#it’s like caramel if it was lettering

[iamdispleased]

Deciphering the Black Book pt. 2

BLACK BOOK ART CREDIT: @thirdchildart

Part One. Part Three.

It’s the table of contents, y’all! Let’s do this.

Spoilers: Hatchetfield. At this point, it’s just Hatchetfield. It’d probably be easier to list what I didn’t talk about or allude to.

I’m not going to, but it’d be easier.

Ment.: H.P. Lovecraft

This is will be broken into parts, and then my analysis will follow!

1.

Part One - History and [S?t_f_d]

[?]

theatre

Part Two - Into the black

[Th?]/Kingdom

oblivion

Analysis:

The word ‘theatre’ shows up three times and the word ‘oblivion’ shows up twice in the table of contents. The Starlight Theatre is obviously super important to point where I don’t really need to say anymore on that right now.

Not gonna lie, at first, I thought it said ‘Random’ and pictured Willabella Muckwab writing random thoughts. I’d really like to see those. I bet she has crude doodles. Anyways— Kingdom!

‘The Summoning’ - “We dance around the pentagram, and take all our kingdoms back”

‘Oblivion’ is not just a word, but a concept heavily explored by H.P. Lovecraft and Isaac Newton, and the musicals themselves.

To some, oblivion is the state of total blackness, a place where everything is and is not, it is nothingness, and the knowledge that something resides within it. Take your pick. The point is to find what that means to you.

2.

3.

(totally stolen from: @hatchetfieldtheories)

Part Three - the men

The contents of this section are the same as part four. It was just flipped.*

Analysis:

If it is ‘the men’, I assume it’s about the Hatchetmen. Maybe some family history and stuff like that. Weaknesses, favorite characters from Alf, your guess is as good as mine.*

4.

A[?]

1 - [?]

2. Theatre

3. rea[lm] of [?]

4. america

oblivion

Analysis:

Oop! Here’s ‘theatre’ and ‘oblivion’ again! Honestly? Shrug emoji. My closest guess would be places that are susceptible to the Lords in Black/the Black and White. Why? Because of the words ‘theatre’ and ‘america’. Let’s take a look at this simple snippet from Black Friday:

“Only in America could Wiggly take root ... You think that in the Netherlands, they’d give a shit about some toy? No, they’re too busy on their paid vacations and the free healthcare.” - Uncle Wiley (spitting bars)

Number one looks like the same scribble as the first bullet in Part One, though.* For number three, I see ‘r-e-a’ pretty clearly, so ‘realm’ is context clues based. We’ll mosey on over to Hatchetfield’s little bio.

“In a realm outside of reality, somewhere in the crossroads of imagination and nightmares, there’s a place— a small, mid-western town, where the forces of evil and chaos tug at the fabric of reality. Welcome to Hatchetfield.” - Nick Lang

5.

Part 4 - The Lords in Black

Pokotho

theatre

believe

[?]

never

[Nibbly/Nibbles(?)]

[Queen?]

[?]

[?]

Analysis:

The contents under Part Four are the same as Part Three, but were flipped by the actual artist to fill space (I assume).

Here is that word ‘theatre’ once again! Why do I think the word under it is ’believe’? Simple! In the song ‘The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals’, we get this line nearing the end:

“You gotta believe in something, Paul, gotta believe in stupid Paul”

It looks like ‘never’, it reads like ‘never’, and the word ‘never’ just fits the vibe.

Okay, wait— I was going to write about Nibbly and the Honey Festival, because while the Honey Festival wasn’t founded until 1945, Nibbly and the word ‘queen’ could still coincide for whatever reason, but even with that, the Lords are usually listed in the order of ‘Pokey, Blinky, Tinky, Nibbly, and Wiggly’, but that might be one of the outliers, but I just remembered the Queen in White and something about that made me excited. We’ll see. What I was going to write about Nibbly still applies, though.

6.

Help Me Don’t [go]

In The Black, Po[kotho?]

wants me to

Analysis:

Not everyone wants to tango with the devils. It might be ‘Pokey’, but it’s the same either way, and the person who wrote this was most likely not Willabella, considering she seemed pretty chill with the Lords in Black and it’s coloring is different. Still looks like it was written in blood though. When you dabble in the dark arts, don’t forget to take a pen with you.

Overall:

My question is— what counts as lore? I think this does. Anyway. Again. If anyone figures out what the fuck that word is after ‘History and ????��� in part one, hit me up. I’m gonna challenge the word to a duel. What’s it gonna do?? Fight back?? Part three will be out at some point. Okay, bye.

* I assume the artist occasionally used the same art, but warped it to make it look different, so more space could be taken up, and there would be no pain of having to go through It All. I think Part 4 - The Lords in Black is the proper way to read it, though.*

Feel free to reblog and add to this post! I grant you my permission!!

Edit (12/16/24): Rather than Part Three being about the Hatchetmen, it could be that “family tree of eldritch horrors” Nick mentions.

[sxmplychxrry]

zoo wee mama 😻

hi :3 *posts P.AI.nter art and scurrys away*

[spectorgram]

the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall. 

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly. 

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.” 

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him. 

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients. 

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says. 

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap. 

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy. 

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line. 

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip. 

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up. 

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation. 

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower. 

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies. 

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’” 

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak. 

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯  plus ultra-rare following an interview flop, dynamight & yourself are out and about at the local mall when you're stopped by a young girl and her mother.

content // a little follow up to this. pro hero fame, paparazzi's talk about infidelity rumors (they're not true just mentioned cause you know how it goes), reader is a support tech, bakugo & reader are married, bakugo being sweet to kids, thoughts of having kids vaguely, more paparazzi nonsense, fluff.

wc // 1.7k

『 k.bakugo masterlist | caramel & champagne series 』

It was the first day the two of you have had off since the interview "incident" weeks ago - that's what Bakugo's agent called it, anyways. The press didn't make any negative remarks against the two of you specifically, but they started a horde of nasty rumors anytime Bakugo was on patrol with a pro hero of the opposite sex. Headlines about "Dynamight searching for a New Wife?" started circulating, so much so that the agency started handing out cease and desist letters to the tabloids like candy. It wasn't to hide any sort of truth, it was simply not true to start with. You're successfully able to make it to the mall without catching any attention from the swarms of media assholes at the entrances, waiting to create some fake scenario and generate false pretenses.

"God, these jackasses are everywhere," Bakugo grumbled while you crossed the threshold of the mall and into the food court. "They warned us in school about this shit, but fuck, s'annoyin' as hell."

"I know," you console, thumb rubbing over the back of his hand in your hold. "It won't be like this forever."

He sighs, keeping his head down as the two of you approach the department store you planned to shop at. While you're heading inside, a small child and her mother pass by you, the daughter spinning on her heel and doing a doubletake with sparkles in her eyes.

"Momma! I think that's Dynamight!" she squeals, barely above a whisper, but enough for you to hear her excitement. Her mother kneels down and pats her on the crown of her head.

"I think you're right! But we should leave them be, sweetie. I promise to take you to his next signing."

She pouts and fiddles with her fingers. “But they’re always sold out!”

She’s a little louder this time, now catching Bakugo’s attention. When he makes eye contact with her, the little girl escapes from her mother's side and skips over to him - she's barely taller than his waist, maybe six or seven years old.

"Dynamight!" she whispers, waving frantically with both hands and looking up at him. "I know you’re in secret right now, but I wanted to say hi!”

She turns to you and smiles, dimples adorably accenting her cheeks. “You’re very pretty, Miss Support lady! I saw you on TV!”

Bakugo’s heart swells when you squeeze his hand tighter in response to her kindness before letting go. Something about this little girl’s genuine joy makes him want to melt into a puddle. Usually, kids were annoying in his eyes and parents never knew how to wrangle them around heroes - not this little one, though. She had way more respect than most adults did whenever they’d spot him on his day off, begging for an autograph or photo.

“Heya squirt,” Bakugo greets while kneeling to her level. Her mother has scampered over in the meantime, profusely apologizing for her daughter’s outburst.

“It’s alright! She’s very sweet and he’s more than happy to talk to her,” you assure, standing with the mom to watch their interaction.

“Thanks for sayin’ hi. What’s your name?” He asks as he pulls down his face mask, tucking it under his chin and lifting the brim of his baseball hat.

“Mirai! But my friends call me Miri.”

“Nice’ta meet you, Miri. I’ve got somethin’ for ya if you give me a sec.”

Bakugo shoots a glance in your direction, nodding to your bag. “Peaches, got any cards with you?”

You waltz over to him and dig out a stack of Dynamight branded trading cards in protective sleeves from your purse, handing them over with the a permanent marker. Bakugo takes them and fans the selection out in front of Mirai.

“Pick whatever one y’want and I’ll sign it for ya. How’s that sound?”

Mirai gasps, stars twinkling in her eyes as her fingers wiggle in anticipation over the cards. “I like them all! You pick one for me, please!”

That little shimmer in her eyes reminded you of a smaller Bakugo, specifically a picture that Mitsuki had of him and Midoriya in her living room, the two of them holding up their All Might cards from when they were kids. Her expression was identical to his back then - priceless.

“This one’s a favorite of mine,” you chime in, pointing to the card on the far right. “That’s the Plus Ultra-Rare edition, too. Super cool!”

Bakugo hands you the others and keeps the one card, pulling it out of its protective sleeve and popping off the cap of the permanent marker with his teeth. He signs the card, “Miri, go beyond!” accompanied with his hero signature. He waves the card back and forth to dry the ink before returning it to the sleeve.

“There ya go,” Bakugo says, handing her the signed card. “Keep it safe, yeah?”

Mirai gingerly takes it from him, holding it close to her chest with a toothy grin. “I promise, Dynamight!”

Before he can protest, Mirai rushes into him and latches onto his neck, her small frame clinging to Bakugo in an attempt to give him a hug. Her mom stammers out more apologies, but he stops her with a raise of his hand, mouthing “S’okay” over Mirai’s shoulder.

“Thank you for keeping me and Momma safe,” Mirai mutters sweetly, tiny hands grabbing at the back of Bakugo’s shirt. “You’re the bestest hero in the world!”

He bites his cheek in response, trying his damndest not to let this child make him cry in public. That phrase has been uttered to him thousands of times, and no matter what, it still makes his heart skip a beat. He’s barely holding it together as he pats her back tenderly, closing his eyes to focus on swallowing the emotions flowing through him.

You’re staring at Bakugo with hearts in your pupils, swooning over how patient he’s being with this little girl. A sensation you've never felt before invades your lower abdomen - nerves? No, it was a foreign yearning, a burning desire to....you tuck that feeling away to unpack at another time.

"Okay honey, we should get going now," Mirai's mother insists, tapping her daughter on the shoulder to have her let go of Bakugo. "We've taken up more than enough of their time."

"Don't worry about it," Bakugo comments, standing back to normal height and patting Mirai on the head. "See ya later, Miri."

Mirai does a little dance to herself before grabbing her mother's hand, turning to whisper-yell, "Bye Dynamight!"

The two of them leave you be, walking back out into the main concourse of the mall. You turn to Bakugo and elbow him in the side with a smirk on your face.

"What's got you so smiley?" you tease. "You look like you're ready to cry, too."

"Shut the fuck up," he sniffs, re-adjusting his mask and baseball hat. "She was a cute kid, s'all it is."

"The cutest. Let's grab what we needed and head home."

You two carry on with your shopping trip, surprisingly uninterrupted. Things seems to be quiet...that is, until you're ready to leave and forget about the media mobs at the main entrance. The second you two step outside, you're swarmed with flashing lights and overwhelmed with various shouting men.

"Dynamight! Is it true you're looking for a new wife after the interview last week?"

"Are you two on a break?"

"Do you think having a pro hero as a husband is detrimental to your relationship?"

These fuckers are ruthless, and quiet frankly, stupid as hell - the two of you are literally holding hands as they ask their absurd questions.

Bakugo shakes his head before letting go of your hand and removing his face mask. The glare in his eyes hints that he's about to have an explosive reaction, but color yourself surprised when his voice comes out velvety smooth and genuine.

"Listen up, m'gonna say this once and then you're gonna leave us the hell alone," he speaks, looking each cameraman in the eye before continuing. "This is the only damn woman I want in my life and nothin' will change that. She's the only one I've got eyes for, no one else. Got it?"

A few of the paparazzi pause their insistent squawking and put their cameras down, nodding in agreement to his words.

"Great. You can all fuck off now an' find someone else to harass."

You don't know what comes over you, knowing full well what the consequences will be, but you find yourself reaching for Bakugo's jaw and pull him in for a hearty kiss. He lets out a surprised grunt before tugging you closer by the waist, catching on to what you're planning and letting you take the lead.

"Quick, get the shot!" you hear the crowd yell repetitively. Bakugo responds by flipping off the cameras, continuing your kiss for a couple more seconds before parting.

The next morning, both of your phones are full of notifications from various sources - deja vu, huh? You've got e-mails asking you two to make appearances on TV networks while Bakugo's agent and publicist are scolding him for being unprofessional in public, but in the same breath, praising him for turning the opinion of the public in his favor.

"Holy shit," you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Kats, look at this."

Bakugo peeks over your shoulder from his side of the bed, laying his head on yours while you scroll through the articles multiple people have sent to you overnight.

"Dynamight & his Wife are stronger than ever!," "Fans Overjoyed to know Dynamight & his Wife are sticking it out," and "Dynamight remains off market."

"What's that one?" he asks, reaching over you to click the article titled, "Precious Moments with Fans - Dynamight Edition." The page loads an article detailing the encounter with Mirai from afar, a few pictures of Bakugo holding out the trading cards and giving her a hug.

"When the fuck did they even take that?!" he laughs, sighing as he flopped back over to his side of the bed.

"I think it's cute. Think I should print it out and frame it for the living room?"

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

You roll over to face him, pinching his cheek.

"Yeah, the picture of you flipping off the camera is more fitting."

tags // @slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @queenpiranhadon

[asahicore]

bad news first - sjy (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact pairing. jake x fem!reader synopsis. From the moment you'd met at eight to the day he moved to South Korea at fourteen, you and Jake were inseparable. But after years of being apart, you've come to terms with the fact that at twenty, you and Jake just aren't what you used to be. That is until you get a text from him, and all of a sudden, he's back by your side, doing his year abroad at the university you study at, and all your feelings for him float back up to the surface. genre. college au, childhood friends to ???? to lovers, painful mutual pining, one bed trope..... a sprinkle of angst (my hand slipped) but mostly fluff i promise and smut (mdni!!!), also i made sunghoon really weird in this and idkw, this is set in scotland.. edinburgh uni rep!! word count. 23k author's note. everybody say happy belated birthday to @zreamy.. happy belated birthday zo!!! being 22 years and 6 days old is cooler than just 22 years old anyway.. hope you like it bestie... if you dont... well theres a building on campus thats 17 stories high sooo.. enjoy! i hope everyone else enjoys too, since this is a bday fic for zo she couldnt beta read so i had to raw dog this so if its terrible.. not my fault! lmk what u think!! i also made a playlist for this, do listen along!!

“Alright kids, good news or bad news first?”

You looked at your teacher, then at the boy next to you, then back at your teacher. “Bad news first,” you said in unison.

You were only eight, but you were both wise enough to know that hearing good news second would assuage the blow of whatever these bad news were. Miss Dawson sighed as she crouched in front of you. “The bad news is your bus driver is on strike and won’t be coming. The good news is that your parents have been informed and are coming to pick you up soon.”

Following her instructions, you headed to the gymnasium and sat there silently among the other kids. Not many kids in your class rode the bus home, and the ones who did seemed to have drivers not on strike, so it was just the two of you. You were used to that, though - over January and February, you had made a sort of silent pact to stand and wait for the bus together. You sometimes shared snacks, but you never spoke. For some reason, you felt at ease with this boy, even though you didn’t know much about him. You had heard he had moved to Brisbane just at the start of this year, all the way from South Korea. You were pretty sure his name was Jake.

You handed him one of your Twix bars. Then he spoke. “I thought a strike was when you did really well in bowling.”

“Same,” you replied, mouth full of chocolate and caramel. “I’m not sure why that would keep the bus driver from picking us up.”

Jake looked at you with wide eyes, distress clear in them. “Do you think he went bowling instead of picking us up?”

This made you frown. “That’d be really rude.”

“It would. I always make sure to go bowling on the weekends, ‘cause if I missed school that’d be rude to Miss Dawson.”

You nodded your head in fervent agreement. “For sure.”

That weekend, his mum called your mum to ask if you wanted to go to the bowling alley with them. From then on, for the next six years, you were stuck together by glue. 

--

Twelve years later, Jake’s name appearing on your phone screen has become such a rare sight, you don’t believe it right away. It takes you a few seconds of intense squinting at the letters to actually realise your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

jake.sim15 hey y/n!! you go to edinburgh uni right?

You type and delete three different responses before settling for a simple yeah, I am! what’s up?, hoping you sounded nonchalant even though you very much felt chalant. You thought that whatever you sent wouldn’t be as weird as taking forever to answer such a straightforward question. 

As you wait for Jake’s reply, you scroll through your previous shared messages, noting with sadness that for three years in a row, the only instances you’d texted were to wish each other a happy birthday or when he reacted with a fire emoji to Stories of your dog, Milo. Before that, your last conversation was to congratulate each other about getting into your top choice universities and to discuss plans for your respective futures.

Futures that used to include each other, you think. His reply appears at the bottom of your screen before melancholy can fill your heart.

jake.sim15 i applied to go there for my year abroad next year annnnd i got in !! heh

You shoot up straight from your seat on the lounge chaise you’d been sunbathing on, a loud “Oh my God!” involuntarily escaping your mouth. 

“What? What happened? Is everything okay?” Chaewon asks frantically, rushing over to your side. “Oh,” she says when she sees your phone. “It’s a text… from a boy?” 

This makes Yunjin, previously unbothered by your panic, rise from her seat and take off her sunglasses. “A boy? Show me,” she demands, snatching your phone from your hands before you can protest. Upon seeing the texts on your screen, she lets out a loud gasp. “It’s not just any boy! It’s the one and only Jake Sim himself.”

“Give that back!” you plead, hand reaching for your phone, but Yunjin is already walking away.

“And he’s coming to Edi this September, apparently. He says he’s sorry for not saying anything earlier, but he was waiting for an answer up until now.” She scoffs. “Leave it to our uni to tell someone they’re in less than two months before term starts. Oh, you’re the first person he’s told, Y/N! After his parents. How cute,” she coos, protesting when you snatch your phone back from her. “Hey! I was reading that.”

“Those are my texts, Yunjin. I’m the one who’s meant to read them.”

She shrugs. “You would’ve told us anyway.”

“What are you going to reply?” Chaewon asks. With the both of them hovering over your shoulders and watching as you type a response, a sort of stage fright comes over you, making you send what might be the most unoriginal reply known to man.

“Awesome? Seriously, Y/N?” Yunjin reads, disproportionately disgusted with you.

“That’s a lot of exclamation marks. It almost makes it look like you don’t mean it,” Chaewon says.

“I do mean it!”

“Well, he seems to like it. A smiling-with-teeth emoji is a good sign, right?” she asks in an attempt to make you feel better.

“He has automatic caps off. That man is run-through,” Yunjin says, shaking her head as she walks back to her sunbed.

“You were excited about him texting me just a second ago,” you reproach.

“Yeah, before I found out he was a whore.”

“Yunjin, you know we don't slut-shame here!” Chaewon exclaims. Before Yunjin can say anything even worse in response, your phone starts ringing, and Jake’s name appears on your screen. “He’s calling you?” Chaewon gasps, making Yunjin sit up with a start for the second time in less than five minutes.

“This man is insane,” she remarks with all the seriousness in the world.

You run away from your friends, finding refuge in the outside kitchen area out of earshot. They don’t need to hear your conversation with Jake. You love them, but they can be weirdly unsupportive in moments like these.

“Hey, Jake,” you greet, hoping he doesn’t notice the breathlessness in your voice. It was because you had just ran, of course - you didn’t want him to think you were so nervous about talking to him after such a long time, you could barely breathe. Because you weren’t. At all.

“Hey, Y/N!” he replies, and the excitement in his voice makes your heart melt. “I hope it’s not weird that I called, I just thought it’d be nicer than texting, is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s nice to hear your voice,” you say before you can really think about it, and cringe at your own words. Years without talking and the world’s worst line is the first thing you say to Jake. Thankfully, before you start excruciating yourself, a chuckle pours out of Jake’s throat and blesses your ears.

“It’s nice to hear your voice, too. What are you up to?” 

“Oh, I’m on vacation with my friends. One of them has a rich aunt who owns a villa in southern Italy, so we’re just chilling by the pool right now.” 

“You always wanted to go to Italy! That sounds so nice,” he says. Your breath catches gently in your throat - he remembers, you note.

“Yeah, it really is. What about you, how are you spending the summer?”

Jake tells you about the local bookstore owned by a grandpa that’s always had a soft spot for him and that gave him a part-time job for the summer. “I’m trying to save up as much money as I can before I leave. If I treat you to a meal, will you show me around the city?” he asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice. It makes you realise how much you’ve actually missed him.

“You don’t need to treat me to a meal, I’ll show you around anyway.” 

Still, he insists, and you find yourself giving in quickly - because it’s Jake or because free food is on the table, you’re not sure. Probably both. 

You and Jake get to talking, but fitting years and years of catching up into one conversation is an impossible task, and before you know it, when you check your phone, you’ve been talking for over an hour. Yunjin is angrily waving at you, pointing at her stomach to indicate hunger like a caveman who’s just learned how to communicate. You apologise to Jake, telling him you have to go, and plan to meet during fresher’s week before you hang up.

A few hours later, you get a text from him saying it was nice talking to you and jokingly asking whether Yunjin was satisfied with lunch. It’s innocuous, but it opens a gate for more texting, which leads to long, rambling voice messages, which leads to late-night phone calls that remind you of when you were fifteen and still kept in touch. When August fades into September, you feel like you’ve got your best friend back. 

You remember why you were so in love with him at fourteen.

--

You see Jake before he sees you.  

Among the throngs of people, you manage to spot the dark, messy flop of hair on his head weighed down by a nice pair of wireless headphones. After a thirteen-hour flight from Seoul, a four-hour layover in Frankfurt and a final, two-hour flight to Edinburgh, he looks rightfully exhausted, using what looks like the last of his energy to spot the exit and the airport bus stop. Even wearing a simple denim jacket, white tee and grey sweatpants, he’s so gorgeous you forget what you came here for, until he almost walks right past you without seeing you. You put yourself in his path and hold your hand-written banner up, making yourself as obvious as you can as you call out his name. 

When he sees you, he stops dead in his tracks for a second, someone almost running into him before he remembers the crowd behind him. His tired features break out into a bright smile that has your heartbeat speeding up so much, you think it might run out of your chest. 

He had told you not to come, that it would be late for you and he didn’t want to bother you, but you had managed to get the information of his arrival before he forbade you from picking him up so you did it anyway, wanting to surprise him. After years of being apart, rather than waiting another day, you wanted to see him as soon as possible.

Jake briskly makes his way to you, dropping his bags next to him on the floor as he engulfs you in a hug, warm and tight as if he’s trying to make up for all those years. You hug him back as if someone would appear out of thin air and take him away from you again.

“This was the longest day of my life, I’m so happy to see you,” he says when he pulls away, and you’re so happy you can’t even say anything back, resorting to giggling and lightly swatting non-existent dust off of his shoulders. 

As you wait for the bus, he tells you about every trivial thing that happened to him on his trip, from how expensive a sandwich is at the airport to the German kid sitting in front of him that kept turning around to stare at him on his second flight.

“How did you know he was German?” you ask, amused.

Jake pauses. “Just vibes.”

Conversation on the bus is slightly disjointed as you jump from topic to topic with random pauses here and there before one of you finds something to talk about - but it’s okay, you hadn’t expected for the two of you to be as easy as before. It’s more awe at seeing each other after such a long time than awkwardness. Even though you’d caught up over summer, there was a world of difference between speaking on the phone and actually sitting next to him. You notice things like the shine of his hair, the creases that form on the sides of his lips when he smiles, or, unfortunately for you, the veins that run along his forearms and hands - things you hadn’t noticed previously thanks to the sometimes questionable quality of the front camera of his phone. Once in a while, your thigh brushes against his, and it reminds you that he’s really here. Even that he’s real, at all. 

In a tragic turn of events, Jake lives in the student accommodation you used to live in in first year, and coming back to it two years later is slightly traumatising. His three-person flat is in a different building as your old one, and you marvel at how it somehow still smells the same - like dusty, decade-old carpeting and the permanent stench of students’ dubitable cooking. He’s the first one to move in, which makes the place slightly eerie, but it means that you’re not bothering anyone by unpacking Jake’s stuff and cooking Shin Ramyun the previous tenants had left behind at 11pm. 

Your late dinner was meant for you to take a small break, watch a couple episodes of Friends which Jake had been shocked to learn you’d never watched, and you had been shocked to learn he was a die-hard fan of (since one year ago), then get back to unpacking. But the ramen sends an already exhausted Jake into a food coma so intense, he falls asleep on your shoulder five minutes into the second episode. 

You let him sleep as long as he needs, turning the volume down on his laptop and stifling your chuckles as much as you can. You feel like a cat has fallen asleep in your lap - you are now obliged by law to stay still until Jake wakes up. It’s not until an hour later that Jake’s uncomfortable sleeping position forces him awake, lifting his head off of your shoulder with a grunt. He looks around himself, at his room that’s not quite familiar to him yet, then at you, eyes still scrunched with sleepiness as a grin blooms onto his lips.

“Sorry,” clearing his throat of its grogginess. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost one a.m,” you reply, and his eyes go wide.

“You should’ve woken me up! Does your shoulder hurt?” he asks, much more alarmed than he should be, and it makes you laugh.

“It’s all good. But now that you’re awake, I should probably head home.” 

“I’ll get you an Uber,” he says, already pulling out his phone. 

“It’s fine, Jake, my place is a ten-minute walk from here. I live just up the road.”

Jake’s fingers on his phone pause as he looks up at you. “Then I’ll walk you home.” He lifts a finger in warning when he sees you start to protest. “And don’t fight me on this. You did so much today, it’s the least I can do.”

As much as you love the idea of spending more time with Jake, even if it’s just ten minutes, you still don’t want to bother him when you know how tired he is. “It’s really safe around here. I can just text you when I’m home, if you’re worried about me getting kidnapped or something,” you say, taking his jacket from his hands and placing it back on his desk chair.

He grabs it back, putting it on before you can take it from him again, and rummages through one of his suitcases for a black, woolly scarf. Neither of you speaks as he wraps it tight around your neck, even though the early September weather isn’t cold enough to warrant it. His hands stop briefly on the scarf and a small smile spreads on his lips. You hope he doesn’t hear your sharp intake of breath when your eyes meet. “It’s not about that,” he says simply, voice low and unlike you’ve ever heard it before. You don’t think his voice had quite finished cracking when he’d moved away back then. 

Suddenly, he steps away, grabs his keys, and heads for the door. “Let’s go!” he says, voice back to its usual cheery tone. You don’t find it in you to question him, so you just follow him out, welcoming the night breeze that cools down your burning cheeks with open arms. 

The walk to your place is mostly done in comfortable silence, but it still goes by too quickly for your liking. You keep your hands in your pockets to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like reaching out for Jake’s hand that swishes back-and-forth as he walks. Instead, you bury your nose in his scarf and relish in the unfamiliar but comforting smell that his cologne has left behind on the fabric. You hug goodbye when you reach your flat, and you have to remind yourself to let go. He insists on you keeping the scarf. “My mum packed me, like, three, so you can have that one.” 

“Your mum still pack your things for you, does she?” you ask, tone playful.

“No-” he says, voice slightly whiny, before he realises you’re just teasing him. “Whatever,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair. You hope the streetlights aren’t bright enough for him to notice the flustered look on your face. The both of you stand there awkwardly for a second, before he lets out another chuckle. “Right. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you beam.

“Okay,” he says, but still doesn’t make a move to leave. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll be off then.” He gives you one last smile then turns around, burying his hands in his pockets, and you watch as he walks away.

“Get home safe,” you call out after a few seconds. 

He pivots on his heels, and, with a wave of his hand, says, “I will! Go inside.”

“Good night!”

“Night, Y/N!”

When you walk into your living room, Yunjin is sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, gaze trained on the wall opposite her, one lamp lighting the otherwise completely dark room. She looks like a detective in one of those bad cop shows.

“Gosh, what’s all this for?”

“You’re back awfully late,” she says, neither looking at you nor answering your question.

“Yeah, I was with Jake,” you shrug, heading into the kitchen for a glass of water. She abruptly gets up from her seat, following you into the other room and staying close behind you.

“And?” she demands, mouth way too close to your ear and making you start.

“And what?” you ask. 

“What do you mean and what?!” she says, clearly agitated. “I want to know everything!”

“There’s nothing to say, really. He seemed happy I picked him up from the airport, then I helped him unpack. He lives in Riego, by the way.”

“Ew.”

“I know, it was awful going back there.”

The two of you stare at each other as you drink your water. “Well?” she asks.

“What?”

“Is that it?”

You fill your glass again to take it into your bedroom. “I don’t know, we just ate and watched Friends.”

“You hate shows with laughing tracks,” she states like it’s an accusation.

“It wasn’t actually that bad,” you reply, shrugging.

She tuts. “Love will do ugly, ugly things to a person.”

“You’ve been in a loving relationship for the past two years.”

“This isn’t about me. Can we talk about how you’re still in love with the same loser from when you were ten?”

“I was fourteen, and don’t call Jake a loser when you haven’t even met him.” You ignore the roll of her eyes. “And I’m not. Not anymore. I’m just happy to have my friend back.” Yunjin gives you a look. “Okay, maybe I’m still a little bit in love with him. But it’s so little, it’s barely there.” Her expression is unchangingly unimpressed and you can’t help but throw in the towel. “Alright, fine. I still love him, what about it?”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I know that, no need to remind me.”

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

“My patheticness? I’ve tried, didn’t really work.”

“No, idiot, about Jake. You should go and get him! It’d be so sexy if you got together as 20-somethings after knowing each other since you were babies.”

“We were eight when we met. And I don’t know if sexy is the word I’d use here.”

“Anything is sexy if you try hard enough,” she says, and you have to laugh. “Anyways, you should confess your undying love and tell him you’ve felt that way since you met.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Guys might not show it, but they probably get all hot for stuff like that. Boosts their ego and shit.”

“Yunjin, I just got my friend back, I’m not gonna risk it. Plus, who knows, I might not actually be in love with him. It might just be my emotions acting up, like, seeing someone I used to like after a while. We’ve both changed so much, once I get to know him more now, I might not even feel the way I used to.”

“Notice how you’ve used the word might twice in ten seconds? You’re just trying to find excuses.”

You groan. “This is why I hate English Lit people.”

“You do English Lit.”

“I know, and I’m the only nice person that does it.” In your head, you add and Jake, but saying it out loud would only make this conversation worse for you.

“What’s that scarf, by the way? Did he give you that?”

You look down at the scarf like it’s a piece of incriminating evidence. “Can you stop grilling me, please? It’s late.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You sighed deeply. “Fine. Yes, he gave me-”

“It’s not even that cold outside!” she exclaimed in an outrage. “Don’t tell me he also walked you home?”

You pause. “He did.”

She gasped. “He walked you home because he’s in love with you.”

“He walked me home because he’s a good friend that looks after me.”

“He walked you home because he realised how hot you’ve gotten and he wants some of that.”

All you can do is sigh. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“If you weren’t such a coward, you wouldn’t be going to bed alone.”

“Whatever!” you say, shutting the door behind you, shaking that preposterous conversation out of your head. When you get into bed, it takes you at least half-an-hour before you can settle down, but you know your constant tossing and turning isn’t due to your inability to find a comfortable enough position to sleep in. Between your evening with Jake and Yunjin’s pestering, thoughts run wild and incoherent through your head. 

You want to tell her every little thing that happened with Jake tonight, but you’re afraid it might do you more harm than good. She is most definitely the type of friend who will take the smallest action a guy did for you or the most meaningless thing he might have said and turn it into a sign that he has the hots for you, which usually does wonders for your confidence, but right now, you don’t need that kind of delusion. Did seeing your childhood best friend you used to secretly harbour feelings for make you feel some type of way? Of course, but that doesn’t mean you still love him after all this time, after six years of being apart, the majority of those years spent with no contact. It wasn’t like you parted ways with resentment, or anything of that sort, far from it; rather, you drifted apart naturally, as two teenagers with over 7000 kilometres between them would. At first, you’d call frequently and even write each other letters - but as you became more preoccupied with school, friends, and extracurriculars, your phones gradually rang less and your mailboxes became gradually emptier. You don’t even remember who sent the last, unanswered letter. 

Tonight isn’t the first time you replay the moment Jake announced that he would go away, but it’s the first time it’s a bittersweet memory. It used to only be bitter - but now that you’ve reconnected, you can look back at it with fondness, wishing you could tell fourteen-year-old you the hurt would only last so long. 

It hadn’t started unusually.

“So, bad news first, right?”

In your six years of friendship with Jake, this had been the first time you’d really been wary of what he would say next. The look on his face told you that this bad news wouldn’t be as easy to shake off as usual. Your definition of bad news was things like I got grounded so I can’t hang out, I forgot we had a test tomorrow so I can’t hang out, my allergies are acting up again so I can’t hang out.

“I’m moving to Korea next month.”

I’m on another continent, so I can’t hang out.

You remember the words not quite making sense at the time. “Oh? How long are you staying there?” you said, taking a bite of your strawberry ice cream which Jake had insisted on paying for, even though you knew he didn’t get much allowance.

“Forever.”

You stopped chewing, and the ice cream melted uncomfortably in your mouth. You don’t know how long you stayed there, frozen as you stared at your best friend in disbelief. It wasn’t until he lightly shoved your shoulder, only meeting your eyes for a split second, that you remembered to swallow and to say something.

“Forever as in… You won’t live here anymore? At all?”

Jake shook his head. He kept his eyes trained on the vanilla-chocolate ice cream sandwich he’d left in its wrapper. In the blazing hot Brisbane summer, it had probably fully melted two minutes ago. “At all.”

“Oh,” was all you found yourself able to say. For some reason, you hoped that continuing to eat your ice cream would stop you from crying, but to no avail. Hot, salty tears quickly started raining down your cheeks, mixing with the sweetness of your ice cream when they reached your lips. 

“It’s my dad’s work. Same reason why I moved here when we were kids in the first place. They wanted him here then, they want him back there now. We just have to follow,” Jake explained, sounding just as upset as you felt.

“Right.”

“Are you mad at me?” Jake asked, worry clear in his voice, and finally turned to face you. At the sight of you crying, he let out a small oh, tears of his own pooling in his eyes.

You frowned. “Of course not. I’m never mad at you, you know that. I just… You’re my best friend, Jakey. It’s gonna be so lame around here without you.”

“It’ll be lame there without you, too.”

You attempted a smile. “Well, of course. But at least you’ll get to make new friends, see new places. You’ll be in a whole other country, I’m sure you’ll have fun there. I’m gonna be stuck in boring old Brisbane for the foreseeable future.”

“Do you know how offended our friends would be if they heard you speaking right now?” he asked, nudging your shoulder with his.

You sniffled and let out a chuckle. “They’re all great, but… I don’t like them nearly as much as I like you,” you said, staring down at your hands, hoping he wouldn’t realise exactly what you meant by that statement.

A weight was lifted off of your shoulders when Jake answered. “I like you the most too, Y/N.” You tried not to think too much about whether he’d meant it platonically or romantically - none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the feeling of his arms around you, his warmth enveloping your whole body, his familiar scent that you already missed. 

You felt him take a deep breath against you before he pulled away. He sniffled and did his best to put on a smile. “Right, enough of that. I’m not leaving until next month, so don’t think you’re rid of me just yet,” he joked, and it helped alleviate the weight on your heart, even if just a little. “You said you had something to tell me? Good news after bad news, and all that.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that.”

You thought for a second. Today was the day you had planned to confess your feelings to Jake - you’d only told him you had good news to share. But what was the point now that he was leaving? If he felt the same way, it would only make his departure that much harder, and if he didn’t, it would ruin your last moments together. It just wasn’t worth it.

Jake tilted his head, waiting for you to speak. In a split second, you made yourself forget your disappointment over having built the courage to tell him how you felt only for it all to fall through, and resolved to make the most of Jake’s last month here. You wiped your tears and mirrored his small smile as best you could. “Um, it wasn’t anything much. My mum made those cowboy cookies you like.”

Jake’s head fell back as he groaned in anticipation. “If she wasn’t happily married with three kids, I’d marry your mum. Let’s go right now.”

You laughed. “There’d be a bit of an age gap there.”

“We’d make it work,” Jake joked, throwing his arm around your shoulders as you walked towards your house. He beamed down at you, his bright, boyish smile that you loved to bits, and you beamed up at him as you grabbed the hand that hung off your shoulder in your own.

You walked as happily as you could. “Do you even speak Korean?” you suddenly asked.

Jake halted abruptly in his steps, a gravely offended look on his face. When you looked back at him in confusion, he rolled his eyes and started walking again, pulling you with him. “It’s literally my mother tongue, Y/N. I speak it every day at home.”

“Oh, right.”

At the time, you thought nothing could come between you and Jake. Not anyone, not anything, neither distance nor time. But they did. A week after he’d left, a boy from your class you’d talked to maybe once or twice asked you out on a date. You weren’t sure why, but you said yes. Then you said yes to being his girlfriend, even though you didn’t like him all that much, and you even said yes to reducing your texting with Jake because it made him jealous. When you’d broken up with him and wanted to catch up with Jake and apologise for your absence, you’d found that his new school in Seoul was a lot more demanding than yours in Brisbane, and he had to spend most of his evenings in academies if he wanted to get into a nice university. It’s when you learned that he’d be staying in South Korea for college that you decided to leave Australia too. Brisbane was a lot less fun without him there - why bother staying? You couldn’t go to him because of the language barrier and the cost of university there. If you were to essentially uproot your life, might as well go somewhere you could get a scholarship and understand the people around you. 

It seemed insane that someone you had thought would be by your side for the rest of your life, someone that was part of your most cherished memories, had been reduced to someone you casually texted once in a while. It seems even more insane that now that you’re finally done essentially grieving your friendship with Jake, he stands in front of you again, six inches taller but still donning those puppy-like eyes and smile of his.

For your sake, you just hoped you wouldn’t be as in love with him at twenty as you were at fourteen.

--

The next day, you show Jake around campus, which wouldn’t normally take more than ten minutes, but takes double that time because of the sheer amount of people there. Between the Societies Fair taking up most of the square, the tour guides leading freshers, walking slowly and taking in their new campus, and the pizza and drinks stands, freshers’ week always turns campus into what feels like the busiest place on Earth. You try not to let it hit a nerve for Jake’s sake, who’s clearly ecstatic at all the activity, but you like this place a lot more when it’s quieter. You walk through the Fair, laughing as Jake marvels at all the different clubs and societies at the Uni. 

“Gardening Society? Dungeons & Dragons Society? Wine society?” he exclaims, astonishment growing with every passing stand.

“And this is only the first day. They also have a Taylor Swift Society.” He grabs a flyer from about every society, even though you know he’ll join between two to zero of them. 

When you walk out, there’s a girl handing out samples of shampoo and conditioner, and you let her give you one, more out of politeness than anything. 

“These are so useless,” you start, and Jake chuckles, unaware of the incoming rant. “I had that job of distributing them last year, and we would get a tip if we gave them all out. So naturally I put a bunch in my bag, but then I had to use them for like two weeks.” You sigh. “First of all, my hair did not like it. And second, the ratio is so off. There’s way more conditioner than shampoo when it should be the other way around, so you have to condition your hair even though it’s not properly clean. So stupid.”

“Sounds terrible,” Jake says, laughing. “Is that why you’re not doing it this year?”

“Oh… Not really. I dated the guy that takes care of this promo stuff, so it would’ve been kinda awkward…” you trail, immediately wishing you could backtrack on conversation. Talking about your ex with Jake wasn’t on your to-do list for today. Or ever.

“You dated your boss?”

“The manager, yeah, I guess. He was only 24, though, don’t worry.”

“I’m more worried about the power imbalance than the age gap there.”

You shrug, looking down at your shoes. “It’s not like he was that high up.”

“So, what happened? Why did you break up?”

“Well, he acted like our four-year age difference meant he could treat me like a little kid. It was nice being taken care of at first but then I realised how condescending he was and dumped him.”

“How long were you together?”

You pause. “Two weeks,” you admit abashedly, making Jake chuckle. “At least he didn’t waste my time and showed his red flags early on.”

“Any boyfriends since?” he asks, and you wonder whether you’re making up the unsure tone of his voice. As if he’s curious, but doesn’t want to show it too much. You hope you’re not making it up.

“A few, but they never last very long with me,” you say, a meek smile on your lips. “Furthest I got was three months.”

“And why didn’t it work out with three-months-guy?”

“He started comparing me to his mum a bit too often.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I ran out of there without looking back.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve got high standards. I would hate to see you date just any loser.”

You want to say, High standards or issues?, but you don’t want to make it weird, so you play it cool instead. “I would never. I have a mental checklist with everything a guy needs to have for me to date him.”

“A checklist? I have to hear about this.”

You sigh, debating whether you should tell him about it. Would he notice it’s based on him? Would he notice the only person that could tick practically every box was none other than him? Jake gently elbows your side, goading you on. When you look at him, he’s got a shit-eating grin playing on his lips, and you give in. You look off into the distance as you start listing your requirements. “Well, there’s all your basics like funny, taller than me but not too much, ‘cause I don’t want neck cramps, smart, takes uni seriously, has plans for his future, easy to talk to, not emotionally stunted and can actually have a vulnerable conversation. It’s also a bonus if he has a nice face.”

“How much of a bonus?”

You think for a second. “It’s more a dealbreaker than a bonus, actually. Nice smile is a must, definitely.”

“Okay. Got any more specifics?”

“I do have some particular ones. It’s nice if he’s a reader, but it’s terrible if it makes him think he’s better than everyone or if he tries to sound smarter than me. I like it if he has experience, I don’t want to have to teach him everything. But obviously I don’t want him to still be in love with his ex. Guys and their first loves, I swear… I also don’t really like picky eaters.” You look over at Jake and take a double-take. He’s typing away on his phone, but because of his privacy screen protector, you can’t see anything. You huff. “I also don’t like it if he has those protective screens on his phone. What’s on there that’s so important that I can’t take a peek? What are you even doing?”

The sweet sound of Jake’s giggles erases any trace of annoyance that you felt seconds ago. He turns his screen towards you, showing the list of mostly ticked boxes that he’s written up. “See? I check most of these,” he says with a proud smile. “Guess your standards aren’t that high.” You don’t tell him that your standards are high, he’s just that amazing. 

You do your best to look only amused at this even though inside, you’re all but freaking out. “Which are you missing?”

“Well, I clearly own a privacy screen. And I don’t have much experience. Not nearly as much as you, by the sounds of it,” he admits, somewhat sheepish. “But other than that, I’m practically the perfect man for you.” He looks down at you with a smile so bright, it makes you wish you had brought sunglasses. It takes everything in you not to scream right then and there. Yes, Jake, you are the perfect man for me, but I wish you wouldn’t say it like it was a joke.

You let out a stiff chuckle, and, rather than saying something stupid and possibly damaging, shift the conversation to him. “What do you mean by not much experience? Have you not dated anyone?”

Jake sighs. “Nope, not anyone. I went on a few dates, you know, went through a few talking stages and all that, but it never went much further. There was always something…” He glances at you then. “Missing.”

“I know that feeling,” you say with a chuckle, and he laughs too, a breathy sound.

“I don’t have a checklist to pinpoint what it is, though.”

You smile. “You should try, it might help.”

“I just… I guess I’m like you in that I also have high standards. But it made me not even want to give anyone a chance, especially since I knew it wouldn’t end up anywhere.”

“Don’t tell me no one has ever managed to reach the great Jake Sim’s standards?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course someone has. She’s the whole reason I have standards in the first place. It’s not my standards I compare people to, it’s her.”

Jealousy has never made you feel as sad as it is right now. “And… it didn’t work out between you?”

Jake looks at you, eyes searching for something in yours but seemingly not finding it, and so he turns his gaze away. You don’t know why you feel so disappointed. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “She didn’t feel the same way.”

Whoever this girl is, you can’t believe how stupid she is for passing up the opportunity to have Jake Sim. “That’s… It sucks, I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t think spitting on this girl would make him feel any better, so you keep those thoughts to yourself.

“It’s okay,” he says with a small smile. “It was a while ago already.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re quite over it, though,” you say, and you’re surprised but glad to see his smile widen.

“That’s true.” His eyes meet yours again. “I don’t think I’ll be over her anytime soon, either.” You have to look away to shield the pain that flashes through your eyes from him.

Pretending you don’t have feelings for your best friend and that you’re okay with him being in love with someone else is like riding a bike: even after years of not doing it, it only takes a few minutes for you to be able to do it perfectly again. Muscle memory, if you will. So you sigh dramatically and throw your arm around Jake’s shoulder, slightly pulling him down to your level. “Don’t worry. We’re going to have so much fun this year, you’ll completely forget about her. Promise. She doesn’t know what she’s missing. Yeah?” 

He smiles down at you. You want nothing more but that glint of melancholy in his eyes to be gone. “Yeah.”

--

Jake is only half-glad to see you haven’t changed much from your childhood and early teenage years. You’re still just as pretty, just as warm; it’s still as comfortable to be around you. You’re also still as dense.

Then and now, he did everything he could to make his feelings for you very, very obvious. Either you’re completely oblivious, or the idea of dating him is so horrifying to you, you understand but pretend you don’t. He really hopes it’s the former. 

He arrived in Edinburgh just a bit over a week ago, and you’ve seen each other almost every day. Out of those times, there isn’t a single one where he hasn’t tried to send something your way - something that says, hey, what if we stopped being friends and dated instead? Wouldn’t that be cool? Can’t you see how desperately I love you?, but you never latch on. The ball’s in your court, and he wants you to throw it back, but it’s been feeling more like a boomerang that always hits him right in the face when it circles back than a game of catch.

But he’s reminding himself not to be too greedy. Even if it’s just as friends, at least he has you back, so he’s satisfied with that. For now.

His first class of the year is on the following Tuesday morning, a ninety-minute seminar specifically made for exchange students called Discover Scotland. (He has Mondays free, resulting in a three-day weekend, which you and your 9am Monday tutorial are very envious of.) As interesting as the English Lit courses he’s taking seem, it’s this one he’s most looking forward to - except for the one class he shares with you, of course. Not even because of the seminars themselves, which will be about all sorts of topics on Scottish culture and history, but because of the coursework, as crazy as that sounds. It consists of a singular project, not due until the very last day of the semester, in which he has to travel to at least three different places in the country, research its background and provide a detailed account of his experience there. It can take any form: a written report, an in-class presentation, a podcast, anything. He could even film a TikTok if he wanted. Jake knew that being part of the Arts & Crafts club for two years in a row back in Seoul wasn’t for nothing - his scrapbooking skills would finally have their time to shine. 

That afternoon, he practically snatches you as you come out of your lecture, giving you little time to say bye to your friends, and makes you take him to the biggest stationary store you know in the city. If he wants to ace this project, he will need supplies. Many, many supplies. And it’s more fun shopping if you’re with him. You seem happy following him around the store, and when he asks you if you want to come on his trips with him, he can pretend it’s because you seem so excited about his project and not because he had thought of you accompanying him as soon as he heard about it.

As you stand in line at the till, you tell him that if he wants to start his project now, you could go to the beach together. You raise your eyebrows at him when he snaps your head towards you. “There’s a beach here?!”

“Did you not look at a map before coming here?” you ask, amused.

“I guess I didn’t…” he says, distraught at the new information. It only lasts a second, though. “Okay, let’s go now.”

“Now?” you echo, and he nods. “But-” you start, but are interrupted by your thoughts. “I guess there’s no reason not to. The weather’s nice and it’s not like I have any uni work yet. Let’s go,” you agree, looking up at him with a smile. You’re so pretty he almost forgets to look away, until the employee calls Next in a bored drawl. 

An hour later, you’re at the beach, barefoot on the sand and ice cream in hand. Strawberry for you and vanilla for him, he notes with a smile. Really not much has changed, he thinks. From the sand, to the water, to the promenade along the beach, Portobello is worlds away from the beaches back home in Australia, or those of Jeju Island. But it’s still nice, and because you’re with him, it’s even better. You’ve been walking around for an hour, splashing each other with water and mercilessly ruining sandcastles left behind before he realises you technically came here for his project. He writes down things he doesn’t want to forget on his phone and snaps a few pictures, sneaking a few of you when you’re not looking. He wants to tell you how beautiful you are with your hair blowing in the wind and the way the chill bites at your cheeks, but he keeps it a secret between him and his Notes app. 

Even though he lives two stops further down, he gets off from the bus with you, containing his excitement as best he can when you invite him up for a cup of tea. “Depends. What tea do you have?” he asks, trying and failing to play it cool. He’s just grateful he doesn’t have to come up with an excuse to spend more time with you.

You roll your eyes playfully as you unlock the front door to your building. “I can make you hot chocolate, Mister Tea-Is-For-Old-People.”

He chuckles. “Actually, I’ll have you know I started drinking tea at uni.” When you turn around to look at him, a surprised look on your face, he nods proudly. “Mh-hm. I got addicted to caffeine very quickly into first year so I started drinking black tea for the sake of my heart,” he explains.

“God,” you say breathily, sounding mildly horrified. “A caffeine addiction sounds intense.”

“It was, yeah,” he says, laughing as he follows you into your flat. 

Yunjin and Chaewon are sitting at the living room table, watching an episode of what he thinks is Gossip Girl, and they greet him as normally as these two can, but he wonders what the knowing look they exchange is all about. He’d met them the previous weekend when you had all gone for drinks together, along with Jay, Yunjin’s boyfriend, and they had all but grilled him on his relationship with you. He hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it up to your friends feeling protective of you, and truthfully, he was just happy to get to talk about you. But now, he was wondering if you had told them anything about him that made them so curious about him. If you did, he hoped it was something positive.

He stands awkwardly in the kitchen, chatting with you as you boil the water and get cups out, but he can feel their gazes burning the back of his head. Clearly, whatever conversation he’s having with you, he’s also having it with them. “How do you take your tea?” you ask.

“Um, three sugars and lots of milk, please,” he says, smiling innocently when you slowly turn to look at him, a mix of disapproval, disgust, and offence on your face. 

You sigh deeply. “I mean, I’ll do it, but I’m not sure that’s even tea anymore.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss Caramel Frappuccino,” he says, recycling your bad joke from earlier.

“At least I don’t claim to be drinking coffee when I order a frap,” you argue. “And this is how you battled your coffee addiction? You’ll be getting another kind of heart problem, Jakey.” He doesn’t know if you even notice your use of his old nickname - the first time you’ve used it since he’s been here - but you don’t make a big deal of it, so he doesn’t either. Not outwardly, at least. Mentally, he’s running laps around your small kitchen.

Jake laughs it off. “I thought I came here for tea, not a health check-up,” he says, smile growing wider at the sight of yours. 

“Right, sorry,” you say, giggling. “I’ll make your tea just how you like it,” you add in a sweet voice. Jake knows you’re just doing it as a joke, but it still manages to make butterflies erupt in his stomach. 

His tea tastes even sweeter that day.

--

A few days after your impromptu trip to the beach, you’re waiting for Jake outside of his class. He heard of this donut shop he “absolutely needs to visit” and is dragging you along with him - well, “dragging” is a big word considering you’d follow him anywhere. You got here a few minutes early, not needing much of a reason to leave the library, so you scroll through your feed until Jake calls out your name. You’re only mildly surprised to see Jay leaving the classroom behind him.

“Y/N! Can you believe that Jay and I are in the same class?” he says excitedly as the two boys walk toward you. You feel like a dog owner being greeted by their over-enthusiastic dog after a long day (about three hours) of being apart.

“I can believe it, actually. You two do the same degree.”

You exchange quick greetings with Jay before the three of you start heading out. As you walk, Jake throws his arm around your shoulders so casually, it almost throws you off balance. Physical contact always came easy to him, but there’s something about him doing it next to someone else that catches you off guard. It reminds you of walking somewhere with Jay and Yunjin as they discretely held hands. It makes you feel like it’s not the three of you, but Jay with the two of you. Like you and Jake come as a pair rather than as two individuals. 

All of that from a simple arm around your shoulders.

Jake asking you in a very unsubtle whisper whether Jay can come with brings you out of your head and back into the conversation. “Yeah, of course,” you say, smiling. It’s not a bad idea to have Jay along: hanging out with someone else might snap you out of your delusion.

Most of the walk to the shop is done in laughter as Jake and Jay realise how much random stuff they have in common, from their peanut allergies to the embarrassing Harry Potter phase they had as fifteen-year-olds. Grassmarket is really busy on Friday afternoons, and there’s a bit of a queue of other donut-enjoyers in front of the boutique, but you don’t mind. The sun is shining down gently on the square and it gives you time to choose your donut out of the ten or so flavours available. In the end, you go for white chocolate and raspberry, while Jake chooses Biscoff and Jay, tiramisu. 

“My friend Sunghoon would love this,” he says after taking a hearty bite. “He goes crazy over tiramisu. Like a cat with catnip.”

Jake chuckles, mouth full of Biscoff. “That’s funny, I also have a friend named Sunghoon who loves tiramisu back in Seoul.”

Jay punches Jake’s shoulder, eyes wide in amusement and shock. “Bro, that’s crazy. You have to be lying at this point,” he says, but Jake shakes his head fervently. 

“I promise I’m not. I’ve even saved his number with the tiramisu emoji.”

“There’s a tiramisu emoji?” Jay asks, already over questioning the existence of Jake’s Sunghoon.

The conversation circles back to the courses you’re all taking this semester, and Jake tells Jay about Discover Scotland and the trips he’s planned so far. “Well, if you really want to discover Scotland as a student, you need to go on a night out in Glasgow,” Jay says. Going by the look on Jake’s face, Jay’s idea seems to have struck a chord in him.

“Y/N?”

You nod, finishing your mouthful of donut before speaking. “Yeah, Glasgow’s really fun. We should go,” you say, laughing when the two boys high-five in victory. Between the train, the drinks and the club entry, going out isn’t a cheap ordeal, and getting to and fro also takes a while - even so, the smile on Jake’s face makes it worth it. 

He wipes some raspberry jam from the corner of your mouth, shooting you a wink, and you want to disintegrate right then and there, become one with the bench you’re sitting on and never have to face him again. The conversation resumes as Jay tells Jake about all the best places to go out in Glasgow, but you don’t hear a word - the feeling of Jake’s thumb so close to your lips takes away your ability for coherent thought.

“It’s decided, then. We’re going out tomorrow night,” Jay loudly announces. “Let me gather the troops.”

That’s how you find yourself in line for the club the next day, already tipsy from pre-drinking on the train and at the pub. It’s still warm enough for you and the girls to wear as little clothing as you want, but Jake insisted on giving you his flannel jacket anyway. If not for the warmth it brings, you’re glad to have his scent enveloping you.

The five of you work exceptionally well together. You, Chaewon and Yunjin have been a given since you met in first year, and Jay and Yunjin went so well together that he was but a natural addition to your little group. Jake’s only been here for over a week, but it’s like he’s always been around, and you couldn’t be happier about it. Him and Jay hit it off immediately, and although the girls needed some time to warm up to him (it’s not everyday that you meet your friend’s ex-best-friend she’s practically always been in love with; you understand why they might’ve been wary at first), they now tease him just as relentlessly as they do Jay. He takes it like a champ.

For a little while, you watch your friends speaking over each other, bickering over nothing, a smile on your face. Two pints of cider and some of Jay’s fancy vodka have made you more grateful than ever for them - if you drink too much in the club, you’ll be hugging them and crying about how much you love them. You’re not sure what that might look like around Jake, so you decide to keep yourself in check for the night. 

It takes about thirty minutes before you manage to get into the club. It’s not coat check season yet, so you head straight to the bar. “Sunghoon said he’d meet us here,” Jay says, lifting his head to spot his friend in the sea of drunk students. “Oh yeah, there he is! Hoon, hey!” 

You hear a loud “Jongseong!” being shouted from somewhere in the crowd, but you’re not sure who Jay is waving at until a boy whose face is mostly eyebrows is standing - well, standing as best as he can, with the copious amount of alcohol he’s obviously already consumed - in front of you. He gives Jay a hug and the three of you a nod of his head, a lopsided smile on his face. When he turns to Jake, his eyebrows lift first, then his face breaks into a wide grin.

“Jake, my man!” he shouts, taking a stunned Jake’s hand and bringing him into a hug. 

“Sunghoon? What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, chuckling and frowning in confusion. 

“I’m just partying, man! Same as you!”

“No, I mean here in Scotland, you dumbass!”

“You two know each other?” Jay asks, looking back and forth between his two friends.

“Jake’s my man!” Sunghoon exclaims, unhelpful and stumbling as he throws an arm around his man’s shoulders. Jake shoots you a distressed look but you just laugh at him.

“This is Tiramisu Sunghoon I told you about,” Jake says, helping Sunghoon stand up straight.

“God, what I would do for a tiramisu right now,” Sunghoon says, looking at Yunjin like she might relate. She chuckles awkwardly.

“I have no idea what he’s doing in Scotland, though. Hoon, I thought you were going to NYU for your exchange?”

Sunghoon pauses to think for a second, looking like he’s never heard of NYU in his life. “Oh, that! Yeah, I did an online orientation thing and… it did not go well. Let’s just say there’s someone in New York City who wants me dead,” he says conspiratorially. You all stare at him but he gives no further explanation. On your right, you hear Yunjin whisper what the fuck under her breath. “So I transferred here instead!”

“I didn’t know you were an exchange student,” Jay says, still looking just as confused.

“Yeah, man! But anyways, let’s not talk about uni right now. I’m on a bender, day three, baby! Do not talk to me tomorrow,” he says, chuckling until the smile suddenly drops from his face. “I mean that.” You look around yourself, glad to find everyone is just as baffled as you. “Let’s party!” Sunghoon cheers, intoxicated grin back on his lips. Jake and Jay follow, but you and the girls stay back for a second, taking in everything that has just happened.

“That. Is the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” Chaewon blurts, staring blankly at the spot Sunghoon stood in a second ago.

“Yeah, he also seems to be a raging alcoholic. And he’s what, twenty-one?” Yunjin says, a scowl on her face. 

“I could fix him.”

“Okay, let’s go,” you say, grabbing your friends by their wrists before either of them can say something worse.

Feeling generous, Sunghoon buys shots for all six of you, and you quickly down them before heading to the dancefloor. On your way there, a group of sober-looking girls hand Chaewon a giant, still almost full jug of red liquid, something that costs at least twelve pounds here. They say they’re leaving and don’t need it anymore, smiling as you profusely and astonishedly thank them. You look at your friends, mentally weighing the risk and drugging possibility this might present, but shrug and pass the jug around after taking hearty sips anyway. It tastes so much like fizzy cherries that you wonder if it even contains any alcohol, but sure enough, twenty minutes later, the three of you are spinning around on the dancefloor, screaming the lyrics to your favourite pop songs at the top of your lungs. Jake at a club is a completely foreign sight to you, and you can’t stop laughing at all the silly moves he pulls. 

You’re shaking your whole body to a Nicki song from the early 2010s when you suddenly feel a hand on your hip. Before you can turn around and slap whoever this random man is that thinks he can touch you, a familiar voice whispers it’s just me in your ear, and you simultaneously relax and tense up knowing that Jake is standing right behind you. “There’s a creep staring at you,” he explains, lips and breath gently tickling your ear as he speaks. You look around the room and quickly notice a man standing in a corner, drink in one hand and the other in his pocket, unmoving as he eyes you with a smirk so slimy it makes your stomach turn. To avoid his gaze, you turn around, but you’re not sure the sight you’re met with is much better for you.

Jake peers down at you, eyes slightly glossed over and cheeks flushed from the alcohol, jaw locked in annoyance. He glances at the guy in the corner, who you assume is still staring when you feel Jake’s hands brush along your sides until they reach your waist. His gaze returns to your face as he brings you a step closer to him. Reflexively, you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Is this okay?” he mouths. All you can do is meekly nod. You watch as his eyes deliberately scan your face, going down and down. Time stills when they reach your lips and stay there. It’s like someone has put the booming music of the club on mute, and the only thing you can hear is your heart loudly beating in your ears. You suddenly feel very sober.

You swear Jake’s face is slowly inching its way towards yours when you’re abruptly taken away. Yunjin has grabbed you by the forearm, leading you and Chaewon to the bathroom as she chants “Bathroom break! Bathroom break!”, clearly unaware of the moment she’s just interrupted.

Because of the queue for the girls’ bathroom and Chaewon’s decision to console this random girl who was in the middle of a breakdown, it’s not until half-an-hour later that you emerge back into the crowd. You spot the boys at a table, two empty shots each in front of them and all three with a beer in hand. They will not be happy checking their bank accounts tomorrow morning. 

“Y/N! You’re back!” Jake calls out happily when he spots you, and you can tell right away that he’s much drunker than when you left him. His whole face is flush, his eyes don’t open quite all the way, and a lopsided smile won’t leave his lips - even like this, he’s so pretty that you want to grab his hand and take him somewhere it’s just the two of you. 

Chaewon gets drinks for the three of you and then you’re dancing again. It’s already one am at this point, and the remaining two hours until the club closes, fueled with alcohol and good music, go by in a flash. Before you know it, the DJ is playing All of Me by John Legend and the lights have been turned on, clear signs that you’re overstaying your welcome. The few people that have made it to closing time stumble out of the club and into the street, heading for either the nearest subway stop or the next party of the night. Since there are no trains at this time, your group walks to the close-by bus station, listening to Jake and Sunghoon grumble about how the clubs in Seoul don’t close until at least five or six and how trains run all night there. 

The bus is already at the station when you get there, and the driver doesn’t seem too pleased about having six mildly drunk kids get on his bus, but he’s probably used to questionable people taking public transport at this time of the day anyway. Physically, Sunghoon is sitting across from you, but mentally, he’s off somewhere far, far from this bus. With his head against the window and mouth wide open, saliva pooling at the corner of his lips, he looks like he’s any second away from obnoxiously snoring. Jay and Yunjin are sitting somewhere you can’t see them, probably eating each other’s faces; she once told you they had their “most mind-blowing sex” when both a little drunk, and much to your dismay, you haven’t been able to get that piece of information out of your head since. Chaewon is on the phone to her long-distance bestie Sakura, for whom it’s a nice eleven in the morning right now. 

This means that you and Jake are left alone, both of you still tipsy and not tired enough to fall asleep. You drop your head on Jake’s shoulder, and not only does he let you, he also takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers and placing them atop his thigh. Clumsily, because he now has to use his left hand, Jake slips his phone out of his back pocket and shows you the photos he took all evening. As the night progresses, they get blurrier and blurrier, so much so that towards the end, you can’t tell what he was even trying to capture, and you laugh at how inappropriate some of these would be to submit in a university project. 

When he softly says your name, you don’t raise your head, simply humming to let him know you’re listening. You close your eyes, cherishing the way your name sounds on his lips. It’s his tone, tentative and vulnerable as he tells you there’s something he’s been wanting to ask you, that makes you look up at him. He, however, won’t meet your eyes, and settles his gaze on the window, even though it’s so dark outside you can’t make out a thing.

“How come you never replied to my letter? I know it’s been ages, but… I still find myself wondering about it.” The question is softly asked and you know he by no means wants to hurt you, but it still feels like a punch to the throat. You hadn’t remembered who it was that had sent the last letter, while he’d been wondering all these years why his words had been left unanswered. 

He seems set on not looking at you, so you rest your head back on his shoulder. Your hand is still in his. “I’m not sure, Jakey. I’m sorry,” you say, aware it’s not a satisfying answer. You’ve thought about why you and Jake had stopped talking for hours on end; you’ve discussed it with your friends and your mum, looked at it from all sorts of angles, tried to come up with real reasons other than time pulling you apart. But now that Jake himself is asking you about it, the words don’t come easy. You’ve theorised that you were afraid putting effort into sustaining your friendship would only hurt you in the end, because it was just that - a friendship. You could fool yourself into thinking you were okay only being friends with him when he was with you, that putting your feelings aside was worth it since you could at least spend time with him. But now that he was away, you didn’t have that anymore - it just hurt. So what was the point? And how could you phrase all this without betraying your feelings for him?

“Our letters were so sparse anyway back then, even our texts and calls were getting less and less frequent… And whenever I had a new boyfriend, I’d get into the same argument about being too close to you over and over again, even though you were literally on another continent.” 

“You know, I always felt sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“Those boyfriends of yours. I felt like you waited for me to leave before you started dating-”

“It wasn’t like that!” you exclaim, lifting your head again. Finally, he meets your eyes, gaze softening upon seeing your affronted expression. “It wasn’t like that,” you repeat, relaxing your tone. “If anything, they were the ones that waited for you to be gone. I'm sorry I let their jealousy get to me.”

Jake smiles, the tenderness in his gaze making your whole body turn to jelly. He squeezes your hands. “It’s okay. I just… I felt like I was always in the way of your relationships, even after I left.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry about that. They should’ve had more trust in me.”

He pauses, gaze dropping down to your intertwined hands. “I would’ve been jealous.” When his eyes find yours again, there’s something in them that you quite can’t place. It creates a ball of nerves that pull at your stomach. “If I were dating you, and you had a guy friend you were as close with as we were back then, I’d be jealous. You know, I’d assume he had feelings for you. And that you might have feelings for him, too.”

Because I did, you think. I did, and I still do. You try to communicate that thought to Jake, but telepathy works especially bad when one has as much alcohol coursing through their veins as you do right now. So instead, you say the opposite of what you’re thinking, turning away from Jake to avoid his gaze. You watch the dribble of saliva trickle from Sunghoon’s lips. “That’s not a great view of male-female friendship.” 

Jake’s retort comes immediately. “But we were different, right?”

His words echo through your head until they make even less sense than they did initially. Different from what? From who? You’re not sure - but you like the idea of you and Jake being different, special. You especially like the idea of Jake thinking so. So you look at him and smile. “Right.” 

Slowly, his grin fades and turns into a worried expression. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“We’re still different now, aren’t we?”

You want to wrap him in your arms so tightly neither of you can breathe. You settle for running a hand through his hair and pinching his cheek. “Course we are.” Your whole being relaxes when his face breaks into a smile again. 

--

The next morning, you wake up to Yunjin plopping down on your bed unceremoniously, shaking you awake, and asking you if you want anything from Snax Café. On one hand, you’re grateful that she thought of you and that in thirty minutes’ time, you’ll have the greasiest sausage wrap and hash browns known to man in your hand; on the other, you’d like to think that she knows you well enough to know to order your regular from there without asking. But that’s probably the hangover talking.

You stumble out of bed, thanking last night’s you for having remembered to take headache medicine before crashing. Even if your stomach is very upset with the copious amount of alcohol it needs to rid your body of, and your throat is begging for water, at least your head doesn’t feel like it’s been split into two. As Yunjin barges into Chaewon’s room just as she had done yours, you head for the kitchen to get yourself a tall glass of revitalising tap water. You’re only mildly surprised to find Sunghoon passed out on your living room couch - it takes you a few seconds to remember that the three of you took pity on him when you learned he lived over an hour’s walk from the station, so you let him spend the night on your uncomfortable, cold leather sofa. While you down your glass in three gulps, you hear Yunjin shaking Sunghoon awake and asking him loudly if he wanted something from Snax.

“Fuck, I’d kill for a Snax right now,” he groggily says before he’s even opened his eyes. When he does, they dart around the room until they land on Yunjin, who's crouching in front of him. He looks like he thought her question was asked in a dream and not in real life. He also looks like he's not quite sure where he is, or who Yunjin is. It isn’t until Jay comes wobbling out of Yunjin’s bed to the couch opposite Sunghoon that the memories seem to piece back together in his head. The three of you watch him like he’s an unstable mental patient and you’re his doctors. 

“No need for that, I’m ordering it on Deliveroo.” He nods his head and goes back to sleep for the time being. 

Just as you’re about to text Jake, your phone rings with a call from him. His raspy morning voice as he asks you whether you slept well makes you want to put your head in an oven heated at 200 degrees Celsius. However, you resist the urge, and answer him with a smile, then ask him the same question.

“I slept pretty well too. I’d have slept in longer but one of my flatmates decided to have a Sunday fucking brunch and his friends are so loud. Can I come over?”

You’re very aware of the other people in the room, especially of Chaewon who has just walked in and is eyeing you suspiciously as if to say, Why are you smiling so hard at ten in the morning? You know the girls would jump at any opportunity to tease you about Jake, and with the added presence of Sunghoon in the room, you can’t have that. So you stifle the giggles bubbling in your throat and answer as nonchalantly as you can. It also gives you the chance to reflect on why Jake Sim asking you whether he can come over makes you want to giggle like a giddy schoolgirl so much.

(Maybe it’s because when it comes to him, you’re still the giddy schoolgirl you used to be.)

“Yeah, of course. I was going to ask you if you wanted anything from Snax, actually.”

“Snax? What’s that?”

“Oh my God, Jake, am I about to introduce you to Snax right now?”

Twenty minutes later, the six of you are sitting around your small living room table, all varying amounts of tired, dehydrated and famished as you dig into your breakfast. Given your current levels of energy, it’s fairly quiet; plus, the food hits such a spot that it’s hard to talk and eat at the same time. Jake eats like he’s never had a breakfast wrap and hash brown in his life. It’s an endearing sight if you’ve ever seen one. 

You spend the afternoon together, watching movies curled up in your bed, and you try desperately not to think about the implications of that - except that’s hard to do when Jake is right next to you, legs and arms ever-so-slightly brushing against yours, his warmth so close yet so out of reach. You purposefully let him pick movies you’ve already seen so that you don’t have to focus on anything but your own thoughts and the faint but dizzying scent of his body wash. The both of you had an innumerable amount of sleepovers as kids, so this shouldn’t feel weird, but it decidedly does, probably because you’re much more aware of him now in a way you weren’t before.  

As hard as you try to figure out what exactly he meant by “different,” you draw a blank. The only way you’ll understand is if you ask him, and you’re far too scared to do that. You don’t want to seem so hung upon a singular word he used when he was tipsy. It might be slightly dramatic, but you felt like some sort of balance had been restored since Jake was back in your life - the problem was it made you scared to do anything that might threaten this newfound equilibrium. It at least seems like different means a good thing to him, and that’s enough for you. 

You look over to him when the second movie comes to an end. He’s sleeping peacefully, lashes caressing the skin under his eyes and cheeks looking rounder than usual. It’d be so easy to reach a finger out and trace the line descending from the top of his forehead to his chin, gliding along the bump of his nose and feeling the plumpness of his rosy lips, but you settle for drawing that line with your eyes instead.  

You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep with him next to you and your heart beating so loudly in your ears, but you find yourself waking up a few hours later, the sun already starting to set. Jake is already awake, scrolling on his phone, one arm casually behind his head as if being in your bed is as comfortable to him as being in his own. When he sees you’ve woken up, his honey-coated smile washes warmly over you, and he makes a joke about how he keeps on falling asleep when he’s with you. “I feel that at ease, I guess,” he says, and you hope you’re not making up the small blush that spreads over his cheeks. 

--

Semesters are always a short and intense affair, but this one passes by even quicker with Jake by your side. Before you know it, it’s midterms already, and you and Jake have travelled enough for him to complete his project and make another one just for the hell of it. He had scoured the internet for the cheapest train tickets and most noteworthy sites, planning trips that lasted anywhere between three hours and a day for the two of you. All you needed to do was follow and trust him, which was the easiest thing anyone could’ve asked of you. 

You’ve gone back to Glasgow, during the day, this time, as well as St. Andrews and Aberdeen. You’ve practically visited every loch and castle in a one-hour train ride radius of Edinburgh, and Jake has more lined up for the second part of the semester. He’s even said that your trips should continue being a thing next term, and you couldn’t have agreed faster. With every new destination, every train ride spent looking out a window or laughing about everything and anything, any odd Scottish food you try for the first time, you somehow fall for him a bit deeper. You didn’t know your love for him could bloom any more than it already had - but Jake is the gift that keeps on giving, and, unwillingly or not, he always finds new ways to make your heart speed that much faster.

Attentionate, affectionate, sweet Jake who always makes sure you’re comfortable wherever you go, always gives you his jacket or tucks your hair behind your ear to prevent it from falling in your face. Who, as time passed, grew more touchy, would hold your hand, ruffle your hair, pinch your cheek, which was simultaneously devastating and elating. Who, you could tell, started to linger more, both in his touch and in his gaze. Questions of does he love me back or am I seeing what I want to see? nearly drove you mad. 

--

“I feel like at this point the only way she’ll understand that I like her is if I kill myself and write in my suicide note that it’s her fault for not loving me back.”

Jake has been pacing back and forth in Jay’s living room for approximately twenty minutes, with no end in sight. At least he’ll have gotten most of his ten thousand steps of the day in.

Jay sighs heavily. “Okay, I really don’t think you need to go that far.”

“Sounds romantic to me,” Sunghoon says, mouth full of salted caramel popcorn.

“I hope you never get a girlfriend,” Jay retorts, looking at his deranged friend with a scowl. He turns back to his (slightly more) normal friend and gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“I mean, I told her we were different. Different. That we weren’t like regular friends. I tell her she’s pretty every chance I get. I give her my jacket all the time, even though this country is fucking cold. I’ve even given her a t-shirt of mine, sprayed with my perfume and everything. And don’t get me wrong, I do it ‘cause I love doing that for her-”

“Simp,” Sunghoon snickers.

“But what the hell else can I do? Like, she has to be ignoring it on purpose at this point.” 

“You could always, you know… tell her?”

Jake scoffs, fixing his friend with a derisive look. “Wow. What a great idea, Jay, I never thought of that one before!”

A popcorn lands right on Jay’s cheek. “You’re so clueless, man,” Sunghoon says, a shit-eating smirk on his lips. As if he knows any better.

Jay looks back-and-forth between his friends, an expression on his face like he’s been disparaged. “Sorry, I didn’t know being straightforward and honest was such a bad thing. It would just make things a lot clearer for the both of you.”

“But… I’m scared,” Jake says. 

“Man up!” Sunghoon suddenly yells, punching the sofa next to him, making his friends jump. “How can she ever figure it out if you don’t tell her?”

“You were on my side just a second ago, man, what are you doing?” Jake asks, confusion written all over his face. Sunghoon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two boys, retreating into silence as he stuffs his mouth with another handful of popcorn.

“Just ignore him,” Jay says. “But for once, he did say something that makes a modicum of sense. You think you’re being really obvious, but you might not actually be. Which could be a good sign, you know. I heard girls were super aware of a guy liking them if they weren’t into him, but being totally oblivious if they did like him.”

“Where did you hear that?” Jake asks, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“...Instagram Reels,” Jay reluctantly admits, frowning at Sunghoon who bursts into laughter. 

Jake holds the bridge of his nose between two fingers like his head aches. “You’re both so useless, I’m never coming to you with my problems ever again.”

“I’ll pretend I’m not offended by that.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, anyway,” Sunghoon says. He’s smiling but Jake genuinely can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“But seriously, if you think you’ve done everything, then just do one last thing that’s so obvious she can’t misinterpret it,” Jay says.

“Like what?”

“Like kissing her, or some-”

“Kissing her?!” Jake echoes.

“That’s wild, man,” Sunghoon uselessly butts in.

“It’s just an example, calm yourselves,” Jay says. “Or, again, just straight up tell her how you feel. It’s what I did with Yunjin, and it worked.”

“You and Yunjin are dating?” Sunghoon asks, bewildered.

Jay shakes his head at him. “Where the hell have you been, bro? We were literally cuddling on the couch the other day.”

“I just thought you were really good friends, or something.”

Jake groans, holding his head in his hands. Sunghoon was of no help whatsoever, and Jay was so on point that it annoyed him. Confessing was the only solution - but Jake was so afraid of being rejected and losing your friendship that he had barely entertained the thought. But he had found the courage to do it once, and even though his planned confession had fallen through back then, he could get himself together and do it again. 

It was the day he had told you he was moving to Korea, which he himself had learned that morning. Originally, he’d texted you because he had news to share - good news. Or at least, he hoped they were good. He hoped the soft, lingering looks you gave him weren’t a figment of his imagination but rather the confirmation he needed that you liked him back. He hoped that like him, you cared too much about your friendship to make the first move into something else; that by confessing first, you’d be relieved of that responsibility; that his wish to hold your hand and kiss your forehead wasn’t one-sided. 

He decided not to prepare anything - just a couple sentences that he’d rehearsed over and over in his head. Declarations of love, bouquets of flowers, chocolate and couple keychains, all that could wait until after you’d said yes to being his girlfriend. He didn’t want to win you over just once, he wanted to show you every day how much he loved you. Fourteen-year-old Jake was absolutely head over heels for you; so imagine his disappointment when, as he was getting ready to meet with you, his parents called him downstairs, a tone to their voice Jake wasn’t familiar with, but that couldn’t mean anything good. 

“Your dad’s job is sending us back to Seoul next month,” his mom announced, not beating around the bush. He felt everything quite literally crumbling down around him. His friends in Brisbane, his school, his hobbies, but above all, you. He’d lose it all. And what was the point now in telling you how he felt? If you felt the same way, it would only make his departure that much harder, and if you didn’t, it would ruin your last moments together. It just wasn’t worth it.

What he had planned to be good news turned into the most awful ones. The thought of it happening all over again makes twenty-year-old Jake shudder. But he wouldn’t let himself be trapped by time again - sure, in seven months, the academic year would be over, and he would go back to Korea. But that didn’t mean that those seven months should be spent in agony, or the following ones either, for that matter. You would make it work. What was long-distance to someone who loved someone else as much as Jake loved you?

But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. He has to start by really resolving to do this, and in the off-chance that it actually goes in his favour, he’d start worrying about long distance then.

First, he has a trip to plan.

--

You should’ve known that a trip to the Scottish Highlands in the middle of November was a risky choice in terms of weather. The day started off nicely enough - no sign of rain when you woke up or as you watched the sunrise through the train window. Clouds turned the sky a bright white at first, then increasingly greyer and greyer. You feel the first drops of rain after lunch as you walk around a small village. By four pm, it’s pitch black and storming like you’ve rarely seen before. You head into a pub to grab a drink as you wait for the rain to subside, but subside it does not. You end up ordering fish and chips, one each, although one serving is enough to feed three. Even after taking your time eating, the bad weather does not let up. The last train, which is meant to be at eight pm, has been cancelled. Luckily, there’s an inn right across the road from the pub; you have no choice but to spend the night. 

The inn receptionist is sitting so low on her chair, you can barely see her over the desk until you’re standing right over it. Her face is hidden by a book and it’s only when you say hiya that she seems to realise you’re there. You had never heard of the book or of its author, but you recognized the cover design as that of those romance novels with repetitive plots and weirdly misogynistic love interests your mum and every other middle-aged woman was obsessed with.

Her smile widens as she looks between you and Jake. “Hi there. One room for the lovely couple?”

“Oh, we’re not-”

“Yes, please,” Jake interrupts, smiling down at her, then at you. “It’ll be cheaper if we share a room.”

“Our only room with two single beds is already taken, I’m afraid. One double bed okay for you two?”

You feel like you’re about to faint, so you’re glad Jake is there to answer. “Yeah, of course.” How the idea of sharing one bed with you is so okay to him, you’re not sure - granted, you’ve done it before, but this feels different. For all intents and purposes, this is a hotel room you’re staying in. And you’re staying in it with Jake. 

You try to calm your breathing as the receptionist guides you to your room, chatting casually with Jake on the way there. As she unlocks the door for you, she informs you that check-out must be done before eleven in the morning tomorrow, then bids you good night and leaves you to it, still wearing that smile you swear has mischievousness to it. The door clicks shut behind you, and it’s just Jake and you again, together in this small room until tomorrow morning. Your chances of survival are very, very low. 

Your room is a humble one, consisting of a desk, a cupboard, two armchairs, a small, separate bathroom and the infamous bed. Every surface seems to be covered with wood, from the ceiling, to the walls, to the old-fashioned furniture. Only the floor is a soft, beige carpet. Especially with the darkness outside, it makes for a gloomy room until you turn on the lamp by the entrance; it casts a warm, golden light in the room, one that would make you feel at ease if it wasn’t for Jake’s presence next to you. The implications of being essentially trapped in a barely-lit room with him are heavy on your mind, especially when he looks this gorgeous with his hair still damp from the rain and the soft lights playing on his face. 

His voice brings you out of your thoughts. “Right. Do you, um, do you wanna shower first?” he asks, setting his bag on one of the armchairs.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” There has never been such an awkward tension between the two of you, but you know you’re not doing anything to ease it. You hope a shower will help you get out of your head and make you relax.

You feel the tension leave your muscles under the hot water, but your stomach is still in knots. You’ve never been this nervous around Jake before; back when you were fourteen and again in these past few months, you’d gotten so used to dealing with your unspoken feelings for him that you could almost forget about them when you were with him. They’d come back to you when you were alone and dwelling on the moments you’d spent together, on his words and actions you desperately tried not to read too much into but always ended up doing anyway. But right now, they’ve floated to the surface, becoming as obvious to you as a stain on your skin you can’t rub away. You’re scared Jake will notice it, and, in the worst case scenario you often thought about, would run away and never speak to you again. 

At least the raging storm outside would make that a bit harder.

When you step out of the shower, you curse yourself for not having worn more comfortable clothes on this trip. You definitely can’t wear these jeans and button-up sweater to lounge around. Thankfully, the inn provides two long bathrobes that you could wear over underwear and your tank top, but you wonder where on the scale of inappropriate this would be to wear with Jake in the room. He’s seen you in short pyjama shorts before, but this, like everything else that would usually be normal between the two of you, feels weird today. 

You wrap the bathrobe around yourself, tying it in place around your waist, and decide that it’d only be weird if you made it weird. And if Jake found the sight of your bare legs weird, then he was the weird one.

The scene you’re met with as you walk into the room makes you want to retreat into the bathroom immediately. Jake is lying on the bed with his upper half against the headboard, one leg extended and the other one bent, resting his head against one palm, using his free hand to scroll through his phone. His t-shirt has ridden up slightly, putting the waistband of his Calvin Kleins into view. Worst of all, when he sees you, his face breaks into a grin. 

Your stomach twists when he gives you a once-over, letting his gaze linger on your legs. “Did you bring a bathrobe with you or was it included?” he asks with an annoyingly handsome smirk.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I bring a bathrobe with me wherever I go,” you say sarcastically. “Now shut up and go shower, you stink.” Reverting to insults is always the solution when you’re internally freaking out.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He takes so long in the shower that by the time he comes out, you’ve dozed off in bed. As if you were a child, he wakes you up with a boop to the nose, crouching next to the bed and smiling at you. His wet hair falls on his head like that of a movie star in a shower scene, which you find extremely unfair, and his cheeks are red from the warmth of the water. 

“It’s still early. Do you wanna go grab another drink?”

“In our bathrobes?” you say, laughing. “Nah, I don’t really feel like drinking anyway.” Read: I’m not sure what I’ll do with alcohol in me.

“Okay, no worries. Um, I think I saw they had board games in the lobby?”

Your ears perk up at this. “Ooh, what kind of board games?”

Putting jeans on underneath his bathrobe, Jake slips away for a minute and comes back with Monopoly, Uno, and a deck of cards. “They didn’t have much for two players,” he says, dumping everything on the bed. 

You already knew that anything would become fun if you did it with Jake, but you definitely didn’t expect to spend almost five hours just playing Monopoly and card games with him. Neither of you stays put for very long, always switching from sitting criss-cross to laying on your stomach, making fun of the other’s bathrobe even though you’re wearing the exact same thing. You make each other laugh as you make up your own nonsense rules and disregard the laws of your games, attacking the other ruthlessly for a couple extra points or coins. Jake even makes you go get snacks from a corner store that’s miraculously still open because you lose the first round of Uno. 

After some time, Jake lets out a loud yawn, which in turn makes you yawn too. He checks his phone to find that it’s close to midnight already. “Time for bed?” he asks, and your nervousness that had finally dissipated as you played came rushing back. 

You nod. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you clean up before brushing your teeth. Even that, with Jake by your side, becomes a silly affair as he pulls faces in the mirror and nudges your hip with his. You stay behind to use the toilet, and when you come back out, Jake’s already in bed, bathrobe tossed on one of the armchairs. This means that Jake is just casually in a t-shirt and boxers, waiting for you to join him in bed. Luckily, his back is turned to you, so you quickly take off your own bathrobe and slide under the sheets, careful to keep your distance from him. The sheets are cold underneath you, and you know it’ll take a while before your body heat warms them up - although you feel very hot and bothered because of the man lying next to you. 

“Gosh, I’m really sleepy all of a sudden,” he says, words distorted by a yawn. You only hum in response, and he reaches for the lamp to turn it off. Just like that, you’re in complete darkness, and Jake’s body is mere inches from your own. 

It’s eerily quiet for a while, and when you’ve managed to slow your heartbeat and regularise your breathing, you start trying to fall asleep. You toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position until Jake’s low, sleepy voice breaks the silence. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, and you freeze.

You sigh. “No. I’m sorry for keeping you up,” you say guiltily.

“It’s okay. I can’t really sleep either. It’s a bit cold in here.”

You pause. “Right. Yeah, it is,” you say, even though you feel like you’re sweating buckets. 

The room plunges into silence again, long enough for you to think Jake has fallen asleep. You feel something cold against your foot, only realising as it slides up your calf that it’s his foot. “Jake!” you whisper-yell, withdrawing your leg as he bursts into giggles that warm your heart. “Your feet are so cold,” you say in-between chuckles.

“I’m cold all over,” he whines. “Have they not turned the heating on yet? It’s already mid-November.”

“People are used to the cold here.”

“Well I’m not. Can we cuddle?” he suddenly asks, and he must somehow feel the way you freeze in place because he stammers out a justification straight away. “For, I mean, just for warmth, you know. I don’t think I’ll sleep otherwise.”

His foot finds yours again and you can’t help but laugh. “Sure, fine,” you say with a sigh as if you were doing only half-heartedly for his sake. As if this was some big sacrifice you were making, and not something you’d daydreamed about one too many times before. 

Your heart is beating a thousand miles a second when you scooch closer to Jake, his hands finding your waist as easily as if they’d been there a hundred times before. He pulls you in much closer than you had expected, holding you tightly against his chest, one arm for you to use as a pillow and one hand resting on your lower back. You try to calm your respiration so that he can’t hear how short of breath you are, but based on his own breathing, he seems to be out in five minutes. It takes you longer to fall asleep, every shift of his body sending shivers down your spine, but you manage to relax after some time, letting his warmth envelop you as you drift off to sleep.

--

The feeling of waking up with you in his arms is so unreal, Jake thinks he might still be dreaming.

He looks down at your peaceful sleeping face and can’t stop the smile that spreads on his lips. Jake always thinks you’re pretty, but this is a sight he particularly wants to commit to memory. He watches fondly as the bright sun rays of the early morning hit your face, making you scrunch your eyebrows and bury your face deeper against him. You grunt softly, and when he feels you shifting and stretching your legs, he pretends to fall asleep so you don’t catch him staring. It seems like you’ve raised your head, chin tilted towards him - if he’s lucky, you’re watching him “sleep” just like he did seconds ago.

He contains a smile at the joke that forms itself in his brain before shooting his eyes open, catching you off guard during what you thought was a private, secret moment. 

“Shit!” you yelp, practically jumping off of him and rolling onto the other side of the bed. He bursts into laughter, proud that his little prank was effective. Before you can scold him, he makes his way to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing your back against his chest. He thinks he feels your body tense; but then you bring your hand over his, swiping your thumb back and forth against his skin, and you relax in his hold. “You’re so annoying,” you complain, but your voice is tender, almost weak.

He buries his face in your hair, trying not to be too loud when he inhales there. “Sorry,” he says, the smile evident in his voice. “The opportunity was right there. Caught you staring, huh?”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Jake is more than happy to enjoy this moment in silence, but there’s something burning the tip of his tongue. It’s been there for a while now, but he thinks he’s finally found the right moment. “Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“There’s something I couldn’t tell you last night, but I feel oddly okay saying it right now. Are you listening?” 

“I am, yeah,” you say gently, voice so soft it caresses his skin and draws goosebumps from it.

His chest expands and falls with a deep, shaky breath. With your back right against it, he’s scared you’ll hear that his heart is beating faster than it should. “Bad news first?” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“Uh-oh.”

“There’s no roundabout way to say this, so here goes, I guess.” He takes another breath. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.” You tense in his embrace, and he waits for you to say something, anything before he continues.

“Oh,” is all you say. He hopes it’s a good oh - even if it isn’t, he doesn’t let it deter him.

“Yeah. I really debated telling you this… I know you might not feel the same way. But I also know that if I don’t say anything and make the same mistake twice, I’ll beat myself up over it for the rest of my life.”

“The same mistake?” you ask, looking at him over your shoulder.

He gazes down at you tenderly, pushing hair away from your face with a gentle hand. “I already felt that way back when we lived in Australia. I was about to tell you but when I learned that I was moving, I didn’t wanna risk ruining the little time we had left together.”

The look on your face both breaks his heart and patches it up again. “Jakey…” you say, voice just a whisper. You turn around to face him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. The fact that you’re not saying much is making his stomach twist in agonising stress, but he takes it as a good sign that you’re still holding him tight and not running away.

“I think I’d be the luckiest guy on Earth if you felt the same way,” he says, hopefulness clear in his voice. 

And then he finally hears the words he’s been dying to hear all these years. “Of course, I feel the same way, Jake,” you say, eyes meeting his. “This isn’t bad news at all, it’s like, the best possible news ever.”

It takes him a few seconds, but when your words sink in, a bright smile graces his features. He feels tears coming up - tears of relief that you feel the same way, of sadness that it took the both of you so long to get here, of happiness that something new might start - he’s not sure. Perhaps everything at once.

“Of course?” he echoes, smiling wildly. “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

“Oh, gosh,” you murmur, burying yourself into him once more. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

He tightened his hold around you, bringing you to him as close as physically possible. “Me neither.”

The feeling of you tangling your bare legs with his and bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt in your fist awakens something in him - he had been in his head, thanking the heavens that you loved him back, reeling from his belated confession, but he was now very aware of his body. And of yours. He was reminded of Jay telling him to kiss you - although he hadn’t needed to go there to reveal his feelings to you, it was still a possibility. It was even more so now that he knew you felt the same way. 

He tries to be subtle as he brushes a hand up your back to the nape of your neck, gently grazing his fingernails against the skin there. He has to suppress a self-satisfied smirk when he feels you squirm under his touch, lifting your head to fix him with a scolding look. Your stern expression fades as soon as his eyes fall on your lips, however, and you quickly mirror his gaze. His lips part, and he feels his whole body shake as he takes a deep breath in. Who knew that you’d share your first kiss on a random Sunday morning in the fuckass middle of nowhere in Scotland?

Maybe you take pity on him, or you recognise the effort put into being the one to make the first move, or, as he’d like to think, you just really want to kiss him - either way, you’re the one who closes the gap and presses your lips to his.

Your lips. So soft, so delicate against his, absolutely perfect. It’s a simple, tentative touch, but he’s craved it for so long that it makes his head spin. He frowns, despite himself instantly needing more than this feather-like feeling of your lips brushing against each other. His mind tells him to calm down and take it slow, but his body takes over, urging him to grab the nape of your neck a little harder, to hold you a little closer to him, to kiss you a little stronger. Thankfully, you let him do all of this and more, hands finding purchase in his hair and returning his intensity tenfold. 

He doesn’t know what’s better - the fact that you’re kissing him or the kiss itself. The way your lips move against his is intoxicating; it wraps itself around its mind and leaves no room for thoughts that aren’t of you. You seem to want him as desperately as he wants you, to have waited for him as long as he did for you, and this is what drives him crazy. You press your body against his and he sees stars; you let out a moan against his lips and he kisses you deeper, ready to do anything to hear that melody again. 

Unfortunately, the only melody he gets to hear is that of his phone alarm, informing you that it’s quarter to eleven and that you have fifteen minutes to leave. Check-out at eleven am had sounded nice yesterday; now, he would stay in this dingy inn his whole life if it meant he got to keep kissing you. 

The both of you reluctantly break apart, bursting into giddy laughter when your eyes meet. As said before, Jake always thinks you’re pretty, but with your pupils blown and your lips plump from kissing, this might just be the prettiest he’s ever seen you. 

“You know, I like you a lot, but I’d like you even more if you could stop time,” you say.

He looks down at you with a smile, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen on your face. “Sure, I’ll learn how to control time for you.”

“Thanks, Jakey.” You peck his lips, lingering, and he closes his eyes to savour your sweetness. 

“Anything for you, baby.” His eyes widen at the nickname slip, but you erupt into giggles.

“Baby?”

“Would you look at the time, we really got to go,” he says, detangling his limbs from yours. He pauses for a second. “Baby,” he repeats, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before bouncing from the bed.

You get ready together, and the mundane tasks of stripping sheets from a bed and packing bags become the funnest things he’s ever done. You’re all over each other, attacking the other with kisses and hugs; Jake doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this happy. 

And this is only the beginning.

--

There’s a glint in the receptionist’s eyes when you check out of your room, as if she knew something you and Jake had been oblivious to all along. It’s the only one in town, so you go back to the little pub for a full breakfast with eggs, hash browns, haggis, and sausages. You get coffee so strong you think you might not sleep for the next four days, while Jake drinks tea that is equal parts sugar, milk, and actual tea.

From the moment you leave the pub to the moment you arrive at your doorstep, Jake’s hands barely leave yours. When they have to, like when you’re searching for the perfect seat on the train or when the controller checks your tickets, they’re back together within a minute, like two magnets that can’t stay apart for too long. The rain has long subsided, leaving place to a bright blue sky and wet blades of grass that shine in the sun. 

Now that your mutual feelings don’t need to be kept secret, you tell each other about everything you had to go through, like you pretending your good news was your mum having baked the cookies Jake liked and him seeing your new boyfriends every two months on your close friends story. He tells you about all the hints he’s dropped, causing you to facepalm over and over again. It feels like two friends catching each other to speed on all the latest gossip, except the topic of that gossip is you.

The juxtaposition of your familiarity with Jake with the novelty of behaving like a couple, of not having to hold back with your touches or gazes or words, is nothing if not jarring. But you have a feeling you’ll get used to it in no time. 

As you unlock the front door to your building, you don’t ask him if he’s coming up - to you, it’s a given that you’ll be spending the rest of today and every day after that together. So when he doesn’t follow you, staying still on the threshold, you turn around with a questioning look on your face. 

“There’s something I need to do this afternoon,” he says, taking both of your hands in his.

“Can’t I come with?” you say. Jake wavers for a second, but sadly, he stays firm in his decision.

“Sorry, baby, it’s a surprise. I’ll be back at seven with takeout?”

You can’t possibly be mad at him when he calls you baby and offers food in the same breath. “Only if you bring takeout.”

“You only love me because I feed you, don’t you?” he asks, a smile on his face.

“Yup,” you reply. You’re standing on a step, so you bend down to kiss him - you intend for it to be a peck, but when your lips touch, you’re unable to pull away. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips on yours, in the warmth that takes over your body and makes your brain all fuzzy. 

A loud, affronted gasp from behind you makes you jump from Jake, and when you turn around, Chaewon and Yunjin are standing in the stairwell, staring at you with wide eyes and gaping mouths. 

“So this was a sexcapade?” is, much to your horror, the first thing Yunjin says.

Thanks to Chaewon, neither you nor Jake have the time to dwell on this sentence as she comes running down the stairs and pounces on you. You don’t know how a woman so small can have such force, but her hug is so tight you can barely breathe, let alone hug her back properly. “I knew you could do it!” she exclaims. When she pulls away, she seems so moved, it looks like she’s about to cry. “You finally popped your Jake cherry,” she whispers, but it’s loud enough for Jake to hear. A bark of laughter escapes his throat.

“Okay, thanks, guys,” you say, escaping this awkward situation and going up the stairs. “I’ll see you later, Jake!” you yell over your shoulder. The girls seem to be on their way out, and you’re more than happy leaving him to deal with them on his own. God knows you’ll get the worst of it when they come back. 

As soon as you get to your flat, you make a beeline for your bedroom, plopping on the bed. You’re the same person, and this is the same room. But something within you feels entirely different, like a scar that you had been carrying around had, without you even noticing, healed so well you could barely see it anymore. You lifted your hands in the air, looked at the back of them, then at your palms. They were the same old hands that had been with you your whole life, and you were almost shocked that there wasn’t something utterly different about them after having held Jake’s hand for so long. Just to be sure, you sniffed your right hand, but it didn’t smell any different, either. But you still felt Jake’s hand on yours, like headphones you’d been wearing for hours and still felt on your ears after taking them off.

Yunjin and Chaewon are back from their shopping half-an-hour later; they got you a chocolate fudge cake from Tesco to congratulate you. “You guys are acting like this is my birthday…” you say, eyeing the cake greedily as Chaewon cuts it into three equal parts (even though it says serves eight on the packaging). 

“This is more important than your birthday, Y/N,” Yunjin states as she pours oat milk into three cups of Earl Grey tea. “This is, like, the moment of a lifetime.”

“Are you saying a girl’s importance depends on her having a boyfriend?”

“Yes, Y/N, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Especially when said boyfriend is the guy she’s been pining after for all of her teenage and adult life.”

You sigh. “Well, he hasn’t exactly popped the boyfriend and girlfriend question yet.” They both turn to look at you, an annoyed look on their faces. You stand up straight, uncomfortable under their gazes. “What?”

“Usually, I’m all for clarity on this issue,” Chaewon starts. “But isn’t it pretty obvious here?”

“You’re still gonna have to tell us everything in minute detail, but Jake’s already told us what happened. He had no qualms referring to you as his girlfriend, so I really don’t think this is something you need to worry about. What you should worry about is when and where you’re going to hop on that dick.”

Chaewon bursts into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit. “Gosh, Yunjin, you really do have a way with words.”

“I know. This is what having a Jane Austen hyperfixation at fifteen will do to you.”

Following Yunjin’s orders, you tell them about the events of the previous day and this morning over tea and cake. They ooh and ah and gasp in all the right places, ask you very specific questions and even make you draw a picture of the room you stayed in. You’ve talked to them about Jake so many times that there’s only so much to say now - but still, you talk for hours on end, deviating off-topic so often you end up talking about something else entirely. 

You’re in bed reading for your Middle English Literature class when the doorbell rings. It’s seven on the dot, so it can be no one else other than Jake. It’s been mere hours, but you’ve missed him enough to last you for weeks. 

He brought takeaway from the Indian place you’d raved about a hundred times but hadn’t brought him to yet. Somehow, your heart grows even fonder as you watch his reaction to the food, the raise of his eyebrows, the widening of his eyes, the excited shimmy of his shoulders. When you ask him about his afternoon, a wide smile breaks out onto his face, like a lightbulb illuminating a room. Without a word, he scurries to your room, bringing back some sort of book with him. He hands it to you  with a shy smile and curious eyes, eagerly anticipating your reaction. The cover reads Y/N and Jake in his clumsy but endearing handwriting, with the date of his arrival in Edinburgh and an em-dash scribbled underneath. “I haven’t booked my flight home yet, so I’ll add the second date later,” he explains. 

When you flick through it, you’re met with photographs of you and Jake on all of the trips you’ve done so far, as well as the various adventures you got up to in the city. There’s even one of you sleeping in the library at two am during midterms when you had forgotten about one of your essays, due at midday. Jake had come with coffee and words of encouragement, and now he could brag that the high mark you got was thanks to him. It’s not only photos - it’s also ticket stubs, receipts, stickers, and even a dried flower you had found pretty on your trip to St. Andrews. He’s also written quite a lot, from diary-like entries about what you got up to that day or songs that reminded him of you. 

“You misspelt right here,” you say, pointing to a sentence that reads This is the café write next to the hotel where the last Harry Potter book is said to have been written!!! under a photo of you drinking a massive cup of hot chocolate. The more you look at the typo, the more it makes you laugh, until you have tears brimming in your eyes.

Thanks to Yunjin’s messiness, pens and pencils are strewn over your coffee table. Jake, flushed red in embarrassment at the small mistake, snatches a pencil and aggressively erases write, spelling it correctly the second time around. “This is the level of today’s English Lit undergrads,” he murmurs under his breath. His frown disappears when he looks at you and he laughs along.

You continue looking through the album until you land on a page titled Why I love Y/N. From top to bottom, left to right, it’s filled with Jake’s tiny handwriting. You can tell he put effort into making it neat. There’s a singular photograph of you, one that dates from the first days after Jake’s arrival when you were walking around in the Meadows, the park right next to campus. The sun shone down on you and you smiled brightly at Jake behind the camera.  

You’re not a quarter through reading when tears swell in your eyes, rendering your vision blurry. You wipe them away before they can fall and stain the page. Jake has detailed every last thing he loves about you. It can hardly get cornier than this, but the fact that he wrote this about you makes your heart so full, you’re afraid it might explode in your chest. It ranges from basic things like the way she makes me laugh or her pretty face when she falls asleep in the train (or anywhere, for that matter) to more you-specific things like the strict pastel colour-coding she uses for her notes and her perseverance when eating spicy food even though she can’t take it. He mentions things about you that you didn’t even know, and that feeling of being known in-and-out, of being really seen by someone else only brings more tears to your eyes. Your favourite line comes at the end - the way she makes any place feel like home. A proper sob pushes past your lips at this, and Jake, who had been watching you with an anxious smile, rests a palm on your knee and inches closer to you.

“Why are you crying, is- Did I write something bad?”

You shake your head fervently. “No, no, Jakey, this is… It’s perfect. I’m just…” you trail, letting out a half-sob, half-chuckle. You look at him with a smile before pulling him into a tight hug. “I love it so much. I love you so much.”

You can feel Jake relax against you. “I love you too, baby. I’m glad you like it.”

You pull away after a small while, and turn the next page over. It’s a picture of you over breakfast this morning, with words WE’RE DATING!!!! written underneath it, and those simple words make you so happy, your cheeks ache from smiling. But every page after that is empty. Jake scratches the back of his neck. “I, um, I thought we could fill the rest out together. I debated just doing it myself and giving it to you at the end of the year, but I thought it’d be more fun doing it together.”

“It would. This is such an amazing idea,” you say, flicking back through the pages.

“I thought of it because of that project I had. When I started working on it, all the photos I wanted to include were of you, but I wasn’t sure how much my professor would appreciate that… So I decided to make one more personal. One for us,” he says shyly, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“Thank you so much, Jakey.”

He smiles. “It’s no worries.”

“Did you do it all this afternoon?”

“I had started it before, but I added it most of today, yeah. Which, by the way, awful timing. I wanted nothing more than to spend today with you.”

Your heart leaps. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to hearing such words from Jake’s mouth.

Sometime later, you’re laying in bed with Jake between your legs, watching the most recent animated Spiderman movie. With the tips of your fingers, you draw random patterns on his forearm, and if it wasn’t for his occasional chuckles, you’d think he had fallen asleep. You chat for a bit after the movie, but you find that after such an emotionally-packed day, you’re ready to call it a night fairly early. But when the lights are off and it’s just you lying against Jake’s chest, his fingernails grazing your scalp and his familiar, comforting scent clouding your judgement, all thoughts of an early night are thrown out of the window.

You shouldn’t feel so nervous - you had fallen asleep in his arms last night, and it had gone well. Really well. 

“This is different from yesterday, isn’t it?” Jake suddenly says, breaking the heavy silence with a low voice. It’s like he read your mind.

“Yeah,” you whisper against his skin.

No other words are needed. You brush the tip of your nose along his neck until you reach his jawline, pressing soft kisses there and delighting in the increasing shakiness of his breath. The feeling of your lips meeting is so intense, so all-encompassing, that you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle anything more.

This is still new territory, but you’re both so eager to discover it that it makes for a messy kiss, lips moving against each other ravenously, tongues beckoning moans from the other. It’s a kiss that somehow leaves you breathless and breathes oxygen back into your lungs at once. 

In a matter of seconds, Jake has flipped you on your back and is hovering over you, one hand holding him up and one hand free to roam your body. He slips it underneath your t-shirt, brushes it along the side of your waist, his touch leaving behind a trail of fire blazing on your skin. It’s so distracting, you can’t even kiss him back properly anymore. Jake doesn’t seem to mind. At first, when he starts pressing hot kisses to your jawline and your neck, you think he’s giving you a respite - but when he gently sinks his teeth into the skin there, leaving marks that will later remind you tonight wasn’t a dream, chuckling as you squirm and whine under him, you understand that this is anything but a respite. 

You curse your earlier decision of not wearing a bra, because it gives you no preparation whatsoever to the sensation of Jake brushing his thumb against one of your nipples. With a loud gasp, your back arches off of the bed, which only aids Jake in raising your t-shirt up over your breasts. 

He takes a minute to admire the sight of you panting and half-naked underneath him. It makes you feel shy, and you want to do something so that he stops looking and starts doing, but his gaze holds you in place. His pupils are blown with lust, eyes raking over your body and taking everything in. You have a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that it’s you he’s looking at with those eyes. 

His soft lips attach themselves to your nipple while his fingers continue their work on the other one. You’ve never felt this sensitive, never felt this on edge, like you might fall apart at any second even with so little simulation. Your core throbs, impatiently waiting to be tended to, but you’re already trembling so hard from Jake’s attention to your breasts that you don’t know what will happen to you once he actually touches you down there.

“You doing okay, baby?” he asks, the rasp in his voice making you want him impossibly more. You grip his hair and he looks up at you, a tender smile on his lips. You nod your head yes and he laughs. “Yeah? You want more?” You pause at his question. You do want more, but is it worth your sanity?

It takes you a second to decide that it’s worth that and more. You nod again. 

Jake seems to have sensed your hesitation. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I am. It’s just a lot.”

His expression of worry softens into a smile. “I’ll take it slow for you, love. It’s a lot for me, too.” He leans in to press soft kisses to your cheek, and some of the tension in your body diffuses. Whatever happens, Jake will be there to take care of you. “But it feels good, right?” he asks, lips moving against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“So good, Jakey,” you reply shakily.

“Good.”

You can tell that Jake really does want to take it slow - his movements are more deliberate, gentler. But eagerness, both yours and his, soon takes over, and a minute later, he’s trailing kisses down your body until he reaches your lower stomach. Your breath quickens as he hooks fingers underneath your leggings and underwear, sliding both garments down your legs and leaving you bare to him. You think the feeling of his lips on the fleshy parts of your inner thighs is what might actually do you in, make you lose your sense of reality forever - but then his tongue darts out against your clit, a barely-there touch, and your whole body flatlines. 

Your reaction eggs Jake on, who, more confident now, takes the sensitive bud in his lips and alternates between sucking and licking motions. A knot ties itself embarrassingly quickly in your stomach, a knot that tightens and tightens as Jake flattens his tongue against you, licking up your juices from your entrance to your clit; a knot that threatens to come loose when he slides a long finger inside of you. You can’t take more than thirty seconds of this.

“Jakey,” you say, voice practically a moan. Your brain is fuzzy and it takes a distressing amount of time to form a simple sentence. “Can you come here?”

“Is something wrong, baby?” he asks breathily, sliding his finger out of you and coming back up so that his face is right above yours. 

“No, just… I want you.”

Any trace of worry on Jake’s features dissipates as he cocks an eyebrow, one corner of his lips tugging up into a smirk. “Is that so?”

This kind of boldness would usually have you rolling your eyes, but here, it only makes your core throb more violently. It’s almost humiliating how much you want this man. It’s definitely humiliating, how easy it is to swallow your pride and play into his game. “Yes, please,” you say, eyes pleading with him.

He smiles almost giddily before burying his face against the side of yours. “My baby’s so polite,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Take this off, then,” you say, grabbing the bottom hem of his t-shirt. 

“So she says please and gives orders,” he jokes, quickly obliging anyway. 

Not once in your time apart had Jake posted any sort of beach trip or pool photos, so this was the first time you saw his bare chest. God, was it one for the history books. You trace the defined lines of his muscles with a finger and wonder how he had managed to get even more perfect. He lets you marvel at him for it, clearly proud that you’re gawking so shamelessly, but your mind drifts back to more urgent matters when he presses himself into you, his clothed cock, hard and hot, brushing against your folds. “Fuck,” you sigh, bucking your hips into his to feel him over and over again.

It’s so much, but it’s not enough; Jake instantly gets your message when you hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, pulling him to you and kissing him feverishly. Your lips don’t part as he slides his boxers off, and you drink up the nectar that are his moans as you take him in your hand, pumping him a few times.

“Condom?” he asks, but you shake your head.

“I’m on the pill. And even so… I usually always use a condom, but I don’t want to now. Not with you.”

Jake closes his eyes as he takes a deep, stabilising breath. “I feel totally normal about that. Not crazy at all.”

You giggle, and he opens his eyes, a wide smile gracing his lips before he bends down to kiss you. “You ready for the night of your life?” he asks against your lips. “It’s gonna last five minutes, tops,” he says, making you laugh again. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t do anything about it. I think I could’ve cum just from eating you out.”

“That would’ve been hot.”

“Really? We’ll make it a challenge for next time, then.”

When Jake plunges into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He fills you up, slow inch by slow inch, until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. You both need some time getting used to the feeling - Jake drops his head in the crook of your neck and lets out a sound between a grunt and a moan, something you’ve never heard from him before. You grab onto his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as you try to tether yourself to him. You hold him so tight that he has no choice but to let his body rest on top of yours, his arms coming to circle your waist and bring you even closer. 

His movements start out halting, the pleasure so overwhelming that it makes it hard for him to move steadily. In time, he falls into a torturously slow rhythm, but it’s the perfect kind of torture, the kind that has tears brimming in your eyes. It’s so hard to take, and yet you want more. You’re brought closer to the edge with every thrust of his dick into you, especially as he picks up the pace and lifts your hips to meet his. The new angle has his tip brushing against that spot deep inside you that makes it hard to breathe. 

You can tell he’s just as close as you when he loses that steady rhythm he had found, his motions growing more desperate, harsher, quicker. Conscious of your roommates, you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as your orgasm washes over you, your whole body on fire, so sensitive that the few more seconds Jake needs to come undone himself drive both your body and your mind into overstimulation. Even the feeling of him pulling out, drops of hot liquid dripping out of your entrance, is too much and makes you let out a small, tired whine. 

Jake peppers your face with kisses as he holds your waist tightly, brushing his thumb back-and-forth on your warm skin, sticky with sweat. “You did so well, baby. So good for me.” You think you might be ready for a second round if he keeps talking to you like that. “I love you so much.”

You sigh deeply, as if you were just told disconcerting news. “Okay.”

“Okay?!” he echoes, looking up at you with an outraged expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, I love you too, I just- I’m not used to this yet! You can’t just tell me you love and expect me to be normal. You have to warn me first.”

“Can I just warn you now that I’m going to tell you I love you every time I get the chance?”

You sigh. “I guess.” 

“Can I tell you now?” he asks, and you hum. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Jake tuts. “I highly doubt it, but whatever makes you happy.”

You hold Jake close to you, one arm around his shoulders and the other hand playing with his hair as you come down from your high. You think he might’ve fallen asleep, and you’re close to drifting off yourself when he speaks. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Not just the sex, although that has been on my mind for a while now,” he says, making you laugh, “but all of this. Being together, getting to be in your arms like this, kissing you whenever I want. Calling you my girlfriend.”

“Me too, Jakey. I waited so long I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

Jake chuckles. “How stupid were we not to have noticed we felt the same way?”

“Very stupid. I think we felt so sorry for ourselves that we were stuck in one-sided love, that we didn’t even realise the other was going through the exact same thing. But at least we’re now.”

“At least we’re here now.” You and Jake yawn at the exact same time, making you burst into giggles, giddy with sleep and love.

“Let’s sleep, baby,” you say.

Jake hums, burying himself deeper against your body. “Sleep well, my love. I’ll be here.”

--

After years of pining after each other, you and Jake find it a bit hard to keep your relationship to yourselves, or your hands off of each other.

At the beginning, all of your friends had been happy for you, but that quickly went away when your and Jake’s honeymoon phase never died down and the PDA just kept on going. If the glue you were stuck with previously was metaphorical, this one was pretty close to being real. Superglue kept you together, your moments together rarely spent without some sort of physical touch. Yunjin fake-gagged so often, you were afraid she might actually vomit one of these days. It took Sunghoon two weeks longer than everyone else to clock you and Jake had started dating.

This meant that in private, there was truly no holding back. Jake back-hugged you any chance he got, to the point you started to think he was more koala than human - although that’d imply he saw you as a tree. Make-out sessions were a particular favourite of yours - how could they not be when your boyfriend’s lips seemed to have been carved by God himself, soft and plump to the heavens, like they were made to be kissed. Really, you were just honouring God’s will when you kissed Jake.  

The goodbye that comes at the end of the year is not an easy one, and the month spent at home before you fly to Korea seems to never end. But you get there eventually, and as nice as it is to catch up with Jake’s parents after so long, you feign sleepiness after lunch as an excuse to get some time alone with your boyfriend. Ironically, this “time alone” is spent so intensely that you do end up falling asleep afterwards. 

You have to admit, you really did a number on your boyfriend this time - what can a girl do when she missed her boyfriend this much? Jake is still passed out when you wake up from your nap, so you slip out as discreetly as you can from his embrace and get out of bed. You head for the closet first and swipe the comfiest looking sweater of his that you find there so you can stay warm as you look around his room. A pang of melancholia hits your chest - most of the pictures and objects on his walls and shelves are parts of his life you weren’t around to witness. Friends you don’t recognize, places you’ve never heard of, phases you’d never known he’d gone through. But then you see the frame on his desk, a faded photo of the two of you at ten years of age, eating ice cream on the bench outside of your house. Milo is sitting at your feet. Jake’s family hadn’t adopted Layla yet. You realise that even if there’s whole parts of your life you didn’t get to share with each other, nothing could touch your memories, or your future.

You want to go back in time and tell fourteen-year-old you that no matter how painful it might seem at the moment, it will all be worth it for the sight of Jake Sim slowly drifting into wakefulness, patting the bed next to him, and noticing you’re missing with furrowed eyebrows. When he opens his eyes and they settle on you, a sleepy smile will grace his dazzling features, and he’ll say, “Come back to bed.”

You’ll be even more in love at twenty than at fourteen.

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[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee

fluffy Joel drabble to help clear my head. I was a barista for 8+ years and loved my regulars, so this is like a little slice of my life when I worked for a family owned coffee shop in the downtown of a city. Hope you enjoy! lmk if you want a ptII cause im thinking hot car sex w these two after their first date.

Inspired by that tlou (game) scene where Ellie asks if Joel used to go to coffee shops, and he admits, ‘All the time.’ And when she asks what he would order, he says, ‘Coffee, just coffee’ 

Vanilla latte, iced—extra pump of vanilla, three pumps of caramel, swirl, whipped cream. Chai latte, soy milk—hot, extra hot. Cold brew with sweet cream, shot of peppermint. London Fog—extra foamy, not too hot.

"Coffee. Just coffee."

You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.

“Comin’ right up,” you smiled, ringing him up as he slid a few ones into your very, very empty tip jar.

‘Just Coffee’ guy settled at the small bar along the window, joining the usual morning stragglers—people who took their time with their warm mugs, occasionally ordering a bagel or a scone to go with it. He sat next to your crossword regular, an older gentleman who always had a puzzle in front of him, filling in the blanks with unwavering confidence. Always pen, never pencil.

You left them to it, but your eyes drifted toward ‘Just Coffee’ now and then, making sure his mug wasn’t too low, wasn’t getting too cold.

The morning flew by in a blur of orders and chatter, the shop filling and emptying in waves. By the time you checked back on ‘Just Coffee’ guy, he was gone.

A pang of disappointment sat low in your stomach. You wished you would’ve gotten him talking—he had that air about him, the kind of presence that carried stories. The people who sat at your bar top, the ones who weren’t rushing in and out for their nine-to-five caffeine fix, were always the most interesting.

You were surprised to see him the next day. A smile lifted at his lips as he stepped up in line, cash at the ready in his large, dirt-greased hands. A man who worked manual labor, clearly.

"Coffee," he said, his twang deep and velvety. "Just coffee, miss."

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing him a warm mug of your house roast as he took his new usual seat at the bar.

"Dammit—" the man next to him muttered, scratching his chin with the tip of his pen. Steve, your crossword regular. Under his nose, the day’s puzzle sat partially filled in, his brow furrowed in frustration. “What in the hell is the ‘process of leveling or smoothing wet concrete’? Seven letters?" He called your name, exasperated. "You got any idea?”

"Steve, if I knew anything about construction, I’d be way further along on my home improvement projects," you called over the hiss of the milk frother.

"Screedin’ is the word you’re lookin’ for, I think."

‘Just Coffee’ spoke casually, like it was second nature, his voice rolling low behind the lip of his mug. Steve blinked at him, like he hadn’t even realized the man was there, his wide eyes darting between him and the crossword.

"I think that might just work! How do ya spell that now? S-C-R-E—"

"S-C-R-E-E-D-I-N-G," ‘Just Coffee’ said slowly, the drawl thick and steady as the letters tumbled off his tongue.

You smiled to yourself, glancing his way. Knew he had to be manual labor. But before you could turn and ask him about it, he was already stepping off the stool, giving a quick nod of thanks, and heading for the door.

A couple of ones landed next to his empty mug—more than the cost of his coffee.

He didn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

By the fourth morning, you caught yourself lingering by the bar, staring at the empty stool where he sat. The coffee shop was just as busy, orders coming in waves, regulars dropping their change into the tip jar, Steve grumbling over his crossword. But something was missing.

You’d gotten used to those hazel eyes meeting yours across the counter, the quiet weight of his presence. The way his dark, unruly hair framed his face, always a little windswept, a little messy, like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a long shift. His hands—rough, calloused, dirt still lingering in the creases—wrapped steady around a warm coffee mug.

It had only been a handful of mornings, but somehow, he’d settled into your routine like he belonged there.

And now, the absence of him gnawed at you in a way that surprised you.

You should’ve asked him his damn name.

By the sixth day, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. He was just another customer, just a passing figure who needed a caffeine fix before moving on. Maybe he found a different coffee spot. Maybe he’d never been the type to stick around anyway.

But on the seventh morning, as you wiped down the counter, movement by the door caught your eye.

You turned, heart kicking up against your ribs.

There he was.

Another worn flannel, same dirt-streaked hands, same heavy-lidded gaze scanning the shop like he hadn’t been gone for a week. And when those hazel eyes finally landed on you, a flicker of something warm and familiar crossed his face.

You pushed off the counter before you could stop yourself.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” you said, trying to sound casual, but you knew he could hear the lilt of amusement in your voice.

“How are ya, miss?” he drawled, stepping up to the counter, cash already in hand. “Been busy.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way his fingers curled around the worn bills. “Let me guess—coffee, just coffee?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You got it.”

As you poured, you finally asked the question that had been itching at you since the first day he walked in.

“You got a name, or am I just supposed to keep callin’ you ‘Just Coffee’ forever?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you.

“Joel,” he said.

You smiled, setting his mug down in front of him. “Well, Joel—hope you don’t disappear on me again.”

His fingers brushed the warm ceramic as he settled onto his usual stool. “Jobs come and go, just depends on the day, hunny.”

Hunny. It was damn near like honey dripping from his tongue in that slow drawl, thick and warm. The way it rolled off his lips curled low in your belly, heating your cheeks as you turned to the next customer, hoping to God he didn’t notice.

The middle of the week was always slow, which worked in your favor today. By the time the morning rush faded, you found yourself wiping down the counters, clearing dishes near the bar, and finally getting the chance to ask Joel about his life.

You rinsed out a mug, letting the warm water run over your fingers as you glanced toward him. He was nursing his coffee slow, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting loose on the bar. His posture was easy, relaxed, but you could tell there was something there, something deep in his bones that he carried.

"So, what kinda jobs come and go?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joel glanced up from his mug, considering you for a moment. “Construction, mostly," he said, rolling his shoulders like the very word made them ache. "Been a contractor for years—fixin' up places, layin’ concrete, buildin’ what needs buildin'.”

Figures. Those arms—strong, steady—the kind that looked like they knew the weight of real work. His hands were large, rough and calloused, the kind you’d feel long after they touched you. But, Joel was a customer. You weren’t thinking that, of course not.

"Guess that explains why you knew the crossword answer last week," you teased, tossing the rag over your shoulder. "Steve still talks about it like you pulled magic outta thin air."

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Man’s usin’ a pen for a crossword, and I’m the one impressin’ him?"

You grinned, leaning against the bar. "Hey, knowledge is power around here, Joel."

He let out a quiet hmm and took another sip of his coffee.

Before you could press further, the bell above the door jingled, and you got up hastily to take the newcomer’s order.

“Don’t worry about him,” Joel called over, sitting up straighter, setting down his coffee mug as his gaze flicked toward the man.

He stepped inside, his dark hair long, face clean-shaven, dimples deepening as he took in the scene. Something unspoken passed between the two of them—something that made it hard to tell if they were coworkers, friends, or something else entirely.

Then the man clapped Joel on the shoulder, grinning wide, “So this is what you’ve been ditchin’ the mornin’ crew for, huh, big brother?”

Your brows lifted. Brother.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, eyes narrowing with obvious irritation, but his posture remained loose—like he was used to this, used to him.

“What ya got for me, Tommy?” he asked.

You barely had a second to process before Tommy’s attention shifted to you. His gaze swept over you, warm and playful, before he leaned a little too comfortably against the bar, ignoring his brother.

“Well now,” he drawled, flashing you a grin that could probably talk its way out of a speeding ticket, “if I knew this was the kinda place Joel was sneakin’ off to, I would’ve tagged along a whole lot sooner.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smile. “And here I thought he just liked my coffee.”

Tommy let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “Can’t say I blame him, darlin’.”

Joel let out a long, long sigh, already done with whatever this was turning into. He stood, tugging his jacket over his broad shoulders before clapping a firm hand on Tommy’s back—firm like a warning.

“C’mon,” Joel muttered, steering him toward the door.

Tommy let himself be dragged, but not without a final wink in your direction. “I’ll be seein’ you around, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as Joel shoved him out the door with far more force than necessary, the bell jingling wildly as they disappeared outside.

Joel glanced back once, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the last two minutes of his life before heading off into the distance.

You just smiled, shrugging as you wiped down the counter.

But things changed after that morning.

Tommy only needed to step through the damn door before Joel was tensing at the bar, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his coffee suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. He continued to show up every morning, still ordered just coffee, still sat in his usual spot—but now, his eyes lingered on you more.

And now, he stayed just a little longer.

Not by much, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

You noticed how his gaze flicked toward you between sips, how his fingers tapped idly against his mug whenever you laughed at something a customer said.

His brother joined him more too. You noticed the way he cut Tommy off real quick anytime his brother got a little too comfortable leaning against the counter, that exasperated “Tommy” carrying a warning underneath it.

And you noticed how his tips got just a little bigger after that morning, a couple extra bills tucked under his mug like an unspoken thank you.

So when a week passed—no sign of Tommy this time, no interruptions, just Joel sitting at your bar—you wondered if today might be different.

And it was.

Because today, as you cleared a dish from the counter, Joel cleared his throat. Not the casual kind, not the I’m just readjusting in my seat kind.

The nervous kind.

You glanced up, brows lifting. “What’s eatin’ ya, Joel?”

Joel exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Just—uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “You, uh… ever eat anywhere that ain’t this place?”

Your lips twitched. “You askin’ if I leave my own coffee shop, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, clearly close to regretting whatever he was doing, but he powered through.

“I’m askin’ if you’d wanna get somethin’ to eat. When your shift is done.” He finally met your gaze, voice a little gruffer than usual, but there was something hesitant in his expression—like he was braced for you to shut him down, “With me.”

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossing as you took your time, letting him sit in it for a second. Watching the way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, how he resisted the urge to shift under your gaze.

Then you smiled. “Are you asking me out?”

His eyes flicked away, like he really hated how direct you were, but you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Then, after a pause—“That…a problem?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Not at all.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against his mug. “Good.”

You grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbling something before sliding it across the counter. “Then you’re gonna need my number.”

He eyed it, then you, something unreadable in his gaze before he finally, finally reached for it. His fingers brushed yours as he folded the napkin, tucking it into his pocket without another word.But you swore—swore—you saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took another slow sip of his coffee.

[missydior]

love letters ౨ৎ

notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to lovers, humour, fluff, confessions, this is both a smau & written piece.

a/n: one of my favourite tropes ever: guilty. this feels a little messy but I had a lot of fun writing it.

౨ৎ

liked by friendusername, charlesleclerc and 313,983 others

yourusername: hello from the birthday girl here <3 thank you so much for all of the kind messages, wishes & gifts. sending lots of love

3,122 comments

friendusername: happy bday to our favourite girl ever 🍰🫶🏼

yourusername: 🤍🤍🤍

user1: happy birthday to our favourite paddock princessss

charlesleclerc: did you like the cake I bought you then, or?

yourusername: I loved it until you threw half of it in my face

charlesleclerc: it tasted nicer that way

franciscagomes: bday girl !!

yourusername: i love youu

franciscagomes: i love you more 🤍

pierregasly: what about me?

franciscagomes: today is about y/n. shush.

౨ৎ

I. Your Birthday.

After hours spent with café au lait and too much maple syrup on pancakes in the morning with gift receiving and wishes, a quiet luncheon with those closest to your heart, enjoying the beauty of the shores and rosé champagne, evening eventually settles in a beautiful colour against the heavens of Monaco.

You have never been one for the dramatics or high attention of crowds, settling on an intimate celebratory affair amongst close friends and family: pretty dresses and glasses of Lavender French '75 or those strawberry daiquiris that Ésme is in love with; a sweet, favourite song heard in the background.

Charles arrives fashionably late, the collar of his white-linen shirt loosened and soft, dark-brunet hair slightly tousled as he comes near, the sight of a smile on his face you've always loved, dimples revealed.

There is a certain relief that comes with being graced by his presence, like you had been silently longing and waiting for his greeting before anybody else's, though you disguise it from any chance of teasing.

"(Y/N)," Your name rolls off his tongue like caramel, accentuated as he shifts to kiss both your cheeks in friendly affection before he chuckles at your expression, "Happy birthday." Mon ange.

"Thank you," You breathe, a laugh falling past your mouth at the sight of him in manifestation, inclining your head when you look at him through your lashes, "I was beginning to think you forgot."

"Forget? Me?" The Monegasque exclaims as though wounded, placing his hand to his chest though the smile about his sun-kissed visage never dissipates, stealing a nearby glass of champagne, "Never. I had some work to finish."

There is an edge of teasing beneath your looks, a dance of butterflies in your stomach when he touches the small of your back fleetingly as he shifts past with that signature wink of his, all friendly and humorous in years of friendship, and yet your heart stutters.

You almost say something else, confessions and thoughts that want to erupt from your chest like love letters you have never sent – certain it is merely the liquor fogging your judgement – but he's wandered away with a final promise before a syllable can come forth.

"Let me get the birthday girl a drink, oui?"

liked by franciscagomes and 311,646 others

yourusername: july with my favourite people <3

mentioned charlesleclerc, friendusername, franciscagomes and two others

1,354 comments

user1: literal angels

user2: second pic is definitely y/n and charles

friendusername: you still owe me another ice cream 🍨

yourusername: sorry bby, i’ll be at your front door with a double vanilla ice cream soon <3

franciscagomes: 🤍🤍

౨ৎ

II. At the beach.

Warm light kisses your skin like heavenly delight, a forgotten copy of Paris' Vogue beside where you are currently bathing with a finished strawberry lemonade, long lashes fluttering when you open your eyes to gaze at the skies above in the heat of July, a mosaic of white and cerulean about the Côte d'Azur.

Most of the others have momentarily departed for the nearby café for new sweet treats, though you are consciously aware of a half-dozing Charles Leclerc nearby against the slight flush down the bridge of his nose and eyelashes that ghost about his cheekbones where he is lying.

Pure bliss; perfect heaven.

"Charles?"

It takes him a second, the mention of his name rousing him to blink out of a hazy hint of a dream with the tilt of his chin towards the direction of your voice that calls to him like an angel's symphony, squinting against the haze of light before a lazy, boyish smile reveals his pearlescent teeth, "Mm?"

Shifting upright, consciously trying not to stare at him for too long though you have come to simply welcome and fall used to the sight of his naked chest, all smooth ridges and lean muscle, you absently adjust the ribbons of your pretty bikini and reach for sun cream.

"Do you think you could help me put some on my back, please?" You ask politely, offering him the item whilst shifting on your knees and gathering the edges of your hair over your shoulder that have fallen loose.

He does not respond initially, not until he's sat upright and shifted closer with a kind edge of a smile that dances across his face, "Oui."

Charles does not hesitate or take advantage of the circumstances, applying the fine lotion against the curve of your shoulders with gentle ministrations and lower down, fingertips feather-light, careful not to linger too long.

The act feels oddly intimate as you gaze towards the serene shores, like his touch is meant for the most secret parts of you, an unconscious shiver and the subtle arching of your vertebrae when he traces a particular area. Whether he notices or not, there is no indication given, instead continuing in a method that seems entirely platonic but leaves an ache in your stomach.

"Merci," You tell him once the deed is most finished and he draws away, shifting just enough to offer a look of him from the corner of your eye in a gratuitous smile.

You wonder if how his gaze lingers is the same way yours does, like a painting worth admiring or a flower in emergence, heart thrumming quicker under your sternum before the moment is broken when he clears his throat.

"Of course."

౨ৎ

III. A dinner.

Caffè Milano, a quaint but fanciful and warm establishment tucked in the quiet luxuries of Monaco's principality with its dancing chandeliers, oak-varnished furniture and beloved menu.

A semblance of familiarity, pleasantry and polished glasses clinking against the rhythm of conversation amongst friends in the warm afternoon: a lingering aroma of roses from the centrepiece décor neatly arranged and fine cuisine.

"– Non, I am not lying," Pierre is recounting a recent, humorous anecdote of experience, thumb idly tracing the edge of his wine glass whilst you and the others listen on, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how much you have laughed in the recent half-an hour, idly toying with the necklace resting at the hollow of your throat in common fashion.

"You are." Francisca frowns, albeit fondly.

Your concentration is removed from their talk when there is a subtle caress against the ankle bone, a touch beneath the furniture and a fleeting glance from your peripheral sight at the Monégasque beside you, all handsome smiles and that addictive song of laughter whilst a stray hair falls about his eyebrow, though he does not seem to show any degree of deliberation or notice that his shoe idly touches you there.

You have the urge to hold him, caress him, to press a thousand, butterfly kisses along his jaw and say something you should not. Instead, you continue to listen and nurse the last of your Château-Chalon.

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f1gossip: y/n at the grand prix this weekend <3 our paddock princess is back

mentioned yourusername

333 comments

user1: she looks divineee

user2: charles and y/n friends to lovers when?

user3: leave them alone, they’re just friends and have been since childhood

౨ৎ

IV. A balcony.

Charles had forgotten his keys somewhere and, until his dear brother could come and return them, you had offered the warmth of your welcomed apartment: all minimalist but homely in décor against a palette of cream, white and the like all complemented by paintings and furniture.

One hour had melted into two by the late afternoon with dusk's slow kiss, hints of lilac and grey in the edge of the skies, your cats curled contently on the plush chaise lounge and resting after endless affections from the Monégasque who seemed to be in love with them.

"Can I join you?"

The voice – honest and clear, albeit a fraction amused – is recognisable as you are drawn out of reverie on the balcony of rocaille motifs, gazing into quiet streets below and the nearby public gardens flourishing with flora, gnawing at your inner cheek as you look to the man where he leans against the threshold, a look in his eye that comes with a subtle indulgence after he stole your favourite bottle of rosé in the kitchenette.

"Of course, yes." Always.

He stands beside you, a few inches apart with his elbow resting against the intricate balustrade when he follows your dreamy stare for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. There is a comfort between the two of you, something you know must come from years of familiarity:

An seemingly endless, innocent youth that manifested in its complications as you aged and neared adolescence, like an evening primrose that flowers and sometimes falls apart, but always returns, even changing with senescence. With age.

You can feel his gaze, almost like an internal, silent imploration for your own, the edges of your fingers and nails polished in a rose quartz-esque varnish that glitters prettily in the evening, and his lips are parted just enough as if wanting to say something before they curve a little higher on the edges, his words hushed.

"Have you ever thought about love?"

Your eyebrows raise a fraction, though it is not so unexpected of a question and one that has been on the edge of your tongue since forever, even with the doubtful inkling that he has merely enjoyed too much wine.

"Sometimes," All of the time. You murmur, a soft, breathless chuckle following as you shrug and tilt your head upwards, gazing above like some wished answer or instruction from the angels or whoever listens, "Why do you ask?"

"Because," His response is delayed, though his answer is sincere and thoughtful like he has been thinking over his words since a time he can't remember until his fingertips touch your elbow fleetingly, "I can't stop thinking about it."

There is a moment, a single fragment, in which you meet his eyes, his touch is known and everything seems to pause like a finished painting, a still image in a history book: his hand, his body and his eyes – the colour of autumn, earth, hints of something else so unique to him.

"Charles, what are you saying?" You laugh softly, looking away momentarily and toying with the knitted wool of your soft cardigan with the kind of feigned indifference that comes with disguising truth, "I didn't think you were a romantic, who has caught your eye?"

For a moment, you wish he would say someone's name, a blessed girl that you have never heard of, so that you can deny your own feelings and settle on the painful reality that you are merely friends.

Instead, his gaze flickers, almost nervously, and a palm cradles the curve of your cheek and jaw with the hesitance of a man of conflicting considerations even when he tries to smile a little. "Please, forgive me."

There is not an instance given to allow any insistence or inquiry as Charles presses a kiss upon your mouth: it is not rushed and there is a desperation there that is not greedy, tasting the remnants of your lipstick and rosé, slow and methodical – longer when you indulge and welcome the feeling.

He does not draw away completely when the feeling ends, his forehead lightly pressed to yours and his touch a little firmer where his fingers curl into your hair, swallowing slowly as his eyes close for a moment until he dares meet your stare once more.

"(Y/N)?"

You smile.

"Je t'aime." There is something in his face you have never seen before, something raw and open like an unfurling rose revealing itself, and you know that your heart is his and his alone.

Another kiss with your prompting, fingertips tracing the soft cotton of his shirt near the shoulder until you drape arms about his shoulders, breathing him in with hints of raspberry, amber and cinnamon, "I love you."

There is poetry in his eyes like those unsent love letters shoved under your pillow, and he delves in, holding you close and intimate until you're most certain, mutually, of the silent yearning you have felt for one another for years.

"C'mere," He mumbles, an arm drawing around the back of your thighs as he picks you up and holds you securely, and you cannot help but laugh in pure, unadulterated glee at his touch and affections, the bottle of rosé abandoned as the night settles in and you are whisked away.

He loves you.

He loves you.

[oncasette]

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗢 𝗔 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗘

boyfriend!zayne li x fem!reader, best friend!caleb xia x fem!reader

summary: 3.7k

Then, like most things do, thinking of your childhood led you right to thinking about Caleb. You remember him stealing the candy Zayne had given you and shoving it into his mouth in one go, the toothy grin he’d offered being a cheap replacement for the sugary caramels. You remember him making paper airplanes in the kitchen and you remember him throwing them at you with devastating aim. You remember him hushing you desperately when one landed directly in your eye. A cradling hug, your face stuffed into his neck, and the promise of ice-cream on his tongue if you could manage to stop crying. You remember laying on the floor of his bedroom and watching him under the afternoon sun peeking in through the blinds. His room had always been your safe place, your getaway when the quiet of your own room got too unbearable. At least, it had been until you’d grown up a bit and your feelings got far too complicated for you to want to deal with them.

or the one where you've never really been able to get caleb out of your head, or your heart.

content: smut, phone sex, (mutual) masturbation, cheating (emotional and semi-physical), angst, guilt, shame, no mentions of the explosion or caleb coming back, insp by the weeknd song

masterlist

Zayne’s hand finds the nape of your neck as he moves to stand. It’s a gentle caress, one that has you keening into his fleeting touch, as he moves toward the kitchen with the dishes stacked in his palm.

“Do you want help?” you call after him. He waves off the idea with a shake of his head. Still, you slide out from the table to follow behind him. Zayne had always been the one to keep the house tidy between the two of you. You don’t think you’d ever seen a dish in the sink, save for the occasional morning cup of coffee he dropped in there on the days he was running a couple minutes behind schedule. He made the bed in the morning, he vacuumed on Sundays, he made sure the fridge was stocked and that nothing was expired. And he did it all without asking anything of you—other than the kiss he requested before he leaves for work— and insisting on doing it himself. 

“Couldn’t stay away?” he asks, his back turned to you as he scrubbed the plates he’d brought with him. Slinking up behind him, you loop your arms around his waist and tuck your face between his shoulder blades. 

“Just wanted to keep you company,” you hum. You press a short kiss to his clothed back, then another, before continuing, “is that a crime?”

“Not at all,” he says. A wet hand finds your linked ones and brings them up to his lips to run his lips over your knuckles. Water drips down your wrist and you shiver a bit at the contact. After a moment, you disentangle yourself with him and push yourself up onto the counter beside the sink. You watch him silently as he works. You let your eyes trail over the curve of his nose, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks, the scars criss-crossing over the expanse of his wrists from where he’s rolled his shirt sleeves up. 

You remember, then, being a kid and watching him in a similar vein. He’d always been the straightlaced man in front of you, at least a little bit. You remember watching him study after school across the dining table from you, remember being dumbfounded at the numbers and letters and equations littering his papers. He’d already been a couple years ahead of you in school, and he was advancing further than that before you had a breath of a chance at catching up to him. You remember him scolding you as he put bandaids on your scraped knees. The knit in his brow had existed even then. You remember him sneaking sweets after dinner and him shoving a candy or two into your own palm once he’d been sure he wasn’t going to get caught. You remember the way your face would heat whenever his cool gaze would land on yours, remember the way you’d stutter for the first few minutes you were around him each time until you slipped back into the ease of being his friend again. You’d always had a crush on him. How could you not? 

Then, like most things do, thinking of your childhood led you right to thinking about Caleb. You remember him stealing the candy Zayne had given you and shoving it into his mouth in one go, the toothy grin he’d offered being a cheap replacement for the sugary caramels. You remember him making paper airplanes in the kitchen and you remember him throwing them at you with devastating aim. You remember him hushing you desperately when one landed directly in your eye. A cradling hug, your face stuffed into his neck, and the promise of ice-cream on his tongue if you could manage to stop crying. You remember laying on the floor of his bedroom and watching him under the afternoon sun peeking in through the blinds. His room had always been your safe place, your getaway when the quiet of your own room got too unbearable. At least, it had been until you’d grown up a bit and your feelings got far too complicated for you to want to deal with them. 

“What’s got you spaced out, darling?” Zayne asks. He moves to wipe the water off of his hands with a towel tucked into one of the cabinet handles before he moves to stand between your spread thighs. His hands find your hips with ease, with what feels to be muscle memory at this point. You blink away your thoughts as your boyfriend comes back into focus. His index finger swipes teasingly at the tip of your nose. 

“Nothing much,” you say as your face drops into the curve of his neck. He adjusts, one hand finding the small of your back to keep you steady. “Thinking about us.”

“Good things, I hope,” he replies. Soothing fingers dance up your spine.

“Always,” you hum. “All done?”

Caleb’s name sits at the back of your throat, the idea of sharing that part of your daydream feeling tainted in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. 

“All done. Should we get ready for bed, then? You have quite an early morning ahead of you,” he says, coaxing your head up and out of the crook of his shoulder and sweeping some loose strands of hair away from your face. You nod wordlessly and allow him to help you down from the counter. He keeps a hand looped loosely with your own as he flicks off light switches and gently pushes your shoes further into the rack beside the front door. Your vision clouds with a vague recollection of looping pinkies with Caleb during a blackout, a flashlight in your other hand and an eager heartbeat racing at the prospect of building a fort in the dark.

“Shower tonight or in the morning?” Zayne asks once the two of you are in the bedroom. 

“Morning.”

Zayne nods as he moves around the room as he undresses, tossing his slacks and his button down into a nearly empty laundry bin. He’d always kept his work clothes on for far longer than you expected, never coming home to slip into something more comfortable the second he stepped through the door. When he returns to your side, he’s already got his pajamas on and he’s handing you a shirt for you to sleep in with a gentle kiss to your forehead. It’s the one you always seemed to steal when you first started dating and staying the night at his place. The reminder tugs at your heart a bit.

You stay standing there for just a half second longer than you mean to, the thin cotton of the worn shirt clenched tightly in your fists. 

“Darling?”

He’s pulled back the comforter and turned off the bathroom light, leaving only the lamp on his bedside on so as to not leave you in total darkness. He’s watching you under a gentle, sweeping gaze. One that tracks over your body with something akin to worry. But, it’s not worry. Not really. You just get like this sometimes, just a little bit out of your head, a little far away. He can pull you back. He always has. 

He rounds the bed again and takes your face between his palms. His lips press hard against your forehead, a silent promise, a plea. He’s here with you. 

“‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says. Wordlessly, he begins to tug the hem of your shirt up and over your head to replace it with the shirt he’d given you. Your shorts follow, leaving you bare from the waist down save for your underwear. When he guides you to the bed, you follow.

Tara had always been the biggest supporter of you getting together with Zayne. She claims that she knew he was the one the first time she saw you together, at a Hunter’s Association gala you’d brought him along to. He’d been the definition of the perfect date that night, pulling out your chair, holding your jacket over his arm, carrying your shoes at the end of the night. Tara had pulled you away to the bathroom halfway through the evening to squeal about him in front of the mirror.

“So, when’s the wedding?” she’d asked, reapplying her lipstick while bent over one of the sinks. She smacked her lips twice before she turned back to face you. Her brows were raised in expectation. 

“What?”

“The wedding. When do you become Mrs. Dr. Zayne?” she asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like you hadn’t been dreaming of the day since you’d met him. 

“What- I don’t- We haven’t…” you stuttered.

“Oh, come on! With the way he looks at you? It’s happening,” she gushed.

“You’re too good to me,” you whisper as you slide under the covers, flipping onto your side to face him. He clicks the lamp off as he moves to join you. One of his hands finds your waist, his thumb tracing circles into the bare skin. 

“Nonsense,” he replies, like it's true. Like you deserve the love of the man before you. He shifts to push your hair back the way he’d done in the kitchen. His lips find the tip of your nose. 

“I love you,” he whispers into the dark. It’s like a vow, a declaration of his devotion.

“Love you.” And you do, honestly, devotedly, but not completely. Never completely. 

You stay there for a while, facing him, watching him, even when he flips to lay on his back and his hand searches for yours amidst the blankets. You give it to him, allowing him to intertwine your fingers where they rest over his heart. It’s only when you’re sure that he’s asleep, when his lips part and soft snores roll out of his throat, that you slip out of bed with your phone held tight in your grasp. Settling yourself on the couch, you scroll through your contacts until you land on Caleb’s name. The corner of your lips turn up at the profile picture, a zoomed in selfie he’d taken when you’d left your phone unattended back in high school. 

When you call, the phone rings three times before there’s a click and a couple of heavy breaths.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he chirps into the line.

“Hi, Caleb,” you whisper, eyes locked on the door and your bottom lip tucked neatly between your teeth.

“Why are we whispering?” he asks, his voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone as well. 

“It’s late.” “It’s ten thirty.”

“So?”

“So it’s not late, dork,” he laughs, and the sound warms you from the inside out. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. You listen to him breathe for a bit, content just to have him on the other side of the phone. Present, even if not in person. 

“How’s Dr. Zayne?” Caleb asks, breaking the silence. Looking back at the door to your bedroom, you remember the way Zayne had chased your hand in his sleep. 

“Can we… not talk about him?” you sigh, your heartbeat elevated.

“Oh? Trouble in paradise, pips?” he shifts. There’s a rustle of what you assume to be bedsheets. You think about him in bed, about what he’s wearing. Or, not wearing. 

“No,” you swallow. “No, not at all actually. Zayne’s… great. He’s always great, you know that.”

“Oh, alright then. Why the late call?” he asks, and you know he already knows. It’s been a while since you’d made one of these calls, but it hadn’t been long enough for it to be out of the blue. He’s playing stupid, like he always does. You think he likes to hear you say it. For you to admit that you still need him.

“Wanted to hear your voice,” you admit. 

“Oh, baby, you know you can always call me,” he sighs. “I wish you would do it when you didn’t have to whisper, though. I like hearing you, too.”

“I know, ‘m sorry,” you say. You think back to the few times you’ve called him on your off days when your boyfriend had still been called into work. Caleb had always eager to receive your calls in the middle of the day. 

“You know I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight,” he says. You blink back the thin stream of shame starting to cloud your vision. 

“I know,” you whisper. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m glad you called,” he amends, the sheets rustling more and you have to bite your lip to keep the thoughts and images brewing in your head at bay. “Just wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

“Are you…” you trail off. He could keep this from escalating, if he wants to. You don’t have to admit what you want from him aloud. But, then, you knew he wouldn’t. It’s part of the reason you kept coming back. 

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he grunts. “Rock hard. Got hard as soon as I saw your picture pop up on my screen.”

Your breath hitches a bit, your eyes falling shut and your head dropping back against the couch. Something fiery pools in your gut. 

“Wanna see?” he asks and you can hear the smirk on his lips. You start to nod before you remember he can’t see you. 

“Please,” you nearly whimper. You feel your phone buzz in your hand and you pull it away to see the text notification pop up. Opening your messages, it’s impossible to miss the picture he’d sent you. His hand is wrapped around the base of his boxer-clad cock, the imprint of it making your mouth water just a bit. He was right, he is hard, a dark path of fabric stained just where the tip of his dick rests. You allow yourself to stare for a moment, before you’re deleting the message from your phone and putting Caleb back up to your ear. 

“Can I see your face, too?” you ask and your throat tightens. He laughs again.

“Yeah, baby. One sec.”

Another buzz. You open this one a bit quicker. In the new picture, the framing is different. His face is visible now, but you can also see him holding his newly freed cock at the bottom of the frame. His cheeks are flushed pink to match the head of his dick, despite the smug expression otherwise illustrating his features. You stare for longer this time, before you repeat the process of deleting it.

“Can I see you, too?” he asks, his breathing heavier. 

“Not… not tonight,” you sigh. You don’t want him seeing you in Zayne’s shirt, you think. Don’t want that reminder, even if you’re sure he already knows. 

The first time you’d done something like this, it’d been more or less an accident. Something you’d stumbled yourself into after a long night of talking on the phone about nothing and everything and anything you could conjure up just to keep him on the line for a couple more minutes. You don’t remember it, exactly, when one thing had led to the next or even hanging up that night, but you remember calling him back the next night and the next and falling into a pattern. One that had gotten expeditiously more complicated the minute you’d started dating Zayne.

You remember telling him, panting into the receiver with your hand still shoved down your pants.

“I have a boyfriend,” you said, when different words were already sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“Oh?” he asked. You could hear him heave the word out. “Who’s the lucky man, pipsqueak?”

“Zayne.”

“Oh… that’s…” he’d cleared his throat. “That’s good. I’m… He’ll be good for you.”

“Aw, c’mon. You know I can’t go without seeing those pretty eyes,” he sighs. 

“Next time?” you offer. You shouldn’t be offering a next time, shouldn’t be on the phone with him now, but you know better than to tell yourself there won’t be one.

“Alright,” he says, the whisper of a laugh in his tone. “Next time.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your hand already poised against your inner thigh as anticipation begins to build in your muscles.

“Caleb?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You thumb the hem of your panties.

“Wanna hear your voice.”

“What do you want to hear?” he asks and the whine you let out is pitiful. “Do you wanna hear about my day? I went grocery shopping, you know, all by myself. You’d be proud if you could see my fridge right now.”

“Caleb-”

“Or… did you want to hear my talk about the weather, I hear that-”

“Caleb.” “Right. Right, you want to hear me talk about this show I just started. It’s really good actually, I think you should give it a shot.”

“Please,” you huff. He grunts, a shallow exhale following after it. 

“You wanna hear me talk about how much I wish you were here with me instead? How bad I want to taste you right now?”

“Mhm,” you hum, the tips of your fingers pushing past the elastic to brush over your slick. God, you’re wet. Your fingers slide through your arousal, gathering the sticky clear liquid onto the pads of your fingers as you begin to circle your already puffy clit. 

“No, it couldn’t be that…”

“Caleb, please,” you nearly sob. The tension in your wrists tightens, your motion stalling. 

“Oh, that was a cute sound,” he hums. “I wonder how many more I can get out of you.”

Your body responds in kind. Your jaw goes slack, a needy sigh slipping past your lips as your fingers slide through the accumulating arousal. 

“Yeah? Feel good?” he asks and you can hear the slick sounds emanating from the line. You can picture what he looks like. His hand wrapped tight around his cock, the precum beading from the slit, the angry red color of the head. His lips bitten pink. The dark lilac shade his eyes dilate into when he’s worked up.

“Feels good. I want… want more,” you say.

“You can have more. It’s your hand,” he teases, and for a moment, you toy with the idea of hanging up. Not that you could make yourself actually do it.

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m not being mean, you just don’t want to cum without me telling you how to do it,” he says, and the laugh that rumbles through the phone rings through your ears. 

“Mhm.”

“Tell me,” he grunts.

“I want you to tell me how to cum,” you say desperately, the strokes of your hand growing more desperate as the time passes. 

“How about a finger, then?” he asks. You can hear the way his jaw clenches.

“Two,” you beg just before you press a single digit against your entrance.

“I thought I was calling the shots here, baby,” he says. The moan you let out borders on pornographic, a single finger sliding into your warmth with no resistance. It’s not enough, nowhere near the thickness that Caleb’s fingers offered when he stretched you out. Or the feel of his cock pushing into you. It’d been too long since you’d gotten to feel him inside you.

“Please?” you ask, slowly starting to pump your finger in and out. 

“Mmm, alright. You know I can’t say no to you,” he relents. You bite down on your tongue to prevent another moan from coming out, not needing or the sound to echo off the walls and into the bedroom. When the heel of your hand bumps your clit, you’re worried you might bite through. You let your head fall back onto the back of the couch, you eyes shut to focus more on Caleb’s voice.

“God, fuck, ‘m close already, baby. Don’t know how you do this to me,” he hisses. You nod in agreement, the ache of your cunt drawing your thighs together around your hand. “I bet you look so pretty right now. Wish I could see you.”

Your stomach tightens as your orgasm begins to build, your periphery going just ever so hazy around you.

“Keep touching yourself. Want you to fall apart for me. Just me,” he rambles. The slick sounds of his own hand stroking his cock sends you further down the spiral. He’s panting, now, each word held up in the confines of his throat.

“I’m gonna… just for you.” You focus your fingers on rubbing furiously on your clit, now, the stimulation pushing you just up to the edge of cumming. You want him to cum with you, need to hear it. Want to see it, taste it.

“C’mon, baby. For me? Please?” he asks, his voice straining under the exertion. The desperation pushes you over that last little bit. Your cunt pulses around your fingers, clenching and spasming.

“Oh,” you moan.

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuck, that’s it,” he says, your name following shortly after. It sounds like a prayer with the way it slides off his tongue. Your hand stays put between your thighs, beneath your panties, as you catch your breath. You hum softly as your body begins to lose its tension and liquifies under the weight of your orgasm. It’s only then that you realize that you’d started sweating. A beat of silence follows as Caleb comes down from his own high.

“Are we still getting lunch on Thursday?” he heaves, breaking the silence. You haven’t even come back from floating away in space, yet.

“Hm?”

“Lunch. Thursday. Kitty Cafe.”

“Yeah. Yes. Lunch on Thursday, it’s in my calender,” you say as you scrunch your nose up a bit. 

“Good. Excited to see your face, pips.”

You know in a minute, you’ll be hanging up. You’ll be washing your hands like they’ll erase the guilt that’s going to eat away at you until the next time you think to ring your oldest friend–if that’s even the title you could give him anymore–in the middle of the night. You’ll slide back into the bed that you share with your boyfriend, he’ll reach for you and you’ll let him. You’ll fall asleep with your fingers intertwined with his, and you’ll wake up with his nose pressed between your collarbones. But, for now, you let yourself sit in the silence. You listen to the way Caleb’s breathing begins to even out through the receiver. You don’t bother watching the door.

“I love you, you know,” Caleb says.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back. It feels like a secret, a pinky promise in the dark of a stormy night. 

[brittle-doughie]

Late Arrival (Dark Cacao Cookie)

“Dark Cacao Cookie. Now that they have awoken, they will attack us to reclaim their lost Soul Jams. During the fight, Shadow Milk Cookie had taken Y/N Cookie under his control through his deceit. I fear that with Shadow Milk Cookie pushed back for now that he will alert the others to Y/N Cookie’s existence.”

“White Lily Cookie and I were barely able to bring them back from Shadow Milk Cookie’s control, they need the time to settle down. Please, for their sake, do not bring Y/N Cookie with you. I understand how much we all value and cherish them, but it only puts them in danger of the Beast Cookies.”

“There’s no telling what the other Beast Cookies will do to keep Y/N Cookie for themselves…”

Dark Cacao only sighed as he looked away from the letter, seeing Y/N Cookie prepping alongside Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip Cookie from the distance. It looked like he had ALREADY invited Y/N Cookie to come along with him for the expedition to Mystic Flour Cookie’s temple.

He was too attached to them for his own good….

But…he shook his head as he gripped his blade and headed over to the cookies.

He…he can protect them. It won’t be like what Pure Vanilla described back at the Silver Kingdom.

He’ll make sure you’re safe…

“Have the preparations been made?”

“Yes, my King! I have ordered the troops to be ready at the gates.”

“Your Majesty! Everything has been ready and set for our travel to Beast Yeast! I’m worried about Y/N Cookie though, they look uneasy…”

Crunchy was right, you had that shaking feeling in your legs….

Going back to Beast Yeast so soon….

You really wanted to stay at the Cookie Kingdom, where it was safe…

But when Dark Cacao Cookie practically pleaded for your aid, you didn’t want to let him down…

“Will you be okay, Y/N Cookie? I know it was such short notice to ask for your help. Especially after your recent arrival back to your kingdom, but I will do my best to protect you…”

“As will I.”

Dark Cacao Cookie had placed his hand on your shoulder, giving you more reassurance as you collected yourself.

He was right, as long as you had him and the others backing you up, things won’t go south…like before…

———————————————————————

“Foolish Cookies..! You simply have no idea what’s waiting for you! How long can you protect Y/N Cookie before they fall into our hands! HA HA HA HA HA!”

———————————————————————

You shake your head to try and forget his words. You can trust Dark Cacao. With the others in the kingdom, there shouldn’t be any cause for concern.

Definitely…

[servicpop]

Which one of your oc reacts from the worst to the better one when s/o actually break up with them?

Make it nsfw? I wanna see some s/o getting pinned down and got punish lol

cw : slight non-con(?) and my ocs might be a bit toxic . . .

Adrien definitely acts the worst. He's obsessed with you remember ? The moment you go to him and tell him that you don't want to continue this little game of yours and you want him to leave you alone . . . sure , he'll respect you for a bit. But after a day or so and you're not texting him , not even looking at him , he'll go back to his old ways. Skipping classes , getting into fights and he swears he's going to crack the guy you smiled at's skull apart. He fully goes insane and after a week , he's blowing up your phone , chasing down your friends who are honestly surprised that he even knew of your existence. And when you finally agree to see him again , he's tearing off his clothing and pushing you up against the wall not even a foot away from the front door , groping at that soft flesh he missed so much. His words are an unintelligible mess of 'please take me back' and 'I'll fucking kill anyone you talk to.' Man is crazy about you !! He'll fuck you right outside the bedroom , pushing you up against the wall and pound into you because he's missed you way too much to wait any longer !

Vallen simply doesn't let it happen. You come up to his office with a nervous look on your face and when you spill the news he glances up through his reading glasses ( his eyes are getting sore from looking over so many documents >< ) and simply hums, curling his finger at you, instructing you to walk over to him. The moment you do , he pulls you onto his lap, gripping at your thighs as he stands up , letting your back fall across his desk. He's cruelly slow, pulling out all the way before slamming his hips against yours so hard that his pens rattle on his desk. "Found someone better than me?" He'd mutter before slowly pulling out just to ram himself back in. "I doubt it." He's too mean about it, slapping your thighs everytime you try and justify your reasons why you'd break up with him ! He's rich, gives you everything, loves and cares for you, why would you want to break up with him ?

Cole accepts it fully. He acts like a kicked puppy when you break the news to him. At first he'll ask you what he did wrong , if you weren't happy with him , if it was your job that make you break up with him. He tries his best to understand , especially since you're his first ever relationship with a man ! He won't stop going to your shows , won't stop sending you letters and flowers , but he does it all without showing his face ! He thinks you wouldn't want to see his face so he still shows his love through gifts and notes. It's not long before you cave in , all the gifts and letters still marked with paw prints and his signature at the bottom just pile up in your room and you miss him. Miss his caramel smile too much. Unlike the others , Cole doesn't jump to sex , he takes it slow by cuddling you , the limit of intimacy being kisses on your stomach ( he'll still believe you hate him until you reassure him 200x )

Callahan is exempt from this since he was never really in a relationship with you , but ! If he doesn't see you for an extended period of time ( basically breaking up ) he'll work even harder to track you down , asking for leads , retracing steps and finding you back at that motel where you two always seem to end up after every confrontation. He'll put you in cuffs , blabbering on some lie about how he'll put you in jail but just ends up stuffing your head in the pillow and pounding into your ass like he missed you ( which he did )

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

A Quick Pick Me Up (Yandere Neko Cafe x Reader)

Hey, ya'll, I know ya'll like my fandom work, but I promise you my OC stuff is just as good. Please read!!!!! I just felt like doing this today! Reader is gender neutral. Also YANDERE BEHAVIOR IS UNACCEPTABLE IN REAL LIFE! IT AINT CUTE, IT'S ABUSE! SEEK HELP IF YOU OR A LOVED ONE HAVE SOMEONE IN YOUR LIFE LIKE THIS!

Picture belongs to @kaffee-und-liebe

Tw: Yandere tendencies, some platonic yanderes (the kids and Cocoa), some slightly suggestive content, cursing, Donut (you'll know what I mean later), mentions of abuse, and other possibly triggering content

MINORS DNI

You live in a city that is made up of mostly apartments, that don't allow you to keep a cat much less a hybrid. Too bad because you really love cats and cat hybrids. They're just so cute with their soft ears and tails and fierce expressions. When they purr? You almost die!

Which is why you are currently vibrating in front of the newest cat cafe where you can interact with cat hybrids and cats alike. It was also really close to your apartment building, so it was meant to be. The cafe was a cute brown stone building covered in vines and flowers with a black sign that in golden letters spelled out "Lucky Kitty Cafe". You felt pretty lucky standing in front of the building right now. You took a breath and entered the building.

Ding~

A set of bells tinkled cutely as your eyes widened in amazement. The place was catastic! There were paintings of cats, a cat tree decorated with potted plants, chairs with little cat ears on the back, and much more. A strange looking person with a long and thin face and vitiligo and mysterious blue green colored eyes looked up with a friendly smile. They wore head scarf with a hat with cat ears on top and a beige shirt with caramel accents.

"Welcome to Lucky Kitty Cafe, I'm Shopkeeper, are you here to see our cats and cat hybrids?" Their voice was a soothing androgynous voice. They were pretty hot not going to lie. "Yes, I'm here to see the cats!" "Wonderful~" Shopkeeper purred as they grabbed a pen and paper. "Would you like anything to eat or drink while you wait?" You smile gleefully at Shopkeeper and nod. "I'll have (cafe order) please." Shopkeeper jotted your order down and nodded. "Good taste, we'll have that order out right away for you Mx..."

"(Y/N)"

Mx. (Y/N) what a beautiful name...I can tell the staff will just love you~

For the privacy of our staff, they have been assigned names of popular cafe drinks and snacks. Their personalities our meant to cater to our wide clientele. Please take not of the following rules:

Rule 1.: Do not pick up cats

Rule 2: No pulling tails and ears of cats or staff

Rule 3: Harassment of any kind towards our cats, staff, or other customers will get you sent straight to Butch

Rule 4: Our staff are playing a role to increase your enjoyment of the cafe. The way they act in the cafe does not necessarily constitute how they act outside of the cafe.

Rule 5: Buy at least one item on the menu, this is a business after all

Rule 6: DON'T MESS WITH OUR DARLING 

Meet Our Staff

Macchiato:

Macchiato or Macchi is the unofficial mascot of "Lucky Kitty Cafe" she is a calico hybrid who is the sweetest person around. Her cheerful and bright attitude will brighten up even the grumpiest of people's days. She always is the first to greet new customers.

You were stunned when the tritone beauty perched herself directly on your lap, her orange eyes shining brightly as she bounced up and down barraging you with questions.

She was so excited to see a cute new face around the establishment! Your hands were so gentle as you pet her soft ears. She didn't feel the slightest bit of shame letting you know how much she enjoyed it with her loud purring. When your food and drink came you offered to share some with her.

With her?

She almost fell in love right then and there, no one ever offered to share their food with her in such a genuine way. The food was some of the best she ever had since she got to share it with you. She couldn't help but laugh as you gushed over the cats, you were more adorable than anyone here!

She's probably the first to go yandere, she can't help it when your sweeter than the sugary treats Shopkeeper bakes. She is one clingy motherfucker, so she'll always have some body part of yours close to her. She will also insert herself in any interaction you have with others in the cafe or outside. Don't ask her why she's here just pet her pretty tritone hair!

She wants to be the only hybrid in your life which means you may wake up with her snuggled into your arms blinking those sunset orbs at you cutely.

"Morning (N/n)! Did you sleep well? I know I did~

Collects any trash you leave behind. Dirty napkins? Now hers. Straws? She's wrapping her tongue around while thinking indecent thoughts. Lost your cute keychain? Well good luck ever finding it again because now it's a part of her shrine to you.

Don't let her cute face fool you, she will do whatever it takes to ensure that you are hers.

"(N/n) left their Chapstick here. Mmm (N/n) it's like sharing an indirect kiss with you~"

Espresso:

Meet the cafe's very own black cat Espresso. He is very quiet and aloof at first. Most people never interact with him as he will leave when people attempt to start a conversation with him. No one understands why Espresso even took a job here as he's clearly not a people hybrid.

He is no doubt one of the most handsome hybrids most people see. Beautiful dark skin and long dreadlocks accompanied with silky black ears and tail and intelligent brown eyes. His voice is very deep and mellow much like a good espresso.

He is a cat magnet as even the shyest cats can be found purring contently on his lap. He lets them hang around him as he sketches pictures of the cafe.

"You're a really good artist"

Espresso jerks at the sudden sound of your voice, how did you manage to sneak up on him? He froze as every impulse in him was confused on how to react. Run away? Thank you? Let you sit down with him? It's clear to you that the Windows shut down noise is taking place in his head right now.

"I'm sorry for startling you, I'll be on my way now."

It didn't take long for other cats and Macchi to distract you, but Espresso couldn't get the interaction out of his head. Yes, you scared him, but you didn't pressure him into conversation. You simply complimented his art before leaving.

Why did a small part of him wish you stayed?

In order for him to go yandere for you, you have to let him approach you in his own time. You must be patient as Espresso isn't used to engaging with customers like the other staff are. He is probably the last if not close to last who go yandere for you, which means you'll have an ally for when the others get too touchy.

He is very aware that the feelings that he is developing aren't the healthiest, so he tries to keep his feelings to himself. He adores your calming presence and how you can bring out the best in anybody. He begins subconsciously drawing you more and more in different scenarios. Most relatively innocent but there are enough indulgent sketches that he doesn't allow you to look through his sketch book without him supervising.

However, jealousy begins to gnaw at his gut when he sees you interacting with the others. When did Butch get so protective of you? Why do you hang around that bastard Donut? Why can't he have you all to himself? He starts to use the trust that you've built towards him to convince you to spend less time with the others. Besides that, he's one of the most harmless yanderes on this list.

"Oh, you're here, did the others smother you too much? They won't bother as long as you stay with me my muse."

Donut:

Oh boy, you got this gremlin's attention, you really are too sweet for your own good, aren't you? Donut is an orange Munchkin cat hybrid and the shortest adult of the staff (the kids are platonic yandere for you). The definition of short guy syndrome but he hides it behind a cute facade. He lays it on thick for customers to give him fat tips (get you mind out of the gutter). A little bat of the eyelash here and a flirty wink there and everyone is eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Oh, a new customer, it's so nice to meet you I'm Donut~"

"Nice to meet you Donut."

"Hee hee, do you mind if I sit on your lap?"

He plops himself on your lap and starts not so subtly grinding on you which makes you very uncomfortable, you just met this guy. Plus, this is not the place for finding a random hookup. You push him off your lap and tell him that his actions made you uncomfortable. Donut begins boiling inside. You ungrateful bitch! How dare you turn him down! Him! HIM!!!! He yells in frustration later in the empty break room. Why were you being so rude when he was just being nice? (No dude that's sexual harassment) He's made it his personal mission to seduce you and then when you fall for him laugh in your face.

Donut turns up the clueless and the sexiness up by a hundred and ten percent. He wears extra skimpy and tight-fitting shorts and skirts (with lacey panties and/or thongs) as well as unbuttoning half the buttons on his pastel pink shirt, showing you his surprisingly defined chest. He skips around with an innocent grin, only for his actions to be ignored. You evil SLUT, how dare you pretend to not see what he's doing? He should teach you to be grateful and get down on your knees like a good whore does. He ignores all the other customers in favor of hatefully glaring at you from the corner.

He follows you out of the cafe and drags you into an alley nearby pinning you to the wall (he's actually deceptively strong). He screams all of the feelings he's been bottling up towards you with tears in his eyes. You stand still for a moment unsure of what to do and then you feel him go limp. Okay this is super awkward, the guy in front of you went on a nice guy spiel and then passed out. Unfortunately, you have some morality and decide not to leave him out here when your apartment is right across the street. You scoop him up and walk to your apartment (he's really light).

Donut wakes up in a stranger's bed and thinks he took his anger out by sleeping with some rando for a quick ego boost. However, he sees you coming into the room with a plate of breakfast and set it right in front of him. Why was he at your place? You explained what happened and Donut is very embarrassed, he can't believe he was vulnerable with the person he despises with all his heart. He prepares for you to mock him cruelly, but instead you treat him with the kindness he'd never show for you. Why are you such a mature person? It makes him so mad that he starts blushing, his heart starts pumping... did you always look so handsome?

Uh oh

Donut goes from being horrible to you to being the most delusional being on the planet. You treated him with kindness, which must mean you love him and much as he loves you. He does the cute act except this time its genuine and less sexual (he learned boundaries for you so be grateful (don't he still sucks)). However, he doesn't afford the same luxury to others. He sees the way others look at you and he doesn't like it one bit. He is cruel and sadistic towards rivals all while acting like an absolute angel towards you.

"Welcome home darling! How did I get in your apartment? You invited me here silly, now come and snuggle with your one and only~"

Sugar:

Sugar is a complete MILF looking like a golden age Hollywood actress in her work uniform. She is a Turkish Angora hybrid with gorgeous long white hair plated in victory curls and bewitching heterochromic eyes (left brown and right blue with a beauty mark under the left one). Sugar was a show hybrid like her mother before her but had to leave when she became pregnant with a stray hybrid's kittens. She is very gentle and motherly with an elegant femme fatale aura to her. Sugar is considered second in command to Shopkeeper and very respected for her age and wisdom (she's in her early to mid-forties because we love older women here).

Popular with old and young alike, you were starstruck when the snow-haired beauty and spoke to you with her lightly accented voice (she's Turkish). You felt completely comfortable with Sugar and were able to get some sound financial advice from her, as Sugar knew what it was like to be young and struggling to pay bills.

"Remember that charity is no only an act of generosity but also tax deductible."

"Yes mommy."

"What?"

"What?"

She found your slight crush on her adorable as it was flattering for younger people to find her attractive. However, she didn't want to have to parent her partner as well as her twins. She doesn't immediately go yandere nor is she the slowest to go yandere for you. This feeling changed when she saw how well you got along with Cookie and Muffin (her twins). You were able to get them to listen to you as well as break up their fights which was a feat that very few outside herself could do. Color her impressed.

"Mommy is (Y/N) our new parent?"

"Now kids we need to be tactical about this-"

"They helped find a crying child's parents."

"Cookie, Muffin, say hello to your new stepparent."

Very few younger people and hybrids knew the subtle art of seduction like Sugar did, which she believes gives her advantage compared to the others. She doesn't constantly badger you for your time like Macchiato, Donut, and Cappuccino do (she's only truly worried about the romantic rivals but Cocoa is on thin ice sometimes). Nor does she play it too subtle like Espresso and Croissant do. She invites you to "platonic" dates out with her and her children to parks and restaurants. She also will subtly touch you whether it be smoothing wrinkles on your outfit or giving you chaste kiss on the cheek (she says she greets everyone that way, but you have yet to see that). She knows she attractive and how to flirt in a way that makes you blush but not uncomfortable.

She's seen the cruelties of the world and hopes that you won't have to go through have the horrors she's faced. The world isn't very kind to single moms, especially older single moms. She wants you to be happy and safe in her home, as a cute little stay at home spouse. Let her do all the hard work outside while you stay home and do some work inside (she won't let you strain yourself though). She also is a doting and spoiling yandere. She's very generous and giving towards you (even in bed) and will have all your desires met except leaving.

She's a master manipulator and will use her children as a way to get you to consider staying with her. They love you so much, you wouldn't break their hearts, right? (the kids are also manipulative little shits as well) The only people she would consider sharing (this is only in dire situations) you with is Shopkeeper and maybe Bruce. Besides that, she won't rest until you are snuggled into her chest in the bed you share.

"(Y/N) let's go out again, the kids love hanging out with you dear and I wouldn't want to disappoint them. You will, wonderful!"

Cookie and Muffin: 

Meet the mischievous mixed breeds who work occasionally beside their mother. Cookie and Muffin are loved dearly by kids their age and lonely older patrons. They love sweets and messing with member of the staff they don't like (Donut and Cappuccino mostly) with very intricate pranks. They aren't always there and met you by chance as their mother had to pick them up early from school (Muffin and Cookie can get violent with each other and the only one who can break them up is momma Sugar). Muffin is the girl with short gray hair with a single white streak and Cookie is the boy with long white hair with a single gray streak.

They saw you playing with the kittens and wanted to play too! You rough house with the twins and don't get mad when Muffin bites you a bit too hard (kitten hybrid teeth are sharp). Cookie got jealous that you are paying more attention to Muffin and the two started fighting. Normally no one is brave enough to break the twins apart from each other, but you bravely stand between them enduring multiple scratches until they stopped.

They can't believe they hurt their new playmate; their mom is going to kill them. Both start crying while apologizing profusely for hurting you. Instead of yelling at them you scratch their ears gently and tell them it's okay. Your touch is just as calming as their mother's, wait why did you stop? Keep petting them please!

They're kids so they go yandere pretty quickly as they aren't romantic interests, and you sneak them pastries you bought (much to Sugar's dismay). Both are always trying to monopolize your time and will scratch and bite any staff or customer who interrupts their "(Y/N) Time". When their mom starts having a romantic interest in you, they're ecstatic, you get to become their new parent. While they are kids, they aren't dumb as they notice other staff members looking at you the same way that their mom does. They won't let just anyone marry you, only mommy can (they can't wait to call you their baba*)!

Their pranks become almost deadly in nature towards rivals of their mom. They never get in trouble for almost killing the delivery guy because they're just kids, what do you expect? Also inherit the manipulative trait from their mother. Oh no their babysitter mysteriously quit! Could you watch them? You come over only to find that it was an elaborate ruse done by the twins, so you have family movie night with them and Sugar (they "fall asleep" on you so you're forced to spend the night). Mommy is sad because she remembered how daddy left them. Could you cheer her up?

They aren't too dangerous yanderes besides the semi deadly pranks, but they aren't to be underestimated because they're children. They want a happy family with their favorite playmate, and they'll do anything they can to get it.

"(Y/N), Muffin pulled on my hair!" "Not before Cookie bit my finger!"

"Baba don't leave!" "Yeah, we'll stop fighting as long as you're here!"

Croissant:

Ah the intelligentsia of the cafe, its own certified genius Croissant. Croissant is a lover of reading, fine art, and playing his beloved cello. He brings with him a refined aura and a thirst for knowledge. He's a blonde American Curl who always wears his beloved red scarf, even indoors. He has semi long curly blond hair in a mullet and the prettiest hazel eyes. He's got freckles that he hides with makeup. He is popular with mainly older people who enjoy engaging in discourse with him on a wide variety of subjects. He also helps tutor kids occasionally in the cafe's break room.

Croissant saw you sitting in the corner reading a book while sipping on (beverage of choice), the book you were reading happened to be one he knew about. He asked if you were enjoying the book, which caused your eyes to light up. You began to ramble to him about the book you were reading which Croissant found very adorable. Finally, he found someone that had a similar interest to him.

The two of you begin to have a routine where you would have interesting conversations about your individual interests, where each one of you would come out learning more about each other. Croissant started noticing little things about you, like how one dimple is bigger than the other when you smile, or that your nose scrunches up when you're confused. That's totally a normal thing to notice about your friend, right?

Right?

Croissant is one of the last to go yandere but goes yandere before Espresso and Butch. I mean how could anyone resist your charms forever? You never are rude or demeaning like the jealous fools in his graduate classes. You actually listen with wide eyed interest and treating him like a regular person instead of something to be revered or despised made him fall deeper into his obsession with you.

Croissant will find any way to spend more time with you. You trying to go to graduate school? He can help you study! Applying for a job? Why not work here? Other work environments won't value you the way "Lucky Kitty Cafe" would value you. So, what if you're human, Shopkeeper is human too (are they though?)! Don't even worry about filling out a resume a good word from Croissant and you'll have the job by tomorrow (even if you don't want to work there you will end up working there if Croissant has something to say about it).

Croissant never values anyone's opinion on him before, but he reveres your opinion above his own. Prefer red heads? Guess who's dying his hair? Hate his curled ears? He suddenly prefers wearing hats indoors. He can become very unstable fast so try to reassure him with love and affection. Or else no one will be able to stop the fall out. He's one hell of a stalker since he wants to know that you are okay, and no one is hurting you. Keeps extensive lists of things you like and plans for the future home the two of you will buy that is far away from this city and its impure influences.

"Ah Mx. (L/N) it's a pleasure to see you today. Care to pick up our conversation from where we left off yesterday?"

Cocoa:

Cocoa is a spunky freshly high school graduated college student who is working at the "Lucky Kitty Cafe" as a waitress for some extra money to pay for campus expenses. Cocoa is a Burmese with gigantic coke bottle glasses (she's extremely far sighted) and puffy space buns. She is popular with the teens and young adults who frequent the restaurant for her cute fashion sense and her sassy attitude.

She first met you when she spilled hot coffee all over you. The one day she forgets to wear her glasses! She immediately rushes you to the employee bathroom and apologizes profusely as she sprays cold water over the burn and begins to cry. She never meant to hurt anyone, and she may even get fired for injuring another customer (first time was no accident). You were fine thankfully but the guilt still ate away at Cocoa. She decided to spend time with you as payment and even pay for your meal. You laugh at Cocoa's guilt-ridden sad puppy eyes and compliment her nails. She immediately forgets her guilt and babbles about the cute new nail salon you should try. OMG you two should totally become BFFs!

Cocoa isn't immediately yandere and is like Sugar somewhere in the middle but further towards the immediate side. She's just hanging out with her new bestie! However, her tail bristles when she sees Macchi looping her arm around your waist, or the way that Donut coos at you while trying to feed you the cafe's newest dessert. Can't these two find their own BFFs, your hers. Great now Cappuccino is sleeping with their head in your lap! She snaps and screams at the other hybrid to leave you the hell alone, scaring many nearby cats. You tell Cocoa to calm down and that you're okay with Cappuccino doing this. What the fuck? How could you?!

After taking a second to calm down, Cocoa had to figure out why she was so worked up about you having other friends. It's good for you to have other friends...so why does it leave a bitter taste in her mouth. She doesn't hate the idea of you having friends, she just needs to be your BEST FRIEND!

Cocoa is one monopolizing and clingy girl. You have planned this weekend? Great now you can throw them out because Cocoa is taking you shopping to a cool new vintage store down the road, ooh and you can have boba tea afterwards! She bats away Macchi, Donut, and Cappuccino to have some time with her bestie, they aren't invited! She also believes as your best friend (she'll get rid of anyone who tries and replace her) she gets to pick who your future spouse is, and she is overly critical towards everyone in the cafe. No one is good enough for her bestie! She might put in a good word for the others... if they forfeit their time with you for the day (she's evil like that >:)).

Cocoa also is the type to try and hang out with you outside of the cafe by "coincidence". Oh, my what a coincidence that you both were at the supermarket at the same time looking for...mangos. Man, she loves mangos (she hates mangos)! Anyways, she found this really cute spa where they use sweet, scented bath bombs in the soak tub. Don't worry she'll pay! She also will totally snitch if she sees others trailing you (like she wasn't also stalking you) to make you like her more. Oh my god Croissant is totally following you, guess he isn't the gentleman he claims to be. What's she doing here? Don't worry about that, let's go rollar skating!

"(N/n) look there's 50% off matching sets of pajamas! Let's totally get some and have a sleep over together!"

Matcha:

You like em weird. Like really weird. Matcha is one strange hybrid. They are a Russian Blue with long bangs that cover their intense steel blue eyes. They have a couple streaks of light green in their gray blue hair. Their extremely pretty as they have a pale complexion and are lithe but when they open their mouth customers walk away in discomfort. As a result, Shopkeeper has them in the back most of the day and only really lets them come out before opening and after closing. They will be the one of the last yandere's you'll probably meet.

You were helping Shopkeeper with cleaning up after an intense day at the cafe, after all they let you stay in the comfiest table for hours after you purchased food. As well as staying after closing to feed the kitties. You also may or may not have been lured by Shopkeeper's promise of being able to take some of the leftover pastries home. Whatever your reason you were helping Shopkeeper, when Shopkeeper left to take a phone call outside. You smiled to yourself as you hummed a tune while cleaning up. You started actually singing when you heard a crash coming from the kitchen area. Strange you don't remember anyone being in the store besides you and Shopkeeper. Curiosity got the better of you and you decided to sneak a peek at whatever creature was in the kitchen.

You peer into the dark kitchen to find a skinny person holding a bent-up pan and an explosion of red all over the floor and all over the person.

"Oh, don't worry this isn't blood."

You proceeded to sock the stranger in the face and run to find Shopkeeper.

"There's a strange person with bluish hair covered in god knows what in your kitchen!"

"Oh that's Matcha."

"Who?!"

After an in-depth explanation of why this person you never saw before was standing in front of you covered in strawberry jam (they like to be one with the fruit) you were introduced to Matcha. A hybrid who smells like and probably eats dirt, an acquired taste for most (both dirt and Matcha). You apologized for punching them in the face to which they grinned and told you they like how your fist felt on their face. Okay a little strange but Shopkeeper wouldn't hire a literal serial killer, right?

You don't even know anymore

Obsessed from the minute your fist made contact with their face. Not quite yandere but interested in the reactions you make (and the pain you can give them). They actually gain romantic interest towards you slower than you think, give or take two days. You saw the large cut on their arm and helped them patch it up, it was from that moment that they planned your entire wedding in their head.

Is terrible at stalking but does it in hopes of being caught and you berating them for it (thinks it's sexy when you're mad). Fights Macchi for the things you leave behind and is found sniffing the seat where you were sitting. Is the definition of worshipper yandere as they truly believe you are a deity, and they are your acolyte. They don't care if you hate them or want them dead, as long as they can be by your side that's all that matters.

Being your acolyte also means they will do anything you ask with zeal. It doesn't matter if it's highly illegal as going to jail in your stead would be a blessing. They just love you so much that it consumes their very being. They're willing to share you with others (as long as they can watch) as long as you still let them stay by your side too.

"Hit me, stab me, choke me, leave me to die. Any act done by your hands is a blessing and a pleasure for me~"

Shopkeeper:

You got the big cheese's attention, the owner of the cafe, the mysterious Shopkeeper. Shopkeeper is alluring in an inhuman way with their sharp blue green eyes and charming androgynous voice. They loved the smile you gave them the first time you came in, what an adorable face. They also loved the face you made when you took a bite of the food you ordered, that blissed-out look is just too cute.

"Excuse me did you make this pastry?"

"Oh, why yes I did, it happens to be a family recipe."

"You're so talented, that was the best (pastry of choice) I every ate!"

Normally compliments don't faze Shopkeeper they'd reply with a nod and a polite thank you. However, you seemed so genuine and the way your eyes sparkled made something melt inside of Shopkeeper. You would surely become one of their favorite customers.

Shopkeeper is very hard to read so it can be difficult to tell when they go yandere for you. Their actions can be seen as purely platonic or as their attempt to flirt with you. They always make sure your favorite sweets are freshly made when you arrive to the cafe, they have the time you arrive memorized. If you don't like sweets, they always have something savory and tasty prepared to your liking. Keeps track of your food preferences and allergies when coming up with new items for the menu, so you can taste test them.

"I was thinking of adding this to the menu tell me how it tastes?"

"Is it necessary for you to feed me?"

"Absolutely."

One thing is for sure when they do fall for you, they begin to plan how to make you entirely theirs. Shopkeeper knows how their staff have taken a liking to you, and they don't feel like sharing (may have an easier time with the more submissive/guilt ridden ones like Matcha and Butch). They use their sweet words and actions to guide you in the right direction (right into their arms). They also aren't afraid to take care of rivals that come from outside of the cafe.

"Oh, why is there blood on my face? Just a little problem in the kitchen that's all."

Cappuccino:

Cappuccino is the Ragdoll of the group, a mellow, sleepy person. They are perfect cuddle shape with their chubby body and their big fluffy ears, hair, and tail. They are almost always asleep yet one of the most popular hybrids at the cafe for how cute and calm they are. They don't often choose who they fall asleep on, so they might have accidently fallen asleep on you.

"Oh, I fell asleep but not on a pillow."

"Hey, Cappuccino, right? I need to get to work so could you kindly..."

"Zzzzzz"

Cappuccino is pretty big both tall and chubby (because tall people can also be chubby/fat and beautiful) so it's hard to move them when they sleep, which is too bad for you since Cappuccino has decided you are their new favorite pillow. They always find you in what you're doing and force you to let them cuddle with you. After all, why cuddle with a cat now that you have Cappuccino?

"Cappuccino what are you doing in my house?"

"Ugh you're being to noisy be quiet, pillows don't talk."

"GET OUT!"

Cappuccino goes yandere for you pretty quick, but you wouldn't notice as Cappuccino is too lazy to do anything about these feelings beside scent you constantly when you cuddle. Cappuccino is clingy in the sense that they can't get good sleep unless they're clinging to you. You may have places to be, but Cappuccino is sleeping right now so you won't be going anywhere. They're adorable and they know it, so they use this to make you stay longer too. One sleepy look from those big droopy blue eyes and you are staying a lot longer than you intended. Isn't willing to pick fights with Donut, Macchi, or Cocoa, but is willing to make it out like they are bullying them.

"You shouldn't hang out with people who treat others bad (Y/N), you know I never would (they totally would)."

Their apathy is one of the scariest traits they have, they may be lazy, but they use their cuteness to get crazed fans to get rid of the competition. They are not above getting rid of others at the cafe because they don't care about the people around them. Cappuccino is also very strong as when they aren't sleeping, they are at the gym, so if they feel motivated enough, they can bash some heads in. Cappuccino only cares about you, so don't make them do anything that you may regret.

"Oh (Y/N) sorry for humping you, I was having a very...intense dream."

Butch:

Enter the devoted guard dog of the cafe Butch. The Pitbull hybrid is the tallest and strongest of the cafe and doesn't let anyone harass the Shopkeeper and staff. He sent you a threatening glare with his scared face when you arrived. He didn't know you and he hated humans for all the scars they gave him. You smiled at him and walked away. Tch, stupid human.

One by one all the hybrids fell for your charms (platonic ones are platonically in love with you) and it made Butch's blood boil. Why couldn't you be satisfied with just being a patron? Why did Shopkeeper look at you that way? Butch had a crush on Shopkeeper for saving him from his horrible life yet never had the courage to approach them. He saw the looks Shopkeeper gave you and it made him angry. He was going to confront you when he saw the scene with Donut occur. He saw the look of fear and worry on your face as you carried Donut gently to your apartment. He saw how you treated Cocoa and the twins as well as Matcha. You didn't have anything to get out of this so why do it?

His answer was given the night an old competitor from the fighting ring came at him with the intention to kill. He managed to kill the guy before he was killed but he was severely injured. He heard footsteps approach him head and he looked up to see you. You kept him awake long enough for the paramedics to arrive and take him to the hospital. The look of worry in your eyes is genuine and your smile of relief reminds him of the smile that Shopkeeper gave him that day they saved him (he's got a thing for nonbinary baddies). Your smile however was less calculated and more genuine.

Badump

Badump

Butch is the last to go yandere because Butch feels guilty. Guilty for hating you when you showed him nothing but kindness, guilty for betraying Shopkeeper like that and guilty for wanting to lock you away where no one but himself can see you. He is one overprotective and loyal pooch, who will protect you until his final breath. Good people don't deserve to face the cruelties a monster like him faced.

The most likely to be poly with you and Shopkeeper as he still holds feelings for Shopkeeper and they're both obsessed with you. You won't want for anything as he holds you in his muscular arms with his head buried in your neck to muffle the sobs.

"Please forgive me for being selfish, you're the only good thing I've got."

*Baba is the gender-neutral affectionate term for parent like mama and papa.

Sorry if it's bad towards the end, I rushed towards Cappuccino and Butch. Please feel free to request scenarios for the new ocs I dropped. ONLY PLATONIC FOR COCOA AND THE TWINS BUT EITHER ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC FOR EVERYONE ELSE.

[consciouscarrot]

day 16 - music to watch boys to [r.lupin, s.black. j.potter]

poly!marauders x fem!reader

content warnings; mentions of smut happening before scene starts, you’re all in your pants, just fluff

notes; we’re already halfway angels. extremely loosely related to the lana song. defo needs more speech but im tired, may repost further edited vers in future (also my first time writing more than one character at once, pls be nice lolz)

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

it was a friday night, late enough that you’d already fooled around more than once since dinner, the four of you now lounging about in only your underwear. the sound of the boys yapping intertwined with one of sirius’ records on low, something full of guitar and bass, grungy but almost soft too.

your fingers glided over the velveteen blanket underneath you, silky material brushing against your exposed skin. you were wearing a dainty tank top, white with tiny flowers on, and lacy underwear that had barely enough coverage to actually be considered an article of clothing.

your head was hanging upside down off remus’ bed, watching them as they lazed about on the floor; sirius was the nearest to you, sat beside you and fiddling with the tips of your hair, james laying on his back on the opposite side of the remus, head lolled towards you, and remus half reclined onto his elbows.

your attention switched between each boy, taking mental pictures as you took in all the little details about them, treasuring it immensely. you pondered on whether or not they’d notice if you took a couple of actual photos, they just looked so pretty.

james’ hair was all sprawled out on the floor, brown waves a mess from all your earlier tugging, you loved how carefree he looked, glasses askew and laughter bubbling out of him.

remus looked peaceful, no worries on his usually fretful mind. you’d already helped him apply bio-oil to his scars today, and they looked visibly calmer than usual, their normal pinky-red appearance more of a pale peach. caramel eyes met yours, his head tilted slightly as he took you in, gaze trailing over your scantily clad form before sending you a wink, smirking when you flushed.

and sirius, he had been struggling a lot lately, more than usual after a few horrible letters from his parents. you were grateful that he was getting at least a few moments of happiness, you’d missed seeing that specific smile he saved for his loves.

eyes fluttering closed, smiling to yourself at how happy you were with your boys, perfectly content before you’re brought of your reverie by sirius pressing a kiss to your nose, body surrounding you as he turned to face you. you giggled, eyes reopening to the sight of him upside down, catching you off guard.

he gasped dramatically, startling poor james behind him, “are you laughing at my perfect face, i can’t believe you!”

you shrieked, his hands tickling you all over, laughing at your desperate attempts to evade his fingers, wriggling like a worm all over the bed. you managed to land a slap at his arm, which only encouraged him further, cackling at your gasps.

you were saved when james rushed over, “i’ll save you, lovie!” he pounced onto sirius, tackling him before pinching at his waist, tickling him back. they rolled around on the floor, limbs flailing as they scrapped about.

seeing your chance, you scrambled over to remus whilst the others were distracted, seeking his comforting touch.

he opened his arms to you, corners of his mouth tipping upwards as he pulled you close and brought your legs into his lap, scarred hands massaging at your bare feet, thumbs pressing into the soles.

he didn’t bother speaking, knowing you wanted some down time. he leaned you both back fully, all curled up together, he ignored the others in favour of watching you, continuing his soft touches as he slowly lulled you to sleep, warm, near-bare body pressed to yours.

[renegadeguild]

Renegade Edible Book Day 2023

And that's a wrap!

(actually, it's more like a taco?)

While efforts to wrangle the first annual Edible Book Week may have been a bit half baked, some of us are calling it a success! Two baking classes, a number of WIP edible photos shared, and enough puns to choke on-- we're here. April 1st! Edible Book Day!

Members of Renegade did not disappoint! Behold the tasty treats offered for your viewing pleasure!  And if you'd like, feel free to vote in our joke poll -- it's all for fun because clearly every entry is a winner!

Sushi Book 

created by  rhipiduridae

i like sushi and normally it’s smol and round and quite おいしい but now it’s flat and tho i’m shook i pick it up i lik the book

The Breakfast Pages (Pancake, egg, green onion and cilantro)

created by Lauren

If I would attempt this again I would experiment with adding flavor to the pages and the pancakes. While edible unseasoned and basic, not the most tasty.

Renegade's Other Motto

created by Daemonluna 

Nori cover ornamented with tofu skin, corn tortilla pages and mushroom letters attached with umiboshi paste, bound with cilantro stems.

I Don't Actually Like Ham

created by Lark

I would not make this again

A Sweet Snack

created by six

Dehydrated mango covers, crepe pages, pamphlet stitch with Twizzler. Very tasty!

Gingerbread tablets

created by Rachel Kadel

Writing practice, some cuneiform and some roman alphabet.  The cuneiform is mostly gibberish but says "Ashurbanipal" at least once.

Dyptic

created by anonymous

dyptic made of shortcrust and salted caramel, text written in blue food colour

My naym is Dyptic  and when of old  the peeple were sick scrolls to hold They split in half  now don't be schook a piece of wood to make first book

[fluentmoviequoter]

Paying for the Sins of Our Fathers

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: A new serial killer arrives in Los Angeles with a penchant for girls with bad relationships with their fathers. After you offer yourself up as bait to catch him, Deacon shows you that you're not as hard to love as you think.

Warnings: angst to fluff, serial killer, secondary character deaths, age gap, depiction of terrible father-daughter relationships (going to say allusion to DV just to be safe but if there is it's nuanced not explicitly stated)

Word Count: 3.6k+ words

A/N: Alexa, play Glasshouse Children.

*This is not a rewrite of Sins of the Father, just a titling coinkydink.

Picture from Pinterest (I love this scene so much)

“Caramel pumpkin chai for Lia!”

Lia sighs as she stands and walks to the counter. The coffee shop, one of Santa Monica’s hidden gems that most people walk right by, is nearly empty at this hour. A writer wearing headphones slaves over a laptop in one corner, three young girls read together, pausing every few minutes to discuss the previous chapter, and a man draws in a weathered leather journal. This is how Lia likes the café, but she’s not sure it’s what she needs tonight.

Sitting with her drink, she ignores the envelope in her bag. Her father sent a message from prison, where he’s been since she was a freshman in high school nearly a decade ago, but she’s yet to open it. She’s not sure she can, not sure she wants to, even. Tapping the screen of her phone, she smiles when she sees a reply from her best friend.

Come over, and we’ll talk. Catch this love <3

“Excuse me,” the man with the journal says, standing sheepishly by Lia’s table. “I just wanted to say hello, and, uh, I hope you don’t mind, but I included you in my sketch of the coffee shop.”

“Oh,” Lia replies, smiling at the interruption. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good, good. I won’t keep you, but it’s a hard anniversary for me, but drawing helps and it was nice to have a friendly face in the scene.”

“I understand completely. I hope the rest of your night is good.”

“Thank you,” he replies, nodding once. “You, too.”

“Wait,” Lia calls as he turns. “Could I maybe see the picture?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he answers with a chuckle. “I’m not very good. My father told me I should find another hobby, but, well… he’s why I’m here tonight drawing instead of remembering the past.”

Lia shakes her head and offers, “Dads are tough, believe me, I know. If you enjoy drawing, though, keep doing it. Good for you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The man pauses and waves generally as he adds, “About your dad, I mean.”

“It is what it is,” Lia says, shrugging. “Are you sure I can’t see the picture?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

“The last scene I drew was a visiting area in a state prison, so it’s a light in this sketchbook.”

“I haven’t been in a prison in years, but I’m sure a setting that grim can’t be easy to draw.”

“I like the challenge, but the distraction was the real reward. After I visit the prison, I go up Getty Center Drive just to get away from it all, you know?”

“It’s gorgeous up there,” Lia sighs.

“You should go sometime, to clear your mind. Even alone with your thoughts, everything just seems more peaceful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

The man nods and steps toward the door. Lia pushes the envelope from her father deeper into her bag before she stands and picks up her drink. She’s ready to talk, and her friend is waiting, like always. As she walks toward her car, Lia smiles.

“Good night,” the man calls from beside his car. “You should really go to Getty after you return your dad’s letter in person.”

Lia’s smile drops as she presses the button to unlock her car. “How did you know that?”

“On second thought,” the man muses lightly, walking toward Lia’s car. “Why don’t we go together? Right now?”

Lia tries to scream, but his hand presses against her mouth, a damp rag silencing her cries.

You yawn as Street continues his story about the motorcycle race he allegedly won last night. Before he can tell you the epic conclusion, a group of at least thirty cops walks into SWAT HQ and heads directly to the situation room. Street silences, and you watch the officers and detectives walk through the building.

“20 Squad, situation room!” Hicks yells. “Now!”

You follow Street inside and find a place at the back to stand. Deacon, Hondo, and Luca enter from the other side and look at you questioningly as they join you. You shrug, and Street stands by Luca as they theorize what the large meeting could mean.

“I’m Detective Ryan Carradine of the Mid-Wilshire division,” Carradine introduces, gesturing for everyone to quiet. “We have patrol officers, Metro SWAT, UCs, and the homicide division from several different stations here today because we have a county-wide case.”

A map with nine red dots appears on the screen behind him. Each dot has a date and time beside it, each one five days apart.

“By which I mean there is a new serial killer in Los Angeles. In the last 45 days, we have located nine bodies, each a female in her early-20s to late-30s. Early this morning, we found Lia Carter, a 24-year-old woman from Rustic Canyon. Carter was attacked sometime between midnight and 2 a.m., and she was left for dead in brush off Getty Center Drive. She’s in critical condition, but if she pulls through, she will be the only survivor.”

“What’s the connection between victims?” a homicide detective inquires.

Carradine tsks, then answers, “Our teams are working on that now. What we’ve got tentatively is the age range, females, and…” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he adds, “They all seem to have strained or nonexistent relationships with their fathers.”

You look at Street, who purses his lips and shrugs.

“Carter was found with an unopened letter from her father stapled to her shirt, he’s serving life in Lancaster State Prison for killing her high school boyfriend,” Carradine explains.

“What does this have to do with us?” Street whispers.

“So, because of the extent of this case, we need everyone in this room on their A-game. If that’s not you, I want you out and I will find someone to take your spot.”

No one moves, so Carradine nods and steps to the side as Commander Hicks joins him.

“I’m Commander Bob Hicks,” he begins, “I’ll be assisting Detective Carradine in an operational capacity. I’m also placing my 20-David SWAT team on standby for anything related to this case. The moment we get a warrant, they’ll be ready to roll.”

“That being said,” Carradine interjects, “Mid-Wilshire’s Metro is prepared to pick up slack for other tactical calls. If you need immediate tactical support for this case, alert Hicks, otherwise, dispatch will get you a team from another station.”

“What other information do you have?” an officer asks. “Suspects, forensics?”

“Short answer: nothing.”

The undercover chief suggests, “We can get UC officers out, advertise poor paternal relationships, try to bring this guy into the light.”

“It won’t work,” an officer states as he enters the situation room. “Lia Carter regained consciousness. She said he knew; that the man had details about her relationship with her father, things she’d never told anyone other than police and therapists.”

“Then UC is out,” Carradine murmurs, rubbing his forehead. “Any other ideas?”

You inhale before you say, “Send me in.”

The officers standing between you and Carradine look back and step to the side so he can see you clearly. Hicks looks from you to Hondo, then back to you, and shakes his head gently.

“If he can get his hands on that kind of information, then he could find out that I fit. I’m the right age, no relationship with dad,” you explain. “It’s as good as a UC as you’re going to get in this.”

Standing beside you, Deacon tenses his jaw. He doesn’t want you to do this; he wants you to be as far from this serial killer as you possibly can, but it’s not his place to ask you to stay. No matter how much he wishes it was.

“Absolutely not,” Hondo says instead.

“There’s way too much at stake,” Luca adds.

“He could know even more,” Street exclaims. “We don’t know his MO, what he does before or after the killings.”

You look to Deacon rather than answering your other teammates, and he licks his lips before he says, “It’s your decision. We’ll be here for you, whether you stay or go.”

Nodding, you keep your eyes on Deacon as you say, “Then let’s catch a serial killer.”

“Oh, he’s got a name now,” a cyber-tech says from one of the desks. “Papers are calling him The Fatherless.”

“Classy,” you murmur.

“Get prepped,” Hicks tells you. “20 Squad, you’re on standby, so stay close.”

“The rest of you stay here to receive your posts,” Carradine announces. “We’ve got five days until he strikes again. So, let’s do this in four.”

In the locker room, you sit in your civvies and prepare for the worst. The door opens as Street walks inside, his steps purposeful and hurried.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, stopping beside you. “No one will blame you for changing your mind.”

“Street,” you begin.

He squats before you and shakes his head. “No, listen, I understand. Probably better than anyone else here. I know that you still feel that pain, even if it’s the last thing on your mind. Those wounds, the ones that your parents carve into you as a child, they never fully heal, and they reopen easily.”

You nod along with Street. He’s right, you know that. Yet, you know what you have to do.

“We’re glasshouse children, Street, you know that. But I’m done paying for the sins of my father. And I’m not going to let another innocent woman be murdered because of hers.”

Street sighs and leans back against the lockers. “We’re here for you. You better be careful, or I’ll tell Deacon that you have a crush on him.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms to match Street’s stance. “I’m always careful. Don’t confuse your recklessness for my perfection.”

Hondo knocks on the open door, serious and sympathetic, as he says, “Hospital just called. Lia Carter didn’t make it.”

Over the next two days, every moment outside HQ is spent setting up your role as the perfect target. On a walk, you slow by a park and watch a father and daughter play together, letting yourself long for something you don’t remember having. In crowded areas, you identify men who remind you of your dad or are alone and steer around them, giving yourself a wide berth. You avoid talking about your family, even inviting a friend to dinner just so someone asks how everyone is. No matter where you go, you keep your guard up with your gun within reach. You’re living like someone is watching your every move because you want them to be.

The most important thing you do requires help. With a picture stowed in your backpack, courtesy of the forensic team, you return home at the end of the second day. Carefully, you hide the picture in a book, then make dinner and try to forget it. When you settle in with the book for the night, you “accidentally” find the picture. The ink shows you and your father, cheek-to-cheek and smiling, and you stare at it until it blurs. Then, you shove it back in the book and throw it against the wall. Dropping your head into your hands, you feel like you’re being watched, and if the picture hadn’t affected you more than you anticipated, you might be scared by that.

Sitting alone in a rundown diner, you tap a sugar packet against your cup. It’s been five days since Lia Carter was attacked, and if you aren’t approached by The Fatherless tonight, he’ll kill another woman. You shift as if you can feel the picture of your dad in your pocket. It’s halfway out, so anyone who approaches your table can see it, yet another piece of bait to get yourself on a serial killer’s radar. You wish he could see it so no one else has to see him.

“Evening,” a man greets as he slides onto a barstool directly to your right.

You look over your shoulder, and when the man’s eyes drop to the picture, you fight down a smile. A killer sits beside you, his complete attention on you, and you’re exactly where you wanted to be.

“Good evening,” you reply lightly.

“Young love, huh?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to the young pregnant couple sharing a milkshake at the other side of the diner. “I bet they’ll be fun parents.”

You laugh humorlessly and look down at your sugar packet as you murmur, “I wouldn’t know what that looks like.”

He frowns sympathetically and offers, “Let me get you another drink?”

Though you want to agree and speed through this part, you remain hesitant, a faux vigilance. The Fatherless leaves plenty of room between you, making it feel like you’re in charge.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he says to the waitress. When you look at him again, he smiles and shrugs. “It looks good.”

“It is good,” you reply, letting your eyes drift back to the happy couple.

“I used to imagine that my parents looked like that,” he muses. “But then I remember my dad was a deadbeat who left before I started preschool.”

“Now that I can understand.” You nod as you look at your empty cup.

“Ready for that drink?” he guesses.

You smile sheepishly, and he turns to order another drink before he slides off the barstool and sits on the other side of your booth.

“Your dad leave too?” he inquires, treating it like another mundane subject.

He asks open-ended questions but feeds you information he shouldn’t even know. You know what he’s doing, and you will play his game for as long as it takes.

“Yeah. I mean, in hindsight, I guess I should’ve seen it coming,” you answer.

“You were older?”

As you continue answering his questions, talking more and touching your drink less, you notice his eyes keep flitting to your cup. There was no evidence of him drugging the previous victims, so he must be pulling out all of the stops for you, his first target who defends herself and others for a living.

“So, you go hang out by yourself when you’re feeling like this?” The Fatherless asks.

“Depends on the day,” you say. “And the feeling.”

“I used to go sit on one of the bridges over the Los Angeles River and just stare into it.”

“That helped?”

“Almost every time. Something about the concrete lining on what should have been natural just… put everything into perspective, I suppose.”

“Typically, I try to escape thoughts of my dad,” you point out with a smile.

“And staring into murky water doesn’t help with that?” he challenges.

“That’s fair. I think I’d like to see it, give it a try.”

“We aren’t far from a viaduct.”

“I didn’t drive,” you complain. “The one time I decide to walk to clear my head.”

“I’ve got a car. If you’re comfortable with that.”

You pretend to deliberate his offer, then smile and stand. He leaves some cash on the table – cheap tipper, you think – and then leads you to a nondescript black Mustang. As he walks to the driver’s side, you slow and memorize the license plate.

“You know, one thing I never considered before is how lucky I am that I don’t have to worry about who will walk me down the aisle,” he says as he opens the door. “I guess your daddy issues are why you go for Sergeant Salt ‘n’ Pepper, though, huh?”

You don’t expect the comment, and it makes you stop. How The Fatherless managed to find the one thing you haven’t thought about for years, your wedding day, and how strange it might be without a father figure confuses you. More, the fact that he brought Deacon into this causes you to freeze.

“C’mon,” he urges, likely sensing your sudden discomfort.

“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “Got lost there for a second, didn’t I?”

As you get into the car, you know you’re doing the right thing but are admittedly scared now. If he knows that much about your life presently, who knows how much information he has on your childhood or family. He talks during the short drive to the viaduct, and you force yourself to keep the conversation going.

It’s weird. Your dad is who he is; you’ve moved on from the pain and heartbreak he put you through, and that’s what this guy is supposed to care about. But, because of The Fatherless, you’re thinking about something else. Is it possible that everything that exists or could exist between you and Deacon is just because of that?

Standing on a viaduct over the Los Angeles River, The Fatherless stands too close to you. He reaches for a weapon, but you’re too slow, not even raising your hand before there’s a gun in your face. Defenseless, you stand still as an engine rumbles before footsteps pound against the pavement.

“LAPD SWAT, drop the weapon!” Hondo yells.

“You’re surrounded, man,” Luca adds. “It’s over.”

“Put the gun down and step back!” Hondo repeats.

You stare into his eyes, looking past the gun. The moment he begins to lower his arm, Luca and Street rush forward and detain him before passing him off to another officer. With the police lights reflecting off the water below you, you look to your team as you fight to keep your emotions inside.

“That was the stupidest, most reckless act of incompetence I have ever seen!” Hondo yells, taking a heated step toward you.

Street raises his arm quickly, slapping his hand against Hondo’s chest. When Hondo stops, Street shakes his head but keeps his eyes on you. He can tell there’s something else wrong, more than you not defending yourself. You’re surprised, however, when someone else seems to notice it.

Deacon walks toward you, where you stand at the edge of the concrete platform. Stopping several steps back, Deacon doesn’t touch you but waits for you to do something. Down the bridge from you, the surveillance team that was watching and listening from the moment you stepped into the diner tells Hicks, Hondo, Luca, and Street what The Fatherless said to you.

When they hear that he brought someone you care about now into the conversation, they look back to you and Deacon. Hondo sighs while Luca runs his fingers through his hair, and Street murmurs, “No,” under his breath.

“I told Street I didn’t want the daughters of Los Angeles to pay for the sins of our fathers,” you begin. “But we can’t escape it. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to forgive him and move on, I’m still broken inside because of what he did.”

“You’re not broken,” Deacon insists.

“Then why do I look for love everywhere but only find it where I can’t have it?!” you ask, your voice rising as you step back.

Deacon raises his hands as you near the edge of the overpass. Your team moves forward, too, but everything else slows down.

“He was right, Deacon,” you murmur.

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes, he was! I love things that I can’t have because one of the few times I loved something with my entire heart, my dad shattered it.”

“Look where you are now,” Deacon demands, his arms still out toward you. “Despite that pain, in spite of everything he did to you, you are here. You have a career you love, a team that loves you like family, a-“

“Please stop saying love,” you interrupt.

“We love you,” Deacon finishes. “And we don’t care about what your dad did or didn’t do because we love you, scars and all."

You wipe a stray tear from your jaw, and Deacon takes another step toward you.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Differently than I’ve ever loved anything before.”

Your breath catches, but Deacon would never lie to you. You sniff and ask, “So, you don’t think I’m attracted to you just because of my daddy issues?”

Deacon smiles at your question, shakes his head, and offers his hand. You place your hand in his, grateful for the warmth of his glove, and then he pulls you against his chest and hugs you tightly. Safe in his arms, you let yourself cry, barely registering his movements as he carefully directs you away from the viaduct.

A moment later, more arms wrap around you as your team joins in your group hug. You laugh through the tears, loving each one for different reasons. And, just as you love them, they love you. This is your family, and this kind of love transcends generational curses and past traumas. You’re all different people, shaped by your pains and experiences, but you fit together. The people in this hug are your family: perfect pieces held together by love.

As Deacon follows you into your home, you know he will offer to stay, but you have something you’ve needed to say for a long time.

“I love you, too,” you admit. “I’m in love with you, and I have been for years.”

Deacon smiles as he offers his hand again; you take it, willing to go anywhere with him. He kisses your forehead and then leads you to the kitchen. The possibilities are endless now that your feelings are out in the open. You can do anything, be anything with Deacon.

For tonight, though, you want to sit with him and remember that you’re loved, and you can love as hard as you want because the sins of your father are not your responsibility nor a weight you must bear. Who you are now is who Deacon loves, and that’s exactly what you want to be.

[diaco1968]

Bully!Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings! 18+, mdni, Bullying (only in the beginning tho), broken nose(no major character), smut, unprotected, choking, riding... the usual.

.also, everyone aged up and past college

"Whatcha hiding there pipsqueak?"

You immediately tried to get down to collect your scattered papers but he grabbed your shoulder and shoved you back up, your breath hitched as your back hit the lockers, the rattling attracting the nearby people's attention as they stared at you and started whispering amongst themselves.

"...nothing..."

You watched in dismay as he leaned down and grabbed the neat looking envelope and turned it to see the dried up flower taped expertly to its front, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

"What fuckery is this? Are you in a high school drama show?"

His eyes snapped on you with a glare before amusing himself further with the letter he pulled out of the envelope.

"He asked you out in a letter and still lacked the balls to sign it with his name, huh? Who is the loser? It's probably a prank."

You pursed your lips and he glanced at the letter again before pressing on.

"Or maybe he was forced in a dare."

"No he wasn't, give it back." You reached out to grab the envelope but he pulled it away holding it out of your reach.

"So you know him already. Been screwing around before, huh? Not as innocent as you look, are you?"

"It's none of your business."

"It's my business when I say it's my business." He dangled the letter above you but you narrowed your eyes and didn't bother play his game.

"So. If not for a dare then why the fuck is he asking you out?"

You frowned pressing your nails harder against your palm in a tight fist before pushing yourself off the lockers deciding it's not worth fighting over and with a huff turned around to leave but before you could take a step his hand slammed onto the locker next to your head, crumbling the letter in between his hand and the locker, his arm blocking your path and caging you in. You gasped and He leaned in to whisper in your ear, hot breath fanning the side of your neck. You could smell his signature caramel scent and you would have liked it if it wasn't for the current situation. He had never ever actually hurt you physically but he was still scary, and if he was capable of hurting you, you didn't want to find out. You gulped.

"This time I will let it slide. But you will not turn your back on me again. Got it?"

You very subtly nodded and he pulled away from you, the letter falling to the floor as he turned and walked away.

*******

As you made your way through the crowd of students it became obvious that the commotion was from a fight and all these people were standing there to watch. You had waited for a long time for your date to show up and now you were going to go and find out what was the hold up since he wasn't in the habit of making you wait. And unfortunately you couldnt get to him without crossing from this particular corridor. You could just slip past the fighting people without being noticed and ignore them. You were almost at the opening in between the crowd when you looked up to see none other than your date. He was lying on his back, holding his nose with both hands while blood trickled out from in between his fingers and he writhed on the ground in pain.

"Get up."

Above him was crouched your own personal bully, Bakugou, watching his pathetic prey with a curious head tilt, not a scratch anywhere on his face.

"I said get up!" His hand shot out and he grabbed a fist full of the poor boy's hair and pulled him up on his hands and knees while he grunted in pain.

"What are you doing?! Stop!"

All eyes turned on you before you could process your interference, but your eyes were only locked on a pair of glinting crimson eyes as they stared back at you with excitement.

"Oh look! There she is. Is this the kind of whimp you're into? Really, (y/n)? You fancy weaklings, huh? Disappointing."

He then looked back down at the boy,

"why dont you tell her yourself?"

He grabbed your date by the scruff and pulled him off the ground, onto his feet and held him in front of you. It was a sorry sight, the blood dripping down from his swollen nose onto his chin, a violent red patch on his cheek slowly turning purple and watery eyes either from the impact to the nose or he was crying.

You looked him in the eye wondering how he got himself into this mess, the more you looked the more you feared Bakugou.

"Go on! Tell her!"

He barked making you jump and your eyes darted between Bakugou and the boy.

"I don't want to go out with you anymore..."

His voice sounded awkward due to his nose being clogged by blood and he was looking down avoiding your eyes. You didn't blame him, if this had happened to him just cause he was dating you, it was only natural he wouldn't want to continue.

"Good boy. Now scram, loser!"

Your eyes were becoming glossy as you stood there unable to walk away holding back tears of frustration not wanting to piss him off again by turning your back on him. You had so many mixed feelings. Bakugou had no right meddling with your business like that. Despite his dipshit behavior, you kinda liked him. But he had never shown any sign of interest other than giving you his homework sometimes and bullying you around when he was bored. To want to prove you're not worth anyone else's love or interest was just another level of low, you had assumed he wouldn't stoop to.

On the other hand you couldnt help the tiny feeling in your gut that he did all this for you. A more primal side of you was tingling excitedly to the feeling of Bakugou fighting another male away from you to keep you all to himself.

You pushed this side far back down, a tear escaping and rolling down your cheek as you glared at Bakugou while he loomed over you, staring you down for a while, not looking as smug as he did a few seconds ago.

His scraped fingers twitched and you wondered briefly if he wanted to punch you too but he just clicked his tongue and walked away.

*******

You stared at the slender cigarette between your fingers, your other hand squeezing the lighter, looking around while you were standing next to the building after closing hours. It had rained all day and now it was cold and windy and everyone had already left so you were really in need of something to calm you down, your now-ex had once given you these and you doubted he was going to come for them after all that went down just a while ago.

With shaky fingers you put the roll between your lips and tried the lighter. The wind immediately blew in out, so you shielded it with your other hand and put it to the tip of the cigarette ready to inhale.

"What are you doing?"

Bakugou's voice startled you and in your horror your lips parted dropping the roll on the ground.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

You looked at the wasted cigarette on the ground that was now wet and soggy and looked back up at Bakugou staring intently at you waiting for a reply.

Wasn't it obvious what you were doing?

"I...needed to relax so... I was going to smoke?"

You sounded so unfamiliar and meek to yourself.

"Oh you were going to smoke, were you?"

He stepped forward and crushed the cigarette under his foot, getting in your face. You looked up at him wondering what he wanted with you now.

"Does it make you feel all grown up and tough? Smoking that shit?"

"I am already grown up... what are you talking about?"

His hands were immediately latched onto your collar and he pulled you to himself growling in your face.

"Oh you think you become so cool smoking, that now you can talk back to me?"

You frowned trying to free your clothes from his grasp.

"Bakugou...let me go..."

"You're not going to smoke again. You heard me?"

"It's none of your business! Let me go!"

You screamed at him, all the pent of frustration finally surfacing, but you regret it almost as soon as the words left your lips.

"Shut your mouth!"

He used his grip on your collar to shove you away and you stumbled backwards on the ground before plopping down on your butt in a huge puddle, the water splashing everywhere.

You immediately jumped out looking down at your soaked clothes, the wind freezing you to the bone.

"You're such a clutz..."

Your eyes snapped onto him in a furious glare.

"I was fine standing here on my own before a stupid bully decided he wasn't done with me yet after everything he did to me and started to push me around some more!"

By the time your yelling finished your whole body was shivering from the cold. He watched you for a few seconds in deafening silence, and you wondered if this time you angered him enough for him to hit you.

"Are you done?"

His tone was very calm and even kinda warm, so you nodded your head and he took off his coat and handed it to you to your surprise. Was that his way of apologizing?

"My house is way closer than yours for a cold walk. Let's go."

******

You watched from the window as the wind howled and lashed the branches against the windows and the rain drops poured down the glass, the sound of thunder making you jump a little and get out of your trance.

You sighed looking down at yourself.

You were wearing his shirt and that's all. A black shirt with a white skull on it, and very oversized for you. It reached down to the middle of your thighs, hanging loosely on your shoulders.

Your underwear was also soaked so you had to take it off too, now any kind of breeze would make you shiver and goosebumps rose on your skin.

"What are you doing there? Get out here and warm up."

You heard his booming voice slightly muffled by the closed door. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks and the tips of your ears thinking about your current style and how exposed you were and with a deep breath and a heavy sigh you stepped out of the bathroom to join him, your hands gripping the hem of your shirt and firmly holding it down over your thighs. When you walked into his room he was busy with his TV so you quietly sneak behind him and sit on the end of the bed feeling uncomfortable, he lived in a suite so there was no other place to sit.

"Did you hang your clothes up to dry?"

He didn't turn towards you but you instinctively pulled your legs closer to yourself and pulled the shirt lower over them.

"Yes."

"I forgot to give you these. Here."

He turned to the drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts from it then turned to offer it to you as you got up and reached over to grab it from him, his hands freezing mid air as his eyes locked onto yours.

You could feel your heartbeat rising as you watched his eyes rake down your body staring at his shirt on you, then his eyes moved down your legs and back up slowly again, his gaze so heavy you could almost feel it drag on you.

You grabbed the shorts from his hands but he snatched your wrist instead and pulled you closer, so close you had to raise your hand to press it against his chest not to slam into him.

"What are you wearing under it?"

His voice was significantly lower and much more sensual, for the lack of better words. You took in a big breath silently relishing in his caramel scent and the feel of his hard chest under your palm before looking up at him through your lashes, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity."

"How naughty of you."

"Watch it. you don't want to start something you can't finish." Even with the low growl in his voice he wasn't trying to sound threatening at all. You knew what he sounded like when he wanted to threaten. The opposite, he came off as very attractive sounding like that and looking at you through half lidded eyes. And you would bet he knew it too.

You leaned up on your tiptoes to get in his face as you looked straight in his eyes, your lips merely an inch away from his.

"And what if I can finish what I want to start?"

You could now feel his heartbeat under your palm making you wonder if you had previously missed it or was he just now getting excited.

"Then go for it."

You felt intoxicated by the heat and smell radiating off of him, the strong aura he had, it felt like you were too impatient to play him anymore. You leaned up and pressed your lips softly against his, closing your eyes. For a few seconds he didnt move at all, probably not expecting you to back your attitude up. The only contact he had with you was his hand on your wrist. But that changed in a blink of an eye. He let go of your wrist to grab your waist with both hands and pulled you flush against him, humming and deepening the kiss when you draped your arms around his neck. One of his hands moved up from your waist carassing your back from over the shirt before settling in a firm grip on the back of your neck, the other moved down squeezing one ass cheek from over the shirt before sliding under it to grip it tight and pull you into himself as he grinded his hips forward into yours. His tongue was in your mouth as soon as you parted your lips to moan, wrestling yours into submission.

It was too hot, too much, he was touching you all over, you tried to pull away from the kiss but his fingers carded in your hair grabbing a fistful and angling your face back up into the kiss with a demanding growl.

By the time you whined in his mouth you were almost completely out of breath and he loosened his hold on your hair to let you pull back to catch your breath, a thin string of saliva stretching from your lips to his tongue that he completely ignored, immediately latching back onto your jaw and moving wet hot kisses down your neck. His teeth were scraping over your sweetspots like he had known them for years before he sucked in your raw skin and licked over the abuse he left behind, he reached the collar and gently pulled it off one of your shoulders, sinking his teeth in the exposed skin, you gasped and gripped onto him tighter. He kept kissing and biting lower and lower until the shirt got in his way again. You pulled away from him and grabbed the hem to remove it but he stopped you.

"Keep it on."

His hands moved over your back again and felt up your sides pulling the shirt from behind to make it cling tightly around your form admiring your body from one step away before releasing the shirt probably enjoying how much bigger than you he was. With sudden movements he pushed you back on the bed and you landed on your butt looking up at him as he pulled off his own shirt, his toned body distracting your eyes. He noticed the brief disappointment in your mood and probably caught on cause he smirked and crawled on top of you making you scoot further up the bed.

"What? You thought I dont want to see what you're hiding under the shirt?"

His eyes had become so predatory that you had to bite your lower lip to hold back a submissive whimper. He grabbed your hips and pulled you back to him, making the shirt move up and crumple around your waist exposing much more than you intended to show.

"You should keep it on cause I want to see that you are mine."

His hand slid under the shirt and up your sides lifting it up and ducking his head underneath. It took him a few seconds to admire the view, his breath tickling your skin while he reached up and grabbed one of your boobs, squeezing and massaging it before he licked the rough patch of his tongue over your other nipple making you gasp and arch your back in surprise when he sucked the bud in his mouth.

When he tugged your nipple between his teeth you had to put your hand on his head and pull him back towards you but his free hand grabbed your hand and held it down by your side entwining your fingers. When his treatment of your boobs started becoming painful your protesting noises got louder and with a pop he released you from his mouth, moving his lips down your body leaving a wet trail. Letting go of your hand to grab your hips and lift you up, he pulled your lower half over his lap and placed your legs over his shoulders, bending you so far you could clearly see his face above you and between your legs, aligning your heat with his mouth. You couldn't grab his hair to have the slightest bit of control, your legs were in the way, so you just fisted the sheets and involuntarily clenched your thighs around his head as he licked along your slit roughly. His tongue rubbed up in between your folds, mixing your slick with his saliva before he sucked it all in harshly with your clit sending a sharp jolt up your spine.

"Ah Fuck!"

You couldn't help the loud moans and mewls that left your lips as your thighs started shaking in anticipation and you clawed at his wrists pleading him for mercy, but his tongue didn't seize fucking in between your folds.

"Ah... please! You don't have to..."

To your surprise he paused his movement to lift his mouth from you a little and when he started speaking his hot breath on your wet cunt made you shiver.

"No I don't have to, I'm doing this for me."

His hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of your hair yanking your head forward into an uncomfortable position were you could watch him eat you out and as he resumed his onslaught he watched you intently until your eyes roll back into your skull as you came undone in his mouth.

He layed you gently back on the bed letting you catch your breath, his eyes once again admiring the loose black shirt on you, half hiding some of the marks he had left on your neck and shoulders, your chest heaving underneath the skull print on the shirt.

His shirt.

Your face flushed bright red as you watched him wipe the glistening moisture from his lips and chin with the back of his hand, smirking at you when your eyes met, he held your gaze as he undid his jeans and pulled them down, making you avert your eyes.

"Ready to ride, pipsqueak?"

He flopped next to you on the bed, pulling himself further up on his back and rested his head on a pillow looking ready for a show with his hands under his head. Your eyes moved down his face to his tense abs to his hard on that was fully at attention looking all proud.

You bit your lower lip, wondering if you had ever felt so much heat in your face before, your face was probably beet red by now. You timidly got up on your knees and shyly lifted a leg to straddle his waist, holding the shirt down and hiding your naked lower half as much as you could, hoping you could hide your face if you got on him in reverse. His hand was on your leg in an instant pushing it back down and gesturing to your other leg.

"Nuh uh. I wanna watch you."

He didn't leave you room for more errors as he grabbed your waist and hoisted you up over himself, scoffing at the squeak you released when your soaked core rubbed onto his hard dick. You had to press your hands against his chest to hold your balance, and you very slowly started to get a feel of him slipping between your folds by rolling your hips over him.

Your grinding had his tip pressed into your entrance and his fingers twitched on your sides, holding them tighter as he hissed quietly.

"Gonna take your time, huh?"

"Will you shut up!"

You don't know what took over you, probably you've had enough of his teasing tone, but to further soludify your point you reached up with one hand and wrapped your fingers around his throat, squeezing the sides in warning.

The silence that took over made you gulp down the anxiety before you could look up at his face and you were immediately amazed; his cheeks were powdered pink, eyes half lidded but dialated pupils glinting with excitement and his lips were parted letting out shallow breaths.

He seemed to like it, so you kept your hand around his throat.

Not taking your eyes off of him you reached between you to grab his length and angle it before lowering yourself onto it slowly. once the head popped inside you and you engulfed it with your warm wet tightness, he let out the breath he had previously sucked in, as a long deep groan and closed his eyes, his face showing pure bliss for the whole duration you sank him deep inside you.

It took a while to get used to his size and his angle inside you, during which he didn't do anything to rush you, seemingly taken the hint that you were in control, but as soon as you started moving your hips his eyes snapped onto where your bodies were connected.

His hands carassed your sides as you timidly rose and sank back down on him again making you both release a satisfied sigh, then you started moving with a shy little rhythm. His fingers snaked under the shirt, his thumb hooking the hem and slowly pulled it up as his hands moved higher over your body, soon enough the shirt was crumpled right below your boobs, and he moved it higher holding it over your mouth.

"Open."

You glanced at the shirt then at him before taking the fabric between your teeth. You were now mostly naked in full display for him beautifully, as he watched your boobs bounce and jiggle with every move, moving his hands back into a firm grip on your hips to provide you some extra balance, his thumbs carassing you, not as gentle as it was possessive.

His tip was kissing your cervix every time you sank back down on him, making you roll your hips back and forth to savor the painful pleasure of it. He didn't appreciate your slow rhythm for long though, his patience wearing thin as he gripped your hips, his other hand moving up your spine before gripping the back of your neck, using his grip combined with a thrust of his hips up into you, had you lurching forward bracing yourself with your hands on the bed on either side of his head. And just like that your little game of dominance was over.The hand on your hips snaked around your waist, holding you firmly against himself as he started a brutal pace thrusting up into your gushing pussy, the knot in your lower stomach tightening, The angle had you gripping his shoulders for dear life, barely able to breathe as rugged gasps left your lips. His fingers carded through your hair pulling you forward to crash his mouth onto yours. The possessiveness of the kiss had you pushed over the edge , clamping around his length as your orgasm crashed over you, creaming all over his shaft. It took you a minute or so to come down from your high, and realise while he was helping you ride out your high with shallow slow thrusts his lips had curled into a satisfied smirk against your mouth, so you pulled away from the kiss, your cheeks flushed.

"I don't have to look to know you've made a big pretty mess down there."

You whimpered, hiding your face in your hands in embarrassment making his grin widen. He grabbed your wrists pulling them away from yiur face while he rolled you over on your back, now hovering over you.

"Why you hiding now? Too late for that I've already seen how hot you look when yoh cum undone."

He nudged your thighs up with his knees, placing his cock back in your folds, sliding over the sensitive nub a few times making you squirm under him.

"I want to see more of that lewd littel face of yours."

You started to weakly push him on the chest but He grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and held them above your head.

"You have one more in there for me, don't you?"

grabbing your throat giving it a gentle squeeze while he pushed himself back inside you, you shut your eyes, biting your lower lip at the sensation of him filling you up.

"you're going to cream around my cock again, aren't you?"

"... move..." you whined trying to pull him in more with your legs hooked around his waist but he didn't budge.

"Ask nicely."

"Fuck me please! I'll cream all around your cock! Please!"

His grip tightened around your throat and your lips parted while your walls cinched around his dick making him hiss from the tightness as he thrusted into you, long deep slow thrusts sending you over into a toe curling release, milking him harshly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought,...fuck!"

He let go of your wrists to grab his cock and jerked it over you, cumming all over your stomach and chest as he watched your fucked out face.

You were both panting as you came down from your high, looking at eachother, kind of shy and embarassed before he grinned down at you boyishly.

"Aren't you glad I ruined your date?"

You pushed him off annoyed.

"You could've asked yourself... nicely."

"Nah too cheesy. Like the letter."

You rolled your eyes and started scooting off the bed before his arm wrapped around your front and pulled you back to him, whispering in your ear,

"I'll ask nicely for you to choke me again, if you be a good girl."