sure, Commander.”

“I...Thank you, Stone. This is a last shot since he has pretty much fired or permanently injured any agent that would be willing to work for him and scared off any other potential candidates. I wish I could say keep your head down and don’t do anything stupid but this is Robotnik so just, be careful. This will be a temporary position, but try to last longer than a week until we can come up with a more permanent situation.”

Stone grimaced as he exited the office. He would start today since Robotnik’s previous agent had met an explosive termination of position just that morning. He had heard the rumors, hell he had seen the man in person a few times (it was four but it wasn’t like he was actively counting or anything) during meetings when the Doctor would show off his incredible creations to the higher ups but nothing could have ever prepared for actually meeting the hurricane of a man the was Dr. Robotnik.

“Oh GREAT. Another Agent Babysitter here to disrupt my work by not being able to follow simple instructions or take insults without whining like a child. Be better than Agent What-his-name and you can leave with your hands intact.” The genius was standing now.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I have heard interesting things about your employment strategies, and I am excited to begin my new position.” Stone was smiling. Most agents showed up begrudgingly or with misplaced optimism. No one had ever shown up excited or eager to work for Robotnik.

The doctor threw back his head and laughed. It was loud, it was cruel, and Stone found it strangely appealing. “We both know that working for me will not be a PLEASURE, Agent.” Robotnik had crossed the room in seconds and was now so close to Stone that he took a step back not really out of fear, but more respect. He had heard the doctor didn’t like physical contact. His back found the wall and it made his heart start beating harder. Every time he had been previously threatened on a field mission he had stood his ground, but he wanted to please the doctor for some strange reason as a feeling kept tugging at his chest. “You are not here for a good time or a long time. You will keep quiet, do as I say, and don’t question anything. Or you will be out on your ass within the hour.”

Agent Stone nodded, making sure to keep it a small moment so as to not knock his head into the doctor or against the wall. He didn’t dare speak, the doctor had told him to keep quiet. 

“Hmph.” The doctor stalked off back to his chair. “Make me a latte. Figure out how to do it right and you might get to stay longer than the rest.”

____________

Five months had passed and so far Stone had been threatened with position termination 76 times, physical termination 42 times, and pinned to a wall more times than he could count. Robotnik had stuck gloved fingers in his mouth, electrocuted him, and used him as training practice for the badniks. But Stone was still working by his side. So what if Stone felt a little (Ok, A lot) of pride being Dr. Robotnik’s longest lasting assistant? He was just good at his job as an assistant/bodyguard/warm body that could offer praise at every genius thing the doctor said and agreement when the doctor complained about anything under the sun/personal latte maker. Sure it was more jobs than he had expected, but then again he had only expected to be in Robotnik’s employment for a week.

Stone spent every day of the week in Robotnik’s lab only leaving for coffee or food for the doctor or himself. He didn’t get to help on the machines; it was mostly paperwork or listening to the doctor talk about how smart he was. He was supposed to leave the lab at nine for eight hours every night, but he had started sleeping on the still couch in the breakroom after just the first week. It was important that he stayed close, especially since the doctor was constantly working and might need something from him at anypoint. Like a latte at 2am (His caffeine intake scared Stone, but he wasn’t about to say anything). The couch sucked at first for his back but Robotnik slept in his chair most nights so Stone decided he still had it better. At least he got eight hours of sleep over the doctor's occasional three. The doctor was the kind of person who slept where he crashed and Stone only moved him somewhere more comfortable when he was on the floor or actively holding a soldering iron (Stone had learned the hard way that Robotnik had few self preservation skills over the first month of his employment when the agent had discovered the doctor hadn’t anything besides half a granola bar in 72 hours). 

Monday had rolled around again and Stone stood in the break room as he prepared a breakfast burrito (the doctor didn’t have to eat, but Stone was sure as hell going to provide food) and brewing a morning latte for the doctor. He had been carefully experimenting to discover what exactly the doctor liked in his coffee based on his reaction to what was brought. So far he knew: 

Goat milk, steamed

Three spoonfuls of sugar dissolved into the milk

Hint of cinnamon 

Three fourths coffee to 1 fourth milk

Keep the foam

Likes latte foam art

Prefers his own face or logo

Smiles at badnik designs when he thinks no one is looking

Doesn’t comment on hearts or other simpler designs

Sometimes he will ask for a syrup flavor

Half a pump of vanilla 

Hates pumpkin, if he ever asks for that, stay out of his way or face his wrath (Stone would face his wrath any day of the week).

And the rare: Half a pump of caramel with drizzle on the sides of the glass. Stone had realised this was a latte that he ordered when something wasn’t going right.

Stone’s first job as a barista when he was barely sixteen had finally come in handy he supposed. This skill was never this useful in the military outside of having a steady hand when aiming a weapon.

It was calming to make the doctor his latte. A rare moment of serenity in the whirlwind that was working for Robotnik, not that he would give up this position for the world. He loved watching the genius work, he loved making him lattes, he loved watching him praise his badniks (Stone had even seen Robotnik kiss them on the ‘head’ before when he thought no one was looking), he loved to hear the doctor’s robot noises when he was feeling particularly relaxed, but what Stone really enjoyed was that he got to experience it all. He found what other people considered horrible, oddly enduring and it didn’t help that Robotnik was quite handsome in Stone’s personal opinion.

Past agents (or anyone who had ever met him, really) called Robotnik an asshole, egotistical, a mad man, a labrat, a physiological tyre fire, or even down right evil. Stone kept his true feelings of the doctor a secret to them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to defend the doctor every time someone sidled up to him with a “So sorry you have to work with him,” or “It's gotta suck being his agent”. They were trying to be chummy, and Stone would usually put on a customer service voice and disengage. He hated them all, but he wasn’t about to say that. Telling the world how much it sucked was Robotnik’s job.

Well that was usually. But today? Oh, today he was fucking done with it all. 

“Hey, I’m making a new bet that you can’t last a year with that freak show.” 

“Don’t call him that.”

“Hah! You don’t have to defend the stubborn bastard. He's not here and those drones of his won’t bother to listen in for him.” (oh they would, they really, really, would. Stone knew they were. SC-918 was always following the agent around.) The man reached over to grab at something in front of Stone when the agent's hand shot out and forcibly wrapped around his wrist. The man had his hand poised over Robotnik’s half finished coffee.

“Hey, now, man you don’t have to act like that hah-hah. Let me go. I wasn’t gonna touch his damn coffee.” The man’s words were strained as he struggled to get free of the agent’s grasp. Stone had already reached for his weapon from its holder that was flush against his chest.

“Do you think I am so stupid, that I can’t recognize an assassination attempt right in fucking front of me?” His voice was low, almost a whisper. A dangerous whisper.

Stone had pressed the man to the counter with the arm he had grabbed pinned so far behind his back it threatened to snap in two. Stone’s gun now pointed at the back of the man’s head. “Especially such a poorly planned and executed attempt? There are very few agents that use this break room since it is only for people who work under the doctor and so few of them actually use it regularly in fear that they will be fired if they ever see him. I have their faces memorized. You are not one of them.” The barrel of the gun was pressed into the man's head so hard it caused the man to squirm and try to free himself. “And they know better than to insult the doctor to my face.”

“I'M doing the world A FUCKING FAVO-” The bang that followed sounded through the whole lab. In the moment Stone decided two things, one he was going to ask the doctor for a personal kitchen within the lab or at least a coffee machine for safety reasons and two he was going to keep a spare change of clothes in his locker. Sure his black on black ensemble would hide the deep maroon splattered across his chest and legs but he really didn’t want to deal with the crunch of dried blood all day and the doctor always complained about the metallic smell.

As Stone cleaned up the blood splatter on the floor and prepared a new cup of coffee since the last one had not only been poisoned, but also had some idiot’s blood in it. The burrito was a little cold now, but it would have sat on the desk for an hour before Robotnik finally ate it anyway. When he returned to the doctor’s side with the fresh cup, the man actually seemed to have slight concern underneath the anger at Stone’s tardiness. 

“Sorry that took so long, sir. There was an assassination attempt on you. It has been handled and cleaned accordingly.”

“I heard the shot. And you're wrong as always, agent, you are still covered in the imbecile’s blood. Go change or wash up or whatever. There's a spare suit in the box by your locker - yes, it's your size. I don’t appreciate the smell of blood so be through but quick since there's paperwork for you to do. More now that there's a dead body in the kitchen.”

“Oh, he’s not in the kitchen anymore, and no one will ever find him. So I think I can escape the government's paperwork this time since you and I were the only witnesses, if that’s ok with you.” He said with a wink at the doctor, one hundred percent sure that the older man had seen it reflected in his holo screens. The adrenaline was making him brave. 

The agent spoke so nonchalantly as he turned to follow the doctor’s orders that he almost missed the doctor visibly tense as he looked up at him from where he had slumped down in his chair to drink his latte. They never did find the bodies when Stone or the badnik foiled an assassination attempt on the doctor and noone at the government really knew the extent of who or how many Stone had killed for Robotnik. Half the time Robotnik himself didn’t even know when another potential killer had been taken down by his agent.

Robotnik didn’t respond to Stone’s wink so the agent took that as his que to leave and change. Proud to see the doctor grab the cold burrito before staring at his computer screens.

Stone had pulled his shirt off and was scrubbing at the blood that had seeped through onto his chest with a towel when he heard someone enter the room. He immediately tensed and whirled around hand itching toward his waist where his gun sat against his hip, visible without his suit jacket.

“Jeez, Agent. It’s me.” Robotnik leaned against the doorframe frame. His eyes flicked over the agent's frame before settling on his latte, and Stone would have sworn his ears had turned pink.

“Oh, I’m so sorry sir, I am still feeling the effect of adrenaline, so-.”

“You're jumpy. It's fine, I will let it slide this time, Agent.” Still looking so intensely at the coffee, like he was trying to drink it with his eyes. “What did the assassin want to kill me for, this time? I still want a debrief, Stone, even if you don’t do the paperwork for G.U.N.”

“Ah, He never got a chance to say really. I believe he wanted to do the world a favor or something. He tried to poison your coffee while I was staring directly at it, so it wasn’t a very good plan. I have a suspicion that he was a disgruntled past agent, which implies G.U.N needs to up their security, honestly.” When Stone finally pulled on the clean shirt, Robotnik looked up, saw that it was still unbuttoned and promptly looked at the ceiling, ears turning from pink to red. Robotnik looked back down as Stone buttoned up his shirt.

“Hmm, they always leave so angry or broken. Not like you, Stone. You won’t leave, no matter what I do.”

“I plan to stay your agent, as long as you’ll have me.”

Robotnik gave a pleased hum. “You’re still here because you’re the only decent assistant I have been assigned, Stone and because you willingly stay by my side. You are MY agent, Stone. Never forget that.”

How could he forget? He loved being Robotnik’s agent. He adored everything about the genius. 

Suddenly, Robotnik was in his personal space. “MINE.”

This had put their interaction squarely in the realm of flirting which only made Robotnik’s blush spread down to his cheeks. Stone was sure he hadn’t meant that to sound romantic, but Stone felt like it was one of the most romantic things he had ever heard. “I am yours, Doctor.” 

“I really don’t like to share.”

“Only yours.”

There was no space between them. Roboniks chest was pressed against his. Stone was sure the older man could hear or at least feel the Agent’s heart beating with the proximity. 

“Really?” there was hesitancy in the doctor’s voice. Stone knew that he wasn’t used to having people stick around. He was the only person who had willingly stayed by Robotnik’s side for so long.

“I really do mean it when I say I will stay by your side forever, Sir.” Stone shifted forward to rest his chin against the doctor’s chest. He could be fired for this, but HR was never really a concern between them. Robotnik didn’t give two shits about boundaries but Stone had never set any up in the first place.

In the end, Stone was the one who moved first, slipping his hand into Robotnik’s gloved one and gently squeezing. The doctor’s breath audibly caught in his throat. 

“Never speak of this to anyone, Agent.”

“I would never share such a private moment. This is our’s alone to treasure, Sir.”

Stone would never grow tired of the sight of the doctor’s ears burning red.

__________

Stone knew it was going to be a bad day when the lab doors opened to reveal Dr. Robotnik shouting at the top of his lungs. After a year working with the doctor he knew his mood even before entering the door. He quickly discerned that Walters was the source of his frustration most likely since he was the target of his words.

As he walked closer

“We threw Agent Stone at you as a last resort. He wasn't supposed to last. A week or two and then he would be fired. We need him back in the field, Robotnik. He is the best shot we have at getting this information ba-”

“No! You assigned a half-way decent agent to ME. HE IS MY AGENT, AND I INTEND TO KEEP HIM UNTIL HE FUCKS UP. (Stone would have snickered at how much of a lie this was if they had been alone. He had fucked up.) Do you understand, Commander?” Robotnik had stalked over to Stone and thrown an arm around the agent's neck pulling him into more of a chokehold against his chest than an embrace. Stone held his arms still so as to not spill the coffee, but still allowed himself to be yanked around as the doctor continued his rage-filled rant. Possessive was one of the few words that floated around Stone’s brain. The proximity to Robotnik had shut everything else down.

Walters tried a different tactic and started to ask the agent what he wanted.

“If you ever try and reassign me, I will quit on the spot.” Stone was still aggressively pinned to Robotnik’s side, but he made sure his words sounded serious despite the less than serious predicament. When he glanced up he could see Robotnik was grinning almost manically. It was a grin that screamed ‘I won’. Stone treasured that grin, maybe a little bit more since everyone else seemed to fear it.

“Go find a new Agent to boss around, Walters,” The doctor’s voice was a viciously sing-song tone now that Stone had stated his own opinion on the matter. “This is my loyal sycophant.”

Robotnik’s eyes were flashing with what Stone knew to be amusement and a twisted sense of adoration when he looked at Stone but he also knew the rest of the world saw it as something evil. Maybe it did have a few malicious undertones, but so did the agent's own grin as he stared back. It was enough for Walters to give up.

They watched Walters' retreating form leave the lab, he knew better than to fight a losing war.

“Your latte, sir,” Stone handed him the cup with the steaming drink after the door slammed shut behind the commander.

The doctor took a sip, “I really do love the way you make them, Agent. Now come on, there is work to be done. Walters will be back in an hour to propose the idea that we do this recon mission together and we should prepare my babies.” Robotnik let go of the agent and disappeared into the rows of badnik along one side of the lab.

Stone was left reeling for a second with the sudden loss of the limbs that were partially obscuring his airway before taking up his place next to the doctor.

[kittynugg]

okay let me consult my google doc i made an d blacked out during (p.s. should i give you access to the doc or would that give you another thing to NOT focus on college for. i dont have everything written down but im working on jotting everyhing in somewhat of a reasonable order to make a timeline out of it later) i think i wrote about stan and ford living together during college

i feel like they cant go without that "THIS IS HOW WE DO IT IN JERSEY" charm but fffuh idk maybe caryn takes the initiative to put them in a different school if the bullying is bad??

here's what i have related to the college thing tho what do we think

also writing this here because i WILL forget, im noooot sure what the first post will even be so i wouldnt mind continuing to brainstorm here for the time being

i might scrawl out a quick oneshot as an introduction or maybe since you talked in the tags about drawing their designs that could be an option lemme open firealpaca and get scribbling

everything you wrote about filbrick i'd like to take initiative and declare canon, including shermie being the older sibling because TH E FUCKING POTENTIAL?? HELLO?? i had to like. take a minute at "you still haven't gotten those removed?" theres GOING to be a bit where they visit him and he's GOING to say that.

and can i propose that they stay over for a while (prob not in the same house stan and ford get a hotel room) and filbrick finds out ford's autistic somehow and takes him to a doctor to ask how to fix it and its just really uncomfortable for both the stans (based on my grandfather and my brother 😔/lh but imagine the fuc,ing angst)

okay heading back to the 2000s with museum talk now your idea with the coffee and tea is actually so good and fun. the coffee is behind a locked cabinet not because they're worried for the consumer due to the strength, but because stan's worried for ford because he already practically pisses caffeine and does not need the blend he learned from that pixie he's never seen blink

yes ford is still sleep-deprived you can only fix so much with one au

they'd definitely raise money for shit in the woods tho maybe not preservation since they seem fine but like as the gnome homeless population grows yanno (idk i imagine the gnomes to be a very humanlike society with crime and homelessness and shit because god is it fucking funny like the weed gnome from that one fic i wrote)

okay i have to fucking sleep but yeah any ideas go for it bitch the world is your oyster also GO TO SLEEP YOU i know we're in similar timezones

i dont wanna hear it

[themareverine]

Hello gorgeous! We were just talking about it and I decided I simply need to see you bring it to life. Leopold x nerdy, funny, invisible reader? Fic, blurb, head canons, dealer’s choice:) I trust that this ask is in the most capable of hands🫶

— Fate and God

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader

tags: fluff, some angst, Princess Diaries vibes kinda, reader is a former love of Stewart's, first kiss.

a/n: ahhh! Miranda! coming for my feels with this ASK. I'm sorry this took FOREVER, but life being what it is, and my obsessive compulsion to make this perfect (didn't happen) prolonged this. Enjoy it, I hope it fits!

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

“I really do think you’re overthinking this, princess.” 

Stewart doesn’t even bother looking up from the screen of his computer, fingers plucking over keys one by one as he attempts to compile an email. He’d never really bothered to learn how to type properly – the smartest she knew, he was reduced to caveman status while at the keyboard, head bobbing between checking the screen and his keyboard like a chicken. 

Her hands drop from lifting her hair into a would-be style, if it were longer. Fuller, prettier, straighter. Shoulders slumping forward, she begins wrangling it back into a clip, ignoring Stewart’s offhand comment – there was no such thing as overthinking an afternoon out with the man out of time, Leopold. The weird Duke from the 18th century. 

Eighteenth? Maybe it was the 19th century—who was counting?

 “I bet you never said that when we were dating,” blowing out an exasperated breath, she adjusts her glasses back into place, “if you only knew the hours I spent preening like some bird to impress you, Stew — hasn’t Kate taught you anything about women?” 

“Kate never takes long getting ready,” his head finally lifts, eyes casting over her seriously, “she doesn’t put much thought into her appearance.” 

“That’s because she looks like she’s stepped off the cover of Vogue at all hours of the day,” Stewart was likely to hear her eye roll more than see it, given how hard her eyes consider the ceiling, “some of us, unfortunately, aren’t graced with natural, effortless looks. Some of us poor fools actually have to try.” 

Typing stops, only for a second. “I always thought you were naturally pretty, princess.” 

That name. An unfortunate side effect of their relationship, Steward hadn’t stopped calling her by her college nickname even a decade after they’d graduated. 

Now everyone called her princess, from her parents to her brother to her unfortunate colleagues at work who had tragically stumbled upon her email thread with Stewart perpetually hanging out in her inbox. Kate, even meeting her just ten days ago, had started calling her honey. 

The only person who addressed her by her full name was Leo. She’s still unsure if that feels right or not – it’s difficult to discern the swirl of heat his attention spins through her blood. 

The last two weeks have been little more than fairytale, skirting in and out of conversations and navigating New York at Leopold’s side — he was like an awakened child. Curious and imaginative, sweeping and charismatic. 

His charm was endless, the innocent boyishness behind his eyes only ever as fleeting as his sharp wit. He could have her laughing one moment only to be knee-deep in the politics of the world the next, discussing everything from political science to history to art and, her favorite, literature. 

Every morning this week they’d ventured to the corner bookshop to browse the endless spines of titles, only to never really buy anything — it was far more fun to pluck interesting titles and read the first page and make assumptions. 

Leopold was well read and curled his nose at just about every modern title that managed into his hands, though he had mused at her latest interest. Three Bags Full had snagged her attention right away, and some time (and four pages) had passed before he’d managed to snap her attention back into the real world.

She’d almost fainted dead away when Leo had forcibly taken it from her to purchase it with whatever funds Stewart had provided, insisting great offense if she should deny him. Accepting it graciously and with a blushing smile, she’d looped her arm his proffered one and escorted him across the street to the coffeehouse they’d frequented every morning since her arrival to the city. 

“I’ll let you read it first, Leopold,” she’d scooted the book across their shared outdoor table with light fingers, “Stewart can always mail it back to me when you’re gon—” 

His jaw had clamped at the mention of leaving, muscle ticking with the strain of a refrained frown. “I should think not,  my dear – there’s little time to read when the world teems with new curiosities. I’ll have my fill of reading when I—” hesitating, he’d sat back in his chair with a rare absence of grace, “ — no, thank you.” 

She’d chewed the inside of her cheek at his dismissal. Leopold hadn’t resigned himself to the inevitability of returning to his time. Understandably so. The idea of their world shifting back to not having him around plunged an unspeakably deep, sour knife between her ribs. 

Her very own Prince Charming in her very own fairytale. Doomed to return to the pages of history – it was more horrific than it sounded. Actively choosing not to dwell on it, she’d slipped the book into her bag, out of sight. 

They’d returned to enjoying their drinks outside, a right of passage that hadn’t changed. An Americano and simple black tea, each time. They couldn’t be more different as they solve the world’s problems,  she thinks. 

And yet so perfectly similar. 

“I think if you leave some down, it would look nice,” Stewart’s tone is genuine, soft. “Though I don’t think he’d really care either way.” 

“You say that like I care,” it's too defensive.

“You do.” 

Stewart’s reflection staring at her in the mirror triggers her attention back from the memory of the bookstore.

Eyes flicking up to his in the reflection, Stewart gently reaches to pull at the familiar face-framing curls. He’d always liked her wearing her hair like this. Her bottom lip rolls inward, beneath her teeth. 

Heat creeps up her neck and she breaks eye contact with him in the mirror. 

“I don’t –” it’s too quick, too breathless to be sincere. Stewart knows her better. 

“You do, and it’s ok,” he gently squeezes her shoulder, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a placating, almost sorry, smile.

“You deserve to be happy, princess,” his nose wrinkles a little with amusement as she rolls her eyes, “and I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.” 

The less people who see me the better. 

And it is better, less painful. Though the idea of Leopold never seeing her again is suffocating. She may well be dracula, coffin nailed closed, slowly passing time in the darkness – alone, and soul hungry for a man she was never supposed to meet.

Fate is funny how it knits stars together, intertwines futures. Fate and God, only fate and God.  

Swallowing the hopeless idea, she checks her appearance in the mirror for a final time. Adjusts the glasses perched on her nose before her fingers work swiftly to pin the rest of her hair into place. Her eye catches the time on her watch — it’s almost nine.

Leopold will return from his morning walk with Bart, and seeing her, would ask if she’d like to accompany him for morning tea. 

Which meant back to the bookstore they’d go for a repeat performance of yesterday, and the day before. It’s the only thing they’d done on repeat – every other venture had been new. 

The subway system, seeing Lady Liberty, the Met. Pizza from Sylvia’s and every food stand in between, walking countless blocks and discussing everything from religion to poetry to art and space.

Every day he’d accompanied her around the city, allowing Stewart to work without guilt, joining them instead for the night scene. 

And she thinks she could pass lifetimes away with Leopold, wandering Manhattan in the way that star-crossed lovers do. There could hardly ever be anything more romantic. If she were the main character, if this were her story. 

It isn’t, not really. In the scheme of things this is Leopold’s adventure, and she is B story. Well, technically C story— it hardly matters. 

He’s the white-horse, knight-in-shining armor Prince Charming who will return to his time and marry the perfect Cinderella, and she won’t be a closet scriptwriter that spends her vacation in bookstores and reminiscing about her ex-boyfriend….

A knife of ice stabs at the mesh of her ribs, thinking about it. 

….And she will be worthy of Leopold in a way I can never be. 

She doesn’t hear the door close until Leopold’s already steps into the apartment, Bart flying ball in a blur of hair, nails on the floor, and that signature smell of dog. He lands his two front legs  promptly on Stewart’s lap, almost smiling. 

She whirls around on the ball of her foot when Leopold’s hand brushes against her low back, his warmth enveloping her like a mist that makes her start.

Blood kicking against her eardrums, she turns to find that not only has Leo taken the liberty to retrieve her jacket for her, he’s provided his gloves. 

“Shall we go?” His brow crooks in that amazing way she’d only ever seen once before on men, and that was on television — blinking as his smile broadens softly, she nods as he gestures to the window with a gentle nod of his head, “There’s quite a chill in the air this morning, tea would be divine.” 

It’s a departure from his usual, “Will you accompany me out for tea?” and without reading too much into whether he has taken to expecting her company or not, she takes the offered gloves.

Trying to settle the race of her heart against her ribs, she smiles. 

“Sure thing, Leo,” he helps her into jacket, the woolen peacoat snug around the shoulders of her sweater as she buttons it closed. “Lead the way.” 

Black tea and an Americano. It’s basically waiting for them at the front counter. 

“There you are,” the barista eases against the counter, slowly, “was wondering if you’d be buy today, Leopold. They’re saying we could get snow.” 

Unsure if they should be designated to first names after just ten days of frequenting the coffee shop, she doesn’t miss the way the barista smiles at her companion in the biggest, most beautiful way possible. 

Maybe it’s her jade colored eyes, or the subtle piercing in her nose that catches the light in the prettiest way that knocks her confidence down a peg. It feels strangely provocative to be between their conversation, as if she’s an intruder for a moment, Leopold smiling back coolly with warm tones and his low register of a voice.  

But either way, she slips away, to scout out a table, both of their coffees at hand. It isn’t until she’s shrugging out of her jacket that Leo slips up to her side, brow wrinkled in a downtrodden way. 

“Something wrong?” 

Leopold extends her chair for her, and does not sit until she is comfortable. He then begins to shed his own jacket, draping it over his arm as he graciously slips into the chair opposite hers. Nudging his tea in his direction, she warms her hands around the ceramic mug, blowing at the curling steam.

He looks miffed, and she feels his leg drape over the other as his hands fold over his knee. 

“That was rather rude of you,” he intones pointedly, brow arcing again. “Just….abandoning  our conversation with Violet.” Ah, Violet. Jade-eyes was named Violet. His posture corrects as he squares his shoulder, and if she didn’t know better, she could assume he was staring down his nose at her. 

How quaint. 

“Our conversation?” Her breath stutters on a snort as she attempts to cool her drink with a light breath, “I’m not sure you can count it as a threesome when Violet doesn’t even know that I exist,” skipping the tip of her finger around the mug, she smiles at him with a wrinkle of her nose, “I don’t think that girl would register a team of wild horses if they rolled her over, sweet, sweet Leo.” 

He blinks, obviously confused. It takes him a moment to formulate a response. “I—I’m not certain that I follow your reasoning,” brushing a hand against his knee passively, he exhales a little roughly, “explain yourself.” At her surprised blinking, he correct with a proper, “Please.” 

Her brow lifts. “Oh. Well,” she shifts a shoulder, falling back against her chair, “Leopold. Honestly? I get the whole bachelor-at-thirty situation you have going on back home, but you can’t really expect me to believe you weren’t flirting with little miss green eyes over there,” nodding to the counter, her eyes drop to half-mast, “She’s very into you, Leo — anyone can see it.” 

“Into me?” Frustrated, he sits forward to hover over his tea, “Please. I honestly am not —” 

“She likes you, Leopold,” taking a sharp sip, her lip curls at the strength of the coffee’s temperature against her tongue. Unmoving, his lips part in a frazzled O.  “At a base level, sexually.” 

“You mean coitus?” A disgusted awe skips through his tone, his hand moving to skate around his mouth nervously, “I beg your pardon.” 

“Not sure how else to convey it? She’d like you to pursue her romantically?” Making air quotes, her eyes track to the ceiling, “Courtship? Is that what you call it?” Teasing heat slips up from her sternum, fanning up the length of her neck, she feels it blossom across her nose and cheeks. “See?” 

With a small nod she gestures to the counter, triggering his attention over his shoulder. Violet and her other team members whisper violently, looking in their direction. 

That’s how it starts — a few exchanged smiles, some flirtatious laughter over coffee mugs and muffins. It’s the classic genesis to every Hollywood love story basically ever, and it makes her a little sick to her guts thinking about. 

Embarrassed, her eyes flick to the Americano parked in front of her, only for them to glance back to see Violet boldly wiggling her fingers in a cute wave as Leo looks her direction, brow wrinkled and a frown pulling down his features. 

His expression softens for a moment before he looks down at his feet, thoughtful. 

Stomach soured on her drink, nervously her hand flitters to toy with the face framing curls Stewart had encouraged before they’d left. Her leg begins to bounce nervously under the table, and suddenly the back of her throat bottlenecks to the point breathing seems like a chore. 

Biting at her lower lip, her eyes snap up to consider Leopold shifting uncomfortably in his seat, equally stoic. 

“While I must admit Violet is quite charismatic, and lovely,” Leopold’s gaze lands out their window, to the street traffic as he manages a deep, chest-heaving sigh, “I’m afraid she just is not what I would find enjoyable in a partner when it comes to marital considerations.” 

Well, that’s a first. 

Gnawing on her cheek has never been so painful. 

Without adjusting his posture, his eyes move back to her, noticing her hand playing with her hair, “Why are you fretful?” 

Her brows pop up, “I’m not?” 

“You are. You’re pestering at your hair,” he nods, reaching across the table to brush her fingers away, flocking the curl with his finger, “you did so the night we went to the theatre reading and you were called out of the audience, and you did so when you were introduced to Kate’s brother,” his eyes pierce her soul to the very division of bone and flesh, his smile caddish. 

Her inhale is sharp, and hurts her lungs. She chokes on it before puffing it out between her lips dramatically, batting his hand away from rubbing her curl between his fingers. 

“You do it quite regularly when you wish to say something but aren’t sure when to interject.” His smile is quicksilver,  like  a cat cornering a mouse. 

“You are anxious, my dear thing, but about what?” 

The hinge of her jaw fails, her mouth falling open in a little O that robs her of all reason to think. She can’t feel anything but the rush of blood between her ears, the butterflies rising to lift her stomach to the base of her throat. 

Suddenly freezing but somehow molten hot in the coffee shop, she feels the color on her face rise to an alarming red, before her mouth closes and her lower lips slip inward, prompting no response. 

He noticed. Everything. 

Leopold may think he knows her well, but he doesn’t. She’s a master at downplaying her own presence, killing her own heart to make light of situations that would demand she revive it. A lifetime of invisibility, of people-pleasing and chasing validation had made her both master puppet, and puppeteer. 

Swallowing the base of a weak breath, she manages to blow out an unsteady one, pushing her glasses up a little on her nose. 

“Leopold, I really think we —” 

“Do not change the subject,” he matches her hard expression with a huffed sigh. “I know, darling. It’s been quite evident for some time.” 

Oh. 

“How do you—” 

“Stewart,” he smiles at her softly. “We’ve discussed this at quite some length, and he’s confirmed what I’ve suspected these last weeks in your care.” Her face is flaming with a tomato red, she knows, and her bottom lip quivers with the effort to hold back tears. “To say I am flattered would be tragically understated.” 

Leopold’s tone is gravely quiet, hand gently skipping across the table, offered to her. 

“He cares for you very deeply, as do I. We both would like for you to be happy – and I believe, my dear, I can, and will, bring you such happiness. Perhaps maybe not even happiness alone, but content.” 

There’s a slight tremble to his hand, she doesn’t miss the color blossoming on his nose. His voice hesitates, just a warble, but he clears it away with a lift of his chin and a deep, steadying breath. 

“It is my intent to pursue your hand, princess — though I am not sure what that will entail, situations being as they are.” 

Princess. 

It flows from him so freely, so willingly that it terrifies her. 

Her brow canyons with a hard line, and she manages a dismissive huff. Hand flitting through the air, her chair scrapes loudly against the floor as she stands. So abruptly that Leo falls back in his chair just to keep up with her snatching her coat and purse from the windowsill. 

Her name from him follows after her, but it drowns in the blood pistoning in her ears. 

Considering him for no more than a heartbeat, she peels for the door, tripping over her feet once she stumbles out from beneath the shop’s overhead bell. Her hands shake as she fights back into her jacket, frustration reducing the lively bustle of Manhattan to little more than the muted wash of a Monet. 

Her heart fully leaps forward against her breastbone when she hears Leopold call after her, senses his footsteps on the sidewalk. She’s a stroke away from throwing up as her fingers dive into the warmth of her pockets, the webbing of her cheek almost bloody between her teeth.

Calling her by her first name with his rich accent causes her to whip around, stumble backwards a few seconds. He comes up on her quickly, breathing hard, eyes skating through hers, white and wild with alarm. An unspoken fear she’s only ever seen on paper. 

Looking for mercy, brimming with desperation. 

“Leopold, please,” her hands fly up in surrender, “I’d really rather not discuss this, please? I think we should go home, and just —” it dies quickly when he closes the distance between them, grabbing at the front of her jacket to pull her into a hard, forceful kiss.  

Fear grips her viscerally for all of a few seconds, the surprise of the moment snatching away her breath to the point of panic. But his taste is so good — crisp and clear, deep in a way she’s only ever dreamed. Leopold is suddenly everywhere, hungrily skating his tongue against hers messily. Wordlessly asking for the return that she is bound, body and soul, to give. 

He’s never kissed before, she can tell. He pulls and pushes and prods in all the awkward ways one does when learning the art, but he sighs against her mouth like she’s Aphrodite and he is starving of her. Every knock of his teeth against hers sends her keening, her spine numb with the warm honey of desire, of yes. 

His hand is warm as it cups her cheek, thumb skipping over the wild blush on her cheeks. Breathless and burning, she breaks their kiss. Not realizing she’s clinging to the lapel of his coat, her teeth tease her bottom lips. 

Shallow breaths rabbit in and out of her chest, and she can’t bring herself to look up at him, not yet. Too afraid it will shatter everything, break the glass ceiling of her limits. 

Standing there, breathing hard, she can feel his heartbeat beneath her hand at his chest. 

“I desire your happiness, my princess,” he says quietly, breath warm as his hands move to hold hers in place, “Do I make you happy? Will you be happy?” His eyes close, his whisper hanging there as he lowers his nose to brush the end of hers. 

Leopold’s lips clumsily skip over hers, and she reaches a hand to brush at fresh tears on her face. She doesn’t realize her hand is shaking until Leopold’s eyes open, studying her as he takes her hand in his and laces his fingers through hers, tightly. With a gentle squeeze, he tugs her a little closer, lifting her hand to press a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. 

“Leopold, I —” she swallows protest, but her head persists, “—it’s been ten days,” she bites the corner of her lip again, attempting to put distance between them, “I’m not the kind of girl you want, Leo. I’m not a Violet, or a Kate. I’m — I’m just me.” Sighing, her eyes pinch closed. “The world says you marry someone else, Leopold. Someone not like me. I’m invisible, you shouldn’t see me. We’re in different classes, different worlds.” 

Broken, the words clog her throat. Emotion grips her vocal chords like it demands ransom. 

The look of devastation on his face is sincere as his hand gently lifts to spin one of her curls around his finger, “How am I to be in a world that does not have you, when you have so swiftly become mine?” 

Shaking his head, his eyes sparkle as his hand brushes her cheek, “Say that you love me. I will simply cease in purpose if you don’t.” 

Lips parting, she swallows the growing moisture in her mouth, hardly able to process the fullness of his statement. Love? His world? Is this even real? She’s not sure if time has stopped, or if she’s dying. 

World little more than a blur of Manhattan steel and concrete around them behind fresh tears, she breathes deeply of his scent, which clings to the clothes he has borrowed from Stewart. There are a thousand questions, maybe more, that she doesn’t understand — that she can’t bring herself to ask. 

Asking always ruins everything. 

Fingers twisting into the front of his shirt, she lifts on her toes to brush her mouth along his jaw, Leopold angling to capture her mouth with his in a slow, uncertain kiss. Gently guiding him with a finger beneath his chin, she sighs a little when his arms fully find her, pressing her close. 

Brushing noses with him again, her nod is small. “I love you, Leo,” his sharp little inhale excites her in a way that makes her burn, “I’ve waited my entire life for you.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buries her nose against his shoulder in a tight hug, trying not to cry. 

“I know,” he whispers quietly, a smile forming in his words, “and I am right here.” 

[alexanderlightweight]

I'm glad you're doing better and I hope it continues! If you're still up for a prompt, something in Elysium's Tears or anything in the story (can't remember the name of it) where the Circle members' children are forced/arranged marriage to downworlders and Alec marries Magnus but then helps him with the antidote to a poison one of his fellow arranged marriage shadowhunters took.

thank you! i had a pretty painful procedure yesterday and slept a lot to recover and am now cackling at my bf's chromebook because I love plotting this fic and poor Magnus is having a Time with his shadowhunters spouse.

the verse you're talking about with the arranged marriage is the bitter trap of truth and is a fairly intense universe because Shadowhunters/nephilim marry downworlders in accordance to a treaty but really for the sole purpose of sowing discord and killing themselves and Alec is just like.... 'uhm no one said my spouse would be a husband? and that he would be this magical so i'm disrespectfully resigning from the clave and can no longer complete my mission to die. i need to live so I can be the best lair-husband ever.'

in the meantime, Magnus is keeping his gorgeous, shadowhunter husband if he has to fight the clave, death and etc to do it. he also (very understandably) has a hard time trusting Alec, his actions and motivations because what if this is an elaborate plot. Magnus would be devastated and while he'll keep Alec either way he also just doesn't want to do anything that will put him in a position of Alec betraying him.

i hope you enjoy <3

Lumine

-

tw suicide/murder mentions/idealation (specifically in service to the clave)

the bitter trap of truth

“Magnus, I can just stay here. I don’t actually need to go with you.”

Alexander’s voice breaks through the dark turn Magnus thoughts have taken and he looks over to see his husband lounging on the window seat. The book he is reading lies lax, threatening to slip from his fingertips as his attention focuses on Magnus.

The weight of Alexander’s gaze is nearly as delicious as the thrum of Magnus’ blood claiming Alexander from within. It flows through his body with a possessive fervor that often leaves Magnus greedily reaching to caress the imprint of Alexander’s being upon his senses.

Alexander continues to break every possible expectation Magnus dares to have of him, even in matters like this.  Alexander should want to go, he should be pleading and cajoling and manipulating Magnus into taking him as this evening will be one of the rare places he’ll be around and allowed to interact with other nephilim.  Magnus has heard horror stories of just the kind of arguments and cold wars refusing to bring a nephil spouse to these banquets can incur.

Yet, since the invitation first arrived in a flare of fire Alexander has been downright docile about the topic. The first moment Magnus showed hesitancy in taking him, he’d seemed more pleased than upset, more interested in finding a new book to read than finding out who he could connect with.

“If it were that simple, we’d both stay here.” Magnus sighs and reaches out to feel the pulse of his own blood in Alexander’s veins. “And yet the Elder’s have requested I bring you,” he explains as he studies Alexander. “I think they expect me to make you something of a statement or a possible moral booster.”

It goes without saying that Alexander is the highest ranking shadowhunter who married out and is still alive.

Alexander is quiet, soft amusement in his eyes as he follows Magnus’ every movement.

“Despite how often you like to dress me up, you rarely have me meet anyone besides those closest to you.” It’s not a question but Magnus hums in agreement, it would be ridiculous and disappointing if Alec pretended he wasn’t aware. “You can tease that it’s because of how much you want to hide me away, but we both know the target I’ve had on my back since we married.  Events like these are almost always when a nephilim dies. By their own hand or the so-called mercy of another nephilim. I know why you’re worried, Magnus.”

Every time Alexander speaks so openly, Magnus is stunned all over again, his heart racing with freshly piqued interest even as the thought of death claiming Alexander from him chills his blood. 

“You think I’ll let you die?” Magnus asks, voice low and harsh with the surge of anger that overtakes the fear filling him at the thought. He closes the space between them and reaches out, cupping Alexander’s jaw and tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Do you think, Alexander, that you are allowed to die without my permission?”

“No.” And Alexander turns into his grip, lips pressing in a soft, reverent kiss to his palm. “But I think it’s what everyone else expects and something that you have a right to be concerned about. Regardless of my own wishes, it wouldn’t be surprising for an attending nephilim to try and offer me mercy. Either by orders of the Clave or their own misguided sense of kinship.”

Alexander is both soothing Magnus’ ire while simultaneously fanning the flames of his rage.  

“If I have to go, then you should do whatever you need to do to feel confident and secure in my safety. In the fact that I won’t leave your side or willingly place myself in danger. That I won’t go anywhere you can’t follow or watch over me.” 

“Oh? Whatever I want?” Magnus asks, curving his tongue around the delicacy of the offer, the knowledge that Alexander will simply let Magnus do as he wishes.

“Anything, Magnus. Whatever will help, I’m already yours aren’t I? Do you think I mind that being proven to the world? That I’ll mind the entirety of the Shadowworld understanding where I stand? My position in this relationship was made clear the moment I survived both our wedding night and the month that followed.  The Clave has figured out by now now that I want to survive, that I want to live as long as it’s with you.”

-

alec: more than happy to stay home and read up on how to clean a magical lair and feed your incredibly handsome warlock husband

magnus: one: I don't want to leave you alone for longer than ten minutes and two: i'm supposed to show you off. the problem is showing you off while letting everyone know 'do not approach, do not look at, don't talk to, don't breathe near etc...'

alec: sounds more than reasonable. so why don't you just do whatever you need to feel better about my safety

magnus: .... whatever?

alec: yeah, anything that you'd like

magnus: ... no take backs!

[maimura]

i read this at 2am ( anything for a lili fic tbhhhh ) and now i’m FINALLY writing a reblog for this 😆 !!! i am actually really glad that i ended up reading this like six hours from now because i LOVE childhood friends to lovers . and i feel like jaehyun is just so perfect for this ++ the little spin lili added was really nice SO spoilers ahead ^^

SO the beginning was really cute 💔 i just love a good heartfelt and adorable moment and to just start it off with that is PERFECTION ! ( but then again… u know thats going to hurt later on . )

LIKE LITERALLY AFTER THAT WE GET A “what if… i won’t be here tomorrow?” LIKE OH. OH OKAY. ALREADY PUTTING THE DAGGER THROUGH MY CHEST. already knew what was going to happen after that and still reading it happen… ESP WHEN Y/N LITERALLY WENTTTT TO HIS HOUSE 💔 that hurt even more… like…. why did i have to hear from somebody else that you moved when you could’ve told me 💔

AND THEY FREAKING DID THE PINKY PROMISE guys … its such a little thing to say / action to do but i always seem to still take promises to heart LMAOOO so yes … we take promises seriously over here … and when they finally meet again and jaehyun not remembering… THAT WAS SAD ?

like you can tell y/n is simply just not trying to make it obvious that she knows him, however you can see that its still on her mind during the interactions with him… AND YOU DONT EVEN KNOW IF YOU SHOULD ACT MAD BC JAEHYUN IS STILL SO SWEET

and when y/n got him things that he liked / say things that they only knew… just to see if he remembers or not…. bye that stings bc this girl just wants to know if he really did forget her 💔💔 like while reading i genuinely thought this guy just simply forgot and was waiting for them to get along as in like a fresh restart .. AND THEN HE JUST CALLED HER THE SAME NICKNAME HE DID IN THEIR CHILDHOOD. BOYYYY WHY IS HE PLAYING WITH US RIGHT NOWWWW

lwk that was valid for y/n to get upset because… why are we acting like we don’t know each other when i’ve done things from our childhood that WE should know and you’re still acting like im someone new 💔 AND LIKE ESP WHEN SHE CONFRONTED HIM ABOUT IT… AND HES STILL TRYING TO LIE LIKE PLEASEEE DROP IT 💔💔

but he didn’t 💔 and then shinyu came into the picture… GUYS (one of) MY BND BIAS AND MY TWS BIAS YOOOOO . this is My destiny…. LMAO BUT i love the sweet bond between them and jaehyun noticing them sharing that bond instead of it being her and him…

like yeah jaehyun why would lie and set yourself up 💔 do we see the consquences of your actions (jkjk) but regardless, i’m glad he ended up actually had always remembered and he was just too committed to the act due to fear ( BOY 💔💔💔💔 ) AND THEN THE SCENE WHERE JAEHYUN WAS SERENADING HER OOOOOOOOUHHHHHH THATS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUTTTT

ugh they are so cute . LIKE AND THEY KISSED TOO OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUSSSSSSS THIS IS THE ENDING WE WISHED FOR 😝😝😝😝 ( im sorry shinyu 💔 ) this is the sweetest ending yet Yes i am gracefully taking this.

THANK YOU LILI FOR WRITING THIS BANGER AND DEDICATING IT TO ME 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 you are spared…. This time ☺️❤️‍🩹 !! im glad i stayed up a little bit longer to read this <3

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ REWIND TO YOU 　　────　ᅠ ( myung jaehyun )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your reunion with one of the most important people in your life, myung jaehyun, was not like what you hoped for at all. instead of a heartwarming session of two best friends meeting each other after a decade of lost contact, you’re facing a person who seemed to forget a meaningful childhood spent together, like it meant nothing at all.

　　　ᅠ 명재현 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 shy!reader ⠀wc 14.6k ⠀ genre fluff angst childhood friends to lovers high school au ⠀ contains mentions of food skinship random ocs some bnd members and shinyu ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet

　　　ᅠ 　　　ᅠ BEST ENJOYED WITH .. l i f e i s c o o l by boynextdoor, amnesia by boynextdoor, in bloom by zerobaseone, teenage dream by stephen dawes, unfinished business by neriah, if i say i love you by boynextdoor, old with you by grentperez, but you by ikon & serenade by boynextdoor

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ i hope all of you enjoy this spin i made out of the usual childhood friends to lovers trope! and soph.. i dedicate this to you (Pls Spare me), and if you ask, yes i will dedicate every single leehan and myungjae fic to my wifey!

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

 “I HATE YOU, MYUNG JAEHYUN!”

Your screams echoed through the playground, accompanied by Jaehyun’s loud giggles. You took a deep breath as you chased him around, your hair flying behind you. Jaehyun had ‘cheated’ when the two of you were playing hide and seek a few minutes ago—he went on asking around the other kids if they had seen you. And one of the stupider kids did tell him that he saw you inside the slide. 

Jaehyun was quickly out of breath as he was laughing his heart out while running, and you caught up to him pretty quickly. You launched yourself at him, tackling him to the ground. You hit his chest several times, pouting. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Jaehyun said, blocking your hits. His laughter died down, but that insufferable grin was still glued to his face. He was obviously loving all the attention he’s getting from his best friend—even though she’s sitting on top of him, sulkily pinning him to the ground. 

“It’s unfair,” you huffed. You eventually stopped hitting him, but you were still a little upset. How could Jaehyun win, especially by cheating?

“I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he said, his dreadful smirk morphing into a small yet soft smile. “You’re just too good at hide-and-seek.”

“That doesn’t mean you can cheat,” you replied, a pout still evident in your expressions. 

Jaehyun pursed his lips, and for a while, he stayed silent—the gears in his brain working to think of a solution for you. “What about this—let’s go to the convenience store and buy some Pepero or whatever you want. It’s on me!”

You couldn’t stop a smile from erupting on your face. The key to your heart was the simplest thing in the entire world: food, and Jaehyun knew this—and he often used this fact to its fullest potential. It didn’t really help that he’s your best friend, too, so he clearly knew what your favourites were. You weren’t exactly complaining, though. Jaehyun liked to tease you, and as compensation for making you a little pouty, he’d buy or offer you some food.

A win-win situation for seven-year-olds.

“Okay!” you agreed cheerfully. 

And that’s how you found yourself, happily munching on Pepero and chocolate churro chips on the way back to the playground from the store. Jaehyun walked next to you, holding a bunch of candy in his hands. 

You were munching on your snacks, and were just about to thank him for the Pepero when Jaehyun leaned in, stealing a big bite of the Pepero from your hand. 

You shrieked in shock, pouting after realising what had happened. 

“Jaehyun!” you whined, hitting his arm.

Jaehyun giggled. “You snooze, you lose,” he teased with a stupid grin. 

You crossed your arms, huffing. “Some best friend you are.”

Jaehyun’s grin immediately faltered. He quickly broke the chocolate chip cookie he was nibbling on in half, handing you the bigger piece. “Here. Best friends share, right?”

You eyed him rather suspiciously before taking it. “Fine. But you owe me for life.”

“How does that work?” Jaehyun asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“We’d have to be best friends forever,” you replied. The look on your face was enough to tell how serious you meant your words, even for a first grader. “That way, you can always buy me food every day.”

“What if… I won’t be here tomorrow?” Jaehyun asked. You immediately turned to him, confused. That wasn’t what you expected from him as an answer. 

You took a minute of munching through your chips for you to analyse Jaehyun’s doubtful expression. “What are you talking about? Don’t be silly,” you shoved his shoulder. “You’re always here.”

Jaehyun smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then, promise me—let’s be best friends,  no matter what happens.”

You paused, staring right into his eyes.  

Jaehyun looked at you, his face mixed with some kind of fondness and amusement. “Promise me, Sunshine?” he asked, holding out his pinky in a solemn promise. “Best friends forever.”

You returned his gaze, a smile forming on your face as you linked your pinky with his, sealing the promise without a second of hesitation. “Always.”

The words echoed in the air, and from the way the winds caressed your skin, it’s like the universe had taken note of your promise to each other. 

However, you were completely unaware that this would be the last day you’d spend with him. 

The next afternoon, after completing tasks that your mother had told you to do, you rushed to Jaehyun’s house—a few mere blocks away—with a bag of homemade cookies in hand. A big smile was painted across your face, you were excited to surprise Jaehyun with the sweet treats that you had baked with your mother last night. 

But something was wrong. 

The front yard, usually scattered with Jaehyun’s soccer balls and bicycles, was oddly empty. The windows were shut tight, and the driveway—where his father’s car was always parked—was vacant. 

You felt your heart thump hard against your chest. Your grip on the paper bag tightened, and you approached the front door. 

You knocked. 

Nothing. 

“Jaehyun?” 

You knocked again, harder this time. 

“Myungjae? It’s me, Y/N–”

“Sweetheart? Who are you looking for?” 

You turned towards the voice straight away. It was the old lady who lived next door, the one who always made sure to give you and Jaehyun a popsicle whenever you two passed by her house. She had a gentle yet unreadable smile on her face. You ran up to her, head spinning with a dozen questions. 

“Where’s Jaehyun?” you asked her. 

“My dear…” she began, her voice soft. “Jaehyun left early this morning.”

You blinked. The words were heavy, but you couldn’t understand what they meant. “Left? Where?”

“They moved away.”

Nothing made sense. Jaehyun moved? No one had said anything about moving. 

You looked back towards Jaehyun’s house, hoping that the door would swing open and that he would come running towards you, grinning like he always did. 

But he didn’t come. 

The house was quiet, empty. 

Your throat tightened. “But he promised to play. He said he would… stay.”

The lady kneeled in front of you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

You bit your lips, and you didn’t realise you were crying until you tasted salt on your lips. 

Later that evening, you had found yourself wandering back to the playground, the noisy chatter of kids playing around fading into the background. The paper bag still in hand, you walked around aimlessly. You could still hear Jaehyun’s laughter ringing in your ears, the sound of your footsteps blending with his as you two ran around. 

Jaehyun was gone.

And he didn’t even say goodbye. 

You sat down at a bench overlooking the playground where the two of you always played, staring at the place where you both had linked pinkies and made a promise. A promise you had believed in with all your heart.

A promise that, it seemed, only you remembered.

“I’LL see you after school, sweetie,” your father says into your hair. You set your lips into a line, nodding timidly. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” your mother asks, appearing from behind your father. “We can always accompany you to school–”

“Darling,” your father reminds your mother by putting a gentle hand on her arm. “Our Y/N will be fine. She’s almost eighteen now, I’m sure she can handle it all.” 

You give your parents a reassuring smile before walking away, each step bringing you uncomfortably away from home.

The morning felt weird, anyway. You’re here, in a new school, in a state you’ve never set foot to before. The air here feels like a heavy fog, clinging to your chest as you stand in front of the towering school building. You could feel the weight of an agonising unknown pressing down on you. It’s a sensation that you could never get used to, despite the sun peeking through the clouds, and the bustling cacophony of students around you. You stand at the gates, fingers tightly grasping the straps of your backpack. You take a deep breath, remembering your mother’s advice to help overcome your nerves. 

You walk into your new school, the new feeling of being somewhere so unfamiliar enveloping you. It feels different from the school you left behind—the campus is bigger here, the hallways seemed endless and much wider, and each turn made you feel like you’re lost in a looping maze. They even have a separate building for the library.

You find your footsteps slowing down as you reach the middle of the common area, unsure of where you should go. Your eyes dart here and there, desperately trying to find some kind of clue that could help you. 

You had always been the quiet one, preferring to keep to yourself, listening more than you talked, the one that often found herself slipping to the background of a party and corner of classrooms. Currently surrounded by boisterous students, each seeming to know what they’re doing, you feel slightly overwhelmed. The school map you opened on your phone suddenly feels too complicated for you to understand. 

Suddenly, something solid crashes against the back of your head, causing you to stumble forward, the impact hard enough to make the books you’re holding fall to the ground. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”

You turn to reply, but find your words stuck in your throat. 

A tall guy in a basketball jersey stands before you, his hair tousled in an athletic tangle. He picks up the ball—the solid object that hit the back of your head a moment ago—and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He gives you a sheepish smile, trying his best to convey how sorry he is—but you’re too focused on his sharp features and messy brown hair. It’s all too familiar. 

Myung Jaehyun. 

Before you could say anything, he leans down and picks up your books. He hands them to you, a charming smile replacing whatever backward expression he had earlier. “Careful there, newbie,” he says, teasing. “Wouldn’t want to be trampled on your first day here, no?”

You take your books from him, dazed. 

He doesn’t recognise you. 

You watch as he jogs back to his friends, spinning the orange ball in his hands. You stand there, exactly where he left you, unsure of what to do next. 

YOU’RE sitting alone at lunch, perfectly at peace with your packed lunchbox. You sit quietly, not wanting to stand out. This is your first day at a completely new school, and the last thing you want is to make yourself the centre of attention. 

Unfortunately, fate had written that this was your first mistake. 

You’re about to enjoy your lunch in the comfort of solitude, a figure that you didn’t expect to see, again, slips into the seat in front of you.

“Hey, newbie,” you hear Jaehyun say as he takes a seat. “Eating alone?”

You simply nod, not knowing what to say. 

“So, um,” Jaehyun finds himself stuttering after not receiving a reply from you. “You’re the new student, right? That explains the self-introduction in class just now.”

You nod again. Seeing the pitiful look on his face, masked poorly by a confident demeanor, you decide to reply. “Yes. I just moved here.”

Jaehyun’s face lights up like a lightbulb. 

“I’m Jaehyun, if you didn’t know that,” he grins. “I’m in your homeroom! My seat is behind you.”

You noticed that, of course. Who wouldn’t recognise someone whose laugh echoed throughout the room, brightening the atmosphere like the rays of a bright spring morning?

You give him a small smile. 

“Your seatmate, Sanghyeok, is my friend! He told me you seemed… er, lonely,” he hesitates for a while, “so I came up with a genius plan,” Jaehyun reveals with a grin that you’re a bit too familiar with. 

He’d always flash that big smile towards you whenever he wanted to propose a plan, but didn’t really want to take credit for it, in case it was a little too ridiculous. 

“What is it?” you reply. 

“We should be friends,” Jaehyun responds, and your eyes widen almost immediately. 

What does he mean by that?

Your heart begins to race, not just because you’re shocked to see Jaehyun, who was once the most important person in your life, after so many years—but from the fact that he naturally is taking charge, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it came to him with no hesitation. 

“It’s all good! I talked to my friends—Sanghyeok, Sungho, Yoona and Minji—about this, and they all seem pretty cool about it.”

“Oh,” is all you’re able to manage. Everything is moving a little too briskly, and you’re feeling a bit dizzy from how fast things are escalating. 

You feel your brain short-circuiting. 

Just like that?

No hesitation? No ‘wait, Y/N? Is that you?’? No recognition?

You swallow hard. 

“Thank you?” you say, wary. You take a small bite of your sandwich. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Jaehyun beams, and as if on cue, he waves towards a group of people behind you. You turn around, eyes slightly bulging at the way Jaehyun’s friends are quickly approaching your table. You recognise Sanghyeok, naturally, and the girl with a bubbly smile that you assume would be Yoona, but the rest of his friends are new faces for you. 

Jaehyun barely left any room for you to process anything. 

As quickly as they came, the air begins to smell like snacks and sports equipment—a strangely uplifting scent. 

“Guys, meet Y/N!” Jaehyun announces as soon as his friends arrive, putting away their things. “She’s the new kid I told you guys about.”

You look at him for a few seconds. 

Jaehyun is beaming with a smile, and the way he introduced you with such confidence, like you’ve been best friends since forever, makes your heart thump in a weird way.

“Wow, that was fast,” the tall, broad shouldered boy comments, whistling playfully. “Already claiming her as one of us?”

Jaehyun puffs his chest out. “Of course, I have a talent for spotting good people–”

“Hi, nice to meet you, Y/N,” Yoona quickly says, rolling her eyes at Jaehyun. She takes the empty seat next to you. “We’re in the same homeroom. My name is Im Yoona.”

You give her a polite smile. 

A girl with sharp eyes and an amused smile displayed on her face slips into the seat next to Yoona. “So, did he actually ask if you’d like us to sit with you, or did he have you sit here unwillingly?”

You hesitate. “Unwillingly…?”

“Shut up, Minji,” Jaehyun grumbles as the entire group bursts into laughter. 

“That’s Jaehyun for you,” Sanghyeok, your desk mate, says to you. He then gives you a warm smile, just like earlier. “Do you like how KOZ Academy is so far?”

You take a little bite out of your sandwich. “It’s fine. I like how big the campus is.”

“That’s what I always brag about this school,” Minji, who’s been quiet for a while, adds in. The smile on her face is relaxed. “I’ve been here since freshman year, and I still can’t fathom the way we have a swimming pool and tennis courts.”

You nod enthusiastically, recalling how you did see the facilities she mentioned in the school map. 

“Speaking of that, should we give the newbie a tour of the school?” Jaehyun suggests, his face lightening up with excitement. He barely swallows his food as he’s giving you a bright, friendly grin. 

“You speak of her like she’s not in front of you,” the tall boy sighs. He turns to you, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. Y/N, isn’t it? I’m Sungho.”

You nod. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you want us to give you a tour of the school?” Yoona asks. She gestures to Jaehyun. “Don’t worry, this dumbass won’t be in charge of it.”

“Hey!” Jaehyun exclaims. 

“You’ll just show her the boring parts of school,” Minji chimes in. 

Jaehyun makes a bewildered expression. “I will not–!”

“Remember the time when Sanghyeok first came to this school? You showed him all the unnecessary classrooms that you didn’t have time to show him where the lunch card machine is,” Sungho adds, laughing.  

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. He passes you a snack. “You’re all so dramatic. Anyway,” he says, shifting his gaze to you. “Don’t mind them, Y/N. You’re welcome here—just sit back and relax.”

You nod, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that it’s the only reaction you’re able to give them so far. You’re not so sure that you’re able to relax when all these new faces have their eyes on you, but surprisingly, their energy isn’t too bad. It’s welcoming, bustling with a friendly spirit. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but it’s not unkind. 

Jaehyun passes you another snack he grabbed from Sanghyeok’s stash, and something in your chest begins to warm. 

Maybe it’s not too bad at all. 

THE next day feels like a dream. 

You arrive at school pretty early, and much to your surprise, you’re greeted warmly by Yoona, who also happens to arrive at the same time as you. She hops off the bus and jogs towards you, catching up to you as soon as you park your bicycle. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” she smiles at you. 

You mirror her expression. “Good morning.”

“It’s still early… Do you want to go to the common area?” Yoona suggests. “I’m sure the rest will already be there.”

You simply nod. “Cool. Let’s go.”

Yoona links her arm with yours, and together, you walk towards the common area. It’s bustling and loud despite it being only half past seven. Most of the energy radiates from Jaehyun and his group of friends: the boys are tossing a basketball up and down—even though they’re clearly indoors, and they shouldn’t be playing with a ball inside. Minji sits on the sofa nearby, leaning back as she lazily reads through a novel, completely unbothered with the ruckus around her. 

As soon as you arrive, Yoona puts her bag down, sitting down next to Minji and they both begin chatting about whatever topic that comes to mind. You, however, aren’t used to this kind of energy—fast-paced, full of jokes and friendly banter. You sit at the edge of the sofa, unsure of how you’d insert yourself into the conversation. 

Jaehyun, on the other hand, is thriving. As always. 

“Bet I can make the shot from here,” he brags, crumpling a snack wrapper in his hands. He gestures to the trash can, located at the far corner of the room. 

“No way,” Sungho scoffs. “That’s, like, ten feet away.”

“You’re all talk, MJ,” Sanghyeok chimes in, laughing. 

Jaehyun smirks, turning to you. “Yo, new kid. Believe in me?”

You meet his eyes, blinking profusely. “Uh…” 

The group laughs, and Jaehyun gives you an exaggerated gasp. He puts a hand over his chest in a dramatic manner. “Wow. The hesitation? I’m hurt.”

“Well–” you say, pausing. You’re unsure if you should say what your thoughts really are, or if you should play it safe. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious of the way you’re sitting.

“You’ll miss, definitely,” you quietly mumble. 

For a second—one that felt way too long—Jaehyun stares. 

Then, he throws his head back, laughing his lungs out. “Yo, she’s got a bite! I like her.”

You gape at him, not knowing what to respond to the grin he flashed at you amidst his loud laughter. Your face begins to burn, but the others are nodding in approval.

“Good job,” Minji pats your shoulder. “You’re keeping him humble.”

Sanghyeok hands you a juice box, grinning like his gesture is a kind of initiation. “You’re officially one of us.”

You hesitate, but eventually accept it. 

“Told you you’d fit right in,” Jaehyun says, nudging your side as he grins. 

And just like that, you find yourself smiling back. 

YOU’RE not sure if it’s just you, or it’s that Jaehyun does not remember you at all. It has been quite a long time, you admit that, but you don’t think that it’s reasonable for someone to completely forget someone so important, no matter how long you’ve been without them.

So, for the following weeks, you decided to test the waters, to see if Jaehyun truly did forget you, that if you’re just a passing memory in his childhood. 

“Jaehyun!” you exclaim, running up to the soccer court. The boy perks up, his eyes lightening up as he watches you jog up to him. He was scrolling animatedly on his phone, but when he heard his name being called by you, whatever that he was interested in was tossed aside. 

“Are you done with soccer?” you ask, panting slightly. 

Jaehyun nods. 

“What’s up, newbie?” he then grins, wiping off his sweat using the towel hanging around his neck. 

You cringe slightly at the nickname. “I have a name, you know.”

Jaehyun laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Y/N. What’s wrong though?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You then rummage through your backpack, bringing out a bunch of strawberry fruit roll-ups. You give Jaehyun a small smile before handing them to him. “Here, I thought you’d want them after practice.”

Jaehyun beams, delightfully grabbing the candies. He opens one of them, and when he’s about to put it in his mouth, he pauses mid-action. His eyes turn straight to you, looking fixedly into your gaze. “Wait.” 

You bite the bottom of your lips, trying to contain yourself. 

“What?”

“How’d you know I like these?”

Your eyes bulge slightly, and you quickly purse your lips together to mask a smile. You knew Jaehyun liked these—ever since you started being friends with him, he had made it clear that he liked everything and anything that tastes like strawberries. You remember spending a lot of time in your childhood, trying the various breeds of strawberry, as well as strawberry candies and snacks that Jaehyun had shared with you; and over time, you just naturally knew specifically what he liked.

And turns out, the five foot seven inches high school senior that’s standing in front of you with a baffled expression on his face still does like strawberry flavoured things. 

He is the Myung Jaehyun that your heart holds dear, even after so many years. 

You shrug. “Just a feeling.”

Jaehyun places the fruit roll-up in his mouth, his gaze still trained on you. In his eyes, you can see that he’s questioning your words. But as the candy melts in his mouth, the doubt begins to dissipate, and his charming smile reappears. 

“Thank you,” Jaehyun’s grin twinkles. He grabs another candy and pops it into his mouth.

“These things are crazy—I can’t get enough of how good they taste!” he begins to chatter as he packs his things, his movement as swift as the speed of the words coming out of his mouth. When he’s done, he stands up straight and looks towards you, the expression in his eyes cheerful and full of energy. 

“Let’s go?” Jaehyun prompts. 

You adjust your backpack’s straps on your shoulders. “Go… where?”

“Home?” Jaehyun replies, perching up his eyebrow. He looks at you like you’ve asked the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “You live in my neighbourhood, don’t you? I always see you cycling home from the grocery store on Saturdays.” 

You hesitate. 

The fact that you do live in the same neighbourhood as Jaehyun does is bothering you in ways you’d never thought it would. It reminds you of the painful separation you faced in your early years of life, and to be hit with such a strong déjà vu years later, you’re not sure if you can handle it. 

Seeing you waver, Jaehyun wears his bag on one shoulder, putting his other arm around you. Your shoulder tense, feeling weird at how he’s so completely at ease with you, like he’s grown up with you for years. 

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he says, his voice oddly absent from the cocky confidence he usually wears. Instead, his voice is comfortingly firm. “C’mon, let’s walk home together.”

As he walks with you to the school gate, the warmth of him being close to you makes your heart ache in ways that are alarmingly familiar. 

IT’S been a few weeks of you trying to execute your attempts at making Jaehyun remember you. But, of course, your efforts decided to fail you. It’s annoying—the way he’s obviously out there treating you like you’re the greatest friend he’s ever had, yet whenever you bring up an old joke or an old nickname that you used to call him, he puts on this confused face that makes you want to slap him and yourself. 

One day, during an afternoon study session, you and your friends had pushed your desks together to mug up upon your studies. You were seated between Yoona and Sanghyeok, and directly in front of you was Jaehyun. 

Tired of solving math problems, you began watching Jaehyun solve a math problem, leaning over his desk. His brows were furrowed deeply, showing how tricky the math problem was. And you notice one thing. 

He was subconsciously sticking out the tip of his tongue slightly. It clicked inside your head, and a roll of memories came playing into your sight. His habit is still the same—exactly like he used to when the two of you were playing jigsaw puzzles. 

You snorted to yourself. “You still do that?” you whispered to yourself. 

However, your whisper was loud enough for your friends to catch. “Do what?” Yoona asked, perking up from her physics homework. 

Her question pulled the entirety of Jaehyun’s attention, and his eyes were locking with yours at once. He had a questioning look on his face, and he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to answer. 

Your eyes widened, and you immediately shook your head. “Nothing,” you stammered, looking away as you bit the inner corner of your cheek.

A few days after that, you were sitting on the bleachers of your school’s soccer field, your homework sprawled over your lap. Jaehyun had made you and the girls come over to watch him, Sungho, and Sanghyeok play soccer at the field. You and Minji didn’t want to at first, but Yoona saw it with a positive note—you were sick of studying at the library every afternoon, so studying at the field could be a nice change. 

It was a windy November afternoon, and autumn was giving way to winter, so every single gush of wind felt like a harsh bite to the skin. You squinted, trying to do your homework as you fought with the wind and the coldness it brought along. You’re not too interested in sports, and it didn’t help that you got there when the match was already halfway through, so you didn’t understand a thing that was going on. 

One thing for sure is that it was quite an intense match. 

“I’m not sure if this was a good idea,” Minji muttered. She shoved her hair into her coat, zipping it up. “My hair is flying everywhere and I can’t even see Sanghyeok. How am I supposed to do anything?”

“Sanghyeok, huh?” Yoona laughed. “You can see them a bit—see, look!” she exclaimed, pointing at the slightly smaller figure of the boys, fiercely in their game. “Sungho and Jaehyun’s about to score!”

Hearing that, you immediately looked up from your homework, your attention officially snatched away from the assignment. You watched intently as the game progressed: Sungho, with the ball in his control, dodged a tackle, swiftly running through the field before powerfully passing the ball towards Jaehyun, who effortlessly scores their winning goal. 

It’s a friendly match between your school’s soccer team and another school, but the celebration that roared through was something else. 

Sanghyeok pulled Jaehyun and Sungho into a bear hug, ruffling both their heads. You heard Jaehyun’s victorious laughs and screams echoing around the air. You smiled.

Soccer has always been one of his passions, and seeing him flourish in it makes your heart bloom in ways you never imagine it would. 

You were proud of him, and it’s a refreshing feeling that you never got to feel years ago, when seven-year-old Jaehyun was telling you all about his soccer dreams. 

After freeing himself from Sanghyeok, Jaehyun ran up to the bleachers. Much to your surprise, he was headed straight to you. He came up to you with a pleasant grin, his face flushed with sweat. 

“Hey, I did it,” he said, breathless. He brought his hand out for a high-five. 

And before you could even think, you stood up and clasped his hand in the old secret handshake from your childhood with him. It came to you like second nature—you couldn’t even stop yourself. 

Jaehyun stiffened, his hand still clasped around yours. 

You were equally as shocked as he is. 

Why did you even do that? 

And what was that reaction?

However, Jaehyun was quick to react—he laughed it off, quickly redoing it into a normal high-five. He gave you another grin before turning away to chug water, leaving you confused and unconvinced. 

Now, you’re not too sure that Myung Jaehyun actually forgot you. 

This theory was drilled into your head even more after another incident or two. 

It was a random Tuesday, where Jaehyun had dragged you and the girls to accompany him to do soccer drills at the field with his team. 

“Remind me why we need to do this again,” Minji grumbled, slumping against the seat. 

Yoona sighed, stifling back a grin. “Because MJ said so.”

“I don’t understand! Why can’t we just wait for them at the library? We need to study anyway,” Minji complained, stomping her feet in frustration a few times. 

“They probably just need some moral support,” you chimed in, watching absentmindedly as Jaehyun is making his team run around the field. 

“They’re seniors already, they should be done with all this,” Minji huffed. 

Yoona shrugged. “You know how they are with soccer.”

“Absolute maniacs,” Minji commented, shaking her head. 

You simply nodded and chuckled along to their conversation, eyes trained on Jaehyun coordinating his teammates in soccer training. The actions then became repetitive, and you quickly got bored. You stared off into space, zoning out. Then, without you realising, a soccer ball from a group of freshmen that were practicing near your seats came flying directly towards you. 

Before you could react, Jaehyun instinctively stepped in front of you, shielding you from the ball with his body. 

The ball bounced off him with a thud, and you gasped. You rushed towards him, Minji and Yoona following you from behind. 

“Jaehyun, are you okay?” you asked frantically. 

Jaehyun picked up the ball, turning slightly to give you a grin that tells you that he’s okay. “I’m okay!” he answered, flexing his bicep. “See?” 

And the memory hitted you like a truck—all this reminded you of the time when the two of you were kids, when Jaehyun would always stand in front of you during dodgeball insisting “you’re too small to get hit!”

A quiet gasp escaped between your lips. “You always do this,” you muttered. 

Jaehyun, who was about to walk back to his teammates after tossing the ball back to them, turned to you. “Do what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Your eyes narrowed—you could tell that he was feigning innocence. 

“Never mind,” you said, giving him a tight smile. Jaehyun nodded, and you watched him jog back to his teammates, carrying out the practice like usual, a million thoughts racing through your mind. 

He remembers. 

The next week, on a Thursday, you had just gotten back home from your after school Chemistry class—Jaehyun and his mother had dropped you off. After cleaning yourself up and changing into your pyjamas, you sat down at your desk, wanting to get some homework done before you ate dinner. 

Then, your phone pinged with a text notification from Jaehyun. 

hey sunshine

Are u done with the english hw? i wanna see how u did it

Sunshine. 

The nickname that Jaehyun used to love calling you when the two of you were kids, and used to live only a few houses away from each other back in your old neighbourhood. He used to call you that because, quoting him, your smile was as precious as the sunshine on a winter morning. You didn’t—and still don’t—genuinely smile often, but Jaehyun was one of the only people who could trigger it out of you with not too much effort. 

The nickname meant a lot to you. 

You stared at the message in a daze, and when you finally were about to reply, the text was gone. 

y/n, i meant

sorry

You held your hand against your chest, heart pounding like crazy. 

“What the hell was that?” you whispered to yourself. 

So he does remember. 

IT’S a Friday, and you’re sitting down at your desk, unable to focus your brain into another set of math problems. Instead, you sit there, pretending to read through your completed English essay while sneaking glances at Jaehyun. He’s laughing about something with Minji and Sungho, effortlessly conforming with his friends, flashing that same stupid grin that you’ve always remembered from your childhood. 

Your fingers curl around the edges of your desk. 

How could he look so familiar yet feels so distant like a stranger?

You desperately want to believe that he’s forgotten—too much time has passed. But deep down, you know that it doesn’t make sense. He’s too comfortable around you, too quick to include you too. He’s too at ease around you, especially for someone who’s apparently just met you for around two months. 

And the worst part? Your heart is still skipping a beat every time you look at him. Your heart still reacts the same way it did when you were kids—probably even more defined now—cheeks turning pink at his gestures, heart warming at his voice. 

This isn’t fair. Nothing is.

You watch as he ruffles Minji’s hair, annoying her by ruining her hair that she spent an entire morning trying to perfect. He laughs as she swats his hand away, hissing curses at his face. 

He used to do that to you. 

Your grip tightens. 

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe he really did forget, after all. 

But you can’t just get it out of your head—the way Jaehyun treats you, the small, fleeting glances and the way he easily includes you in every conversation he has and everything he does. It makes you doubt yourself. 

And why do you even care so much?

You turn away, biting your lip. It’s stupid. Everything is just so dumb—you shouldn’t be jealous or feeling worked up about some boy that happened to still be the most important part of your life even after so many years. You shouldn’t even bother yourself with something that happened years ago. You know you shouldn’t hold on to memories that you’re not even sure he still held. 

But you are.

And that fact alone is making you despise everything.

BY the end of the day, you’re lazily packing your bag after the last bell rang. You’re drained after an entire week of classes and endless assignments, and you don’t know if you can survive your after school Math class. Beside you, Sanghyeok is also packing his bag—but he’s doing so at a much faster pace than you are. He gives you an acknowledging smile, a piece of bread in his mouth, before walking out of the classroom. 

“MJ, are we going to the extra football practice coach said we’d have earlier?” Sungho asks, stacking his books into an organised pile before sliding them into his bag. 

Jaehyun looks up from his phone, humming. “Yeah, I’ll go. I’m the captain—can’t miss any sessions, can I?”

Sungho nods in agreement, but before he could say anything in return, Jaehyun’s focus is already shifted to you. 

You’re packing your bag slowly, as if by doing that, you’re able to avoid going to your after school class. You zip your backpack close, feeling someone’s gaze boring into you. You look up, turning towards the source of the tingling sensation. 

“Going home already?” Jaehyun asks, an idle grin displayed on his face. 

You slip your arms into your puffed coat. “Yeah,” you nod, “I have extra class.”

“Let me walk you home,” Jaehyun says, zipping his bag shut smoothly. He swings it over his back. 

“Jaehyun, we have practice,” Sungho reminds. He’s already at the door, gesturing with his chin. 

Jaehyun swats his hand, without even looking at his friend. “It’s fine—you can go first.”

As Sungho leaves with a sigh, Jaehyun grins at you. “C’mon. Let’s stop for some tteok skewers while we’re at it too.”

You stare at him, eyes unblinking. 

Is he being serious? Why is he always insisting on walking you home? Doesn’t he realise what his actions are doing to you? 

Your frown begins to deepen as you recall Jaehyun’s treatment of you ever since you transferred to KOZ Academy: always next to you, effortlessly handing you snacks and drinks—specifically the ones you always preferred, always seeming to prioritise you over everything else that he has; walking you home, buying you food as often as possible, and all the other little things that made your heart somersault. 

You don’t want any of this. 

You don’t like how conscious you are of yourself whenever he’s around. You don’t like how he makes you feel like you’re the most important person in this world. You don’t like how he makes you all smiles—you despise the way he easily brings you out of your shell. 

You clench your fists. 

This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous. 

Jaehyun has been nothing but very kind and welcoming to you since you first came here. He has included you, so naturally nothing seemed awkward or forced. He introduced you to his friends, and they were all so welcoming you feel like you’ve been friends for ages. He treated you like any other classmate, normal and friendly. 

And that is the problem. 

Because you know that, to Jaehyun, you’re just like any other person here. You’re just a normal classmate. Not the girl who used to braid flowers into his hair as the two of you talked under the shade of the oak tree, chatting your afternoon away. Not the girl that he used to enthusiastically greet every day, eager to share his strawberries. Not the girl that he swore he’d never leave behind. 

You know you mean as much to him as much as his other friends do. You know that his stomach doesn’t do this funny dance whenever you’re around. You know that his cheeks don’t become warm whenever he hears your voice. You know he doesn’t look forward to seeing you every day, like it’s one of the only things that keep him going. 

Your throat burns with this feeling. It’s stupid. You hate whatever’s going on—the faint sliver of hope that Jaehyun just might remember you after all. Maybe he was just pretending. 

But for what?

Because everytime you look into his eyes, you don’t see the Jaehyun you cherished with your entire heart. All you see is someone, still the same Myung Jaehyun, who had long since moved on. 

You’re fine on your own. You know that. You’ve always been. 

You’ve always been by yourself, you didn’t realise how fun and fulfilling it’d be when there’s a special someone in your life. 

When Jaehyun left with no warning ten years ago, you had thought it was the end of the world. You had put yourself through the painful process of moving on, of finally accepting that maybe Jaehyun wasn’t meant to be yours forever all along. 

But then, Jaehyun reappeared. He made his way back into your life, a decade later, as smoothly as the way he first introduced himself to you as a four year old. 

Yet he had the audacity to treat you like you’re a new friend. 

You close your eyes for a quick moment, trying to suppress all the memories that are rushing back into your head. 

“C’mon, Y/N, you’ll be late for your class,” Jaehyun says, tapping your shoulder. It brings you back to reality, and without realising, you’re staring sharply at him with that alarming sensation of tears collecting in your eyes. 

Jaehyun, of course, is quick to notice this. His grin fades into a frown. “What’s wrong? A-are you sick?”

You inhale sharply, taking your bag. “No,” you say, slowly shaking your head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Okay,” you hear Jaehyun quietly responding as you walk past him. You walk out of the classroom and into the hallways, too tired to even stop Jaehyun from following you. You let him accompany you to the after school tuition centre in town, silently waving him goodbye as you watch him cycle back to school. 

You turn around, sighing. 

YOU know you’re about to hit the end of your patience. 

Your school is hosting a winter festival, organised by juniors and sophomores, a few days before winter break. It’s fun when you think about it, but not as much when you’re paired with Jaehyun for a game. 

The school courtyard is bustling with students, all bundled up in wooly scarves, mittens and puffy jackets, gathered together at the booths set up for your school’s winter festival. The ground is carpeted with white, fresh snow, and a large part of it had transferred into a battlefield for snowball fights, complete with stacks of hay, snowbanks, and random objects as forts. 

“Sorry Y/N,” Yoona says, setting her lips into an apologetic line. 

You shook your head, sighing. Everyone is already paired up with each other—Minji with Sanghyeok, Yoona with Sungho—and you’re left with Jaehyun for the snowball game. You look at Jaehyun, who looks very eager. 

“You’re with me, Y/N!” he exclaims, sliding his arm around your shoulders. His smile is bright and, as much as you didn’t like it, it makes you smile too. 

“So we’re going to draw some sticks and see which teams are going to go against each other,” Jihyeon, one of the juniors in charge of the snowball game booth, says as she comes up to you and your friends. 

“You can go first,” you say to Minji, and she nods. 

She reaches her hand in the cup Jihyeon is holding out, and pulls out a random popsicle stick. The edge of it is coloured red. 

“It’s red?” she asks, a little confused. 

Jihyeon smiles. “That means you’ll be competing against another team who pulled out a red stick!”

“That’s us!” Jaehyun, who’s standing next to you, suddenly exclaims. He holds a red popsicle stick in his hand. You turn to him, slightly surprised. You didn’t even realise he had been picking a popsicle stick for the two of you. 

“You don’t mind me picking for us… Do you?” he whispers to you. You give him a small smile before shaking your head. 

“I don’t mind.”

You and Jaehyun are going against Minji and Sanghyeok for the snowball game, while Yoona and Sungho are fighting against another pair of seniors. Jihyeon gave each team five minutes to make as many snowballs as possible. You and Jaehyun worked your best to form the snowballs—you weren’t too good at handling cold snow, but Jaehyun seemed to be the best at it. 

“We’ll win this,” Jaehyun says to you, crouching down behind your side of the area. You crouch down next to him, awkwardly nodding. 

He smiles at you in reassurance, and some kind of positive energy fills you up. 

And before you could even process any of it, Jihyeon blows the whistle, indicating the start of your snowball fight. A chaos, made out of crazed giggles and snowballs crashing against bodies, begins to erupt, and you lose sight of Jaehyun in the middle of it.

Jaehyun is immediately in his element—his snickering laughter ringing through the school courtyard as he hurls snowballs at Minji and Sanghyeok. He ducks and dodges behind a snowbank, his chequered brown and red scarf flying behind him like a flag. 

You’re standing awkwardly behind a stack of hay tall enough to cover you, holding a snowball with both of your hands.  Jaehyun suddenly lands next to you, and as soon as he sees you, he tilts his head with a smirk. “Y/N,” he says loudly against the frenzy, “you’re supposed to throw the snowball, Sunshine, not hold on to it like a favourite teddy bear.” 

Jaehyun gives you a teasing grin before dashing off to hurl more snowballs towards Sanghyeok, triple the amount he just threw to his face moments ago.

You remain there, standing still. 

Sunshine? What was that? 

Your cheeks turn pink underneath your knitted scarf, and it’s hard to tell whether that was caused by the cold or from the way that Jaehyun’s grin made your heart flip. 

You watch as Jaehyun plays around in the snow, his giggles resonating around the air. You stand there, your heart thumping loudly in confusion. 

He definitely remembers. 

You absentmindedly take a step back, clutching the snowball in your hands harder, the stinging cold no longer bothering you. 

A second later, Jaehyun arrives next to you, almost slipping. He pants, and despite that, he’s still grinning joyfully. He locks his gaze with yours, and upon noticing your expression, his smile falters a little.

“Y/N?” Jaehyun asks, “are you okay? Why aren’t you playing?”

“‘Sunshine’,” you state plainly, eyes unblinking. “What was… that?”

Jaehyun freezes. He opens his mouth, but for a while, nothing comes out. He stares at you, something unreadable clouding his eyes. The wind blows at his messy hair, flopping against his forehead. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, chuckling rather sheepishly. 

You narrow your eyes. You’re not letting this go. “Jaehyun,” you press on. “Answer me, Myungjae.”

Upon the nickname, his eyes widens.

Jaehyun hesitates, and for a while, it looked like he was about to give you the answer you desperately wanted. However, your hopes were crushed as a snowball from Minji came hurling towards your direction, crumbling upon impact against your hair. Jaehyun’s eyes widens, and his focus turns back to the snowball match.

“We have a minute left,” he says, rushingly grabbing several snowballs. He’s about to turn to Minji and Sanghyeok, wanting to throw more snowballs at them—but he pauses. He leans close, brushing snow out of your hair with his free hand. 

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of warmth goes up your cheeks, despite the raging emotions and thoughts in your head. 

He’s too close. 

Jaehyun chuckles. After making sure all of the snow is gone, he ruffles your hair, trying his best to make it look okay again. “There,” he says, his voice low and comforting. “All good.”

You watch him turn his focus back to the snowball frenzy, unable to utter a word. You stare at him, his grin decorating his already handsome face. Your heart claws against your chest as you try your best to pull your eyes away from Myung Jaehyun, who looks too gorgeous with his brown hair adorned with sparkly snowflakes. 

You know he’s lying. You know he remembers. 

But why is he doing all this?

THE last bell of the day rings, the entire school erupts in a chatter of celebration. Students run out of their classrooms, walking out with their friends as they chat the rest of the day away. Several student council members are doing several of their last duties of the day, making sure that everything is perfect before leaving the school for a month. 

You’re at your locker, double-checking everything. You make sure to stuff your bag with things that you’re not too confident at leaving at school for a month—your chemistry textbook, the mirror that your old friends got you. You also made sure to replace the tape that’s holding up the polaroid pictures of you and your family, hoping that it’d stay up for longer this time. 

Your eyes linger around the polaroid of you and Jaehyun—taken at the young age of six. It was the first day of school, you vividly remembered. 

You used to look at that picture with a bittersweet, reminiscent feeling. You always used to look at that picture with some kind of hope that you’d meet Jaehyun one day. 

But now, you can’t do that anymore. 

You glance at Jaehyun’s direction, a few metres away from you. He’s at his locker with his friends, Ricky and Sungho. He’s laughing, as always, and he’s effortlessly blending in like he always did. He’s enjoying his time with his friends, like he didn’t just spend the last few months unknowingly ripping you into pieces. 

How could he be so carefree when you’re feeling like this?

You hate it. So much. 

Too much.

You hate how your chest aches whenever you catch Jaehyun looking at you, the way he looked at you like any other classmate, betraying the years you spent together. You hate how he seemed to have easily erased you from his past, like you meant absolutely nothing to him. You hate how he seemed to have forgotten you so heartlessly, when you have spent years holding onto him. 

But now, you can’t hold it in anymore. 

Jaehyun had finished his conversation with his friends, and now he’s walking towards you, tossing his ball up and down, flashing that same easygoing smile that had captured your heart—and something inside you snaps.

“Do you really not remember me?”

Jaehyun pauses, his eyes bulging and his footsteps halting. 

You didn’t mean to say it. 

You had spent weeks bottling it all up, second-guessing yourself amidst all the mixed signals. You constantly told yourself that it didn’t matter, that Jaehyun truly did forget you, and that it had been too long for him to even remember you as much as you remember him. 

You can’t just bottle it in any longer. 

Jaehyun blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?”

You exhale sharply. You can’t take it back anymore. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

JAEHYUN bangs his head against his bedroom door, regretting every single thing he’s done. 

Why did he even do that?

After he said goodbye to Ricky, who was going on a winter vacation to Italy, he turned to you. He approached you, subconsciously having that same stupid lovesick grin that his lips somehow form whenever he’s around you. He’s walking towards you, like how he does it every other day.

Usually, you’d greet him with that adorable little smile of yours. 

But today, he was smothered with a menacing glare and a question that he doesn’t expect instead. 

“What are you talking about?” Jaehyun said, trying his best to sound innocent. He was unable to pry his gaze away from you, but he hoped that you didn’t catch the quiver in his eyes. 

You didn’t say anything for a while, and he watched as whatever emotions you had swirling in your beautiful eyes changed into a solid look of hurt and betrayal. 

Jaehyun felt his heart drop to the floor. 

It’s like everything stopped, and his stomach began to twist, the memories rushing back as they played through his mind like a broken film tape that he couldn’t stop from playing. 

“You really, really don’t remember me,” you said, quiet with a humongous amount of hurt. Your voice cracked, and Jaehyun’s heart began to crumble because of it. 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Jaehyun replied, forcing out the words as firmly as he possibly could. 

His words felt like acid on his tongue. Jaehyun had told this lie many times before, but today, it felt more painful than the others. But Jaehyun did it anyway, over and over again.

Because it’s easier than admitting the truth to you. It’s easier than having to acknowledge the feeling that’s twisting his heart, hurting his chest. 

You exhaled shakily, and for a second, Jaehyun swore that he could see through you—your eyes searching him, like you were finding the real Jaehyun, who had been the one that promised he’d be your rock until the end of time. 

And the fact that you still had that effect on him—making him feel like he’s on Cloud 9—after all these years, only made it worse for him. 

“You’re lying,” you snapped, your eyes starting to sparkle with unshed tears. Your voice began to rise with every word you uttered. “You do remember me. You remember everything. Don’t you?”

His heart began to thump loudly against his ribs. He had never seen you so worked up like this, he had never heard you raise your voice like this. 

Jaehyun stared into your eyes, the truth burning at the back of his throat. He hesitated, almost spitting it out. 

But in the end, he swallowed it. 

“I don’t get it, Y/N,” he countered, trying to sound confused. Though, it didn’t sound convincing, even to him. “Maybe we’ve met before, in-in the past, but I truly don’t remember anything.”

Your gaze stiffened, and the desperation in your expression faded. Jaehyun kept his guard strong—he couldn’t let you see him crack, even though the weight of your disappointment was heavy on him. 

Then, after a minute of silence that felt too long, you gave him a straight smile. 

“Okay,” you whispered. You slammed your locker close and immediately walked away, not giving Jaehyun a chance to say anything else. 

He wanted to chase after you. But he couldn’t. 

He watched you turn away, and as the doors closed behind you, he felt the loss crumbling upon him, heavy and unbearable. 

YOU’RE not even sure why you’re feeling like this, but you are angry. Upset. 

Who wouldn’t be, especially after witnessing the only person who made you feel truly understood shun you out, saying that he doesn’t remember you?

You didn’t really like leaving your messages unread and unreplied, but for the first time, you let your text channel with Jaehyun clog up. 

It’s the morning of Christmas, and you wake up to almost fifty new texts from Jaehyun alone. You don’t open any of them, but you couldn’t help but read some of it from the notifications bar. 

y/n, did i do something wrong?

y/n, are u okay?

y/n, i can’t believe u declined to go snowboarding 2gether yesterday. we had so much fun!!!

okay fine. i shouldn’t have used that tone

honestly it kinda sucked to not have u around

i know u’d like seeing the sunset from on top of the mountain

y/n i hope u’re eating well

y/n, did u go see the big christmas tree in the city centre? i’m in front of it rn. 

y/n. merry christmas. 

enjoy your day

You sigh, turning off your phone. It pained you, probably just a little bit, to ignore all of Jaehyun’s attempts to reach out to you. You did feel a bit sad that you’re missing out on fun plans that he wanted to do with you—but what could you possibly do? You know you’re not ready to face him without baring your teeth at him. 

You enjoy the day with your family, happy to see them after a long time, especially your cousins and grandparents. You ate a lot of good food, took a lot of pictures, played a lot of games with your nieces and nephews, and of course—exchanged many memorable moments and laughter with your family members. 

You were playing in the snow with your little cousins, your heart stinging a little. Not from the cold, but from the memory that you have associated with snowball fights—Jaehyun. There was something warm about hurling cold balls of snow that made the tips of your fingers red. Maybe it was because you were fond of the person smiling at you during that time, or maybe because the way snowball fights produce heartwarming laughter reminds you of the person that you’ve cherished for so long and how his laughter fills your heart with joy.

Your mother called you inside, and after shaking off all the snow from your coat, you joined everyone else for the gift unboxing time. You got many gifts from your family and friends alike, but when it came to the largest box addressed to you, you can’t help but feel a little pang in your heart. 

Who was it from? 

You flip the card attached to the gift, the world going completely silent for a second. Your eyes widen at the sight of Jaehyun’s name scribbled onto it, along with a short message. 

Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy this.

“When… how did this get here?” the question escapes your mouth almost instantly, but you know that’s not what you really wanted to ask. 

“A boy came off to drop this just now, when you were playing in the backyard with the kids,” your aunt replies, handing you a piece of brownies. You put it in your mouth, chewing slowly as you try to process her words. “I asked him if he wanted to come in and talk to you, but he refused and ran away so quickly I didn’t have time to stop him.”

You merely nod, unable to say anything due to the heavy feeling pressing down your chest. Slowly, you rip the wrapping paper open, holding in a breath you know wasn’t necessary. 

You didn’t know what you expected. 

An apology letter, maybe. 

Or something that he remembered that you always liked. 

But instead of that, your hands are holding a gingerbread house kit and a store-bought Christmas card taped to it. 

Whatever hope you still had remaining for Jaehyun fades, and your jaw clenches. 

It’s time to stop. 

“LOOK, it’s Shinyu,” Yoona nudges you, giggling rather uncontrollably. You glance at his direction, a little wide eyed from how blatant her statement was. 

You’re walking with Yoona and Minji to your school’s library, located in the middle of campus grounds. You’re almost there, when you spot Junghwan—or more famously known as Shinyu, and his group of friends walking in the opposite direction. 

“Shush,” you whisper. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“‘Cause he’s such a gentleman, duh,” Yoona replies, deadpanned. Though, that kind of expression on her face lasts only a second. As you and Shinyu’s steps grow closer to each other, and heat begins to rise up to your cheeks, Yoona couldn’t hold her smile back. 

“We’re just friends,” you state, dismissing whatever she’s about to say. You shove your hands deep into the pockets of your puffed jacket, and you set your gaze straight ahead. 

Yoona gives you a raised brow. “I never said you guys weren’t. Are you saying that you guys are more than that?” she asks, the octave of her voice going higher. 

“Someone’s excited,” you mumble. You quickly turn to Minji, desperate. You’re going to walk past Shinyu and his friends anytime now. 

“Min, help,” you plead between gritted teeth. 

To your surprise, Minji laughs, putting her hands up. “I’ll always defend you, but this time, I can’t—you and Shinyu are too cute for me to prevent it.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your mouth is agape. Though, before you could say anything to counter Minji’s remark—that’s already making her and Yoona laugh—Shinyu is already next to you. 

“Hello,” he says, his voice sweet like honey. 

You freeze in your steps, and you quickly turn to him. Shinyu, standing much taller than you, has a fresh smile plastered on his face–the sincerity of it feels like it’s only for you. Though, you don’t want to get your hopes up for anything. You and Shinyu had recently started becoming friends, right after winter break ended a few weeks before this: he’s in your English and PE class, and he often sits near you when you’re studying in the library. You always see him playing basketball after school, too. 

You give him a small smile. “Hi, Shinyu.”

“Where are you going?” Shinyu asks. He nods in acknowledgement to Yoona and Minji. 

“Library,” Minji replies, looping her arm with yours. “Do you wanna come with us?”

Shinyu glances towards his friends, who’s talking amongst themselves.

“I promised my friends I’d come to study with them in the common room,” he says, before shifting his gaze back to you, and there’s some kind of determination shining through. “But you know what?”

Flustered, you blurt out. “What?”

“Yo, guys, I’ll be studying in the library,” he announces to his friends. Some of them roll their eyes, but eventually, they all agree to meet up after school. 

“Let’s go then?” he says, flashing you a smile. 

Yoona clears her throat, and even though muffled, you can clearly hear her giggling. You press your lips together, nodding. You’re feeling shy for no reason. “Okay. Let’s… go.”

Shinyu grins, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

The four of you walk to the library—Yoona and Minji, to your right, are giggling their hearts at the way Shinyu’s walking to your pace, his position perfectly shielding you from the sun. 

You force yourself to look forward the entire time, Shinyu’s presence suddenly making you feel beet red. Unknowingly, you’re smiling to yourself—Shinyu is well-known amongst your peers for his good manners, and undoubtedly, he’s one of the nicer people you’ve met. You lost count of the amount of times he’s taken care of you, especially when you’re studying. 

You chuckle. 

Shinyu’s not bad. 

“Someone’s in love, huh?” Yoona jests, pushing the library door open. You jolt back to reality, scowling at her. 

“I’m not in love,” you whisper sharply. “Also, shut up, he’s next to me.”

Yoona throws her head back, unable to contain her amusement anymore. You ignore her snickering in the back, and you walk inside the library, clutching the straps of your backpack as you try to find a table with enough seats for all of you. 

As you’re looking, a familiar voice pulls your attention towards its owner. 

“Y/N!” you hear Sungho call you, his voice quiet but loud enough for you to catch. He motions for you and the rest to come over. Yoona and Minji notice this, and they immediately jog over, delighted to see the boys. 

However, you’re a little sceptical. 

Your eyes meet with Jaehyun, who looks rather wide-eyed to see you. You hesitate, your footsteps heavier than before. You haven’t been really talking to him ever since school reopened after winter break, and this is the first time you’re facing him directly. 

Shinyu notices your mood drop. He leans to whisper, “are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and as far as I know, ghosts don’t really appear in the day.”

You almost burst out laughing at Shinyu’s wooden remark. You bit the bottom of your lips before tugging Shinyu’s sleeve. “Let’s go sit with them?”

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice suddenly shaky. 

You nod. “I’m sure they’ll be okay with it!”

You’re not too sure what made you feel so brave to do so—but you pull Shinyu towards the table that all your friends are sitting at, gesturing for him to sit next to you. Jaehyun, who happened to sit directly in front of the seat that you’re claiming as yours for the day, watched with a dumbfounded expression on his face, his jaw dropped. Yoona and Minji smirked, seeming to know what you’re doing, but  Sungho and Sanghyeok looked a little hesitant. 

Other than the sharp gaze that Jaehyun gave you, lingering a little longer than you’d like, you notice nothing wrong with him. 

Not until an hour into studying together. 

Shinyu, Sungho and Sanghyeok had gotten along quite well, and you often find yourself trying to stifle your laughter at their jokes. You also saw Minji, who was quite hard to impress, laughing along as well. 

You’re mid-laugh when you notice it—Jaehyun’s easygoing demeanour has disappeared. He no longer had that grin that rose higher on one side of his face, one that he displayed when he was amused at something. 

Instead, he’s staring. 

Not at you, but right at Shinyu, who’s sitting next to you, chatting animatedly about a variety show he watched last night with his sisters. You couldn’t help but observe the boy sitting in front of you—his jaw tight, his fingers obnoxiously tapping against the table. It’s obvious that something is bothering him, given that his bright energy had dimmed. 

Normally, Jaehyun would add in to the conversation, spicing things up with a joke here and there, lighting up the atmosphere with his contagious laughter.

You were about to ask Jaehyun about it, but Shinyu is quicker than you thought. He leans in to show you a video on his phone, something related to the funny moment in the variety show that he watched last night.

Your attention is almost immediately pulled towards Shinyu and his phone, but Jaehyun’s actions tugs you back to him harder. 

He pushes back his chair with a loud, audible scrape. 

“What the hell, man?” Minji hisses. 

“Y/N,” Jaehyun says, not even looking at anyone else. “We need to talk.”

“Huh?” you splutter. You thought you made it clear that you don’t want to talk to him.

Jaehyun stomps towards you, and before you could say anything to counter, he grabs your wrist and pulls you away to a far corner. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, as soon as Jaehyun stops in his steps. You’re more confused than angry, the entire incident that happened before winter break pushed to the back of your mind. 

Jaehyun mumbles something, but you can’t hear him at all. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I said nothing,” Jaehyun replies, his eyes narrowing. 

His reply, rather sharp, startles you a little.

And that makes you a bit worked up. “What’s up with you?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

Jaehyun doesn’t reply. Instead, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, muttering to himself. His eyes dart here and there, as if he’s trying to find some kind of answer. You stand there, silent as you watch him do his thing, not knowing what to do as a response. 

After a while, Jaehyun does something that wasn’t even in the list of things you guessed he’d do—he unzips the hoodie he’s wearing and places it on your shoulders. You stare at him with bulging eyes, mouth agape.

What is he doing?

Before you can even do or say anything to stop him, Jaehyun guides your arms into its sleeves, zipping the hoodie up for you. He takes a step closer to you, leaning close to grab the hood behind your head. 

You feel your breath stuck in your throat. 

He’s. Too. Close.

Jaehyun, his gaze showing how focused he is at this, pulls the hood over your head, tugging it slightly so that it’s secured. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, the world around the two of you freezes. 

You clear your throat, and Jaehyun’s brought out of his trance. 

A fake cough escapes him, and he shoves his hands into his pocket, acting cool before he starts walking back to the table. 

“Jaehyun?” you call after him. “What’s this?”

Jaehyun looks back at you. “Nothing. Just keep it on. You get cold easily, don’t you?”

You go back to your seat, feeling extremely weirded out. What’s up with this guy? 

A part of you tells you that he’s trying to mark you as yours. 

You grimace, shutting up that tiny part of you. 

He doesn’t even bother to remember me, so why would he do that?

JAEHYUN’S behaviour just keeps on getting weirder and weirder. You really tried your best to tell yourself that it’s not a big deal—but at this point, nothing can convince you that Jaehyun’s not being weird. 

You could recall quite a few moments of him being rather significantly bitter, for a reason that you’re not even aware of: one of them being a free period before lunch on a Wednesday, where Shinyu came over to you to ask you a few questions about Math. 

You had barely even managed to reply to Shinyu’s request before Jaehyun suddenly got up from his seat, clapping his hand on your shoulder. 

You turned sharply towards him, shocked at both the impact and the unexpected gesture. “Jaehyun, what—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, loudly, “I just remembered! I owed—I mean, you owe me something! An answer. About… about something!”

“What thing?” you frowned. From what your memory serves you, there’s no such thing—

“The, uh—” Jaehyun waved his hand vaguely, glancing at Shinyu, who raised a brow at him. “You know? The thing we talked about yesterday. Super important. Can’t wait. Urgent. Like, right now.”

Before you can even open your mouth, Jaehyun grabbed your hand and pulled you a few steps away. 

Shinyu, grabbing his papers, shook his head. “At least be subtle, dude.”

Jaehyun, hand still clasped around yours, narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Shinyu chuckles. 

You looked back and forth between the two guys, sighing heavily. Just what is going on?

Another similar moment occurred the next week, at lunch on a random Friday, where Jaehyun was annoying the living daylights of Shinyu for some stupid reason that you’re not too sure of. Shinyu, being the absolute angel he is, completely dodged Jaehyun’s attempts. He remained next to you, chatting about whatever topic that came to mind. He also made sure to include the rest of your friends, and to give you any part of his lunch that he noticed you liked—that extra crispy chicken or the cream cheese bun that he hadn’t touched yet. 

Shinyu had to leave a bit early because his basketball coach had something to discuss with him. He bid you farewell, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Jaehyun immediately perked up, smiling like none of his attempts at making Shinyu pissed off ever happened. 

Tired of the same kind of thing happening each day, you decided to confront him about it. At first, you didn’t want to—afraid that you’re just imagining things, but after discussing it with Yoona and Minji, you knew it’s for the best. 

“You’re acting weird,” you finally said, eyes pointed straight at Jaehyun. 

Jaehyun paused midaction, his noodles slipping down from his chopsticks. “Are you talking to… me?”

Minji punched his shoulder. “Stop being so dense, idiot.”

You nod in Minji’s direction, before turning back to Jaehyun. “Yes, you.”

“Me?” Jaehyun scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not being weird.”

Sungho snorted in his drink, and Sanghyeok shook his head. You bit back a smile—you’re definitely not imagining this. 

“You glared at Shinyu for five minutes. Did not blink.”

“I did not.”

“And you interrupted every time he spoke.”

“Coincidence.”

You gave him a deadpanned look. “You literally dragged me away mid sentence more than two times.”

The falter in Jaehyun’s cocky gaze tells you that you’re right. 

Jaehyun groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I’m acting weird. But it’s not because of him. Not because of Shinyu. I just—” 

He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You stared at him, more confused than ever. 

Jaehyun avoided you gaze, and that confirms everything you’re questioning

“...Right.”

He’s definitely acting weird. 

JAEHYUN is in a mess. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—and he definitely doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do either. 

He knew, from the moment you stopped even reading his messages over the winter break, that he’s truly messed up. But he doesn’t really know what to do, and the only logical solution in his head is the option that he wants to avoid the most. 

Jaehyun is dragging his feet through the hallways, dodging noisy students chatting and huddling in groups at the lockers, when he hears a familiar voice talking as he’s passing by. 

Shinyu. 

The guy that gets on Jaehyun’s nerves whenever he’s around you—the audacity that he has to be flirting openly with you, to show off the fact that he might have a bigger chance with you than Jaehyun ever will. 

He wasn’t paying attention at first, and had his foot out to step away already.

“I think I’ll do it in the courtyard,” he hears Shinyu say, “it’s the most perfect spot. Besides, Y/N likes the marigolds there.”

Jaehyun feels his heart stop, his body freezing mid-step. 

He barely registers the students passing him, hitting his shoulders multiple times. Shinyu’s words sink in, heavy and dangerous. 

“Damn,” another voice speaks, “so you’re really confessing? On Valentine’s day?”

“Yeah, of course,” Shinyu replies confidently. “I mean, Y/N’s amazing. I’d be an idiot not to try.”

“Doesn’t she see you as just a friend?” a voice points out. 

Shinyu sighs. “I know, but what’s the harm in trying?”

“She’s quiet, though, isn’t… she?” another voice asks. 

Shinyu shrugs. “I don’t mind, she’s perfect in my eyes anyway.”

Jaehyun’s stomach twists. His fingers are clenched into fists at his sides, and he knows he should just walk away. 

But his feet won’t move.

Jaehyun stands there, his heart hammering violently against his chest. He frowns, pretending that whatever he heard didn’t get under his skin at all. 

Shinyu is confessing. To you.

And the worst part is Jaehyun has hardly any idea what to do about it.

JUST as he thought his day couldn’t get worse, Jaehyun spots Shinyu running up to you after the last bell rang, a bunch of snacks in hand. He intercepted you from Jaehyun, who was on his way to you, a box of Pepero in his hand. 

It slips from his hand, falling on the ground.

Jaehyun knew. 

From the way your eyes begin to light up whenever you see Shinyu, and the way your smile is just so bright whenever he’s near. The way you talk more and more, prompted so effortlessly by Shinyu. The way you look like you’re glowing when you’re with him… it hits Jaehyun.

He’s going to lose you. 

His vision becomes blurry as he stands in the middle of the courtyard, as still as stone. Jaehyun can’t ignore this any longer. 

He can’t ignore the way his heart is eager whenever he sees you. He can’t ignore the way the world seems a little less gloomy, a lot less lonely when you’re around. He can’t ignore the way his chest hurts, like it’s about to burst, whenever he sees you flashing that adorable, rare smile around anyone else. He can’t ignore the fact that he feels like he’s about to throw up flowers everytime he sees you with Shinyu, all giggly from whatever he says to you. 

He just can’t disregard the fact that he has obvious feelings for you, that he still loves you after all these years. 

Jaehyun had always known those feelings, pushed away deep in his stomach, but these past few weeks—it keeps on growing larger and larger, more urgent and more consuming. The small flutter in his chest when he watched you laugh, the feeling that settled comfortably around him whenever you look at him with those warm eyes, and the overwhelming ache when you’re around Shinyu. 

Jaehyun had tried his absolute best to ignore it. 

But now, watching you interact with Shinyu—sharing snacks, smiling so shyly with him—it made Jaehyun extremely aware of himself. Shinyu, your fellow classmate who seemed to know exactly what to say, the one who made you giggle and smile the way Jaehyun used to always do… the feeling hits Jaehyun differently. 

Jaehyun felt like the ground underneath him was about to crumble, and the earth was about to eat him alive. His heart twists so painfully it makes him feel like he wants to run and hide from the shattering realisation that you might never look at him the same way he has always looked at you. 

He wishes that he had been more courageous, more brave to admit to you that you’re his world, and he’s orbiting you—that you hadn’t left his mind, ever since he left ten years ago. Not even once. He wishes that he had been more valiant, and that he told you, the first time he bumped into you, after a decade of not seeing his favourite person—that he missed you dearly. Your laughter, your smile, and the way that it’s reserved only for him to see—he wishes he said that to you the first time. 

Honestly, Jaehyun wasn’t even really sure why he lied to you. Sure, he was scared, afraid that you might not remember him at first. But after a while, he just didn’t want his feelings for you to be out in the open. He knew you remember him—but he was simply terrified. 

What if you didn’t like him the way he did? 

What if he’s the only one that’s feeling like you’re the most important person in life?

Jaehyun was too afraid of you rejecting him to stop lying. 

Though, he thought that his way of showing his feelings, rather subtly in his opinion, through little acts of service could make you notice. 

Even so, Jaehyun knew that it only made you more confused. 

He really wanted to be happy for you—he really does. You deserve all the goodness in this world, and you deserve to be happy with someone who looks at you the way Jaehyun looked at you all this while, but his chest twists with a blazing jealousy: an emotion he never thought he’d feel when it comes to you. 

It’s not fair. 

Not to you, not to him. 

How could he be so stupid? How could he be such a loser, a coward? 

Jaehyun takes a shaky breath in. He could tell, from the way you looked at him, and from the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, that you had no idea. No absolute idea about the chokehold you have on him—the way every shared moment, every glance and every smile is carved into his soul. 

You have no idea how much he’s hurting, from the way you’re clearly upset with him, the way you’re growing closer to Shinyu, and the way you’re slipping away from his reach with every passing moment.

But then, something clicks in him. He’s not going to let the ache, the jealousy and the frustration take the reins—he’s no longer going to shrink back into the shadows. 

This is going to be his moment. His time to shine. Jaehyun could feel the determination settle firmly in his chest, and his mind begins to come up with a plan. The fear and the doubt is burned to ashes, and it’s no longer going to hold him back. 

He had been such a fool. 

This time, no more hesitating. No more waiting. No more wondering what if. 

If he wants you, he’s going to fight for it. 

He’s not going to let himself lose you to anyone else. Not now. Not ever. You’re his best friend, his rock, his confidante. You understand him in ways others don’t, and he knows you more than you even know yourself, even after all these years. And if anyone is going to make you realise that, it’s him. 

JAEHYUN hadn’t meant to walk this way. 

It’s the night before Valentine’s day, and somehow, his feet had brought him to your house, a couple blocks away from his own. He’s in a new neighbourhood, and the house he’s approaching is new, but the feeling is familiar. 

He slows to a stop, staring at your house—remembering how it used to be some kind of second home to him. It’s a new house in a new state, but Jaehyun could still remember sitting on the front steps with you, munching the afternoon away with your mother’s homemade snacks. He still remembers doing homework with you on the porch, laughing at the way you huffily grumbled under your breath when it came to difficult questions you couldn’t solve. He still remembers building a pillow fort in your living room, calling it your ‘secret base’. 

His fingers curl around the strap of his guitar. 

Have you ever realised how much you mean to him? How much do you always mean to him?

A gust of wind blows through the quiet street. 

Jaehyun stares at your window, the warm glow radiating from inside. He swallows hard. 

It’s now or never. 

Taking a deep breath, he takes a step forward and begins picking his guitar. 

YOU shove your headphones down your neck, heart thumping fast. 

What’s the noise outside?

You walk towards your window, nervous upon hearing the melodious guitar and the singing muffled by the bricks in your walls. 

“Man, I'm so nervous to death

I relax my stiff lips

I might fail miserably like this

I might mess up

Hi, the weather's nice. Wanna take a walk?

My shy voice is just for you!

Ah, please, don't say no

Oh, I won’t beat around the bush

From my head to toe

No, even my heart’s under pressure…”

You recognise that voice. 

Jaehyun. 

What’s he doing here, in the middle of the night? 

You peek through the curtains—and your assumption is correct. There he is, Jaehyun, standing rather awkwardly in front of your driveway with his guitar. 

Your eyes widen. He’s singing. 

Or more accurately, screaming. 

“I love you, baby, baby, baby

I’ve been screaming the whole neighborhood knows 

I like you!

My neighbors go, yah, yah, yah

Let's get some sleep, yoo-ooh, oh-oh

I swear you'll like it.”

You close the curtains sharply, turning your back to the wall. Your face begins to feel hot, and your breaths turn to short, ragged gasps. 

You close your eyes, trying to drown Jaehyun’s voice out, but you can’t. 

Slowly, you open your eyes again, letting yourself to hear him out.

And soon enough, you realise the meaning behind the words he’s singing. 

“Ah, please, don't say no

Oh, I don't want to be just friends

From my head to toe

No, even my heart's under pressure!”

You push your curtains aside, taking in the view. You expect him to be singing rather calmly, but instead, you’re greeted with Jaehyun, kneeling on the road as he’s serenading you. 

“I love you, baby, baby, baby

I've been screaming the whole neighborhood knows 

I like you!”

You barely processed what he just sang. 

One second, you were in your room, standing frozen as your breath hitched at the sound and sight of Jaehyun’s singing echoing through the neighbourhood. 

Next, you’re running out of the house. 

You didn’t think—you just ran. 

Your parents, who were alarmed by Jaehyun’s singing, didn’t even have time to react. You flew past them, socks sliding across the wooden porch, nearly tripping down the slippery steps. 

“Y/N! Your coat—”

Too late. 

“I love you, baby, baby, baby

I've been screaming𑁋”

You bolt towards Jaehyun, crashing into him with so much force he barely had time to catch his guitar. 

“𑁋the whole neighborhood knows 

I like you𑁋oof!”

From the door, your dad raises a brow. “...did we miss something?”

Your mother merely chuckles, smiling knowingly. 

“You really—” you gasp, your breath visible in the air, “—had to do this in front of everyone?”

Jaehyun grins, entirely unbothered. “Of course.”

You cover your face with your hands—you were embarrassed, at first, but now it’s not even about all that. Your body is trembling, not from the cold nor embarrassment, but from the overwhelming warmth that is engulfing you. 

Jaehyun gently pries your hand away. “Hey,” he says softly, his grin now a gentle smile, “did it work?”

Your lips part. “What? Did what work?”

“Making you fall for me.”

Jaehyun barely had time to flash you another of his smirks before you fling yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. 

He lets out a startled laugh, stumbling back slightly. “Whoa—hey, what’s–”

“You’re so embarrassing,” you say against his jacket, your grip tightening. “And loud. And ridiculous.”

And just so, so cute. 

Jaehyun giggles, running a hand through his hair. “So,” he says, and you pull away to look at him. “How was it?”

You look at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “How was what?”

“I just serenaded you. That basically means you have to date me now, right?”

You gasp, hitting his chest. “Jaehyun–!”

“I mean, that’s like, a rule or something. I put in all this effort, to sing to you on a very cold winter night—made myself look completely ridiculous, and now you have no choice but to fall for me. That’s how it works,” Jaehyun continues, a smug look on his face.

You roll your eyes, to hide the obvious flush in your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable–”

“Unbelievably charming?” he cuts you off, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No. Unbelievably embarrassing.”

Jaehyun dramatically gasps. “Excuse me, that was romantic. I even practiced the song! Twice!”

You swat your hand, face burning, but he catches it. 

You stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart dangerously racing. 

“Y/N, listen… I know I can be a lot,” Jaehyun begins, his voice softer and more serious now. His grip on your hand tightens. “And you’re quiet and reserved, but I think we fit perfectly. With each other.”

You want to say something, but you keep your silence—you don’t really trust yourself to say anything in the state you’re in. 

“You know why?” Jaehyun continues rambling, his grin morphing into one of the most lovesick smiles you’ve seen, and you find yourself mirroring it. “I love making you smile, and I want to always keep on making you smile until, like, forever—”

Your heart makes a backflip, or something, but you feel your face flushing even more. “Jaehyun, stop–”

“And if you don’t like me back, that’s fine. That… is… totally okay! I will totally accept rejection gracefully, I’ll just be heartbroken for like, ten years—”

“Oh my god—”

“—but if you do like me, please tell me before I make a bigger fool of myself.”

Jaehyun pauses, catching his breath. His eyes find their way back to you, and in the silence he’s left between the two of you, you can’t hold yourself back anymore. 

You grab the front of his jacket and yank him forward.

“Shut up, Myung Jaehyun.”

And you kiss him. 

Jaehyun lets out a startled sound, but it isn’t long before he melts into you, his hands gripping your waist as he kisses you back, deep and eager. 

It isn’t shy. Nor is it soft. 

It’s everything—messy, desperate, and full of all of the things you couldn’t say to him.

By the time you pull away, Jaehyun is a breathless mess. He blinks at you like you had just punched him square in the face. 

It’s certainly out of character for you, you know that, but you didn’t expect Jaehyun to look absolutely smitten. 

“...Well.”

You pant, glaring up at him. “There, you finally shut up,” you mumble. 

Jaehyun licked his lips, his grin slow and teasing. “…You can do that anytime.”

You gasp, shoving him. 

Jaehyun giggles, grabbing your hand before you could run back inside. He pulls you close, and places your arms around his waist, in the warmth of his jacket. 

He rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing. 

“So, are we official now, or do I need to sing another song?”

You look at him, your heart beating with a certain answer. 

I love you.

Though, of course, you’re too embarrassed to say that to him. You smack him before hiding your face in his chest. 

“Shut up, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun only laughs, and a warm feeling fills you up. He pulls you closer, hugging you tight. “Okay, sweetie, I think that’s enough singing for tonight.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[atleastpleasetelephone]

I've noticed your the only writer that ever really writes Elvis x Jerry and I love your stories so much!!!!! Would you be comfortable with writing a fic about Elvis and jer actually fucking?

A/N: So I actually wrote this a while ago, from a prompt given to me by @polksaladava, so I guess now is the time to publish? Thanks for your lovely message, anon. This is a bit, er, spicey.

Daddy Jerry

Pairings: A little bit of reader x Elvis, but the real meat of the story (haha) is Elvis x Jerry.

Word count: 3.6K

TWs: Angry!Elvis, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, praise kink, general sub/dom themes, biting, pain kink, dry humping, dirty talk, smut smut smut.

“Thanks, honey,” Elvis coos as he takes the glass of iced tea from you. 

Sitting down on the sofa next to him with your own glass, you watch as he takes a satisfied gulp. He’s been tired after his Aloha performance and you’ve taken the opportunity to dote on him, trying to feed him up after that stupid diet he’d insisted on doing. He keeps telling you he’s fine, but you worry all the same. 

“Is it good?” You ask, your hand on his thigh. He can be fussy about his sweet tea, sometimes there’s not enough sugar, sometimes too much. 

His arm snakes around your waist as he looks at you through his sunglasses. You know his eyes have been hurting recently too, which makes you want to take care of him even more. 

“Just right, Mommy.” His tone is low but the words are perfectly clear. 

You smile at the endearment, but at the same time catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Your eyes move of their own accord and Elvis notices immediately, his head snapping to the left where both of you find Jerry.

“Goddamnit!” He yells, slamming the glass down on the table and moving his arm away from you. “What’re ya sneakin’ around like that for, Jer?”

Jerry’s eyes widen as he starts to wish he hadn’t chosen just that moment to innocently walk into the living room from the kitchen. 

“I’m not er…” he starts, but Elvis doesn’t let him continue. 

“Damn well sneakin’ around in my house! Who d’ya think y’are?”

“I uh… I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, E…”

“Get out! Goddamn nosy sonofabitch.”

Elvis is furious. He rocks back and forth on the sofa as Jerry scampers away again, leaving the two of you alone. Your hand cautiously touches his thigh again but he brushes it away, irritated. His jaw clenches as he stands up. 

“Goin’ shootin’, honey,” he tells you, striding purposefully out of the room without waiting for a reply. 

You sigh softly and watch him go. There’s no point in following him when he’s in a mood like this. It’s best to just let him get it out of his system in one way or another, and target practice seems to be a good way of letting off steam. It’s better than punching Jerry in the face at any rate. 

***

Elvis loads his revolver and takes aim at the target, thinking furiously about how Jerry shouldn’t have been eavesdropping and how you should’ve checked before saying something so personal out loud in the living room. There was nearly always someone around, although for the last few days the guys had been otherwise occupied and it had just been you, Elvis and Jerry. The six rounds go off in quick succession; bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, BANG. He lowers the gun shakily and then looks at the target. Not great, he thinks. If you’re actually trying to hit what you’re shooting, anyway. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he loads the chamber again and tries to aim more sensibly. 

It probably takes him several boxes of bullets before he’s calm enough to hit with his usual level of precision. Jerry hears every single shot, and it makes his blood run cold. Still, at least Elvis wasn’t actually aiming at him, though he’s pretty sure the older man was thinking of him and wishing the target was his head. He’s glad he doesn’t actually live in Graceland anymore, but it was really the only place he could stay since his marriage fell apart. His mind wanders to what the real problem is, since it certainly can’t be that his friend would get so mad just because he overheard him calling you Mommy. Jerry couldn’t care less what you call each other, your relationship seems solid, which is more than can be said of a lot of Elvis’ other relationships. The older man has been off ever since Aloha and Jerry wonders if it’s something to do with the Colonel’s reluctance to let him perform outside of America. He scratches his head and sighs, and then finally smiles with relief when the gunshots stop. Thank God for that. Maybe he’s finished being mad now. 

***

It’s the middle of the night and Elvis can’t sleep, so he’s taken himself to the TV room and is flicking through channels on three TVs at once. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what Jerry heard and even though he knows he shouldn’t care, he does. It bothers him that Jerry didn’t come to dinner, and in fact he hasn’t seen him since the incident at all. He’d left you sleeping like a baby to come downstairs, feeling like his incessant tossing and turning had to be disruptive in some way, even if you hadn’t woken up yet. He’s staring blankly at TV number two when he hears the creak of the stairs. Turning towards the noise, he sees Jerry’s large frame blocking the doorway. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” the younger man says, by way of explanation. 

Elvis clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Me neither.”

“You mind?” Jerry gestures at the sofa and Elvis shakes his head. 

The younger man sits down and rubs his eyes with one big hand. “I’m sorry ‘bout earlier,” he says, even though he doesn’t really feel like he should be the one apologising. 

“S’ok. Shouldna lost my temper,” the other man concedes.

Jerry’s mouth curls into a gentle smile. “Y’know I don’t care what ya girl calls you, right?”

Elvis mumbles a “sure”, looking extremely uncomfortable. He doesn’t really want to talk about this, but Jerry is on the sofa next to him being kind so he doesn’t feel like he can tell him to stop.  

“I um… she’s a good girl and it seems like she’s good for ya… I wouldn’t make fun, y’know? I know things are hard at the moment and um… she’s always there for ya.”

Elvis nods as he blushes a little. “Yeah. She’s a good girl.” His eyes scoot away from Jerry, lingering on a spot on the carpet instead. 

“And I… uh… I’m there for ya too, E.” Jerry swallows, hard, trying to find the courage to say the next bit. “If you uh… if you ever want a Daddy...” 

He doesn’t dare look at Elvis, his face is hot and he almost wants to turn the clock back and stop himself saying that last sentence. Almost, but not quite. He’d wanted to say something before, but he never had the guts. If he’s honest with himself, he’s always been into his best friend. He’s had some experiences with other guys, but Elvis is all he really wants. And taking care of him is all he wants to do. 

Elvis feels his blush deepen at Jerry’s words, and blood rush elsewhere too. “W-what exactly d‘ya mean…” he asks, quietly. 

The other man looks up, emboldened by the fact he hadn’t just been immediately and unceremoniously thrown out of the house on his ass, and looks into Elvis’ deep blue eyes. 

“I’d take care of ya in the same way your girlfriend does… feed ya and fetch ya things and give ya massages…” he pauses, thinking about you telling him how Elvis likes to be massaged just about everywhere. “And uh… take care of your other needs too…” 

“Oh.” The word is almost forced out of Elvis’ mouth as he starts to think of Jerry’s big strong hands all over his body. Something about surrendering to the other man strikes him as particularly appealing right now. 

“If ya want me to.”

Elvis finds himself nodding, and moving closer to the other man on the sofa. “Y-yeah.”

Jerry’s hand brushes Elvis’ cheek as he starts to speak again. “I know it’s stressful for you… being Elvis Presley… I just wanna take that away for a while. You can trust me. I’m gonna take care of ya.” He takes Elvis’ glasses off slowly and carefully, placing them down on the table and then spending a while staring into the other man’s eyes, drinking him in. 

Elvis is just starting to feel a bit too looked-at when the other man leans in and presses their lips together. His reaction is immediate and passionate, his hand in the back of Jerry’s hair as he pushes his tongue into his mouth. He can feel his heart racing and his whole body getting hot with desire. A small voice in the back of his head asks him what on earth he thinks he’s doing with a man, and he decides to ignore it. Sometimes the middle of the night is the time to follow emotion rather than rational thought. They make out for a while, hands cautiously exploring one another as their tongues tangle. 

“God, Jerry…” Elvis pants as they pull apart. 

“Call me Daddy.”

Elvis’ heart is beating out of his chest now and his throat is dry. He tries to speak and finds his voice almost gone completely. He coughs a little and then looks at the other man again. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy,” Jerry tells him, gently, watching as his eyes light up at the praise. “Daddy’s gonna take of ya. No more thinking. Just concentrate on how good I’m making you feel.”

Elvis nods slowly, almost like he’s hypnotised by Jerry’s words. 

Watching the expression on the other man’s face, Jerry suddenly becomes aware of the power he’s holding, and panics a little. “Is this okay?” He asks, quickly. “Is this what your girl would do for you?”

Snapping out of his haze for a moment, Elvis tries to think of exactly what you would do. “She uh… she takes care of everythin’ f’me. I don’t haveta think about anythin’. My head goes all floaty and I just lie there… sometimes she lets me… uh…” he pauses for a second, wondering if this is too much, but then carries on anyway. “She lets me suck her nipples and call her Mommy… and she touches me and makes me feel good…”

Jerry nods, trying to seem calm even though his head is spinning with the new information. “You just relax, baby. Let me think for you.”

Happy to do as he’s told, Elvis feels himself slipping off into sub-space again, his brain hazy, relaxing into knowing he doesn’t have to make decisions anymore. He watches Jerry close and lock the door, and then he’s on his back on the wide sofa, a big strong body on top of him, pressing into him as they make out again. 

“We can stop whenever you want,” Jerry tells him, as he rolls his hips, the movement making their dicks rub against one another through their pants. 

“Mmmm. Want to make you happy, Daddy,” Elvis coos. “Want to please you.”

The words send a rush of endorphins through Jerry’s body and he can barely contain a groan in response. 

“God, I need you.”

Elvis just kisses him in response, deep and passionate, bucking his hips up against the other man’s. They writhe together for a while, enjoying the feeling of one another, the way they both taste and the smell of each other’s skin and hair. The TVs hum gently in the background beneath the sounds of their messy wet kisses, the whole scenario almost dreamlike as it stretches out across the minutes. Eventually Jerry pulls back and sits on his haunches, unzipping Elvis’ pants and pulling them down so his cock springs free. He wraps his hand around it almost reverentially, gently stroking it up and down and watching the other man’s face as he does it. He’s so beautiful, Jerry thinks, unable to take his eyes off the hooded eyes and full lips. So sensual. Wanting to be closer to that beautiful face, to kiss those lips again and stare right into those eyes, he lays back down on top of him. Elvis groans at the feeling of denim against his hard cock, wriggling until his legs are wrapped around one of Jerry’s thighs, letting him rut against the other man. 

Jerry’s eyes roll back in his head as his cock strains against his underwear and jeans. He hadn’t expected Elvis to really let go like this so quickly and the feeling of him basically humping his leg is overwhelming. 

“Y-you like… that?” He forces the words out, trying not to completely lose his mind at the position he’s found himself in.

Elvis looks up at him with lust-filled eyes. “Yes, Daddy. Feels good. Rough.”

Jerry’s mouth latches on to Elvis’ neck, kissing at first and then sucking through his teeth as he hurriedly unbuttons the other man’s shirt. Elvis moans, the rough denim against his cock coupled with the biting making him see stars. Then Jerry’s mouth is on his nipple, and he arches his back as he feels the sharp nip of the younger man’s teeth there. 

“Ya like it rough, baby?”

Elvis lets out a guttural moan as the nipping and sucking continues, his foggy brain realising that Jerry has understood in a few minutes what most of his girlfriends never had. 

“Yes, Daddy.” His brain feels slurry but the words are perfectly clear. “Do whatya want with me,” he closes his eyes as he sighs with pleasure. “Anythin’.”

Jerry groans, his mouth finding Elvis’ ear and tonguing it before he replies. “Ya sure?”

“Mmmm. Sure.”

After pressing another few wet kisses to Elvis’ skin, Jerry sits up and pulls the rest of his clothes off before helping the other man to do the same. Looking around hopefully for something… anything that might work as lubricant. Elvis is moaning softly at the lack of contact, and then his eyes fall on Jerry’s cock and his moans get louder. It’s big. Jerry opens a drawer and finds some of your moisturiser in there. That’ll do, he thinks. He lets himself have a few moments just openly staring at his friend’s naked body, taking in how beautiful he is laid out like this on the sofa, and then takes control again.

“Turn over and spread your legs for Daddy,” he mumbles, stroking himself. 

He’s amazed at the quick reaction, Elvis is on his belly almost before the last word is out of Jerry’s mouth. And he’s beautiful this way up, too. He runs his fingertips over the other man’s ass, marvelling at the softness of his skin. Elvis whimpers, feeling like the touch is too delicate, he wants to be squeezed and grabbed and pressed, not teased like this. The whimper breaks Jerry out of his reverie, the daydream he’d found himself deep inside, thinking he could’ve spent hours just caressing that skin, almost forgetting his own achingly hard cock in the process. Biting his lip, he smears moisturiser on his fingers and runs them over and around the other man’s entrance, leaning down to kiss his ass cheeks as he does it. 

“Gonna make ya feel so good,” he coos, slowly pushing his middle finger inside. 

He’s relieved when Elvis’ general compliance translates to being relaxed enough for a finger to slide in easily, so it's not long before he’s adding another and moving them both in and out. Elvis moans softly, feeling Jerry’s fingertips brush something deep inside him. His cock is pressed against the sofa cushions and he desperately wants to wriggle to get some kind of friction there, but he waits, mind fuzzy and agreeable, to be told what to do. 

Removing his fingers, Jerry takes some deep and slightly shaky breaths. The power he holds over the other man right now is making him slightly dizzy, and he’s almost afraid of what he might do. He had no idea that Elvis could be like this, so completely submissive and obedient. It’s so different from the Elvis he knows, or the Elvis that he knows most of the time. Maybe there are some glimpses of it in his everyday life, but certainly nothing like this. He tries to snap himself back to the moment again. It seems like time keeps slipping away from him, something about the soft sounds of the TV and the lack of windows in the room making it hard to know whether it’s day or night. Sliding some cushions under Elvis’ hips to give him a better angle, he catches sight of his jeans on the floor. Smiling a little wickedly, he asks the other man to move again and spreads them over the cushions. When Elvis settles back down he feels the denim against him and gasps. 

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your perfect little asshole while ya rub yourself on his jeans, okay?” Jerry almost feels like he’s outside of his own body, looking in at the man saying this absolute filth as he covers his cock in moisturiser. 

“Fuck, yes,” Elvis mumbles in response, his cheek pressed against the sofa cushion. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s always fantasised about being taken like this, held down and fucked until he cums whether he wants to or not. And he can’t imagine anyone he’d trust more to do it to him. 

Jerry pushes inside him slowly, feeling him just a little more tense than earlier. He shifts his hands from Elvis’ hips to massage his back, thumbs digging in just the right amount to elicit another moan. 

“Relax, baby. Daddy’s not gonna hurt you.”

Elvis whines and lets himself go even further, his brain drifting free of its moorings as he feels Jerry push inside him again, stretching him out. 

“Ohhh fuck.” The feeling is so intense Jerry has to stop half-way and try to breathe again. His thumbs rub circles on Elvis’ skin, and he’s not sure who they are supposed to be relaxing at this point. Eventually he manages to open his eyes again and think about carrying on. Squeezing more moisturiser between Elvis’ ass cheeks he starts to slowly fuck him, getting deeper and deeper with every thrust. He feels himself starting to let go as he picks up a rhythm, starting to enjoy the power he’s been given rather than fear it.

Elvis’ fingers grip the sofa cushion as his eyes close tightly, overwhelmed by the sensations too, that place inside isn’t getting lightly brushed anymore it’s being hit again and again by Jerry’s swollen hard cock. And his own cock is being roughly pushed back and forth against the jeans underneath him, tickling that pleasure/pain bit of his brain that he wants someone to stimulate so badly. 

“Daddy… need ta cum…” Elvis sounds small and desperate and Jerry finds himself loving every second of it. He stops thrusting, lying himself down on top of the other man, his chest pressed against his back. 

“Ya like being fucked?” He can’t resist asking, rolling his hips as he does it.

“Mmmm. I love it, Daddy.”

Jerry bites his neck, hard, as he holds his body down and fucks him deeper. Elvis whines, he’s so close now, it’s taking effort to stop himself cumming. 

“Please, Daddy. Need to so bad.”

Jerry grunts with exertion, feeling sweat pour off him and stick them together in the places their skin touches. 

“Let Daddy take what he needs.” His voice is hoarse and desperate-sounding, feeling his release building in the base of his cock. 

Elvis doesn’t reply with words, just moans and whimpers, the coarse roughness of the denim almost chafing his cock now. 

“Yes… fuck…” Jerry gets back onto his knees, hands on Elvis’ hips, pulling them up and towards him, pounding the other man’s asshole until relief and ecstasy suddenly flood his body. “Ohmygod.”

He lets Elvis go with a grunt, feeling his release spilling out of him. 

“Daddy?” Elvis whimpers, his cock hard and sore. 

“Make yourself cum for Daddy,” Jerry just about manages to tell him, leaning back against the sofa as he watches the sordid scene in front of him, Elvis shamelessly rubbing himself against Jerry’s jeans until he’s spurting cum all over them, cussing and calling his name. 

There’s a moment where the room is entirely quiet and still, aside from the noise of two men breathing heavily and the light background hum of the TVs. Then Elvis slowly turns himself over and looks at his friend with big eyes. Jerry’s reaction is immediate, even if it’s slowed by tiredness and post-orgasmic bliss. He pulls the other man into his arms and presses gentle kisses all over his face. They both struggle to get comfortable for a minute before Jerry suggests he sits in Daddy’s lap, which he does enthusiastically, throwing his arms around the younger man’s neck. They kiss for a while, and then Elvis realises his cock is a little sore. He looks down and is shocked to find it covered in little grazes. 

“Ah, shit,” he mumbles, half coming back round from sub-space and back into his usual personality. 

Jerry’s eyes follow his and he suddenly feels terrible. “Fuck. I was supposed to be making ya feel good…” 

“Hey, it’s okay…” Elvis tries, as he finds himself being manhandled back onto the sofa again, and kisses being pressed to the little wounds by Jerry’s soft lips.

“Need to kiss them better,” the younger man mumbles, kissing and tonguing and almost threatening to start the whole thing all over again. 

Elvis smiles down at his friend, his heart full of love. His hands tangle in Jerry’s hair as he chuckles. “Honestly man, it’s okay. It’s on me. I’m the one with the perverted pain thing.”

Continuing his kisses up Elvis’ body, Jerry finds himself lying on top of him again, kissing the skin just below his ear. 

“I just wanna take of ya…” he murmurs. 

“Ya did. Y’are, Jer. That was… fuck. Incredible.”

“Ya sure?” 

Elvis nods, his hand reaching up to cup Jerry’s face, so he can look him in the eye again.  “Never knew how much I needed a Daddy ‘til now.”

*** 

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