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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months ago

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Penguin Random House, AI, and writers’ rights

NEXT WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

My friend Teresa Nielsen Hayden is a wellspring of wise sayings, like "you're not responsible for what you do in other people's dreams," and my all time favorite, from the Napster era: "Just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side."

The record labels hated Napster, and so did many musicians, and when those musicians sided with their labels in the legal and public relations campaigns against file-sharing, they lent both legal and public legitimacy to the labels' cause, which ultimately prevailed.

But the labels weren't on musicians' side. The demise of Napster and with it, the idea of a blanket-license system for internet music distribution (similar to the systems for radio, live performance, and canned music at venues and shops) firmly established that new services must obtain permission from the labels in order to operate.

That era is very good for the labels. The three-label cartel – Universal, Warner and Sony – was in a position to dictate terms like Spotify, who handed over billions of dollars worth of stock, and let the Big Three co-design the royalty scheme that Spotify would operate under.

If you know anything about Spotify payments, it's probably this: they are extremely unfavorable to artists. This is true – but that doesn't mean it's unfavorable to the Big Three labels. The Big Three get guaranteed monthly payments (much of which is booked as "unattributable royalties" that the labels can disperse or keep as they see fit), along with free inclusion on key playlists and other valuable services. What's more, the ultra-low payouts to artists increase the value of the labels' stock in Spotify, since the less Spotify has to pay for music, the better it looks to investors.

The Big Three – who own 70% of all music ever recorded, thanks to an orgy of mergers – make up the shortfall from these low per-stream rates with guaranteed payments and promo.

But the indy labels and musicians that account for the remaining 30% are out in the cold. They are locked into the same fractional-penny-per-stream royalty scheme as the Big Three, but they don't get gigantic monthly cash guarantees, and they have to pay the playlist placement the Big Three get for free.

Just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

In a very important, material sense, creative workers – writers, filmmakers, photographers, illustrators, painters and musicians – are not on the same side as the labels, agencies, studios and publishers that bring our work to market. Those companies are not charities; they are driven to maximize profits and an important way to do that is to reduce costs, including and especially the cost of paying us for our work.

It's easy to miss this fact because the workers at these giant entertainment companies are our class allies. The same impulse to constrain payments to writers is in play when entertainment companies think about how much they pay editors, assistants, publicists, and the mail-room staff. These are the people that creative workers deal with on a day to day basis, and they are on our side, by and large, and it's easy to conflate these people with their employers.

This class war need not be the central fact of creative workers' relationship with our publishers, labels, studios, etc. When there are lots of these entertainment companies, they compete with one another for our work (and for the labor of the workers who bring that work to market), which increases our share of the profit our work produces.

But we live in an era of extreme market concentration in every sector, including entertainment, where we deal with five publishers, four studios, three labels, two ad-tech companies and a single company that controls all the ebooks and audiobooks. That concentration makes it much harder for artists to bargain effectively with entertainments companies, and that means that it's possible -likely, even – for entertainment companies to gain market advantages that aren't shared with creative workers. In other words, when your field is dominated by a cartel, you may be on on their side, but they're almost certainly not on your side.

This week, Penguin Random House, the largest publisher in the history of the human race, made headlines when it changed the copyright notice in its books to ban AI training:

https://www.thebookseller.com/news/penguin-random-house-underscores-copyright-protection-in-ai-rebuff

The copyright page now includes this phrase:

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.

Many writers are celebrating this move as a victory for creative workers' rights over AI companies, who have raised hundreds of billions of dollars in part by promising our bosses that they can fire us and replace us with algorithms.

But these writers are assuming that just because they're on Penguin Random House's side, PRH is on their side. They're assuming that if PRH fights against AI companies training bots on their work for free, that this means PRH won't allow bots to be trained on their work at all.

This is a pretty naive take. What's far more likely is that PRH will use whatever legal rights it has to insist that AI companies pay it for the right to train chatbots on the books we write. It is vanishingly unlikely that PRH will share that license money with the writers whose books are then shoveled into the bot's training-hopper. It's also extremely likely that PRH will try to use the output of chatbots to erode our wages, or fire us altogether and replace our work with AI slop.

This is speculation on my part, but it's informed speculation. Note that PRH did not announce that it would allow authors to assert the contractual right to block their work from being used to train a chatbot, or that it was offering authors a share of any training license fees, or a share of the income from anything produced by bots that are trained on our work.

Indeed, as publishing boiled itself down from the thirty-some mid-sized publishers that flourished when I was a baby writer into the Big Five that dominate the field today, their contracts have gotten notably, materially worse for writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/19/reasonable-agreement/

This is completely unsurprising. In any auction, the more serious bidders there are, the higher the final price will be. When there were thirty potential bidders for our work, we got a better deal on average than we do now, when there are at most five bidders.

Though this is self-evident, Penguin Random House insists that it's not true. Back when PRH was trying to buy Simon & Schuster (thereby reducing the Big Five publishers to the Big Four), they insisted that they would continue to bid against themselves, with editors at Simon & Schuster (a division of PRH) bidding against editors at Penguin (a division of PRH) and Random House (a division of PRH).

This is obvious nonsense, as Stephen King said when he testified against the merger (which was subsequently blocked by the court): "You might as well say you’re going to have a husband and wife bidding against each other for the same house. It would be sort of very gentlemanly and sort of, 'After you' and 'After you'":

https://apnews.com/article/stephen-king-government-and-politics-b3ab31d8d8369e7feed7ce454153a03c

Penguin Random House didn't become the largest publisher in history by publishing better books or doing better marketing. They attained their scale by buying out their rivals. The company is actually a kind of colony organism made up of dozens of once-independent publishers. Every one of those acquisitions reduced the bargaining power of writers, even writers who don't write for PRH, because the disappearance of a credible bidder for our work into the PRH corporate portfolio reduces the potential bidders for our work no matter who we're selling it to.

I predict that PRH will not allow its writers to add a clause to their contracts forbidding PRH from using their work to train an AI. That prediction is based on my direct experience with two of the other Big Five publishers, where I know for a fact that they point-blank refused to do this, and told the writer that any insistence on including this contract would lead to the offer being rescinded.

The Big Five have remarkably similar contracting terms. Or rather, unremarkably similar contracts, since concentrated industries tend to converge in their operational behavior. The Big Five are similar enough that it's generally understood that a writer who sues one of the Big Five publishers will likely find themselves blackballed at the rest.

My own agent gave me this advice when one of the Big Five stole more than $10,000 from me – canceled a project that I was part of because another person involved with it pulled out, and then took five figures out of the killfee specified in my contract, just because they could. My agent told me that even though I would certainly win that lawsuit, it would come at the cost of my career, since it would put me in bad odor with all of the Big Five.

The writers who are cheering on Penguin Random House's new copyright notice are operating under the mistaken belief that this will make it less likely that our bosses will buy an AI in hopes of replacing us with it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

That's not true. Giving Penguin Random House the right to demand license fees for AI training will do nothing to reduce the likelihood that Penguin Random House will choose to buy an AI in hopes of eroding our wages or firing us.

But something else will! The US Copyright Office has issued a series of rulings, upheld by the courts, asserting that nothing made by an AI can be copyrighted. By statute and international treaty, copyright is a right reserved for works of human creativity (that's why the "monkey selfie" can't be copyrighted):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

All other things being equal, entertainment companies would prefer to pay creative workers as little as possible (or nothing at all) for our work. But as strong as their preference for reducing payments to artists is, they are far more committed to being able to control who can copy, sell and distribute the works they release.

In other words, when confronted with a choice of "We don't have to pay artists anymore" and "Anyone can sell or give away our products and we won't get a dime from it," entertainment companies will pay artists all day long.

Remember that dope everyone laughed at because he scammed his way into winning an art contest with some AI slop then got angry because people were copying "his" picture? That guy's insistence that his slop should be entitled to copyright is far more dangerous than the original scam of pretending that he painted the slop in the first place:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/10/artist-appeals-copyright-denial-for-prize-winning-ai-generated-work/

If PRH was intervening in these Copyright Office AI copyrightability cases to say AI works can't be copyrighted, that would be an instance where we were on their side and they were on our side. The day they submit an amicus brief or rulemaking comment supporting no-copyright-for-AI, I'll sing their praises to the heavens.

But this change to PRH's copyright notice won't improve writers' bank-balances. Giving writers the ability to control AI training isn't going to stop PRH and other giant entertainment companies from training AIs with our work. They'll just say, "If you don't sign away the right to train an AI with your work, we won't publish you."

The biggest predictor of how much money an artist sees from the exploitation of their work isn't how many exclusive rights we have, it's how much bargaining power we have. When you bargain against five publishers, four studios or three labels, any new rights you get from Congress or the courts is simply transferred to them the next time you negotiate a contract.

As Rebecca Giblin and I write in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism:

Giving a creative worker more copyright is like giving your bullied schoolkid more lunch money. No matter how much you give them, the bullies will take it all. Give your kid enough lunch money and the bullies will be able to bribe the principle to look the other way. Keep giving that kid lunch money and the bullies will be able to launch a global appeal demanding more lunch money for hungry kids!

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

As creative workers' fortunes have declined through the neoliberal era of mergers and consolidation, we've allowed ourselves to be distracted with campaigns to get us more copyright, rather than more bargaining power.

There are copyright policies that get us more bargaining power. Banning AI works from getting copyright gives us more bargaining power. After all, just because AI can't do our job, it doesn't follow that AI salesmen can't convince our bosses to fire us and replace us with incompetent AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Then there's "copyright termination." Under the 1976 Copyright Act, creative workers can take back the copyright to their works after 35 years, even if they sign a contract giving up the copyright for its full term:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

Creative workers from George Clinton to Stephen King to Stan Lee have converted this right to money – unlike, say, longer terms of copyright, which are simply transferred to entertainment companies through non-negotiable contractual clauses. Rather than joining our publishers in fighting for longer terms of copyright, we could be demanding shorter terms for copyright termination, say, the right to take back a popular book or song or movie or illustration after 14 years (as was the case in the original US copyright system), and resell it for more money as a risk-free, proven success.

Until then, remember, just because you're on their side, it doesn't mean they're on your side. They don't want to prevent AI slop from reducing your wages, they just want to make sure it's their AI slop puts you on the breadline.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/19/gander-sauce/#just-because-youre-on-their-side-it-doesnt-mean-theyre-on-your-side

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #publishing #penguin random house #prh #monopolies #chokepoint capitalism #fair use #AI #training #labor #artificial intelligence #scraping #book scanning #internet archive #reasonable agreements

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astralis-ortus · 9 months ago

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game for two

✱ husband!bc × gn!reader

— guess who just got his old yearbook in the mail?

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff, married life!au, non-idol!chan warnings → minor cussing (light hearted context), chan referred to as chris ⋆ see masterlist

coming home from work, you’re usually greeted with one of the following—an empty house, a soft reverberating beat from the small, cozy studio located at one end of your home, or a soft snore while some romance movie thickens its plot on the screen of your neatly mounted tv.

a view of your husband with a stack of books on his lap, however, was not exactly something you would ever have in your bingo card.

“whatcha up to?” became your follow up question after chris’ quick how-was-your-day debrief. it didn’t take you long before promptly securing the spot next to your husband, where he—judging from the way your ivory-colored couch emanates heat—had been hanging around on for quite some time now. “i don’t think i’ve seen those books before.”

“mm, just got them in the mail today,” chris hummed, an arm swiftly encaged your figure as he attempts wrap you in his warmth, “mum and dad found these in the attic while they were clearing out the house. thought would be better to keep these here than to fill up space in their new home.”

it only took you a second to realize what kind of book your husband has been flipping through when a familiar-yet-way-younger-looking dimpled smile came into view, eternally captured in the printed sheet. “oh! baby chris!”

“good lord,” a chuckle ignited from the depth of his chest, ones that always pair with the soft crinkles near his eyes and sometimes a nuzzle to your hair when he couldn’t stand the adoration bubbling in his heart, “i was an angsty, moody teenager there, not a baby.”

“sure, whatever you say, baby,” you teased, emphasizing the word as you stole the perfectly conditioned yearbook from his hands. you’ve seen countless of chris’ teenager years' pictures, sure, but what harm could it bring to have a peek at more?

chris comically let out a sigh as he rolled his eyes—a signature telltale of his attempt to ‘look’ annoyed. “you’d really be in a huge trouble if you call an angsty teenager a baby, you know.”

“i don’t, actually,” eyeing the faint playful glint in chris’ eyes, you decided to lure him into a game. after all, what’s a more fun way to spend your evening than to bicker with your husband? “what would this-” you pointed at his half-heartedly grinning self of the past, “-angsty teenager do if teenager me called him a baby?”

another set of chuckles escapes him—ones louder, which, more often than not, indicates his approval of the arena you’ve built.

he’s in the game.

“well, for starters,” chris tilted his head, quite obviously setting himself to get a full view of your reaction just by gauging the godawfully attractive smirk he got etched on his lips, “i’d probably…”

“…probably?”

his way of building suspense will one day definitely be the death of you. really. if you were honest to yourself, you would actually rather kiss that damned smirk off his face right now—but the game has just started, and you’d hate to lose to your husband on your own little trick.

only… would he even let you win?

“well…” shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, chris continued,

”i’d probably tell you to fuck off.”

the way your grin transformed into a face of utter disbelief was enough of a trigger to fill the room with echoes of chris’ laugh, filling the space with the kind of warmth you’ve only known after you met him. for now, however, you feel like you’ve been betrayed.

“that’s rude!” you huffed, incredulous. though arms are now completely folded in front of your chest, chris knew you’d still let him push more of your buttons; otherwise, why would you still melt into him?

“i’m your future wife! how could you tell me to fuck off?”

“in his defense, he didn’t know that!” he countered, wiping a stray tear which had involuntarily escaped while he was celebrating his first strike. "he was just a kid who thought the world in general was a mean ol' crone, so he just, you know, returned the energy."

"meeting you, however," setting his yearbooks aside, chris then took the chance to entrap you in his arms, "has changed my view about the world—for the better—and i owe you my life for that."

you've been speculating that there's something going on about chris' voice—is he a siren? or is he actually a highly skilled mage? how is it that his voice alone has never failed to untangle every single jumbled up knots under your skin?

or maybe, just maybe, the problem is you—because unknowingly, somewhere along the way, chris had long become your achilles heels.

"...shut up, christopher."

"aw- look at your ear! they're burning!"

"shut up!"

"heh- i love you too, baby."

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

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Pillow talk

Pairing: FTM! Peter B. Parker x Top Male Reader

Synopsis: In which Peter, a married man, gets off to the thought of being with someone other than his spouse

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, emotional infidelity, cheating kink, pillow humping, masturbation, oral sex, Peter has a size kink, Peter being a bit of a pervert

A/n: as always pls excuse any mistakes I tried a new writing style here, also if you want you can listen to More Than Friends by Isabel LaRosa while reading this since it’s heavily inspired by it!

A tired sigh escapes Peter’s lips as his bones bleed into the sheets. The window’s cracked ajar, allowing cold autumn air to mingle with the smell of MJ’s perfume that’s lingering around in the room.

He’s stripped down to nothing but his tattered pink robe, searing skin exposed to the chilly sensation emitting from his wedding ring as it trails along the length of his body.

For the first time in a while Peter’s gotten some time alone.

MJ has taken Mayday for the day and left so that Peter could have the house to himself, claiming he’d been pent up for a while and supposedly needed a break.

Peter hadn’t argued against it but had instead taken the offer with grace since it’s true that he has been feeling pent up but not for the reason MJ thinks. Peter’s sure that if she knew the reason behind his recent behaviors she wouldn’t be so willing to help him.

For the last couple of weeks Peter’s been plagued with the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor, not his next door neighbor because that man is a menace and Peter’s pretty sure the hate’s mutual.

Instead he’s come to the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor on the floor below him, that neighbor being you.

At first he was sure that he hated you since you made his spider senses tingle, well at least that’s what he thought it was.

He’d first met you at a neighborhood block party. You had recently moved in or so he had heard and were more than eager to get acquainted with the neighbors for whatever reason.

You were lounging around in a lawn chair when he had first arrived with MJ and Mayday.

The poor thing threatened to give out under your weight but you paid it no mind as you entertained a conversation with a neighbor and nourished a beer in your hand.

When you rose to greet him, Peter noticed that you were a whole head taller than him so it was no wonder that you made his spider senses tingle.

He tried his best to ignore you but even when he couldn’t see you, he could smell you since you wore this stupid cologne that smelled stronger than anything MJ’s ever worn before and because of that he could always tell when you were lingering around.

If he thought that smelling and seeing you was bad then touching you was something else.

He’d purposely opted out of a handshake when you first greeted each other but that didn’t save his spider sense from going into overdrive after having your knees knock together while you were sat at the same table or having your elbows brush against each other while scooping up leftovers.

However even though you made his spider sense go off, Peter had quickly realized that you weren’t a threat, at least not a dangerous one.

You were friendly and always made sure to spark up a conversation with him, even when you'd be in a rush to something.

You’d go out your way to bring him any of his mail or packages that happened to be misplaced.

Hell you'd even baby sat Mayday a handful of times so it was safe to say you weren’t a threat. But for whatever reason Peter couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

Especially after hearing your ever so polite voice protruding through his thin bedroom walls, your dirty words squeezing between his and Mj’s hushed conversations. Or seeing the way you basically engulfed whoever was in your arms but unlike the lawn chair they seemed to thrive from being in your embrace. And escaping the smell of your cologne turned out to be a hard feat since every other day someone would be prancing around in one of your shirts dozed in the smell of it.

He doesn’t even remember when he started making sure that he’d be the one to pick Mayday up from your house, just to see whatever lounge wear you’d be prancing around in that day and the bit of skin that always seemed to show through it.

He doesn’t remember when he started hoping that the mailman would misplace yet another letter or package just so that he could feel your calloused fingertips brushing against his as you handed him something.

He doesn’t even remember when he started biting his tongue just so he wouldn’t ask you who he had seen standing outside your door the previous night.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He has MJ and he has Mayday and as far as he knows he’s happy. He’s just pent up, like MJ had said.

It’s not like Peter and MJ don’t have sex. It’s just that she doesn’t do it for him, at least not anymore.

Every time they get intimate he’d have to fake an orgasm or jerk off after she’d gone to bed. Lately he’s even had to pretend to be asleep every time she tried to initiate something because he simply wasn’t up for it.

So he’d find other ways to entertain himself and one of the ways being with inappropriate thoughts of his neighbor.

And things kind of escalate from there not in the literal sense since you’re so fucking polite, wont even look at him twice, keeping a respectful distance to a man who has a kid and a wife.

But God Peter wishes that you did, so much so he imagines you pinning him to the bed, hip to hip, chest to chest, those strong arms and thighs caging him into the mattress

The tattered robe wrapped around his frame doesn’t compare to the way your body would feel on top of his. But he keeps it on anyway, closes his eyes and pretends that the hand leisurely dragging across his limbs is your body pushing down onto his.

He imagines the way your lips would slot together, hot breath washing over his cheek as you whisper dirty words to him.

A thumb finds his lips, teasingly tugging and taunting at the bottom lip. It feels nothing like your calloused fingertips but his tongue peaks past his lips, tasting the salty skin before sinking down on it.

He imagines how you’d tease and taunt him in that polite voice of yours that managed to whisper such dirty words, how you’d mock him for wanting to be fucked like a bitch in heat despite the wedding band digging into his skin, maybe you’d force him to say it just so that he hears it from his own lips or so that the whole neighborhood can hear how desperate he is.

He imagines you straddling his waist grinding into him while wearing nothing but your boxers, teasing him to point where he’s soaking through his own pair of underwear.

A hand slides down his chest, blunt nails dragging down his happy trail, only to stop at the fringe of curls atop of his cunt, tugging and taunting til he’s all worked up.

He imagines your long fingers thrusting into him , or making him finger himself while wearing his wedding band, prepping himself to be fucked by someone other than his spouse.

And God he’s already so wet, fingers easily coating in his arousal as he trails them up his cunt, and in that very moment he can't help but think how MJ never gets him like this.

But his fingers are not enough- this little fantasy of his is not enough but you’re too good to do anything about it so he rolls onto his stomach before propping the pillow between his legs, pretending it’s your face.

He imagines the bed creaking under your shared weight, and the way the smell of your cologne would engulf his senses. He imagines the way your calloused fingertips would sink into the supple skin of his thighs and the way your ever so polite voice would sound as you command him to properly sit down.

He starts moving slowly, rolling his hips cautiously, imagining the way your tongue would experimentally delve through his folds.

The pillow slides in between his folds, coarse fabric creating a steady pressure onto his engorged numb, not enough to overwhelm his senses but enough to send jolts of pleasure coursing through his body every time he moves his hips.

He imagines you wanting to take your time with him wanting to taste him, tongue licking a strip along his cunt up to his puffy clit where you’d continue to tease him until he’s begging and urging you to hurry before someone can find the two of you like this.

But you wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t care if anyone were to find you like this, hand slapping his ass in warning before you continued to do as you pleased.

His hand cups the globe of his cheek, much like the way you’d do it if you were with him, except his fingers feel nothing like yours. But the cold sensation from his ring as it slaps his searing skin sends sparks of pleasure coursing through his entire body and for one second it almost feels like you’re actually there with him.

The coarse fabric of the pillow case reminds him so much of your stubble and it’s so wrong but feels so right - the thought of being fucked by someone other than his wife as huffs and pants escape his lips, hips moving faster as he wanders back to his fantasy.

He imagines you having him so worked up to the point where Peter’s long forgotten about the fact that someone can just walk in on you two because the bed’s creaking and he’s loudly begging and pleading for you to stop teasing.

Eventually you'd take pity on him, showing him mercy by properly latching onto his puffy clit, eagerly suckling on it before tonguing his hole.

He adjusts his hips, and the angle in which the pillow hits his clit changes slightly, and intensifies the sensation along with it.

“Oh- oh fuck!” He squeals out, toes curling as he throws his head back.

He imagines the way you’d easily have him teetering on the edge of his release with Peter begging and pleading for you to let him finish.

He can almost taste it, can hear the Squelching sounds mingling with the sound of needy noises escaping his lips. He can even smell his arousal: strong and heady, knowing he’s probably stained the pillow under him and will need to wash it before MJ comes back but for now he can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s so close, needs just a bit more -and that’s when he picks up on the sound of your footsteps walking up the stairs, smells the scent of your cologne bleeding into the air.

You must be on your way to his apartment to bring yet another misplaced package.

And Peter knows it’s wrong but it feels so right, feels himself tip over the edge as you read what’s written on the parcel, out loud

“To Peter B. Parker, please handle with care”

#peter b Parker #peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x male reader #peter Parker #peter Parker x reader #peter Parker x male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #trans male character #into the spider verse #across the spider verse #I tried a new writing style with this one let me know what u think #*nervous laughter*#sometimes I wish this was like AO 3 in terms of writing titles for fics #bc I wanted to out #I know your wife and she wouldn’t mind #but it doesn’t fit the lay out #alec writes #Omg I never tagged this god

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 7 months ago

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a/n: here she is! my fic for @prettytoxicrevolver for @wyattjohnston ‘s summer 2k24 fic exchange! this was so fun to write and step out of my comfort zone with cole. i hope you enjoy! ☺️

tw: some mild innuendo, zegras sister, brother’s best friend, fake dating

word count: 11.4k

summary: it’s the summer of weddings and just as you’re dreading going solo to them, your brother’s best friend, cole caufield, offers to be your date. it’s the perfect solution, too bad you’ve been madly in love with cole for years and your heart can’t seem to grasp the concept of a fake date.

“Fuck,” you mutter, flipping through the mail and spotting the thick cream colored envelope addressed to you.

And Guest.

Another fucking wedding to add to the summer slate, another fucking plus one when you don’t have a plus one to bring.

Your fingers tap against the cardstock, a frown drawing your lips into a downward curve.

“What’s with the pout, Noodle?” The familiar, grating voice of your brother startles you and you jump, sandals slapping against the pavers that lead into the backyard, the mail flying out of your hands. You could kill your mother for coming up with that nickname when you were a toddler. It’s not that cute now that you’re twenty-two and your brother uses it every chance he gets.

“Christ, Trev!” You snap, hand covering your heart. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You narrow your eyes at him, sprawled over the lounge chair closest to the pool. It’s only late April, but it was unreasonably warm the last two weeks, so your dad had decided to open the pool early even though no one was likely to use it until closer to Memorial Day. Well, no one but Trevor apparently. if the little puddles of pool water on the ddck are to be trusted.

“Gee,” he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, clapping both hands over his chest and putting on a faux-earnest expression, “just the welcome home a big brother was hoping for after a long and gruelling season of injury and loss.”

“First of all,” you squat down to gather up the mail, “mom and I were down in Anaheim for weeks when you busted your ankle. And secondly, if I had known you’d be coming home, I would’ve rolled out the appropriate red carpet.”

Your tone is laced with a healthy amount of sarcasm and Trevor doesn’t miss it, if the amused grin on his face is any indication.

“Mom stayed for weeks, you left after fifteen minutes,” Trevor counters. “And what does the red carpet entail? Are there fancy cocktails and snacks?”

Snorting, you fold the mail into a neat pile, holding it in both hands. “I’ll spring for a box of Cheez-its and a case of High Noon, good enough for you?”

Trevor pretends to think about it for a minute, making a show of rubbing at his chin, where a particularly pathetic attempt at a beard is growing, before nodding decisively. “I accept your offer,” he pronounces. “Seriously though, what’s with the face?”

“There’s no face,” you shoot back. “It’s just my regular face when I see you.”

“Dude, you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios,” Trevor snorts, flopping back onto the lounge chair. He waves a hand in front of his face. “You get all pinchy in the eyebrows.”

“I do not!” Your hand flies up to your forehead and smooths over the skin in between your brows, pressing into the little furrow, hating that he’s right. “Ugh, just fuck off.”

“Who’s fucking off?” A new voice, familiar, comes from behind you and you whirl around just in time to watch Cole Caufield step out onto the back deck, a bag of Tostitos and a jar of salsa held in his arms. Your heart skips a beat and you hate it. “I just got here so it’s not gonna be me.”

He grins at you, his whole face scrunching up, and you can pretend for a second until he opens his mouth again and says, “hi, Noodle.”

Fuck.

“Hey, Cole,” you manage a smile in return. “Came to freeload in Connecticut for a bit?”

Your brother’s friend laughs and plants himself on another lounge chair, tossing the bag of chips to Trevor while he pops open the salsa jar. “Is it freeloading when you’re invited?” He shrugs, giving you an impish look.

“Yeah,” Trevor supplies, his mouth stuffed with chips, “if Coley’s freeloading, then you’re freeloading too, Noodle.”

“Mom and Dad actually love having me around,” you shoot back, offended. “Besides, come fall, I’m moving out anyway, so they have to soak up all their time with me now.” You pop a hip out and flip your hair, forgetting again about the mail in your hands. The stupid, thick wedding envelope goes flying and Cole lunges to catch it before it lands in a puddle of pool water. You reach for it, but he flips the envelope over to see who it’s addressed to before giving it back.

One eyebrow quirks up and he says, “wedding season, huh?”

“Four this summer,” you huff a sigh and sit at the bottom of Trevor’s lounge chair, smacking his foot away when he twitches it to hit your thigh. “Oh my god, stop that.”

“No,” he hits your thigh again and you smack his ankle - not the previously broken one, you’re smarter than that. Cole laughs when you and Trevor devolve into a slapping and kicking fight that eventually ends with you on your ass on the patio and Trevor with chip crumbs in his hair.

“The fucking Zegras siblings,” Cole gasps out a laugh, one hand braced at his side. “You two are nuts.”

“Life was so much more peaceful when you were on the other side of the country,” you grouch at Trevor, fighting a blush when Cole sticks out his hand and pulls you to your feet. He pats the edge of his lounge chair, indicating for you to take a seat, and you do, trying to avoid the brush of your thigh against his. Your efforts are futile and it feels like your face is as hot as the sun when his warm skin touches yours.

Before Trevor can get a breath in to start fighting with you, Cole interrupts and asks, “four weddings is a lot. All friends? Aren’t you young to have friends getting married?”

You’re not that much younger than Cole - you and Trevor are Irish twins, both born in March (2001 for Trevor and 2002 for you) so, you’re only fourteen months younger than Cole, not that either one of them will let you forget that you’re younger.

“Don’t hockey players get married while they’re still in utero?” You tease, helping yourself to some chips. “I went to school in Alabama, it’s a miracle I made it out without becoming a child bride.”

“Plus one wedding’s our cousin’s and she’s thirty two,” Trevor supplies. “So not a child bride.”

Cole nods. “Yeah, fair enough. I guess we’re in the wedding season of our lives,” he laughs a little and you find yourself smiling just at the sound.

Goddamn, you’re down bad.

You force your mouth into a more neutral expression before Trevor spots it and starts roasting you. “Weddings are fun,” you admit, the next words slipping out of your mouth before you can stop them, “when you have someone to go with, anyway. Otherwise it’s just a reminder that you’re the sad single with no one to dance the slow songs with.”

Both guys are silent for a beat and you can feel the mortification working its way through your body. Good job, admitting that you’re alone and sad, in front of your stupid brother and his stupid friend that you’ve had a stupid crush on for years. Cole cocks his head at you and you spring up from the chair, nausea bubbling in your stomach. No way can you stand to hear whatever pity-tinged platitude he’s going to say.

“See you,” you mutter, jumping up from the chair and darting off inside where you can’t embarrass yourself any further.

Your mom is at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for dinner. She looks up when you come inside, nearly slamming the back door shut. “What’s on fire out there?” She asks, knife poised over the red pepper on the cutting board and a concerned look on her face.

“Just my social skills,” you grumble, swiping a piece of pepper. “Also, it would’ve been nice to have a warning that Terror was home.” You pause, snapping the pepper between your teeth. Add, “and bringing guests.”

“Noodle,” your mom laughs affectionately, “Dad and I have been talking about Trev’s visit for a week now. Jamie’s coming up at the end of the week too. You know your brother, always needs to have his little posse around.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname again. “No one calls it a posse anymore,” you huff, feeling all of sixteen years old again as you stomp off to your bedroom.

The guys dip before dinner, Trevor shouting through the house that they’re going for tacos, which is fine by you. The longer you can avoid Cole, the better.

Unfortunately, he’s staying in your house, down the hall in the guest room. So avoiding him is not entirely feasible, as you learn later that night. The house is dark and quiet, everyone allegedly sleeping, when you creep down the hall and slide through the back door, planning on sitting and watching the stars for a little bit. Insomnia’s been your friend for years and you’ve learned to just go with the sleepless nights, to try and make them as bearable and relaxing as possible. Sometimes you’ll manage to catch a few hours of sleep if you’re in a different location and your parents have definitely

found you curled up on the couch outside during the summer more often than not.

You’re not expecting to find Cole sprawled out on the couch when you get outside though.

“Oh!” You gasp before you can help yourself, before you can slip back inside.

Cole turns and shoots you a warm smile. “Hey, didn’t think I was going to have company,” he says, shifting so he’s not manspreading as much.

You wrap your arms around your chest and shrug a bit. “Insomnia,” you explain even though you don’t have to. “I was hoping some fresh air would help.”

“Cool,” Cole nods and then winces. “Not cool that you have insomnia. ‘Cause I’m sure that sucks. But, uh, cool that the fresh air might help? That doesn’t really make sense either.”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest and you shake your head. “You’re spending too much time with my brother, you’re going to turn into a yapper too,” you hear the affection that’s leeched into your tone and you bite your lip before you can say anything else.

“That ship’s sailed,” Cole laughs. “You can sit, I don’t want to get in the way of your routine or whatever.”

He shifts more to the side of the couch and you chew on the inside of your cheek briefly before taking a seat at the other end of the couch, propping your feet up on the coffee table. Your neon pink toenails glow in the moonlight and you wish you’d put on a pair of socks.

“I don’t really have a routine,” you sigh, pulling your sweatshirt sleeves down over your hands and curling them into fists. “Just kind of sit out here and contemplate life until I pass out or my mom gets breakfast started.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Cole nod and you wonder why he’s outside in the middle of the night but you were born with a brain to mouth filter, unlike Trevor, so you don’t ask. There’s a light breeze, so the pool water ripples and you watch it, zoning out until Cole speaks and startles you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You squint at him elegantly, having completely missed what he said.

Cole laughs a little and his smile feels too soft for this late at night. “I was saying, do you have a plus one for all of your weddings this summer?”

God. Why is he bringing this up again?

Your stomach twists and you nod reluctantly. “Yeah. The ‘and Guest’ has been like taking a bullet to the chest every time I get an invitation and remember I have no boyfriend to speak of.”

The joke doesn’t come out quite as light as you meant it.

“What if you did?” Cole asks, turning so he can face you. Your brow furrows again and - dammit, Trevor - your hands fly up to your face to smooth out the wrinkles. Cole continues, “like, I could be your plus one.”

“You have nothing better to do this summer?” You blurt out, regretting it immediately. It sounds rude and you’d love to spend at least four guaranteed days with him.

Cole shrugs, still grinning. “Tell me when the weddings are and I’ll tell you if I have plans,” he says. “I like weddings. They’re fun, especially when you’re just a guest with no responsibilities.”

“Um,” you start ticking the dates off on your fingers, “one’s June eighth, then there’s June 29th, July 14th, and the last one’s August 3rd.” You pause. “The June 29th one is down in Alabama, but the other three are here, in Connecticut.”

There’s nothing but the sound of crickets and the water hitting the side of the pool while Cole looks up and to the left, clearly running through his mental schedule. You resist the urge to gnaw on your thumbnail. Oh my god, this is awful. Why the fuck are you even discussing this with him?

“Count me in,” Cole says and even though you hear him perfectly, your response is a very eloquent, “huh?”

“I’m in,” Cole repeats. “I’ll be your wedding plus one, Noodle.”

That fucking nickname.

But wait.

Cole’s agreeing - volunteering - to be your plus one.

“All four?” You raise an eyebrow skeptically.

He nods. “All four. We’re doing Europe in May, but otherwise I was just gonna spend the summer bouncing between cities to see my family and stuff. I can do that and still be your date for the weddings.”

The fact that he’s volunteering is throwing you off. You rub a hand over your forehead, feet falling to the deck as you lean in, a serious frown on your face. “Like, I appreciate the offer, Cole, I really do,” you pause, chew at your lower lip. Cole’s gaze flickers down and you ignore the burst of heat low in your stomach. Do not even go there.

“But, um, isn’t it going to be annoying, if people come up to you?” It’s a flimsy excuse and Cole sees past it easily.

“I don’t think I’m that recognizable down in Alabama or even up here, unless I’m with Z and Drysy,” he laughs, self-aware and self-deprecating. “I’d like to be your date.”

“I, um,” you have no more excuses. The little devil on your shoulder is screaming at you to take advantage of the time with Cole, to use it to maybe make a real move. “Okay, yeah. That would be nice.”

Cole knocks his knee against yours and a spark shoots over your skin. “Don’t sound so excited,” he teases. “I’m a great date.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

——

The rest of the week passes without mention of the weddings or Cole being your date - you don’t even know if he told Trevor, but you’re betting he hasn’t.

Jamie joins the family for a couple of days and you spend the back half of the week trying to avoid being tossed into the pool every time you have the misfortune of wandering out into the backyard while your brother and his friends are out there.

They go out every night, catching up since they’re spread across the country for the season, and you’re called upon more than once for a pick-up, hauling their drunk asses back home while they act stupid in the backseat.

Cole never mentions the weddings and before you know it, it’s May and the house is quiet again because the trio is off to Europe for a couple of weeks. As crazy loud as the house was before, it feels even quieter now and it’s a little unnerving. You end up outside more often than not, skimming your feet through the pool water now that it’s warmer, thinking about Cole too much.

As if you manifested him, your phone lights up with a text from him. You tap at the screen and smile when you see a selfie of the three of them, cheesing with a gorgeous view of Prague in the background.

‘proof of life, but gonna shove z off a cliff if he asks one more would you rather….’ is the attached message and it makes you laugh out loud, the sound echoing around the backyard.

‘now you know how i felt on all those childhood road trips 😂’ you reply, sliding your phone into your sweatshirt pocket, quietly enjoying the fizz of excitement that Cole’s attention provides.

It’s almost too late to back out of the wedding date offer, not that you really want to, but you’re so nervous to slip up and say something while spending so much time with him. Especially after your friends have asked who you’re bringing as your plus one, curious since you haven’t dated anyone seriously in nearly a year. You really regret RSVPing to your cousin’s wedding with the plus one, your aunt was almost immediately on the phone with your mom, asking all about him even though she didn’t have a name.

That of course opened you up to the conversation with your mom, where she was very surprised when you told her Cole is going to be your date.

“He, um, asked,” you offer her an explanation when she asks, technically the truth.

She pins you with that classic mom look, the one that says she knows there’s more to the story than you’re letting on, but mercifully doesn’t say anything else. She just nods and hums and says, “well, Cole is basically family anyway. It’ll be nice to have him there. You should teach him some of the steps for the Greek dances.”

And that’s that.

But you’re pretty sure she knows that you’re harboring a massive crush on him.

Not that you were overly subtle about it when Trevor first became friends with Cole. But you like to think you’ve managed to maintain some level of chill around him in the past few years.

Your chill is about to be tested in an extreme way.

——

It’s June before you know it and it’s weird to have Cole staying at your house without Trevor also down the hall.

Trevor’s out in California with Dixie. The two of them are back on since he got back from Prague and honestly you can’t keep track of their relationship, so you’re more than happy to ignore it.

 Cole comes into town on the seventh, bearing a European tan and souvenirs for you. A handmade candle to join your, frankly obscene, collection and a tiny pocketknife with a fish shaped handle.

You run your fingers over the fish’s scales, overwhelmed by the fact that he even thought of you at all.

“Z bought one and I figured I couldn’t let you be unarmed in the next Zegras sibling battle,” he teases. “They’re like this whole cult thing in Prague apparently.”

“Thanks,” you grin at him genuinely, heat flushing your cheeks. “This was really thoughtful and, um, really handy when I need to give Trev a middle of the night payback haircut.”

After dinner and hanging out with your parents to watch a movie - how fucking sexy - you almost wish you’d told Cole to meet you at the venue. You feel all jumpy in his presence, never having spent this much one on one time with him. Usually Trevor and a whole host of other NHL players are a buffer.

“What time do we have to leave tomorrow?” Cole appears in your bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder leaning on the door jamb.

Fuck that’s so hot.

“Oh, um, ceremony’s at 4, so like 3ish? I guess?” You twist the ends of your hair around your fingers and then force yourself to stop.

“Sounds good,” he smiles at you, winks. “Get some beauty sleep, Noodle. Not that you need it.”

The whiplash between your nickname and the compliment has your head spinning for the better part of an hour and you don’t know what to make of any of it.

Somehow you manage to sleep and the next morning is spent getting your makeup sorted out and begging your mom to help you fix your hair. It’s nearly three by the time you’re done and Cole is hanging out with your dad in the kitchen, discussing hockey, of course.

“Okay, ready to go?” You grab up your car keys, knowing Cole will just end up fighting you for them. He doesn’t respond and you look up, heart pounding when you see the way his jaw is slightly dropped and his eyes are a little glazed over. “Um, everything okay?”

Your voice trembles and Cole shakes his head, clearing the fog. “Sorry, yeah, sorry. Just, you look really good,” he says quickly.

“Thanks,” you smooth your hands over your hips, barely able to make eye contact. “Ready?”

Cole nods and follows you out of the house, fights you for the car keys and wins. You slink off to the passenger side, secretly happy that you don’t have to make the drive. You’d much rather be a passenger princess.

The drive is normal enough, with Cole telling you all the non-parent friendly details of the European adventure and you filling him in on just exactly whose wedding you’re going to - your sorority best friend, coincidentally raised in Connecticut too before going to Alabama for college.

Even though you know nearly all of the guests, it’s nice to have Cole at your side when you walk into the venue. He acts a little bit like armor, keeping you from the bouts of social anxiety that you’re prone to. A couple of the guys recognize him, but for the most part it’s low key.

Until he introduces himself as, “Cole, the boyfriend,” and your entire brain becomes the blue screen of death.

You blink at him stupidly for too long and Cole’s face falls into a look of concern. He pulls you by the wrist to a corner of the room and stands so he’s blocking you from the rest of the reception.

“Hey,” he ducks his head a little to maintain eye contact, “are you okay? Did I say something wrong? I thought - well, wasn’t the point of this, of me coming to like stop people thinking you’re single?”

As he speaks, he looks more uncertain and you’re growing more and more horrified. This was a miscommunication of epic proportions.

“No, oh my god,” you whisper, palms sweating. “I didn’t…that wasn’t…I mean, yeah, it sucks to be like the last single girl standing, but I would never have asked you to be my fake boyfriend!”

“You didn’t ask, not really. I offered,” Cole replies, leaning in slightly, enveloping you in the scent of his cologne and your own body wash that he must’ve used in the shower this morning. It makes your head spin a little. “Jesus, Noodle. I should’ve talked to you about it.”

“I…oh my god, Cole. This is so stupid,” you start to giggle, hysteria bubbling up in your stomach. “We need to go correct the narrative before -“

A group of your sorority sisters descend on you in the corner, squealing about meeting your new boyfriend, introducing themselves and congratulating you in hushed whispers on what a cutie he is.

“That happens,” you finish your sentence in a muttered aside to Cole once the girls are gone.

He has the slightly shellshocked look most people have after they’ve been spun around in the sorority girl vortex and you can’t help but let out a reluctant giggle. He just looks so damn confused, it’s beyond endearing.

“Just…don’t say anything else and I’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow,” you sigh. “Maybe you should skip the other weddings too.”

Cole shakes his head, a strange smile on his face. “What if we just, you know, play along? Like, I already thought I was pretending to be your boyfriend, why not have some fun with it?”

Because playing pretend might actually kill you, you think. But you find yourself nodding anyway, agreeing to Cole’s suggestion. And the next thing you know, he’s got his hands on your hips and your arms are around his neck, swaying in a slow dance with the rest of the couples on the floor. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, Cole’s hands a searing heat on your hips.

Your gaze keeps flickering up to his chin and lips, watching the way he half-smiles every time he catches you looking.

“So, um,” you murmur, trying to break some of the tension that probably only you feel, “what exactly were you going to tell people, when they asked about our re-relationship?” You stumble over the word. “Since we never discussed it.”

Cole’s fingers flex on your hips and you think you might stop breathing momentarily. He chuckles and his smile is sheepish now. “I was just gonna go with the truth? Most of it, anyway. We’ve been friends because of Z for years and it just…evolved.”

“Evolved,” you repeat quietly. “Friends to lovers, huh?”

His eyes widen slightly and you kick yourself mentally for saying the word ‘lovers.’

Before you can word vomit some backtracking, Cole nods. “Yeah, friends to lovers, I guess.”

The slow song ends and Cole’s hands don’t move. You try not to read into it - he’s pretending, it’s all just pretend - but by the time you’re in the car on the way home, you’re convinced that your poor heart won’t make it to the end of the summer.

——-

Cole flies out the next afternoon, off to spend some time with his family in Wisconsin. He texts you nearly every day though, which is new.

You try to tell yourself that you’re just building a cover, in case, what? One of your friends steals your phone to try and prove you’re actually in a relationship?

By the time your flight lands in Alabama on the 28th, your nerves are a little frazzled and you’re more in love with Cole than you’ve ever been, thanks to the constant texting and random FaceTime calls. His flight lands thirty minutes after yours, coming from Philly where he was hanging out with Trevor and Jamie, so you wait around the airport to Uber to the hotel together.

“Hey, Noodle!” He greets you with a big hug, swinging you around a little, making you laugh.

“Hey,” you’re still giggling when he puts you down, barely able to protest when he grabs the handle of your suitcase and wheels it out to the curb. “I could’ve gotten that.”

“I know,” he winks, “but what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you pull your own suitcase?”

Your lips tilt up in a smile, teeth biting down on your tongue to stop the reminder that this is all fake from spilling out.

“A terrible one, I guess,” you joke instead, climbing into the Uber. “How’s Trevor after the latest Dixie debacle?”

“They’re back together,” Cole informs you on a delighted, if exasperated laugh. “At least, they were when I was at the airport.”

“Jesus,” you roll your eyes. “When we break up, promise me it won’t be as dramatic as they are.”

Cole coughs suddenly and you look up from your phone in concern. He waves you off, face a little red. Sounding slightly strangled, he says, “sure, yeah, no dramatic breakup for us.”

“Cool, now let me show you this Tik Tok,” you grin, shoving your phone in his face. “It’s a compilation of all your on-ice falls last season.”

“Wow,” Cole deadpans. “That’s so nice of you to show me.”

You spend the rest of the car ride in your little sister mode, being annoying and showing him the random Tik Tok edits you find of him and Trevor. You’re both laughing uncontrollably as you pile out of the car and into the hotel, but the laughter stops when you try to check in.

“What?” You repeat incredulously. “How do you lose a reservation?”

The young guy at the counter, he can’t be much older than you or Cole, winces at the sharp bite of your tone. “I’m so sorry. But like I said, we have Mr. Caufield’s reservation, but can’t find yours, Ms. Zegras,” he winces again. “It’s a busy weekend for the hotel, we have a dental conference happening.”

“Okay, but I literally paid for my hotel room weeks ago!” You scroll through your email for the confirmation and wave it in the guy’s face when you find it. “Am I getting a refund or what?”

You can hear Cole sniggering behind you, your reputation as the bossy Zegras sibling precedes you.

“We can do a partial -“

“No way,” you cut him off, feeling slightly bad. “I need a room for the next two nights and a partial refund is not going to cut it if I have to go find a different hotel.”

“Little Z,” Cole draws your attention and when you look over your shoulder at him, he’s smirking a little. “Why don’t you stop harassing the nice man and we’ll just share my room.”

“Share…” you trail off and you must look horrified or something because Cole rushes to continue.

“It’ll be like two summers ago when Z booked that studio Air BnB and we all had to sleep in one room,” he shrugs. “It’s only two nights and neither of us snore like your brother does.”

“I…” you really have no excuse, because if this stupid hotel doesn’t have another room for you, you’re pretty much fucked. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Cole finishes checking in and somehow manages to swing an entire refund for you, probably because he’s being nice to the guy and not freaking out on him.

You just hope there’s two beds in the room.

——

There’s one bed in the room.

And you’re trying not to show your internal struggle, going about your business of unpacking your suitcase and hanging up your dress so the wrinkles can release.

Neither of you mention the elephant in the room while you get ready for the welcome dinner. Cole’s hand finds your lower back while you walk into the restaurant and it takes all of your effort not to shiver in pleasure at his touch. You let yourself lean into him slightly, telling yourself it’s okay to show some physical affection since you’re telling everyone you’re dating.

He taps his fingers against your lower back absently as you chat with a few of your friends, never straying far from your side. When you finish your drink, he promptly delivers you another one, making your friends whisper excitedly about what a gentleman he is.

You’re grateful that you discussed a general idea of how your relationship happened because otherwise you’d be caught off guard when one of the bridesmaids asks you how you and Cole started dating, considering you’ve never mentioned him before.

“Oh,” you murmur, looking across the room where Cole’s chatting with a couple of the groomsmen, “well, he’s friends with Trevor, so I’ve known him for years. Things just kind of…evolved.”

“Y’all are the cutest,” she gushes. “Keep a hold on him and maybe the next Delta Nu wedding will be yours?”

You choke on air and manage to excuse yourself to the bathroom without dying. The bathroom is empty, thank God, so you get a chance to breathe and compose yourself. It’s too easy to get wrapped up in Cole’s attention, in his gentle touches and soft smiles, and it’s getting harder and harder to remember that this is all pretend.

There’s a knock on the door and then Cole’s voice calling your name. “You okay? I saw you run off…”

“I’m fine,” you call back, unlocking the door and pulling it open. He’s got a concerned frown on his face. “Just, um, you know,” you wave a hand over your shoulder, “had to use the little girls’ room.”

Your whole body cringes and Cole laughs, “is that a Mama Z saying? ‘Cause it sounds like her.”

“Yes, exactly,” you sigh, grabbing onto the opportunity to blame your mom, “she says it all the time. So weird.”

Cole’s smile is knowing, but he doesn’t say anything. He just holds his hand out for you and asks, “want to rejoin the party? Or head back to the hotel? It’s getting kind of late.”

You stare at his hand for a second before taking it, heart skipping a beat when he laces his fingers with yours, an undeniably couple-y thing to do. “Maybe one more drink?” You suggest, letting your smile turn a little sly. “And then we’d probably better call it a night since someone will need his beauty sleep.”

It’s easier to tease him, to stay in that annoying little sister zone, than to examine how your entire body reacts to the feeling of his hand around yours.

Cole laughs and squeezes your hand, letting your good-natured teasing roll over him. “Well, we know it’s definitely not you that needs the beauty sleep,” he says, the compliment genuine and surprising enough that you stumble a little in your heels, forcing Cole’s grip on your hand to tighten.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night, not until you’re back in the hotel lobby and heading for the elevator. Your fingers tingle from his touch and you’d truthfully forgotten about the single bed until it’s right in front of your face again.

“Which side do you want?” Cole asks, unbuttoning his cuffs.

“Hmm?” You blink at him. “Oh, I’ll take the floor or something, it’s your room.” The thought is disgusting, but you’ll take a couple of blankets and it’ll be fine. Anything other than sharing the bed with him.

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Seriously? No chance I’m letting you sleep on the floor. It’s a Queen, plenty of room for us both.” He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you kick in your sleep or something?”

“No,” you laugh faintly. “I don’t kick. I just…I’m fine on the floor. We really don’t have to share.”

“Noodle,” Cole grins, undoing his belt. Fuck, Christ on a cracker, you’re trying so hard to not stare at his hands. This is ridiculous. “I don’t have cooties. We can share a bed like adults.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire, but you really have no room to argue, so you reluctantly agree and grab your toiletry case and pajamas, heading for the bathroom. You change quickly, thanking past you for packing sweats and an old Anaheim tee since you like to keep your hotel rooms cold. While you wash your face and brush your teeth, you give yourself a pep talk, a reminder that you’ll stay on your side of the bed and he’ll stay on his and it doesn’t mean anything.

Cole’s in his own sweats and tee when you get out of the bathroom. “I lowered the a/c to 65, is that cool?” He asks, twirling his toothbrush in between his fingers. “I remember you freaked on Z when he had the temperature set to 70 the other day.”

“That’s perfect,” you reply, tossing your toiletry bag on top of your suitcase and climbing into bed, the right side since it’s farther away from the door. You yank the covers up over your body, curling up into a little ball as far away from Cole’s side of the bed as possible. He already has a Friends rerun playing on the TV, so you zone out for a bit and let the familiar characters distract you.

When he’s done in the bathroom, Cole gets into bed too, stretching out on top of the covers. “We can change the channel, if you want?” He offers.

You shake your head. “Friends is good. So, how’s the rest of your summer been, when you’re not playing fake boyfriend?” You ask, turning onto your side so you can look at him. If you act normal, everything will be normal.

“It’s been good,” he replies, tucking one hand behind his head. You try not to focus on the way his bicep pops. “I’m going to head back out to Wisconsin after this, spend some more time with my family. Then I’ll be in Jersey the week before the next wedding, you should come hang out.”

You snort. “If Trev’s there, Quinn will like, have me blacklisted from the entire state. We’re not allowed to be together because we’re and I quote ‘more annoying than two humans have any reasonable right to be.’”

Cole’s grin is crooked and you want to press your fingers against the curve of his lips. “Yeah, Quinny hates it when you and Z are doing your sibling comedy show bullshit,” he laughs. “But it’s fucking hilarious.”

“Thank you, I’m glad someone appreciates our entertainment,” you reply, fluttering your lashes at him. “But if it’s just Jack and Lukey, maybe I’ll come out for dinner or something one day.”

You yawn and close your eyes, still maintaining a quiet conversation with Cole, the laugh track from the TV filling the brief silences.

The next morning, you’re surprised to find that you wake up rested and still on your side of the bed, albeit with your arm stretched out to Cole’s side, fingers just inches away from touching him. He’s snoring faintly and you laugh under your breath, taking the opportunity to get yourself out of bed and ready to go. You’d both slept in later than you anticipated, so you’ll have to start getting ready sooner rather than later.

It’s getting easier to be alone with Cole, conversations flow and if you’re distracted with your hair and make-up, you don’t think too much about how good he looks in his suit.

“Hey,” you poke your head into the bathroom, sheepish, “can you zip me up?”

Cole dries his hands on a towel and nods, “yeah, no problem.” His fingers are cool when they brush against your bare skin and you shiver, nipples tightening painfully. The zipper sounds impossibly loud in the room, blood rushing in your ears.

“Thanks,” you murmur and when you turn around, you’re mildly surprised to see the tips of Cole’s ears going pink. You’re pretty sure he can’t see your nipples through the fabric of your dress, but you glance down anyway to double check.

“You look beautiful,” Cole comments, looking you over. “I think I’m the luckiest guy at the wedding.”

“Not the groom?” You joke, heart pounding.

“Nah,” Cole’s smile is your favorite one, “definitely me.”

——

“I can’t believe I caught the bouquet,” you groan, holding the surprisingly heavy bundle like a baby in your arms.

“I can’t believe you almost spiked it to the ground when you caught it,” Cole unlocks the hotel room door and holds it open for you.

You shrug, kicking your heels off. “It surprised me!”

“I thought the little redhead was going to tackle you to the ground for it,” Cole laughs, toeing off his own shoes and undoing his tie. The ends hang loose over his chest and your alcohol hazy brain wants you to grab them and pull him into a kiss.

“Lola,” you reply, shaking your head like an Etch-a-Sketch to get rid of that thought and putting the bouquet on top of the dresser. “She’s been with her boyfriend since they were fourteen and she’s getting antsy.”

You both start getting changed without regard for the other person, tired and sore from dancing and scream-singing to Taylor Swift all night. You can still feel the impression of Cole’s hands on your body as you slow danced to ‘Lover.’ It really is so different getting to slow dance at a wedding with someone instead of sneaking off to the bathroom or watching from the sidelines.

“Jesus,” Cole snorts, voice muffled as he pulls his shirt on over his head. His hair sticks up in all directions when his head pops through the neck hole. “No one needs to get married before twenty-five.”

You nod your agreement, crawling into bed with a full face of makeup. You’ll regret it in the morning, but you just can’t be bothered right now. Not with the way your eyelids feel heavier and heavier with each blink. “She’s a child bride,” you mumble. “I wanna do stuff before I get married. Travel, get my Masters, get a puppy…”

Cole laugh is too close to your ear and you blink one eye open to see his face, just inches from yours.

“What kind of puppy?” He asks and you can smell the faint alcohol on his breath. It’s not unpleasant.

“A miniature dachshund,” you reply. “Gonna name him Quinn, just to piss off Quinny.”

Cole’s laugh is the last thing you’re aware of before falling asleep.

——-

You wake up with a dry mouth, a slight headache, and something hard pressed against your chest. It takes a minute in the dark room to realize what’s going on, but you finally recognize Cole’s back pressed to your chest, his ass snug against your hips.

Your leg is trapped in between his, the thick muscles keeping you locked in place.

His arm is over yours where it rests on his waist, his hand holding yours against his stomach.

Your cheek is pressed to the back of his shoulder, his heartbeat steady.

A quick spike of panic floods your veins, but then it dissipates just as quickly. He’s still asleep, he never has to know how tightly packed together you are. But there’s no way to disentangle your body without waking him up, so you sigh and give an experimental wiggle of your leg, trying to get it free.

Cole grumbles softly in his sleep, grips you tighter.

It’s useless to try and escape and sleep is already grabbing hold of you again, the warmth of Cole’s body relaxing you back into the mattress.

A few more hours of sleep couldn’t hurt.

You snuggle against him, your nose brushing his shoulder blade, and close your eyes, pretending.

———

When you wake up again, for good this time, you’re on your opposite side and Cole is gone. His side of the bed is still warm, though. You roll onto your back and scrub a hand over your face, trying to forget the feeling of your body wrapped around his.

The dull ache between your legs is making that really difficult.

The hotel room door opens and Cole walks in, two cups of coffee in his hands. “Oh!” He smiles when he sees you, so maybe you rolled away from him in the middle of the night and he didn’t wake up with you wrapped around him like an octopus. “Morning, I went and got coffees, figured we could use them. I didn’t want to wake you since you looked so peaceful and quiet,” he smirks and you roll your eyes, “but you drink an iced flat white, right?”

“Right,” you reply faintly, taking the proffered coffee. You draw your knees up to your chest and take a fortifying sip. The caffeine goes straight to your brain and you feel better immediately.

“So, how’d you sleep?” He asks, dropping down onto the mattress.

You squint at him, trying to gauge his tone. His face is unreadable. “Good,” you venture carefully. “Um, slept right through the night.”

Cole nods. “Yeah, me too. I’ll still probably manage another couple of hours on the flight to Wisconsin.”

He’s not acting any weirder than usual so you figure you’re in the clear. It gives you permission to act normally too, so you make small talk while you both pack up your suitcases.

“Should I toss this or bring it home with me?” You ask, lifting the bouquet up.

“Bring it home,” Cole nudges your foot with his. “Make sure you remember that you’re supposed to get married next.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I think we can count that out.” But you put the bouquet on top of your carry-on tote anyway, fingers tracing over the soft rose petals.

———

You take your own trip to the lake for Fourth of July with your girlfriends, getting the Spanish Inquisition about Cole and why you never mention him, why you never post him.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother you and you find that your answers are more honest than you’d expect in the situation.

You don’t mention him because you want to keep him to yourself. You don’t want everyone to know about your inside jokes and the smiles that you’re pretty sure are yours alone. You don’t want everyone to know about the way your skin tingles when he touches you, how you can feel the phantom touch of his hands long after they’re gone from your lower back or your arm or the back of your neck.

You don’t post pictures of him because you only have a handful of drunken selfies, blurry and out of focus.

You don’t mention him because it’s going to break your heart to have to go back to being just friends at the end of the summer and you won’t get to pretend that any of this is real.

——

You do end up spending a day in Jersey and unfortunately for Quinn, Trevor also pops up unexpectedly.

“Noodle!” He cheers when he sees you, lounging on Jack and Luke’s couch. He draws you into a huge, smothering hug and you fight him, pinching his sides to get him to let go.

“Oh my god,” you whine, pushing him away. “It’s like you didn’t just see me.”

“It’s been more than a month, you dweeb,” he retorts, flopping down next to Quinn and stealing a handful of popcorn. Quinn shoots him a dirty look and yanks his snack away. “You’ve been wedding hopping all summer.”

“It’s been two,” you sigh. “And at least I haven’t been in the Dixie Tik Tok fame vortex.”

Luckily for you, that opens Trevor up to being chirped by all three Hughes brothers and Cole. You settle back into the couch, feet tucked up under you while you watch the five guys take potshots at each other.

Trevor defends himself and turns the heat on Cole, shouting about how he’s hiding a secret girlfriend. Your stomach sinks to your feel and you feel hot and then cold all over.

Cole scoffs. “Just because I didn’t want to flirt with a couple of girls at the bar doesn’t mean I’m hiding a secret girlfriend,” he mutters.

“But there’s a girl involved?” Jack teases.

You think you’re going to throw up.

“No, no girl,” Cole says quickly, too quickly.

“There’s definitely a girl,” Quinn laughs. “Look how red he’s turning.”

“Dude‘s been so cagey about his plans,” Trevor says, taking more popcorn from Quinn. “Can’t keep track of him some weekends.”

Even though none of them are paying attention to you, too busy trying to get information out of Cole, you slip your phone from your pocket and look at the black screen. “Oh, I’m gonna head out,”

you announce, getting to your feet. “Long drive back to Connecticut.”

It’s a little unnerving when five sets of eyes all land on you.

“I just got here,” Trevor complains.

“Okay, so, I know this is a difficult concept for you to understand,” you say slowly, “but my life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Trevor scowls at you and flips you off, a gesture you return before waving good-bye and heading for the door. Cole is a few steps behind you, catching your wrist just before you open the door.

“Hey,” he rubs at the back of his head with his free hand, “that was…there’s no…”

He’s at a loss for words and you don’t really know what to say. He doesn’t owe you an explanation.

“It’s fine, it’s whatever, Cole,” you manage a small smile. “Have fun with the guys.”

Cole’s eyebrows draw together and he looks like he wants to say something, his jaw working briefly. You wait.

“I’ll see you on Sunday,” he says eventually. “Let me know what time I have to pick you up.”

“I’ll text you,” you nod, your wrist warm where his fingers were gripping it.

You step out of the condo and shut the door behind you, of course he’s got some girl that he sees. Just because he’s been your pity date to a few weddings doesn’t mean anything. You’d be smarter to remember that.

——-

Wedding three of four and you’re exhausted of them.

Or maybe you’re exhausted of pretending that you don’t care if Cole sees other girls while he’s got his arm wrapped around your shoulder and is introducing himself as your boyfriend, as if that’s his life’s crowning achievement and not his professional hockey career.

You chew crankily on a piece of bread, too stuck in your own thoughts to notice Cole returning to his seat from the bar.

“Someone kick your hypothetically puppy?” He jokes, sliding a glass of wine in front of you. “Do I have to defend puppy Quinn’s honor?”

“No,” you rearrange your features into a more neutral expression. Or what you hope is a neutral expression. “I just was thinking.”

“Always dangerous,” Cole replies, knocking his knee against yours. You can’t tell if it was an accident or not. You don’t know if you want it to be an accident or not.

Without really intending on it, you ask, “where do the guys think you are this weekend?” And then almost immediately, you wince and say, “you don’t have to answer that, Christ, I’m sorry.”

The stupid chirping in Jersey has clearly burrowed its way into your brain and won’t let go and you feel like an asshole.

“Uh, on my way back to Montreal, actually,” he admits, a strange expression on his face. “Told the guys I was gonna drive up, just to like check on my place.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod, hoping that he would’ve told them that he was with you. But it’s stupid because you’re not really dating.

Cole studies your face and you avoid making eye contact, choosing to knock back half of your glass of wine.

“Want to dance?” He asks you quietly, resting his hand, palm up, on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, I do,” you sigh, putting your hand in his, heart clenching when he laces his fingers with yours again. He pulls you to your feet and has you laughing and dancing halfway through the song. Cole twirls you around, catching you around the waist before he dips you dramatically.

The melancholy is long gone by the time you’re back in the car to make the quick drive home.

“I can’t believe you caught the stupid garter,” your laugh is too loud, soaked in alcohol. You stretch the garter between your fingers, aiming it at the windshield like a slingshot but never releasing it. “What are the freaking odds?”

“A million to one,” Cole laughs. “Isn’t it a thing? Like the person who catches the bouquet marries the person who catches the garter?”

“I think that’s only if it’s at the same wedding,” you reply, leaning your head against the glass. “Hey, Cole?”

“Yeah, Noodle?”

“Thanks for being my wedding date this summer,” you sigh. “I know it’s probably not what you really wanted to spend your time doing, but it’s been so much fun. You’re the best fake boyfriend and real friend a girl could ask for.”

You close your eyes, but can hear the smile in Cole’s voice when he replies, “anything for you.”

——-

“What are you doing here?” Trevor pulls open the front door, pushing you out of the way with the other hand.

“Jesus, Trev,” you snap, kicking at his shin. You smile at Cole, “please, welcome to the Zegras siblings show, refreshments are in the kitchen.”

Cole skirts past the two of you and closes the door behind him, smirking. “I’m early, I know,” he shrugs a little. “Figured I’d hang out while you guys get ready.”

Trevor’s eyes are narrowed and he’s got his palm in the middle of your forehead, keeping you at arm’s distance. “Dude, we’ve got our cousin’s wedding today. Did I double book?”

“No,” you roll your eyes and smack Trevor’s hand away, stepping to the side. “Did you ever think Cole’s here to see me?”

“Why would he be here to see you?” Trevor crosses his arms over his chest, wrinkling his button down.

“He’s my date for the wedding,” you shrug casually, dropping the bomb and heading for the kitchen. You pull a pair of Spindrift cans from the fridge and toss one to Cole. He catches it easily.

Trevor’s eyes bug out of his head and you laugh, enjoying his dramatics. “He’s your date?” He asks incredulously, gaze ping-ponging between the two of you. “What the fuck?”

Cole nods, “yeah, I’ve been taking Noodle to all her weddings this summer.”

Trevor’s jaw drops. And then it snaps shut and his eyes narrow angrily. “Are you fucking dating my sister? Without talking to me about it?”

“Oh calm down,” you snatch a throw pillow off the couch and whack Trevor in the stomach with it. “Not that who I date is your business, but Cole’s been pretending to be my boyfriend, just to like, keep everyone from being all ‘oh, look at the poor sad single girl.’”

“You’re fake dating?” Trevor looks stunned. “Dude, you and mom need to stop watching all those Hallmark movies.” He shakes his head and ruffles his hair.

“Yeah, fake dating,” Cole repeats, twisting the can in his hands. “It’s been fun.”

“You’re both insane if you think fake dating at a family wedding is a good idea,” Trevor cackles. “But good fucking luck and don’t even think about actually dating my sister, asshole.”

He turns on his heel and heads up to his room, leaving you and Cole alone with his parting words. You scoff and give Cole a tiny smile. “Still time to back out, if you don’t want to deal with the extended Zegras clan.”

“I’m all in, Noodle,” he reassures you and for once, the childhood nickname doesn’t grate on your nerves like it usually does.

“Oh,” your cheeks hurt from the size of your smile. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

——-

The warning turns out to be unnecessary.

Cole fits in stupidly well with your extended family, charming aunts left and right, discussing golf and hockey with your uncles. Hell, even your younger cousins are having fun hanging out with him.

“This is ridiculous,” you grumble to your cousin, unable to hide the faint smile on your face.

She laughs and bumps your hip with hers, “aren’t you supposed to want your boyfriend to get along with your family?”

You hum, “right. Yeah, definitely want Cole to get along with the fam.”

“Bold move, bringing him to the wedding,” she says idly. You’re quiet as you watch Cole and Trevor do some stupid made up dance routine to ‘Shake it Off,’ one that involves literally so much ass shaking.

“He assured me he could handle it,” you reply, the music changing to a familiar rhythm, all of your Greek relatives transitioning into a circle for the traditional wedding dances. You join the circle and end up between Trevor and Cole, holding their hands with yours. You barely know the steps, but neither do Trevor and Cole, so you’re all tripping over each other trying to keep up with the fast music and your relatives.

“This is crazy,” Cole shouts on a laugh, his hand sweaty in yours.

“I told you!” You laugh back, stepping on Trevor’s foot and nearly falling to the ground. Trevor keeps you upright with his side, sort of pushing you back onto your feet, and you’re off for another circle around the dance floor.

The DJ plays two more songs and goes back to the popular hits, leaving you, Cole, and Trevor sweaty and out of breath as you stumble towards the bar. “Fuck,” Trevor mutters, pushing his hair off his face and ordering three beers, “I don’t think I’ve even attempted those dances since I was a kid.”

“And you still suck just as much,” you tease, taking a sip of your beer.

“I’m not the dumb fuck that almost took down the whole group,” Trevor shoots back good-naturedly.

Cole holds up his hands, “children, children, this is a day of love. No fighting.”

You hold up your own hands in a sign of surrender. Trevor salutes Cole with his beer bottle. “I’m gonna go see a man about a horse,” he says, dropping the old-fashioned saying like it’s a normal thing to say.

Cole squints after him as he walks away. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asks you, casually guiding you off to the side of the bar where it’s just a little bit quieter.

“He’s going to find our dad and see if he’s got any leftovers from dinner that he can steal,” you laugh. “He’s done it since we were kids, no idea where it started.”

“Fucking weirdo,” Cole laughs too and you know he’ll use that bit of information to make fun of Trevor in the future. You fall into w comfortable silence, sipping at your beers, until Cole nudges the back of your hand with his knuckles. “Did I tell you that you look gorgeous? You look insane in red,” his smile is soft and his cheeks are tinged pink.

Your own face feels hot, pleased that the strategic deployment of your skin-tight red party dress is doing what you wanted it to do. “I’ll always take another compliment, especially if it’s from you,” you reply quietly.

The air in between your bodies crackles, shifting imperceptibly. Cole leans forward and subconsciously, you do too. The noise of the reception fades away and all you can focus on is Cole.

“I wasn’t…” he pauses, rubs his free hand over his chin. “I should’ve said something earlier or waited, I don’t know. Fuck, I’m not explaining myself well.”

Your heart feels like it’s stopped beating in your chest, your lungs frozen as you hold your breath, waiting for Cole to spit out whatever he’s trying to say. What you hope he’s trying to say.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, after a few heartbeats’ worth of silence and you’re pretty sure you misheard him.

“What?” You ask stupidly.

Cole’s smile grows and he steps even closer to you. “I would very much like to kiss you, can I?”

You can only nod, blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding in your chest. Cole’s free hand comes up to cup your cheek and his thumb brushes over your cheekbone and the next thing you know, his lips are slotted over yours and your only thought is that Cole Caufield is actually kissing you.

A soft little whimper leaves your mouth, swallowed up by Cole’s lips and you can feel him smile, his fingers sliding into your hair to pull your face closer to his. A frisson of pleasure sparks low in your stomach, heat pooling between your legs.

Your mouth falls open, giving him access to slide his tongue into your mouth and the kiss gets a little messy, teeth and tongue and your free hand lands on Cole’s chest, fingers curling around the lapel of his jacket, crushing the fabric and pulling him in.

Eventually, you get dizzy - from lack of oxygen or from Cole’s kiss, who’s to say? - and you pull back slightly, breathing hard. Cole’s forehead rests against yours and he huffs a little laugh against your cheek.

“Um,” you murmur, head spinning.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” Cole says quietly, his fingers still buried in your hair, “for months.”

A giggle bubbles out of your chest and you nod, bumping Cole’s nose with yours. “I’ve wanted you to do that for years,” you confess, equally as quiet.

“Cool,” Cole presses his lips to yours again, a softer, sweeter kiss. “Can I take you on a date?”

“I’m all out of weddings for the summer,” you tease, leaning back against the wall and letting Cole press his hand against the wall next to your head.

“I think we’ll be able to figure something out,” his smile is contagious and you can’t believe that this is really happening.

——-

“Here lies Trevor Zegras’s sanity,” Trevor pronounces loudly, drunkenly, before tossing a handful of grass onto the fire burning away in the fire pit. “It died a week ago when I saw my best friend (“Hey!” Jamie interrupts indignantly.) groping my sweet, innocent baby sister (“Gross!” you yelp, fake gagging.) in my own living room!”

“I may never know peace again,” Trevor continues, ignoring yours and Jamie’s interjections, gesturing wildly with his White Claw. “But thank you all for joining me in memorializing the death of my vision.”

“Oh my god,” you whine, leaning forward to throw the pillow behind your back at Trevor. He bats it out of the air, just nearly missing the fire. “You didn’t even see anything!”

The Hughes brothers and Jamie all snigger when Trevor’s face falls into a sharp expression of suspicion. He squints at you, the effect ruined by the way his stupid polarized sunglasses fall down his forehead, “was there anything to see?”

Cole pinches your ankle where it’s resting on his lap, a warning. You shoot him a winning grin, before turning back to Trevor and deadpanning, “a lady never blows and tells.”

The uproar of noise from your brother and his friends makes you cackle, Cole’s hand around your calf like a brand. He catches your eye and shakes his head at you, smirking. You paste an innocent look on your face and lean in for a kiss while the guys are distracted.

“Stop,” Trevor whines, “my ears are dead now too! My best friend and my sister! Conspiring against me!”

“Okay, Ross Gellar,” you snark, “chill out. And stop sacrificing the grass to the fire pit, Dad’s going to freak out when there’s a bald spot.”

Trevor flops down onto an armchair, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “I’ll just blame you, Noodle,” he teases, holding his hand out for another spiked seltzer. Jack passes him one and takes one for himself.

The backyard is cool, mid-August starting to transition into fall. The guys will be heading back to their corners of the continent in the next few days, but it’s the last hurrah for summer. They’ll spend the night and get in their last bits of ‘guy time’ before the season starts. They do it every year and this year an invitation was graciously extended to you. Aka you tucked yourself up against Cole’s side and flipped Trevor off when he demanded that you leave.

No chance you were missing out on any time with Cole before he heads up to Montreal and you head down to Villanova for grad school. You’ll probably end up see Jamie the most out of any of the guys during the season.

“Can we just talk about the fact that these two were dating all summer under our noses?” Jamie jabs his thumb in your direction, passing around a container of Zyn.

“It wasn’t all summer,” you correct with a shrug. “It’s only been a week.”

For whatever reason, Trevor hadn’t mentioned the fake dating portion of your summer, instead just sending around a blast to the group chat that you and Cole were ‘offending his delicate sensibilities’ by making out in front of him at your cousin’s wedding. The fact that he sent the text literally at the exact moment Cole was biting down on your lower lip to muffle mutual laughter at Trevor’s overdramatic soap opera-esque gasp only makes the story better.

Cole stayed in Connecticut after the wedding, taking you out on the promised date and sneaking into your room every night after the rest of your family had gone to bed.

You’d already booked a flight to Montreal for your fall break while wrapped up in his arms, telling bad jokes in your ear while you tried to remember your credit card number.

It’s only been a week, but it feels like much longer and you’re not ready for the season to start again.

“You’re the secret girl he wouldn’t tell us about all summer,” Quinn comments.

“I didn’t need you fuckers saying anything stupid before I actually asked her out,” Cole defends himself, rubbing his thumb over your ankle bone.

“Who? Us?” Jack cackles, setting off a chain of laughter.

You giggle and lean forward, bending at the waist and angling your knees towards Cole’s chest so you don’t knock yourself in the face. The breeze shifts and blows smoke from the fire pit in your direction so you bury your face in Cole’s shoulder to avoid the smoke stinging your eyes. He tangles his hand in your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp, drawing a contented groan from your throat.

“You two are disgusting and I hate it,” Trevor whines, sunglasses fully over his eyes now even though it’s pitch black beyond the glow of the fire.

“I thought your vision was dead?” You snap back, turning your head so your cheek is pressed to Cole’s shoulder. “Isn’t that why we were all called to this funeral?”

Trevor nods, “right, yeah, almost forgot.” He starts humming ‘Pomp and Circumstance,’ and that’s what ends up killing you. Laughter bubbles out of your chest and soon you’re unable to control the hysterical laughter that has you gasping for air.

The rest of the guys crack up too, leaving Trevor to cut off his humming and snap, “what?”

“That’s the graduation song, you dumbass,” Cole chokes out around laughter.

Trevor shrugs, “who gives a shit? You’re graduating from my best friend to Noodle’s boyfriend, it kind of works.”

The heat radiating from your face has nothing to do with your proximity to the fire pit and everything to do with Trevor’s use of the b-word. It’s been a week, sure you’ve been in love with Cole for years, but you have no desire to scare him off.

“What song are you gonna hum, badly, when I graduate to being your brother-in-law?” Cole teases, keeping his arms around you so you can’t wiggle away and escape.

Without missing a beat, Trevor shoots back, “the Hannah Montana classic, ‘Everybody Makes Mistakes.’”

“God, your entire existence was a mistake,” you groan, enjoying the way Cole’s hand is rubbing up and down your back. Without really noticing, Cole’s managed to manoeuvre your body so you’re sitting on his lap, one arm banded around your stomach to keep you in place. You lean back slightly, your head on Cole’s shoulder and he presses a kiss to your jaw, making you smile.

Trevor flips you off and the conversation shifts again, the guys discussing the upcoming season and the changes they’re all going to be facing on their respective teams.

“Hey,” Cole whispers in your ear, making you shiver. “Insider info, Brock’s proposing to Caroline soon.”

You hum, warm in his arms.

“Think you’d want to be my plus one?” He asks, kissing the side of your neck. “As my real girlfriend, not a fake one.”

“Oh,” you breathe. “Well, I guess I can make that work. We’ll have to get our story straight though.”

Cole laughs against your cheek, “it’ll evolve.”

You turn and press your mouth to his, nipping gently at his lower lip, letting your tongue trace over his teeth. His hand roams up your spine and cups the back of your neck, pulling your face impossibly closer to his. Kissing Cole will never get old.

A sharp whistle draws your attention and one of the guys, you’re too dazed to differentiate their voices, jokes, “get a room!”

Cole bites at your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. You grin against his mouth, moaning a little just to annoy the guys.

“Shut the fuck up,” the voice is unmistakably your brother’s, “they’re gonna use my room just to piss me off.”

You giggle, the noise swallowed by Cole’s kiss, and make no plans to move from your perch. Based on Cole’s grip on your neck, he has no plans to move either.

Now that he’s yours, after years of crushing, you’re not taking a single second for granted.

#cole caufield #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield x you #cole caufield fic #the summer fic exchange 2k24

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footygirl114 · 1 year ago

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Escolta (Alexia Putellas X Reader)

Surprise! I bring you the first part of a new series as a birthday present! So happy birthday, and I hope y'all enjoy! 🧡💜

The shrill ringing of your phone awoke you from the light sleep you were in, opening your eyes the bright sun on the beach in Bali you were currently laid out on almost blinded you. Reaching over to the table beside you, you snatched the ringing phone sparing it a quick glance as you answer the call with a “Hi boss.”

“Y/N! How’s the time off?” she asks down the phone.

You look around the secluded beach you have been relaxing on as you answer with “Peaceful.”

Michelle, your boss, chuckles down the line as she says “I didn’t know that you could relax Y/N.”

“I never said I was relaxed, but it is peaceful” You answer her back.

“Secluded?” she asks you.

You chuckle and tell her “I haven’t seen a soul since my grocery delivery 3 days ago.”

Michelle laughs down the line and says “Well I hate to burst your bubble but your vacation is over, I have a job for you.”

For the last 11 days you had been on a secluded beach in Bali, trying to relax but also just enjoying the peace and quiet. It had been a long month working security for a group of British Diplomats who were traveling around the middle east working on peace deals. The few days of peace were needed after being consistently working for a month.

“Where am I off to this time?” you asked Michelle, as you finally sat up on the lounger you had been laying in. Your mind immediately working overtime thinking about what you needed to do in order to get back to reality.

“Actually, it’s a different assignment than you are used to but you are the only one I can trust with this one.” Michelle starts and when you do not interrupt she continues “I need you in Barcelona.”

“Barcelona? for what?” you immediately ask, your mind buzzing wondering if you missed some major news story.

Michelle chuckles as she says “It’s still a protection detail, but a more sensitive and less invasive one.”

She has you confused and you stand and start to gather your bag to walk back to your cabin as you tell her “Michelle, just tell me, you know I hate it when you are evasive.”

Michelle lets out a laugh as she says “Alexia Putellas.”

“Who?” you ask, continuing the walk to your cabin to start packing.

“She’s the most recent Ballon D’Or winner, the best woman’s player in the world, and she’s been gaining popularity and there is a some concerns for her safety when she’s attending events.” Michelle explains.

“What do they need me for? I know they’d have security at these events?” you ask, finally reaching your cabin and immediately starting up your computer.

“There has been some weird comments online, some fan mail sent in, and they want to make sure there is extra security without all the fuss of a full team.” she tells you.

You groan as you realise you will basically be a baby sitter for this one “You need a babysitter.”

“Y/N, this could be massive for us, if we can do well here this can expand our clientele and we can finally start to get into the sports world. So yes, I need my best employee to provide the best low-key protection possible to the best football player in the world.” she says.

“Flattery will get you everywhere Michelle. Send me the details and I will handle it” You tell her with a chuckle.

“thank you” she chuckles and you finish off the conversation with pleasantries, as you turn on your computer to get your self back to reality.

A week later you are parking the rental car outside of a nice looking apartment building right on the water in Barcelona, ready to head in and meet your new client. You had spent the last week visiting your shoebox of an apartment in London, that was pretty much used to store your stuff and be a landing pad between jobs.

Having read up on the client and the job, you knew you would be staying in an apartment the client’s manager organised for you in the building. You also spent much longer than you cared to admit googling Alexia Putellas. Something about her captivated you and now that you are about to meet her you feel a bit creepy that you know so many things about her.

Deciding to leave your bags in the trunk you walk into the apartment lobby, you were told that you were meeting Jose, the players manager, and that there was a seperate elevator to the penthouse apartment which was owned by Alexia. You walked in and looked around and noticed there was no doorman or security in the lobby, mentally noting that in your head you walked to the reception desk.

“Hola, how can I help you?” the gentleman behind the desk asked you with a smile.

Smiling back you notice his name tag and respond “Hola Miguel, I am here to see Jose.”

Miguel nods and says “Perfect, it’s the elevator on the far right, I will swipe you up.”

You stare at him for a second and respond with a “Gracias” and move toward the elevator, you hear his steps follow you and you watch as he pulls a card from his pocket and swipes it above the call button.

When the elevator arrives, he allows you to board and leans in and swipes his card again on the inside as he presses the button for the penthouse. He smiles and steps back saying “It’ll go right to the penthouse, and I will let Jose know you are on the way up.”

The doors close before you can respond, you spend the ride up and thinking over that whole interaction and how this job is going to be a lot harder than you expected if this is your first interaction. When you get up to the top and the doors open, you almost expect to have no one there but you are pleasantly surprised when you are met at the top by Jose.

“Y/N? Nice to meet you I am Jose” he immediately starts with when the doors open and he holds out his hand to you.

Shaking his hand you reply “It’s nice to finally meet you too.”

Before you finish speaking he turns and starts walking and says “Come with me, I do not have much time before my next meeting but I will get you set up.”

You move to follow and look around as you walk and notice a very formal living room and dining room you pass by, and then you pass through a doorway into a large open concept kitchen and family room. On the far side there is a hallway and you assume that there is at least one bedroom down it.

When Jose moves to the kitchen island he grabs and turns to hand to you a set of keys and a key card like the one use to get into the elevator. “The keys are for your apartment, 2 floors down, and the card is for you to get into the elevator here and up to the penthouse, it's a private elevator directly to Alexia’s unit.”

You continue to watch as he hands you a packet and continues with “you will find passes to the field, it will get you everywhere but into the change room. You will also find the schedule for the next few weeks of games and events we have already to committed too. This will change and things will be added but thats a rough outline. When Alexia is in her apartment we won’t be needing you, but anytime she leaves we expect you to follow.”

At this point you have taken everything he has handed to you and you follow along looking at everything, when he stops talking you look up and see him looking at something over your shoulder. You turn sightly and lock eyes with Alexia Putellas, immediately the first thought in your head is holy shit the pictures do not do her justice.

“Jose, is this my new babysitter?” she asks with a chuckle as she walks closer to you, you also notice she came from down the hallway you think was bedrooms.

Chuckling Jose responds with “Y/N meet Alexia, Alexia met Y/N the new security agent I have hired for you.”

You reach out your hand to her and say “Nice to meet you ma’am”

She reaches out and grabs your hand with a smile and says “please do not call me ma’am. Alexia is fine.”

“Noted ma’am” when she gives you the eye you correct “I mean Miss. Putellas.”

Jose chuckles and interrupts the staring contest by saying “I need to run, but I think you should be good from here.”

“I’ll walk you out” Alexia chimes in and follows him to the front door.

You stand there watching wondering if you should be doing something, and you decide to look at the schedule you were given. A few moments later you know she has walked back in, you were a highly trained operative after all, but you refused to look up.

You listen as she walks over to the other side of the kitchen island you are standing at and she says “So I think we need to set some things straight.”

You look up giving her your full attention and ask “what do you mean?.” It was a mistake meeting her eyes cause now you are lost looking into them, and you have to dig your nails into your palm to keep your self focused. It was a trick you had learned in your many years in the military to keep your mind present and not wonder on patrols.

“I didn’t want you. I don’t need extra security. This was all Jose’s idea and I really don’t think I need someone following me around.” she says as she crosses her arms over her chest watching for your reaction.

What she says doesn’t take you by surprise, its not the first time a client has said this to you and you know it won’t be the last. “You may not think you need it, but I have seen the videos and clips, and seen the messages you have gotten. You may not think you need it right now, but the whole point of hiring me is that I am going to work my ass off to make sure nothing happens and you continue to remain safe.”

She stands there for a moment staring at you and you feel like your being judged hard. When she finally shrugs and says “Fine, but I do not like this, and I need to make sure you understand that football is my life and I will not let anything get in the way of it.”

You feel like she is talking about more than just a protection detail but you can’t even entertain that right now. “Listen Miss Putellas, I got in to your apartment no questions asked by saying I was here to see Jose. Anyone could have done that, and that is not okay when you have no warning of someone coming into your apartment.”

“What?” she asks and moves around the island to your side.

“No one even asked who I was or why I was here, they just scanned me into your elevator. People are crazy and anyone could have found out where you live and come into your apartment. I will not let that happen, and the first thing I am going to do is make sure you are safe and comfortable in your own apartment.” When you finish you realise you may have gone on a bit of rant and immediately feel the blush rush to your cheeks.

She moves closer to you and says “You really are here to just keep me safe?” you nod and she continues “and you won’t get in my way?” She asks looking right into your eyes.

Nodding you answer “I understand passion, and I know what it feels like to have the drive you do, I will not get in your way. If anything I want to take this off your plate and make you feel confident in anything you are doing.”

The ringing of her phone causes her to jump back, and you notice how close you were to closing the space between the two of you. While she distracts her self by the phone, you move to gather yourself and your paperwork and you move toward the door.

“You will need to go to the lobby and get on the other elevator, but your apartment is 1212. I won’t be going anywhere tonight but I leave at 8am to go to training.” She says as she covers the mouth piece on the phone.

“I will see you in the morning.” you tell her and keep your self from looking at her by pressing the button on the elevator. When it arrives you move to get on it and you can’t help your self but look up and meet her eyes. She smiles and winks at you just as the door closes and you know you need to keep this professional, but you are going to be in big trouble while you try.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #espwnt x reader #barca femeni

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yerimacoustic · 3 months ago

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𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 ♡ jun x reader

❝ 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙬, 𝙞'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 ❞

summary : you find a sense of familiarity in your sworn rival, jun, while exchanging anonymous letters with a stranger .

content warnings : jun x female reader, regency era au, merchant!jun x bookstore owner!reader, mostly inspired by you’ve got mail, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, banter, misunderstanding, featuring jeonghan, wonwoo, karina and joy, yearning, kissing, sfw. 10.7k wc.

more notes : i finally got this out after weeks and weeks.. honestly i’m not sure if i love this, we’ll see how long it lasts 😭 not proofread. may make edits now & then. mostly historically inaccurate probably but we’re going with the vibes

the walk to the post office was not tedious by any means. not when the promise of a new response in the form of a handwritten letter prompted you to move quickly and lightly on your feet. it had become a weekly routine, early morning strolls to the post house, as well as an awfully great way to start the week.

the postmaster, otherwise known as your childhood friend, jeonghan, stood completely still behind the main counter with his arms folded across his chest. there was a knowing, mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched you quietly shut the door; he had been expecting you. just like he expected you every monday morning.

it wasn’t long before the brunette pulled a small envelope from the series of shelves behind him, gently dropping it onto the counter between the two of you. “here you go. your gentleman’s love letter awaits.”

“good day to you too, mr. yoon,” you teased him and grabbed the envelope, taking note of the familiar wax seal in the front. a neat scarlet red circle with a lion in the center- the familiar sight always managed to bring a smile to your face.

“hopefully he gives you some more clues as to his identity this week?” he called out to you as he strode across the tiny shop in favor of sweeping the floor. a look of feigned disappointment washed over his features as the sound of the bristles scratching across the floor and the envelope ripping open filled in the silence. “...perhaps not.”

just as your lips parted, the door swung open to reveal jeonghan’s assistant, karina. from the moment her eyes were fixed on yours, a mischievous glint akin to jeonghan’s filled her irises. “i thought i might find you here today. what news from the mysterious suitor?”

you shook your head before gesturing towards jeonghan, “i haven’t had the opportunity to read it yet. someone’s made sure of that.”

the man laughed from across the room, “it was never my attempt to keep you from reading it. i only wish that the two of you would at least give each other some hints as to who you really are.”

karina nodded in understanding before turning her back in favor of hanging her overcoat upon the rack near the entrance. “i hate to level with jeonghan in this case, but i’m curious about this mystery man, as well. have the two of you ever discussed meeting in person?”

“no, not at all. we’ve agreed to stay anonymous,” you explained as your fingers curled around the envelope in an almost protective grip. force of habit. “we know the risks but.. it’s quite refreshing, having someone to talk to without any of the societal pressures.”

before too long, jeonghan had finished tidying up and joined the two of you near the entrance. “i don’t understand. you both are clearly fond of each other..”

“who said anything about-”

“and you have a lot in common,” jeonghan mused, eyebrows raised. “in your next response, you should ask him something personal. ask him about his occupation.”

without skipping a beat, you shook your head in protest. “thank you for your unsolicited advice, jeonghan, but i know everything i need to know about this man. good day, my friends.”

you waved goodbye to the inseparable pair, stepping towards the small door. of course jeonghan, who always had to have the last word, called out to you before you could shut it completely, “except for his true identity!”

his words prompted your lips to twist into a smirk as you finally found the right opportunity to open the letter. as you unfolded the piece of parchment, your smirk slowly dissolved into a genuine smile, finding beautiful familiarity in the cursive penmanship. as you took cautious steps on the beaten path, you read the letter carefully:

‘this weekend i had the pleasure of accompanying my cousins as they vacationed in the countryside. they rent a small cottage near the ocean during the summertime and haven’t bothered to invite me until this year. i wish you could have seen it; it was perfectly quaint and tranquil. we spent all but the entirety of the seventy two hours walking along the beach and hunting for seashells. a bit of a juvenile hobby, i know.

i’m not sure where this inkling comes from, but something tells me you enjoy the oceanside. i bet you keep a collection of shells and pearls hidden somewhere in your home. or perhaps you proudly display them for your visitors to see. next time they permit me to join them near the beach again, remind me to fill this envelope with shells to add to your collection.

i know summer is your favorite holiday, and with that being said, i hope you find enjoyment in the final days of the season. take a stroll along the gardens or picnic with some of your friends.

take some time for yourself, my friend.’

–

jun waited three days for a reply, just as he did every week. he and his anonymous friend had fallen into a pattern of consistency, each of them sending a letter out to the other person once a week. even if he knew he could count on whoever this person was to send a timely response, his nerves got the best of him every time. the potential tone of the response occupied his thoughts at all times, keeping him up at night, keeping him from focusing intently on his work.

this week it reached the point where he had to turn his chair around to face the window, hoping that the sight of the rolling hills and graying sky outside would clear his mind. summer seemed to come to an end as quickly as it had begun, the entire season passing by in the blink of an eye. he counted his blessings, realizing that he was indeed lucky to have at least one holiday during the season. even if it was at the very end..

a knock on the door pulled him out of his trance and he turned his chair back to rest in the proper position, tucked tightly under his desk. “come in,” he called out.

barely a minute had passed before jun’s personal assistant and lifelong friend, wonwoo, closed the door quietly behind him and strode towards his desk with an envelope in hand. “your mystery woman sends her compliments,” he mused, handing the letter to jun.

jun’s eyes went wide. “you mean- you saw her??”

wonwoo shook his head, holding back an amused smirk as he watched the disappointment wash over jun’s features in real time. “no. my apologies.”

jun sighed, “just as well, i suppose. god only knows what chaos would unravel if anyone else in the household saw her.”

wonwoo nodded stiffly, folding his hands behind his back. “right you are. maybe there is practicality in anonymity, after all.”

“still, i can’t help but wonder what she’s really like in person,” jun mused, leaning back in his large leather chair with his chin cupped between his thumb and index finger. “there are so many habits and manners of hers i don’t even know about. she could be.. much lovelier in person.”

the bespectacled man tilted his head, taking a completely different approach, “or she could be ill-favored and poorly mannered.” the quiet statement was enough to pull jun out of his daze, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. “my apologies.”

“there is no possible way someone who writes so beautifully is as ill favored as you say.” jun disregarded the man in front of him as he began to tear the seal off of the envelope, a silent command for wonwoo to leave him alone. conveniently enough, the door gently slammed shut once jun finally unfolded the small sheet of parchment.

‘i am delighted to hear that you were able to enjoy the last remaining hours of the season with your family. the ocean sounds delightful. your suspicion of my enjoyment of seashells and pearls is a fair assumption, although, i gave up collecting a long time ago. hopefully you invest more stock in your collections than i did.

i’m afraid that i have no plans to take my leave before autumn begins as i’ve been much too busy. i don’t mind keeping an occupied schedule; it takes my mind off things and prevents me from overthinking. especially when i get the pleasure of meeting several people from different walks of life on a daily basis.

i know i say this every week, but it is always a pleasure receiving your letters. sometimes i can’t believe that we met through an anonymous literary discussion group. i’ve received a handful of letters from other attendees, but allow me to say that the discussions are utterly mundane compared to our conversations. it feels like i write to a friend i’ve known for years.

i eagerly await your reply, dear friend.

jun folded the letter and tilted his head back in contemplation, just as he did every time he read one of your letters. the term of endearment the two of you shared always stuck out to him- ‘dear friend.’ as much as he enjoyed reading it at the end of every letter, a small part of him wished that there was a better word to describe how he felt towards you.

how he truly felt towards you was a mystery in and of itself. he valued your time and your relationship, he thought very highly of you.. but there were several complications that interfered.

as if on demand, one of the complications walked through the door without bothering to knock. joy, the daughter of the second wealthiest merchant in town and jun’s fiance strode towards his desk with confidence and charm. meanwhile, wonwoo stood by the door, stoic as ever as he occupied the room in favor of serving as a chaperone. he sent an apologetic glance in his friend’s direction, which jun quickly disregarded.

“still cooped away in this gloomy room, are you?” joy asked rhetorically. “oh dear, what ever is the matter?”

jun had completely forgotten to mask his confusion-fueled anxiety when she walked through the door. he shook his head in quick denial, his gaze softening as he allowed himself a better look at his fiance. “nothing,” he replied shortly and offered her a smile. “what brings you here?”

“i’ve come to ensure you’re still planning on attending the charity auction,” joy replied with an infectious grin. she gently picked up one of his paperweights, a sculpture of hand blown glass decorated with stained petals of lavender.

“oh dear- was that tonight?” jun grimaced, moving both hands to rub at his temples. the thought of socializing with anyone else that night in particular sounded like a nightmare, even if there was the possibility of making important new connections. maybe he had returned from his holiday much too soon.

disappointment washed over joy’s features, prompting her eyebrows to furrow and her lips to curl with a frown. “don’t tell me you forgot.”

“my apologies, darling- i’ve been so caught up with the upcoming shipments that it must have slipped my mind,” jun explained to her with a delicate tone of voice as he rose to his feet. the last thing he wanted was to convey his reluctance to attend the modest party with her.

she smiled faintly, allowing jun to take both of her hands in his. “i understand that you must have a lot to catch up on after returning from your vacation. perhaps we shouldn’t go.”

“no-” jun gently protested and squeezed her hands. “i want to go.”

jun witnessed his intended’s smile brighten in real time, the rest of her features noticeably lighting up once he agreed to make good on his promise. she mused, “splendid. i look forward to it.”

joy began to lean in with the intention to press a gentle kiss against jun’s cheek- however, he was quick to tilt his head back. just as an inquisitive gaze filled joy’s irises, jun tilted his head subtly towards their chaperone, who was standing against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. right.

just then, joy let out a sheepish chuckle and settled for allowing jun to press a chaste kiss against her knuckles. “i will ask for the carriage around seven,” he told her, letting go of her hands and letting his own fall to his sides. “until then.”

“good day.” joy curtsied to him and bowed her head politely towards wonwoo as she left the room in a hurried pace, excitement getting the best of her. she loved parties, no matter the occasion; one of the many subjects where she and jun didn’t see eye to eye.

he clearly did a terrible job at disguising his disdain, for wonwoo was quick to approach the merchant’s side and pat his shoulder in feigned reassurance. “think of it this way,” he mused. “tonight, you may find someone you will actually enjoy talking to.”

“i appreciate your optimism, wonwoo, but i highly doubt that.”

—----

you must have reorganized the tiny bags of tea arrangements twenty times by now, ensuring that they were neatly stacked up against each other. as for the stacks of books on the other side of your booth, that was an entirely different story. you couldn’t come to terms with an arrangement you completely approved of and suddenly wished you hadn’t previously neglected the bookends.

karina noticed your frantic effort to neatly organize the rest of the books and shook her head with affection as she placed a hand over yours. “everything looks perfect, i promise,” she reassured you. “besides, no one will come to your booth if it appears as though you’re still cleaning things up.”

“perhaps you’re right,” you sighed just before the two of you sat down on the stools you’d been provided. silence filled the air between you and your good friend as the two of you watched the patrons circle around the rest of the booths, pausing to get a better look at the products provided by other vendors. you felt somewhat insecure while taking note of your neighbors’ products and wondered if you should have thought outside of the box.

but this was an important, extremely personal matter at hand for you: the library you had grown up visiting every weekend was on the brink of closing down. you presented the idea of a fundraiser to the esteemed owner, strings were pulled, and the rest of the puzzle pieces fell into place. you only wished you had more time to come up with a better product to sell.

at least your fellow vendors seemed to be pulling their weight.

among the sea of clientele was a tall, smartly dressed man with dark, wavy hair. the man walked along the rows of tables with his hands folded behind his back, studying each individual booth a bit too theatrically for your liking. he took slow, somewhat deliberate strides that left onlookers on the edge of their seat. but something about the way he carried himself, his dress, told you that he could invest a great deal of money into a great cause if he cared to.

karina left you alone, promising to purchase some cookies from a nearby vendor for the two of you. being alone with your thoughts at a time like this was less than ideal, considering customers were scarce. of course. you should have known no one would want to buy homemade tea sachets..

before too long the mysterious, smartly dressed man was nearing your booth. you straightened out your shoulders, rising to your feet and plastering the brightest smile you could muster as he approached you. “good evening,” you greeted him, a tad louder than you intended to, “could i interest you in some tea sachets? or perhaps- limited editions of some of my favorite collective works?”

the man stopped, picking up one of the tiny bags in his hand and raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “perhaps. what flavor are these?”

“ah yes, its black tea leaves mixed with brown sugar and vanilla bean,” you replied proudly. “i assembled them myself.”

he placed the sachet back on the table, ensuring that it was neatly lined up with the rest before looking past your shoulder. you could have sworn you detected a hint of distaste in your eyes as his eyes scanned through the stacks of books, but he stepped closer to your collection. “do you enjoy reading george eliot’s works?” he asked.

“well- no, not particularly.”

the man nodded his head once, his eyes lighting up in understanding. “ah. trying to get rid of some extra books, are you?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, stunned. “no.. i assure you, sir, that’s not the case.” perhaps the words left your lips in a much more defensive tone than you intended, but the realization came too late. “i’m simply making much needed sacrifices for a worthy cause.”

the stranger let out an amused chuckle, “trust me, i did not mean to insult you. i was merely curious.”

“right... forgive me for overreacting,” you sighed, feeling unconvinced despite his reassurance. “everyone around me seems to have valuable things to offer for this event but.. here i am, selling dusty old books and tea leaves. i suppose i felt-”

“threatened?” he finished, cocking a brow.

you lifted your chin up, maintaining a friendly but somewhat hesitant grin. “yes, i suppose i felt threatened.”

the man in front of you bowed his head to take a closer look at your merchandise. in any other circumstance, he wouldn’t be caught dead purchasing tea or even drinking it, and he already had most of the books she was trying to sell. however, he lifted his chin to meet your gaze, “i’ll take the lot.”

you paused, utterly stunned. “please, sir, don’t feel the need to humor me or my grievances-”

he cut you off with a gentle laugh, one that you found far too sweet and angelic, “i’m not. i’m simply contributing to a worthy cause, as you stated earlier.”

the stiffness in your shoulders and spine that appeared upon receiving his offer would not disappear. you chuckled, hoping to ease the tension, “well.. if you insist. how generous of you.”

a smirk crept upon his lips just as he bowed his head again, looking through his jacket pockets for his leather bound wallet. “don’t mention it,” he mused, totaling the sum and pulling the bills out of his collection accordingly. “although- i feel like i should, at the very least, know the name of the person i’ve given a large sum of my savings to.”

you chuckled and took the money from him, your fingers brushing over his palm fleetingly. “y/n,” you replied. “although, now is probably a good time to tell you that all of my earnings are going towards funding the library.”

his eyes widened, and it was probably the most he’d done to showcase his emotions in the entirety of your exchange. “how noble of you.”

“it's for an important cause. important to me, at least.” you shrugged. “do i get to know the name of my generous donor?”

he chuckled, finally allowing his timid smile to reach his eyes in the meantime, “jun. pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“the pleasure is all mine,” you mused with another faint chuckle.

just as you had finished preparing his bags with all of the books and tea sachets he had taken off your hands, a woman with long, gently waved hair and a bright smile joined his side. her eyes went wide as she linked her arm around his own and took in all of his new belongings. “darling! i hope you weren’t planning on spending your entire fortune tonight.”

jun let out a sheepish chuckle, which was accompanied by another grin that barely reached the corners of his eyes. he replied somewhat flatly, “no dear, i assure you, that’s not the case. i’m simply helping a friend.”

the woman’s small, unconvinced laugh briefly broke the awkward silence before she spoke up again, “my father’s here. he wishes to discuss some urgent matters with you.”

jun nodded in understanding, almost as if to disguise his annoyance. before he could allow the young woman to pull him away, however, he nodded in your direction, “it was a pleasure to meet you. have a splendid evening.”

you bowed your head in gratitude, although it served as a perfect method of hiding your growing smile. “i won’t forget your kindness. good evening.”

somehow, you were able to steal a glance at the singular ring adorning the woman’s left hand. judging by the rather impressive diamond and the glow that she wore so proudly, you were willing to bet that the two of them were engaged. you were also willing to wager that the tall man the two of them were now face to face with was her father.

you recognized him immediately; he was one of the wealthiest men in the city. if not the entire state. your mysterious benefactor must be a man of circumstance if he was betrothed to someone like the daughter of one of the most notorious merchants. as you took note of the blank expression adorned by jun and joy’s growing smile, you suddenly wished you were gifted with the ability to read lips…

when karina returned with small bags of the desserts in both hands, her eyes went wide upon taking in the sigh of your now empty booth. “oh my! i take my leave for two seconds and you manage to clear the entire booth out,” she chuckled, handing you the small bag of goodies.

you chuckled, “i suppose father was wrong; airing out grievances to anyone who may listen does have its benefits.”

“perhaps,” karina chuckled along with you. “tell me, how many customers managed to buy the entirety of your possessions in the short amount of time i was gone?”

“just one,” you replied with a smirk, gesturing towards the man in question. jun stood awkwardly in front of his future father-in-law with the two large bags still in both hands.

karina’s eyes went wide, “ah, the notorious mr. wen junhui. i must say, i am pleasantly surprised he even purchased anything tonight, let alone the entirety of your collection.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “you know of him?”

karina chuckled, eyebrows raised to display her disbelief. “you don’t?” she countered. “he’s only the son of the wealthiest merchant in town. he plans to take full ownership of his father’s company by the end of the year.”

“then what is he doing here?” you wondered out loud, puzzled by karina’s revelation. you suddenly grew conflicted, reflecting upon his generous donation. was there a genuine desire to assist you in bringing about a change that was important to you or did he simply see your business as an opportunity to potentially ensure his own financial gain later on?

she shrugged, “i would assume he and his fiance are here to invest in some new partnerships.”

you furrowed your eyebrows as karina voiced your suspicions. “now who would make such…calculated moves at a time like this? my stars, this is a charity auction.”

“someone who only looks out for themselves, i suppose,” karina sighed. she placed a hand on your back and offered you a reassuring smile. “well.. i believe our work here is done. i propose we take our desserts and go on our way after a job well done.”

you laughed lightly, “i would be delighted.”

the two of you passed by the couple as you made your way to the exit, jun’s eyes wandering to inevitably meet yours. he offered you a gentle smile, one that his fiance had just barely missed, prompting you to bow your head politely in return. for whatever complicated reason, you held onto the hope that you would never see that man again.

—---------------------------

do you ever wonder what would become of your future if you had chosen a different path? or if, perhaps, the fates had a different idea for your livelihood?

i don’t attempt to deny how lucky and blessed i’ve been- i have indeed lived a happy, comfortable life since i was a child. without going into too many details (as per our agreement), i would say that my life is very fortunate. but the more i take part in strenuous business meetings with my father and his partners, the more i wonder if there’s something wonderful i’ve been missing out on.

i blame my newfound existential dread on the holiday i took part in with my cousins. not one of us had a care in the world for an entire weekend, and i daresay it was the longest period of time in which i felt no stress at all. this exchange of letters also provides me with much needed reprieve.

i don’t want the entirety of this letter to fill you with melancholy so allow me to say this- there is a pastry shop near my estate that has the most delicious custard pies. if you ever find your way in that corner of town, let’s both hope i’ll be there at the same time. just out of coincidence, of course.

i hope to hear from you soon, dear friend.

you folded the piece of parchment in half and pushed it aside, feeling butterflies begin to take flight in your stomach. the two of you had never spoken about meeting in person, agreeing to keep your relationship confined to exchanging letters. of course, you would be lying if you said that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind on several occasions..

you haphazardly stuffed the letter in your pocket as the door to your quaint bookstore opened and jun shuffled in. he went wide eyed as he saw you stand behind the front counter, appearing to be on edge.

even so, he greeted you with a smile of pleasant surprise, “oh..! i didn’t realize you worked here.”

you chuckled, still trying to ignore your racing heartbeat. “my father owns this store,” you explained somewhat flatly. “is there something i can help you with?”

“no, not at all. just taking a look.” a brief smile was sent your way before jun started wandering through the shop floor with his hands folded behind his back. you were reminded of the way he strode towards the booths in the library when the two of you first met, merely twenty hours beforehand. and just like before, it brought upon a sense of uneasiness.

he stopped near a table in the corner of the room, where a stack of books was accompanied by candles set on top of intricate sticks, a woven tablecloth, and a small circle of.. seashells?

he kept trying to tell himself that it was most likely just a coincidence, but he felt compelled to ask, “these shells add a nice touch. do you enjoy collecting?”

you perked up, gently shaking your head. “no, not particularly. i’m not sure why i even put them there; it’s not like the shop has a nautical theme..”

“they’re rather nice,” he remarked, gently cutting you off. he grinned knowingly as he continued to look through the shelves, studying the contents. “i must say, you have quite the impressive collection.”

“do you speak of my collection of books? or seashells?” you teased him.

he chuckled, “both, i suppose.. beaded periwinkles were always my favorite. i couldn’t help but notice it seems we both hold them in high regard.”

as he tilted his head back towards the small desk in the corner of the room, you’d only then noticed how many of that particular brand of shells you actually possessed. “i suppose great minds really do think alike,” you remarked. “but i’m sure you aren’t here to talk about seashells.”

it appeared to jun as though you were eager to help him with another purchase, however, it couldn’t be further from the truth. mentally, you were crafting another response to your mysterious friend- actually, would it be appropriate to start calling him your suitor?

either way, he noticed the hastiness in your tone and chuckled, “right. to tell the truth, i’ve been meaning to take a look at this shop for some time now. i think i could propose a business venture that would benefit you and your father greatly.”

you raised an eyebrow and asked him in a gentle tone, “and what, pray tell, makes you think either one of us would be interested in a partnership with you?”

he stopped his pacing so he was standing directly in front of you, the front counter creating a fair amount of space. “i seek partial ownership of the shop. if you allow me to make a few adjustments to the building, i guarantee you it will bring in more customers and, eventually, more revenue for the two of us.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, taken aback by his words. “i don’t know if it escaped your notice, but my father is not here. he won’t be for another fortnight, at the very least.” you paused. “but if he was, i can guarantee you he would be mortified by your offer.”

jun mirrored your expression, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “i beg your pardon?”

“my father built this shop by himself and has been working his entire life to pay off his debts. every inch of this place holds sentimental value, i won’t have anyone making alterations for their own benefit.”

he nodded once, “that’s.. understandable. but you lead me to believe you’ve completely forgotten the definition of the word ‘partnership.’ it benefits the two of us equally.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, snapping, “please, sir- do not condescend to me.”

“my apologies,” he mused, taking a step to meet you around the counter. “but allow me to understand your line of thinking- you won’t accept an equal partnership from me, but you will accept a generous donation.”

“need i remind you, the entirety of that donation went into funding the public library,” you protested while doing your best not to raise your voice. “and i now know fully well your true intentions behind that ‘generous donation’ of yours.

“allow me to reiterate- while i most certainly do not speak for my father, i cannot guarantee his interest in your offer.”

he bowed his head with a knowing grin, “allow me to say i’m certain that your father recognizes a great offer when he sees one. i will speak with him in a fortnight.”

“i-” you stuttered, watching him step towards the door.

“i bid you good day, madam.”

—

my dearest, please do not feel any sense of guilt for simply conveying your true feelings. i will not lie to you, i think about all sorts of different paths i may walk in some sort of alternate universe. for example, maybe in another life, we do more than simply write letters to each other. maybe we take walks together or converse over custard pies.

even so, i hope you find a way to make peace with your business partners and yourself. and i really do hope you find what you’re looking for. please allow yourself to take more holidays with friends and family members whenever you can. personally, i find that even something as simple as a walk through the park on a chilled afternoon soothes the spirits.

i hope you reach this letter in time, but i have been craving a good custard pie. i thank you for your recommendation and hope to see you there on saturday around midday. purely out of coincidence, of course.

best wishes and goodbye for now, my dearest.

“my dearest?” jun read out loud incredulously. he was so used to the mysterious writing partner holding him in a more platonic regard. he found himself helplessly staring at the term of endearment, the way she wrote it…

“i see the two of you are now using more personal terms of endearment,” wonwoo observed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched jun from across the room.

jun placed the letter in a drawer filled nearly to the brim with the rest of his letters, carefully slamming it shut. “wonwoo… cease your teasing remarks for once and instead tell me what to do.”

wonwoo stepped closer, sitting comfortably near jun’s desk with his hands folded on his lap. “regarding this mystery woman of yours?”

jun nodded with a heavy sigh, which of course, puzzled wonwoo greatly. usually, he was in a brief state of merriment after reading one of your letters- but the way he clenched his jaw and stared at the patterns on his desk in contemplation said otherwise. “i find myself… conflicted. you see, in my last letter, i left something of an.. invitation for her.”

“an invitation?” wonwoo cocked an eyebrow.

jun shifted slightly in his seat, crossing his legs as he expected the worse reaction from wonwoo imaginable. “indeed. and she has taken it upon herself to arrange a meeting place and a time.”

instead of scolding him, however, wonwoo nodded, his confusion still evident. “then.. why are you feeling conflicted, as you say?”

“for a number of reasons, i suppose,” jun sighed. “the first reason being that i’m.. confused, to say the least, about my feelings for her. they are strong, whatever they are- i hold her in the highest regard.. and yet i wonder if we made a mistake staying anonymous.”

wonwoo leaned forward, letting his chin rest in his palm. “you mean to say.. you’re worried there’s something you don’t know about her? something you might not like once you meet her in person?”

“well..yes, i suppose. not to mention there is the matter of my engagement-”

“your arranged engagement-” wonwoo chimed in.

jun paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “precisely.” he rose to his feet, pacing the floor behind his desk and cupping his chin between his thumb and index finger. “my arranged engagement.. that i’ve been second guessing since the day the two of us were made aware of it.”

wonwoo nodded, signaling his understanding. “well.. i suppose the only way to find out if there’s something about her that you don’t exactly ‘like’ is to follow through with this meeting. maybe you won’t come face to face with previously unknown attributes of her personality right away, but the first step is always the most important.

“it seems to me that you have a lot of feelings to work through.. with her. maybe you should write them all down.”

jun furrowed his eyebrows. “you mean- write them down and.. read them to her?”

“why not?” wonwoo countered in a gentle tone, rising to his feet and crossing to the door with his hands folded behind his back. “you have no issue writing seemingly heartfelt letters to her once a week. how would this be any different?”

before jun could answer his friend’s question, he was left alone to stew in the complicated question. as per usual, wonwoo brought upon an excellent idea- one that he hated to consider taking seriously. and with a heavy sigh of disdain and shaky hands, he sat back at his desk and began to write.

—--

“are you sure about this?” karina asked you for what felt like the millionth time, tying the ribbons of your hat together. she stepped back to take a better look at the modest lavender dress you had purchased for this specific occasion, immediately grinning. it was his favorite color; you’d known that since the two of you met through the literary discussing group.

“honestly, karina… i’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life,” you replied, taking a deep breath as you held one of your suitor’s letters in hand. it wasn’t just any letter, however- it was one of your favorite ones he’d gifted you. “i just wish i’d prepared something beautiful to say to him..”

“just.. speak from the heart,” your friend advised. “it works every time.”

you laughed, “are you quite sure about that?”

“we’re wasting time!” she laughed and gently swatted at your upper arm. “go on, meet your wonderful suitor.”

before too long, karina carefully shoved you out the door with no intention of allowing you back into the shop. you didn’t look back, not even once, striding confidently towards the bakery. you could practically hear your heartbeat echoing in your ears as you finally walked through the door, a loud bell startling you on the way in.

you didn’t know whether or not to call it irony, but you felt your appetite leave you abruptly while sitting comfortably in the corner of the room. you stared down at the envelope, which was still in your shaking hands, unable to continue watching the entry door in suspense.

a timid tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your daze. you whipped your head back to see jun standing behind you with a growing smirk, the sight causing you to let out a huff in disappointment. he responded by snickering, “lovely to see you too, madam.”

you stuffed the letter in your jacket pocket, sighing, “what are you doing here?”

he pondered your question with that all too familiar smirk of amusement, mirroring your actions and folding a small, leather bound book in his inner jacket pocket. “am i not allowed to take time off work to purchase some desserts?”

“that’s not what i said,” you sighed just before he pulled out the chair across from you, prompting you to raise your hand in protest. “please, don’t- i’m waiting for someone.”

you tried not to think anything of the way jun paused, his dark eyes widening. “may i inquire as to who? a friend? an acquaintance? perhaps a suitor- i am more than happy to serve as a chaperone, if need be.”

“that will not be necessary, thank you kindly,” you chuckled without any sense of amusement in your tone. “we are not courting. not that i have to explain the circumstances of our relationship to you, of all people.”

despite your protests, jun sat across from you as his smirk grew into a beam. “what kind of suitor is he, i wonder? a lord? or a baron?”

“sir, i would thank you not to patronize me. and so loudly, at that,” you whispered.

he laughed a little too loudly for your liking, his bright smile on full display, “forgive me, i do not mean to patronize you. i simply wish to know more about who my new friend has taken a liking to.”

you paused, signaling your disdain with a frown before leaning in and speaking in a hushed tone, “well, if you must know, the man i’m supposed to be meeting with is kind, funny, and has an aptitude for reflection and study. he’s completely unlike you in every sense of the word.”

“is he really?” jun asked, taking genuine offense from your words. he drew back in his seat, eyebrows knitting together.

you nodded with such blatant certainty that prompted jun to frown, delicate as the expression was. “indeed. he walks through life with radiant optimism and recognizes the value of literary classics. you, however, view such precious works of art as yet another method of personal financial gain. and i feel sorry for you.”

tension filled the air as jun grew silent, visibly stunned by your words. “forgive me for not telling you everything about my line of work upfront, but i’m not just in the business for the money. you see- i’ve already read the entire collection i’ve purchased from you. a long, long time ago, actually.”

you could have sworn your heart stopped beating completely in your chest- maybe you had been a little too harsh with this man. you timidly asked, “and you’ve.. enjoyed all of them?”

“i don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe my.. idolization towards the authors. especially dickens.” he paused, rising to his feet. “i feel as though he explores themes of human relationships better than any author i know of. the idea that someone can find redemption and mend even the worst wounds within said relationships..”

he paused once again, leaving you to ponder his annoyingly profound statement with furrowed eyebrows. just as you parted your lips to offer an apology, or even to ask him to elaborate, he spoke up again, “i do hope that one day, you will hold me to a higher regard. that one day, you will see me in the same positive light you see this stranger who clearly did not even bother to meet with you in a timely manner. i bid you good day.”

you felt your cheeks go cold as you watched him turn towards the door, your voice slightly raising, “jun, wait-”

much to your surprise, he faced you completely and offered you a sad smile, “that’s a lovely color on you, by the way.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, clearly caught off guard by his abrupt compliment. “sorry?”

“lavender. it’s a lovely color on you.” and as he let the beautiful, heartbreaking compliment fill in the tension between you, he nodded his head in farwell and turned his back on you for the last time. that afternoon, at least.

you leaned back in your seat as the bell signaled his disappearance. you felt as though there was a lot to unpack from your exchange- clearly you had misjudged jun. clearly, he was well read and you had rudely assumed that he wasn’t. you thought you had better character than that- but clearly, jun wasn’t the only one you had misjudged.

then there was the matter of his unexpected compliment- try as you might, you couldn’t stop repeating his line, his delivery over and over again in your mind. the way the word lavender rolled off of his tongue with ease- was there a possibility he knew that you had chosen to wear that color on purpose?

no- that couldn’t be possible. at least, that was what you kept repeating to yourself non verbally as jun took his leave.

meanwhile, the man in question kicked at loose rocks on the pavement while trying to avoid wonwoo’s gaze. the younger man had accompanied jun to offer him moral support and was stunned to see the meeting ending so soon. he pushed off of the bench where he’d been quietly reading, rushing to the other man’s side.

“jun, what’s happened? why are you leaving so soon?” he demanded.

jun shook his head, refusing to meet wonwoo’s gaze. he told him pointedly, “this was a mistake. i never should have made that offer to her.. wonwoo, what was i thinking?”

wonwoo grabbed his friend’s upper arm, stopping him from taking another step forward. “what do you mean, ‘it was a mistake?’ you were in there for less than five minutes, what could possibly go wrong in that short amount of time?”

he finally held his chin high, his eyes meeting wonwoo’s albeit reluctantly. he folded his arms across his chest as he took another look at the bakery he vowed never to set foot in again. “i saw her,” he muttered.

wonwoo furrowed his eyebrows, his impatience getting the best of him. “...and what became of it?”

“let’s just say if she knew who i truly was, she would regret joining that literary discussion group in the first place,” jun bowed his head, watching the dust settle around two pairs of shiny black shoes as he kicked another set of loose rocks.

the confusion visibly melted away from wonwoo’s features within a matter of seconds. “i see…” he mused. when jun refused to speak again, the stunning reality of the situation circling around him like a dark cloud, he lightly scoffed. “and there’s not even a small part of you that’s willing to talk with her, explain yourself?”

jun shook his head, “trust me, there is no getting through to her.”

“how can you be so sure?” he snapped. wonwoo rarely ever raised his voice; whenever he did, however, jun was always taken aback.

“because i know her!” jun exclaimed. he paused, hoping to steady his racing heartbeat. “and i have known her for almost a year now. i know about things she hasn’t told anyone else, her innermost thoughts, philosophies, desires.. which is why i know for certain that she would never stoop so low to even entertain the idea of courting someone like me.”

“‘someone like you?’” wonwoo repeated incredulously. “you’re being ridiculous. get back in there and set the record straight, i insist- no i demand it.”

jun yanked his arm out of wonwoo’s grip. “you cannot order me to do anything.”

wonwoo smirked, clearly finding amusement in the situation. who could blame him, as he was pushing jun’s relentlessly stiff, almost lifeless figure towards the bakery. “oh, but i am. i’ll be waiting right here for you when you’ve finished explaining yourself to her.”

“absolutely not. now let go of me,” he swerved to the right in order to avoid wonwoo pushing him again.

“you’ve nothing to lose, now get back in there-”

“no!”

before too long, the men were all but wrestling on the dirt path. wonwoo was trying to push him towards the bakery while jun was practically leaping back and forth to avoid even a mere graze of his friend’s hand. any onlooker might have been frightened by their actions and guessed that they were engaged in a genuine scuffle. but neither of them retaliate with violence, of course.

neither of them were sure how much time had passed before the front door swung open, seungcheol emerging with a scowl, “hey! the two of you better get a move on and take your argument somewhere else.”

the simple warning was more than enough to pull the two men away from each other. as the two of them hunched their shoulders in embarrassment, jun turned his back on the store. as if it wasn’t enough to discover the woman of his dreams was actually the one who hated him, he made a fair assumption that he had been banned from the shop.

wonwoo, seemingly unbothered by the shopowner’s warning, walked alongside his friend. his shoulder barely brushed along his with every step he took and much to his surprise, jun didn’t make any effort to stop the fleeting contact. “so.. what happens now?” the bespectacled man asked.

“what do you mean?” jun asked, his eyes fixed on the weeds growing along the path.

“are you planning to stop writing to her? or are you formulating an excuse for ditching her?”

jun paused, taking another look at the shop behind him. he could just barely make out your figure in the small front window, waiting noticeably impatiently at the same table. “i have no idea.”

—--

dearest, i wish that i could provide you with a good excuse as to why i did not meet with you. i am positive there is nothing i could say that could excuse my ill mannered behavior, anyways. i hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me, although i am not so sure if i can ever forgive myself. if you no longer wish to write to me, i understand. i simply want you to know that nothing could ever change how highly i think of you.

it was the shortest letter he had written. you read it once, committing it to memory over the next few weeks without generating a proper response.

you couldn’t remember a time in your life when the sting of betrayal had so effectively wounded you. mundane tasks such as eating, drinking, even concentrating on the simplest tasks at the book shop became too much for you to handle. all that occupied your mind was the embarrassment you felt waiting hours for the ‘friend’ to show up, the way your heart sank when you realized he wouldn’t be coming at all, the way tears blurred your vision as you walked home..

or perhaps the realization that it was all a mistake, that you never should have engaged in writing letters with a stranger in the first place. you never should have allowed yourself to find such comfort in a stranger, someone who could have easily been saying just what you wanted to hear.

usually, you weren’t one to shy away from your responsibilities at the shop, especially considering your father was still gone. but you allowed yourself to make one exception, given the nature of your heartbreak. besides, it was always your father who told you that a walk in the park could be soothing to both the mind and body.

in this case, it was a short walk around in the park before you came to a stop near the large pond. the sunbeams shining on the water pulled you deeper and deeper into a daze of content, providing temporary relief from your heartbreak. the leaves rustled in the wind, a crisp breeze in the air.. it was peaceful.

obviously, a little too peaceful for fate’s liking.

you averted jun’s gaze to the best of your ability as you watched him stroll up the hill, walking the same path you had just minutes ago. as much as you kept telling yourself that this meeting was nothing but a coincidence, a small voice in the back of your mind kept asking if it really was.

inevitably, his eyes found yours and before you could rise to your feet to dash in the opposite direction, he was taking long strides to meet you in your newfound hiding place. you bowed your head, avoiding his gaze as he spoke, “what a coincidence. i didn’t think i’d see you around here.”

“is it really a coincidence?” you asked him, haughtiness in your tone.

jun shrugged, taking a seat next to you on the cold grass. “usually i don’t find myself in this part of town but.. my line of work really takes a toll and someone told me recently that a walk through the park on a chilled afternoon soothes the spirits.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes still fixated on the patterns of your dress.. that phrase.. it was all too familiar. “wise words,” were the only two words you could muster.

he nodded, allowing uncomfortable silence to pass between the two of you and gazing at the pond. he waited for a moment before speaking again, his tone low, almost timid. “how was the meeting? with that friend of yours?”

you paused, drawing in a sharp breath and fixing your posture in the same movement. “he never came.”

jun turned to look at you, taking a mental note of the pure, unapologetic expression of heartbreak you wore. your pouty lips, the darkness in your eyes.. “i am.. truly sorry to hear that.”

you screwed your eyes shut, fighting back any tears that dared to surface. it took a moment for you to collect yourself enough to speak without showcasing the warble in your voice, “i suppose it’s my own fault for putting my complete trust in someone.”

jun paused, her words echoing in his mind to the point he couldn’t focus on anything else. of course, he felt guilty for not immediately declaring who he truly was and staying at the shop with her. he regretted it from the moment he made the decision to leave her. once again, he found himself overwhelmed from the complications he was forced to face on a daily basis.

“i don’t think it was a mistake on your part,” he finally whispered to you, offering a gentle smile once your eyes met his. “clearly, there is only one person at fault here.”

you nodded, feeling unable to break away from his gaze at that moment. much to your surprise, you were glad that you didn’t immediately push him away upon seeing him stroll confidently through the park. because as much as you told yourself how much you disliked him and what he stood for, there was no denying he possessed a level of.. comfort.

you chuckled, the sadness unmistakeable in your tone. “i don’t think i can find it within myself to..blame him,” you mused. “i know it sounds silly, but.. i would rather blame myself. i keep trying to make excuses for him.”

jun gently furrowed his eyebrows as he processed your words. of course, his irises were still flooded with sympathy as he gazed at you, trying to come to terms with your line of thinking. “can i ask you a question?”

you were slightly caught off guard by his question but you nodded all the same. “go on.”

he allowed himself to look forward again, shifting a little bit to sit more comfortably on the lawn. his knee barely grazed against yours as you did so, the fleeting contact still sending a shockwave along your skin. your cheeks even heated up as his gaze found yours again and he spoke gently-

“you jump through hoops to forgive this man for betraying your trust and yet.. you don’t seem to find it within yourself to forgive me for a simple misunderstanding. i just.. don’t understand why.”

once again, that familiar jab at your heart stunned you into silence. he brought up an excellent point; the moment you watched him leave the bakery, unforgettable guilt rushed over you like a tidal wave. seeing him sit next to you, remaining vulnerable with his emotions- it reminded you just of how much you had misjudged him.

“i’ve been horrible to you,” you finally spoke. “and i want to apologize. i think.. this trip that my father’s been on has been something of a practice round for me. there will come a day when i’m running his store all by myself and..it might come sooner than later. and that terrifies me.”

“that’s completely understandable,” jun replied. “trust me, i’m convinced that if i make one wrong move, i will burn my father’s business, his entire legacy, to the ground. I’m terrified.”

the two of you shared a laugh, sorrowful as it was. as he kept the bashful smile plastered upon his lips, you couldn’t help but take a mental note of the way his eyes lit up as he did so. “i guess we’re more alike than i thought,” you confessed.

jun’s heart sank upon hearing your words. he longed to tell you the truth, to apologize for hurting you so deeply by ignoring you- but something held him back. a sneaking suspicion that this was neither the time nor the place. so he drew in a deep breath before his smile grew wider, “i guess we are.”

you chuckled, suddenly hyper aware of how close the two of you were sitting. however, it felt like the wrong time to bring up the impropriety of your situation, given the context. “but if it really means that much to you, i can arrange a meeting with you and my father once he returns.”

jun pondered your words, his arm grazing yours as he drew in another sharp breath. once again, the brief contact was enough to quicken your heart rate. “i would love nothing more than to work more closely with the two of you.. but please, don’t feel pressured to schedule the interview on my account.”

you chuckled, leaning back on the grass slightly and propping yourself up by your elbows. “on your account? it was your idea, was it not?”

jun laughed in return before smiling down at you, “well.. yes, but you know what i mean. i don’t want you to humor me simply because you feel guilty. i want to meet with your father because the two of you genuinely want to work with me.”

“jun-” you started, taking a hold of his left hand. you anticipated feeling the cold sting of a wedding band on his finger, but there was none. you almost gasped in surprise, promising yourself you would ask him about it later. “i want to work with you. well- forgive me if i sound forward, but i want to do more than work with you. i want to spend more time with you.”

“you..do?”

“yes!” you laughed. “that is.. only if you want to, of course.”

“no, no, of course i do-” jun stuttered gently with a chuckle. “i’m just- i’m confused. you seemed to be pretty confident in your opinions of my character. and, well now..”

“i keep thinking about what you said..about mending relationships. and.. i want to mend ours. as i said before, it seems we have more in common than we might think. i want to get to the bottom of that.”

“and i.” jun’s smile grew wider, the corners of his eyes gently wrinkling at the movement. he even mirrored your position, laying comfortably on the grass after ensuring no one was approaching. “i assume you’ve read austen’s works as well?”

you let out a dreamy sigh, earning a gentle laugh from jun in the process. “of course i have. pride and prejudice will always be one of my favorite works.”

“i should have expected as much from you,” jun teased, toying with a blade of grass he had plucked from the earth. he tied it in a few knots, shyly avoiding your gaze.

you laughed somewhat sheepishly as you watched his fingers toy with the blade of grass, feeling dazed. “and what is that supposed to mean?”

“there’s no shame in enjoying a good romance novel,” jun retorted, looking over to you. only then did you once again realize just how close you were now laying together, less than an inch of space between your shoulders and knees.

for a brief moment, it felt as if you forgot how to breathe. you didn’t dare allow your gaze to fall to his lips as you whispered, “is mr. wen junhui a secret avid fan of romance, then?”

“you could say that,” he replied, his tone growing lower than you’ve ever heard. it was all becoming too much for you to handle, the way the gentle breeze pulled his hair over his eyes, locked with yours, his lips gently parting.

“can i ask you a personal question?” you finally spoke up, your voice lower than his.

“yes.”

“you used to wear a ring..” you started, unsure of how to go about your line of questioning.

he seemed to catch on, however, nodding his head once and drawing back a tiny bit from your figure. “i.. don’t want to think of everything as a business transaction. especially not marriage.” he let his hand rest near his side, inevitably brushing against your own. “my father wasn’t happy. or hers, for that matter. but i stand by my decision.”

you nodded in understanding. “i admire your courage. and i understand where you’re coming from, completely.” you found it within yourself to finally look away from him, drawing away from his godly features to instead look up at the graying sky. “if i ever marry, i want to be endlessly, hopelessly in love with him. without any hesitation or reservation.”

you caught him nodding in your peripheral vision, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i want to know the depths of someone’s soul. i want to savor every small moment with her..someone who fulfills me.”

just then, it felt like a light bulb had finally flashed in jun’s mind; his feelings towards his anonymous writing partner lying next to him didn’t seem so complicated anymore. although he was nervous, wishing he could have waited for another moment to confess his truth to her, the small voice in his head was much too persistent. there truly was no time like the present.

with that being said, he pulled the small notebook out of his pocket. you recognized it instantly; it was the same one he carried with him in the bakery. he sat upright as he opened it, silently prompting you to do the same. before you could ask him what this was all about, he spoke in a low tone, “there’s.. something i’ve been meaning to tell you. well.. i didn’t know it was you specifically i would be addressing this to, but..”

“what is all of this about?” you chipped in.

a shaky hand brushed over the parchment before he began to quietly read, “my dearest friend, i’ve waited a long time for this moment. i cannot tell you how many times i’ve wrestled with the dilemma of asking to meet you in person-”

“wait-”

he took another deep breath before releasing it with a shaky sigh, “but now that we’re finally here, face to face, i have finally mustered enough courage to tell you how i truly feel about you.” but of course, in that moment, his actions betrayed his beautiful words. his heart rate increased, which in turn, affected his breathing.

so you gently took the notebook from his shaking hands, offering him a gentle smile. you began to read his words aloud, prompting his cheeks to darken with a blush, “and the truth is, my dearest, that i have never felt so connected to someone in my entire life. i have told you things no one else knows.

“in turn, although i feel like i know everything there is to know about you, i want to know more.” tears once again began to blur your vision, but you pressed on to the best of your ability. “writing this to you, i can’t believe i ever doubted, even for a second, how i truly felt about you. i can’t believe i had any reservations in telling you the truth in the first place.

“and if you don’t feel the same, that is per-”

jun was momentarily stunned when you fell abruptly silent. however, you had only stopped reading for two reasons: tears blurring your vision and falling down the worn parchment being one, while you also saw no need to read any further.

you scooted closer until your knees brushed against his and reached your hand up to cup his cheek. “it..it really was you..” you whispered.

he rose his hand to cover your own, nodding bashfully. “it was,” he mused. “i know.. i know you must be so angry with me and- and.. confused, but i had to tell you. i couldn’t keep it hidden, i-”

just as a short chuckle escaped your lips, you quickly leaned in to silent him by pressing your lips against his. you felt him smile into your lips before returning the kiss, slowly molding his lips with yours. it was gentle, passionate, and it spoke much louder than words in that moment.

when he broke away, his hand found yours and he laced his fingers with your own. as he gave your palm a tight squeeze, his eyes never left yours. “i’m sorry.. i should have told you sooner. much sooner..”

“i understand,” you gently cut him off, connecting your forehead with his. “i knew.. i knew that i was right not to blame you. i blame myself, i should have-”

jun immediately shook his head in protest, his other hand cupping your cheek. “no. i should have been forthright from the start. from the second i met you in person. it could have spared us both a lot of heartache.”

you laughed in agreement, “you are not wrong… what if we made an agreement, that from this moment forward, we are to be completely transparent with each other?”

“i love the sound of that,” jun whispered before placing his lips against yours once more. this kiss was just a bit more heated than the last, as if the two of you were making up for any lost time. the two of you felt as if you were seeing stars the entire time your lips moved against his. and when the kiss finally broke, the two of you were grinning from ear to ear.

jun, of course, was the first to speak up. “is it.. too soon to tell you.. there is a chance i may be.. possibly, a little bit in love with you?”

you laughed, your thumb brushing along his jawline as your free hand squeezed his palm. “maybe..but i am in love with you too. completely. without any hesitation.”

he chuckled helplessly as he listened to you upstage him with your declaration, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “well.. i love your transparency.”

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toxic3mmy · 9 months ago

Note

I’m having a bad case of baby fever since I’m ovulating hard and I need fic of quackity with gf who’s ovulating like crazy and who’s begging for a baby

ooo baby fever!!! the only person in the world that i would ever want a baby w is alex😞😞 but yes, i got u my lovely <33 thx for the request

[also it cane out a bit diff than what u asked for im sorryyyy!! dont hate me bbg💔💔]

prompt: alex dealing with a baby fever filled gf

no smut but mentions of it ofc!!

everywhere you look, there’s babies. on tv commercials, at your job, even at the grocery store there’s always a baby who won’t stop smiling and cooing your way.

and who would make a cute baby? alex, your boyfriend, that’s who!

he has sparkling honey brown eyes with dark lashes framing them perfectly. his fair skin that has freckles and beautiful face moles. and his hair! he has a full head of hair that would look absolutely perfect on a sweet little baby.

lately, on your free time, you were indulging in this want and need and desire for a baby of your own. you were sneakily watching mommy and baby vlogs. you loved seeing their belly grow and their journey through their pregnancy. you even subscribed yourself to a baby magazine and it was what you looked forward to every time you checked your mail.

but you hid all of this from alex. you knew he probably wouldn’t understand. just how most men don’t understand why women obsessed over weddings and wedding planning. it also didn’t help that you were definitely ovulating.

and right now, you were sat listening to your boyfriend going on about his day. well, not really listening. more like admiring him and imagining him as a father and wow did that turn you on.

“what about you? how was your day?” alex asked suddenly

“oh, you know, i mostly just did my online coursework and cleaned the house a bit. i’ve been bored since you went out..” you said, trying to be inconspicuous

“trust me, i missed you too. now let’s eat. the food you made smells amazing” alex said, getting up to serve himself a plate

he served two plates of food, one for you and one for him. the two of you ate in mostly silence, with casual conversation here and there. once you finished eating, alex offered to wash the dishes since you did the cooking.

you sneakily pulled out your phone and scrolled through your pinterest. of course, you had baby related posts all over your feed and you loved it.

“babe.. this sponge sucks. where are the new ones we got the other day?” your boyfriend asked

“should be in the drawer next to the stove” you absentmindedly responded, eyes glued to your phone

alex opened the drawer and found your stash of baby magazines. he wasn’t blind, he knew what you had been obsessing over lately. this was the perfect time to bring it up. so he grabbed a sponge and washed the dishes. after drying his hands, he turned to face you.

“so… you’ve only been studying all day huh?” alex smirked, holding up one of your prized magazines

your eyes widened. you were at a loss for words.

“i-i uh… my sister is pregnant and um she sent me those to help her pick stuff out and—”

“hmm, addressed to our home to ms. y/n” alex interrupted

“do you think i don’t know by now? i see the way you’ve been looking at anything baby related online. i know you always volunteer to do the grocery shopping just for the chance of running into some mother with a baby… my question here is, why hide it?”

“i didn’t think you’d understand… i know how guys get when their girlfriends start talking about babies and i don’t know. i didn’t want to upset you. i didn’t want to make things weird between us..” you explained softly, expecting alex to get upset

he walked closer to where you were sitting and tucked your hair behind your ear gently.

“i could never be upset with you princesa. you don’t have to hide things like this from me. you know i love kids just as much as you do” he reassured you

you nodded sadly, still feeling a sense of guilt.

“why don’t we start trying?”

your eyes lit up and a huge grin was etched onto your face.

“you really mean it?” you asked and alex nodded with a smile on his face

“i would just adore having a little munchkin running around here. i think you’d be a spectacular mother y/n. i can just imagine them having your big ‘ol eyes and your pretty lips” he caressed your face sweetly

“and your gorgeous freckles… oh my god alex! we would have the most adorable baby in the whole wide world! do you actually want to start trying?”

“yes i do, princesa. we’re in a good place financially and also in a healthy place in our relationship. i wouldn’t want to have a baby with anyone else but you” he smiled

“you’re going to be such an amazing dad. you don’t know how much i’ve daydreamed about you holding our baby in your strong sexy arms. the way you would be super protective over them. i just know you’d have our baby on your chest at all times. you’re so innocent and precious and so so good with kids alex. you are definitely daddy material” you stood from your seat and reached out to hold his hand

“also.. i may or may not pay attention to your ovulation period…” he said seductively

“what?! why? you’re a weirdo!” you teased him

“no! i mean i pay attention to when you write those notes on our calendar! you freak” alex was red in the face and you couldn’t help but laugh at his flustered expression

while you were too busy laughing, he suddenly stood up and pushed you against the wall nearby, trapping you there.

“you’re probably really sensitive right now, aren’t you?” his voice came out in a darker tone

“m-maybe…”

“let me make love to you, princesa. quiero impregnarte ahora mismo. quiero que me sientes y que sientes que te hago la mama de mis hijos chula…” he said, making sure to kiss your neck while he spoke

all you could do was nod. his words alone made you so wet and needy for him already.

“i’ll make sure that after tonight, you’ll definitely become a mother” he smirked, dragging you to your shared bedroom

#alex quackity #alexis quackity #quackity #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #quackity fanfic

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pablitogavii · 9 months ago

Note

Could you write one Gavi fic where he's talking to her through social media, just as friends, but he starts to develop feelings for her, his agent finds out and gets really worried about his career if he gets in a relationship, so he "makes" Gavi's mind to get away from the reader (she has abandonment and rejection issues) without a proper explanation, he excuses saying that the reader wants his money and whatever. But some months after the reader moves to Seville and gets really close to Aurora (she knows Aurora is Gavi's sister but Aurora doesn't know her), and one day Aurora takes her to a barca match, and Gavi tries to make up to her?

I guess I'm back y'all lol! I like this idea very much!

y.n.bebe

New York, USA

I think I like this little life...happy birthday to me hehe

liked by pablogavi and others

coments:

brimccormix: happy birthday bebsss

y.n.bebe: thank you gorgeous girl💗

stacymiggs: princesaaa

y.n.bebe: nooo youuu!🥺

brianfereda: happy birthday!

y.n.bebe: thank youu!

pablogavi: pretty girl

y.n.bebe: 😳

When you saw that THE Pablo Gavi called you "pretty girl" for the whole world to see, you couldn't stop staring at that comment for the next two weeks.

Your friends went crazy calling you lucky, and pushing you to send him a message but you were obviously too shy to do that. Besides, who knows how many "pretty girls" he's talking to on the internet.

Meanwhile, Gavi spent all of his free time and training brakes going through your posts and smiling like an idiot at your cute face on his phone screen.

When you first popped up on his screen, he just had to reach out and pray you don't find it cocky on his part. You were just so pretty...

"Sempre con esa nena, cabrón! Dale! Enviale un mensaje!"Pedri hit Gavi's head making him groan and finally get the balls to slide into your DMs. He said a simple "hey pretty girl" before leaving his phone in the locker room to join his teammates.

pablogavi: hey, pretty girl

y.n.bebe: hey😊

And ever since that night, you've started texting, face timing and chatting non stop. You haven't told anyone about it, not wanting to make a drama over something so new and also not wanting him to think fame is what you're after because it's not.

"I'm so tired, nena" Pablo groaned while laying in bed and face timing you as you did your math homework diligently.

"Then go to bed, tonto!" you giggle and he just stayed quiet staring at your face until you looked back at the phone screen and blushed at how intense his gaze was.

"Me gusta cuando hablas Español conmigo, bebé" he smirked making you blush bright red and roll your eyes pretending to be annoyed.

"When do you have training in the morning?" you ask while he yawns.

"Five am" he answers and you open your eyes wide really looking up to him being so diligent about his career.

"Then you really should get some sleep, and we can talk tomorrow again hm?" you ask not really wanting to end the call but also wanting him to get his rest. He always loved how selfless you are and how much you took care of him. It really warmed his hearts.

"I hate it that you're so far! I swear I'm gonna travel to New York and kidnap you and bring you back to Barcelona with me ... and never let you go ..." he said sleepily and you felt your heart jumping thinking about the possibility.

"Hm and if you get bored of me?" you smile and he shakes his head still staring intently at you in the eyes.

"Impossible, my pretty girl..." he said and you smile remembering the very first time you read those words on the screen.

Pablo Gavi was a man of his words, and since that conversation he promised himself that he will surprise you with a travel to Barcelona really soon. He planed everything and mailed you a ticket during his two week vacation.

He still remembers the nerves while standing at the airport waiting at your gate to see your pretty face finally in person. The moment you walked out he recognized you...he couldn't forget the pretty face he stared at through the screen for past four months just now it was real.

"Hi, pretty girl..." he said again and you jumped into his eyes smiling wide and holding onto him tightly. You couldn't believe this was real yet. It just felt like a dream.

"Ready to explore Barcelona conmigo huh?" he said and you smiled and taking his hand nodding and walking to him car with your baggage.

Days passed so quickly and everything was PERFECT. Ice cream dates, walks on the beach, coffee shops and all the infamous tourist attractions...you were falling in love with this city...and you were also falling in love with this boy.

Day before your flight home, Pablo took you to a football game for the Juvenil and you were excited to watch it with him knowing it was his passion.

"So what do you think?" you show him your Barça jersey and he so badly wanted to ask you to wear one with his name on the back but how could he? He still didn't have the balls to ask you to be his official girlfriend!

y.n.bebe

Barcelona, Spain

it's so pretty here 🥺😊

liked by pablogavi, pedri, joaofelix and others

comments:

pablogavi: pretty girl in barcelona 😍

y.n.bebe: hehe😊

brimccormix: girl!!?? spill the TEA!

y.n.bebe: what tea???

lucasmith: looks like someone stole my crush!

y.n.bebe: 😂

"Next time I come, I want to watch you play..." you said while the two of you sat sadly on the airport waiting for your boarding.

"Y/n..." he said looking down as you looked up

"Hm?" you say feeling your heart beating fast from how close your lips were to each other.

"Don't go..."he said and you swore your heart broke when you saw his pleading eyes. Neither of you wanted this distance...it was so unfair but there was nothing you could do about it now.

"Pablo we're friends now and you can visit me in New York..." you said but before you could finish his lips were smashed onto yours to shut you up and you closed your eyes enjoying the sweet sensation of his cold minty lips on your.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend, pretty girl?" he said and in that moment all your past insecurities and abandonment issues returned yelling inside your head. What if you get attached and he disappears like other did? You were so scared but looking at him it was impossible not to agree!

"Yes! I do Pablo..." you say and he kissed you again until they called for your flight to start boarding in five minutes.

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littleplantfreak · 5 months ago

Text

Wait for the tone, you know what to do~

Pairing: Umemiya Hajime x reader

Tags: SFW and no cws I think!

Word count: About 1.0k

So it's a songfic! I listened to Austin by Blake Shelton and knew if anyone would wait for you even after a year, it'd be him. I followed the song pretty much to a T

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

It had been a year since you left him. The feelings from back then still haunt you, but you thought they would've been long gone by now. You were an idiot, to be clear. You got so scared of how hard you fell for him and how good he was for you that you ran a few towns away without so much as an apology.

Since you'd left, though, the bed feels cold and hollow, or maybe that's just you and you're not sure if it's a good idea, but you decided to call him. If he changed his number, you wouldn't blame him in the least. This was your fault after all. He was so in love with you back then, he looked at you as if you'd brought the sun out every day, and put it to sleep every night. You fiddle with the necklace he gave you on your first anniversary, the one you still haven't brought yourself to take off, even on the few dates you've tried to go on. If he answers, great; if he doesn't...you're not sure what to say.

The phone rings three times, and you hold your breath as you hear the sound of his voice mail.

"Hey! If it's Hiragi, I'm teaching the kids to swim over at the gym down the street," and you can't help but puff out a laugh. Of course, he is. "It was a last minute thing since the regular teacher got sick, so meet me there if you wanna grab a drink tonight! Oh, but if it's Sakura, I'm still having that barbecue tomorrow night, and yes, you and your girlfriend are invited and then some. Bring as many plus ones as you want! It's gonna be an amazing night. If it's anyone else, just leave me a message." You hear a slight pause before you almost press the button to hang up. "...If it's ___, I still love you." and your breathing stops at the way he sounds. His voice is still so full of affection; it sounds the same as the day you left, and you drop your phone by accident. The screen is shattered, but you can tell it hung up. The spidery cracks of the glass in your heart stabbing and slicing at the wound you'd tried so desperately to close, reopen it from only seven words. Seriously, this guy...who even says that?! Who knows how long and how many times he'd changed his recording and still kept that in there.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It takes three days for you to get a new phone and get it activated and synced up. You can't just text him. That is in no way a text conversation, you tell yourself. Let's try this again. Three rings, just like before. Okay, here we go; you brace yourself, wondering if it'll be the same one from a few days ago.

"If it's about the fundraiser at the library, donations go to Kusumi or you can drop them off at the cafe. If it's Saturday, we're going to the beach for the weekend! I'm trying to 'unplug' a bit, so unless it's an emergency, I'll get back to you Monday! Have a great weekend. P.s., if this is ___, I do still love you!" The tone is different this time. A little more chipper, and it may be due to the beach trip. He always did love dragging you there for the day. He'd wake you up at 6 AM, lifting you out of the bed, blankets and all, to hold you to him and whisper that he's kidnapping you for the day if that's alright, and he'd never fail to mumble the last part since he knew you'd have to call off work for it. It didn't matter; you'd call off work a thousand times if it meant you'd get to hold his hand on the train again.

You leave your number. That's it. He should know your voice, right? You feel the cowardly part of yourself that you hate so much rear up only for you to shove it back down. No more running. If he's waited for you this long, he deserves the best version of you that you can give right now, not the same one that turned tail at the first sign you'd wanted to spend your whole life with him. So you'll wait for Monday.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Umemiya knows that voice anywhere. You didn't leave your name, but it has to be you, right? His hands shake a bit as he hits redial, and he curses himself for going to the beach now. He needed it given how stressed he's been lately, but of all times to miss your call. What would you have said? What would he have said? Are you going to answer? The phone is ringing, and for the first time in a while, he's speechless.

"If you're calling about my heart, it's still yours. I should've listened to it a little more. Then it wouldn't have taken me so long to know where I belong." Oh, it is you. He should've known immediately; he was just afraid to get his hopes up. Your old number called the first time, and he nearly had a heart attack rereading the numbers over and over to make sure, but you didn't leave a message, so it could've been accidental. He didn't want to push you further away than you already were. The last time, the number you gave was new. He wondered what that was about, but he has the chance to ask you now that he's sure you reached out first. "Not sure if you're still there..." your voice trails off in a nervous chuckle, while he's silently panicking that he hadn't given any response, "...but if you are, I still love you too."

"No I do! I am...You too- I mean I still love you too- also-," He's never been so unable to articulate the thousands of things he's wanted to tell you and say to you, and he might just get choked up if he's not careful.

"Thank you, Hajime," You say, and this time you're going to run straight for him, no looking back.

#mari writes #finally right? i've been working on my ghostface ume thing though! im...pretty much done with it so i dont feel guilty writing this #umemiya hajime x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #yippee im using cute dividers still #slowly but surely making it cuter

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crowandmousewritingco · 5 months ago

Text

Safe with You

Pairing: Silva x male!reader

Words: 1 k

Rating: G

Summary: Silva gets a little sappy with you.

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: I've been working hard on my Kinktober entries so I thought it would be nice to have small little drabbles to post as we get closer to October. Plus I wanted an excuse to write for this lovely cowboy. I used fluff prompts from @voidfxndoms specifically #28. Thank you for the wonderful prompts!

Life has moved quickly for you in the last year. You were a roaming rider for the Pony Express, seeing the West from the back of your faithful horse. It was nice for a time seeing the rolling hills and hot deserts throughout this vast country. But as time went on, the more you realized how much you hated how temporary everywhere felt. One day you would be delivering a letter to somewhere in California, and the next week you find yourself sleeping under stars in the New Mexico territory. Finally you decided that enough was enough. You would find something more stable than delivering mail.

When the next town rolled around, you hung up your mail bag and scanned the “Help Wanted” sign in the middle of town. Lucky for you there was a job that was just up your alley. “Horse hand needed for long term ranch help.” You made sure to keep that information in your mind as you made your way out of town as the instruction indicated.

That was when you met Silva. You remember riding into his ranch where he was outside tending to his cattle herds. The clomping of horse hooves had Silva glancing up from his favorite steers. After exchanging words and experiences, Silva deemed you more than capable for the position. From that moment on, you were ensnared in Silva’s world.

Silva was impressed with how you were with the horses. You learned their quirks quickly and learned what made them tick. He had to admit to himself that he was starting to find that quality about you attractive. But he always kept those thoughts inside his heart for a multitude of reasons. And it would have stayed that way if it wasn’t for one night.

A rich ranger was in search of a mare for his stud and wound up finding your ranch through word of mouth. You worked with him and soon he had a healthy foal on his hands. He had liked your service so well that he threw in a bottle of locally made wine after the birth.

That night you and Silva indulged in the gifted booze, celebrating a job well done. The two of you ended up indulging just a little too much and soon all of your inhibitions were out the door. Hours of kissing and other such activities kept you up ‘till all hours of the night.

Of course the morning came and when he realized that you had shared a bed that night, he profusely apologized for his drunkenness and his forwardness. Unbeknownst to him you did rather enjoy last night, and you stopped his excuses with another non drunken kiss. From there you two grew close bringing both the ranch and your relationship into a new era.

Five years later and you two had fallen into a nice daily routine. You rose with the sun every morning, giving each other a good morning kiss to start the day off right. It was washing up then a nice breakfast made by you to make sure you had plenty of energy to complete your tasks– You to the stables to feed the horses, and Silva to the fields to tend to let the cattle out to graze.

And it was one of those days you found yourself in today. You were inside preparing a quick but filling lunch. You were busy cutting up the fresh batch of bread and meat you bought on your last ride into town that you didn’t hear Silva slip in through the backdoor. It was only when a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush with his rugged torso, did you notice his presence.

You sighed and gently caressed his well worked knuckles as he planted soft kisses on your clothed shoulder. Looking over your shoulder with a small smirk. “Well hello to you too.” You chuckled and kissed his bearded cheek, savoring his touch.

“You know I was thinking,” Silva remarked.

“That’s dangerous,” You teased and Silva squeezed your sides sending you into a fit of giggles. “Okay okay I surrender.” Once you got your breath back, you asked. “What were you thinking?”

“Just how safe you’ve made me feel,” He said, leaning his head against yours. A small smile graced his lips.

You grinned softly taking in his affection. “What’s brought all this on?” You asked, turning so you could face your love.

Silva’s rugged hands stayed on your waist gently caressing the material with his thumb. His dark eyes gazed into yours. “Just spending so much time as a hired hand well ya get people comin’ after you. And since you got here I haven't had to shoot for a living.” He reached up one of his hands to cup your cheek.

A heat flushed your cheek and you cupped your hand over his. The heat of his skin fills you with a familiar warmth. “I can’t take all the credit. You put a lot of effort into this ranch making it what it is today.”

“But if it weren’t for ya…well I was about to give up on this place until you rode into my neck of the desert.”

You leaned your cheek into his palm nuzzling against his skin gently. “I guess we found each other at the right time.”

Silva smiled and kissed your forehead, pausing to revel in your touch. “I guess we did.” Time stilled as you took in each other. The lines on Silva’s face, the sprinkle of sun that covered his cheeks and nose, the graying tufts of hair that lined his beard; all of these aspects made Silva, Silva, and together made that man you fell in love with.

The two of you bask in your love, until Silva broke the silence. “Now let's get some food in us, so we can finish that order,” Silva said as he gave your waist a playful couple of taps.

You chuckled and turned back to the cutting board. The sounds of the kitchen continued, slicing and clinking of dishware filling the room. Setting the assembled sandwiches on a serving tray, you brought over the food to the table. Each of you took a slice and began to eat, conversing here and there. Domesticity felt nice with Silva.

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

Thanks to the lovely @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the dividers

#crow and mouse writings #mod mouse writing #silva strange way of life #silva x reader #silva x male!reader #silva strange way of life fluff #strange way of life #drabble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro brainrot

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

Text

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

pairing: dieter bravo x ghost hunter!female reader word count: 4.9k rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

The producers of your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, have picked your next celebrity guest. Dieter Bravo. You’re not looking forward to being locked in a reportedly haunted mansion with one of Hollywood’s biggest divas.

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

the first of my october spooky specials is here! ghost image in title art is from TO LIFE, TO DEATH by Jean-Marie GITARD. if you enjoy this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment and thank you for reading!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), drug use - weed, smoking, dub con - sex following drug use, vaginal fingering, handjob, dry humping, getting locked in a haunted house together, misunderstandings. let me know if any tags are missing!

It’s not often you get called into an actual meeting with your producers. You’re on the road a lot filming for your hit ghost hunting show, Spirit Seekers, so they usually spare you from attendance and send you an itemized e-mail recap.

Not today, though. Today, all five producers were CC’d on the e-mail that requested a meeting to go over your next episode, which is set to start filming in two days. You tap your fingers against the shiny wood conference table, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape through the panoramic windows as you wait for the suits to join you.

They all arrive at once, three men filing through the doorway with veneered smiles and abnormally smooth foreheads. They shake your hand one by one before taking their seats.

It’s Alec, a paunchy man with grey hair and round glasses, that speaks first, starting with a mumble of your name followed with, “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got a celebrity guest for the McCallister mansion episode that you’ll need to work into your production this week.”

“This is pretty late notice,” you reply, mind already running through what you’ll need to do to adjust for the format of a guest special. “Who is it?”

The three men exchange wary glances and you sit up straighter, bracing yourself for the response.

“Dieter Bravo,” Alec finally says, smoothing his tie with his hand.

“You’re shitting me.” If there’s one person you can’t stand, it’s Dieter fucking Bravo. “Is this how I find out Ashton is filming Punk’d again?”

The joke doesn’t land. Alec clears his throat before saying, “This isn’t a joke. And it’s an excellent opportunity to—”

“To what? Pander my show to a diva who’s just going to make my job difficult?”

“He has a very strong fan base that could bring in a large number of new viewers. Your show is popular, but only to a limited demographic,” Alec says. “We’re doing this for you. Spirit Seekers has a lot of potential but if you’re going to remain at the top and have a chance for another Emmy nomination, maybe even an award, you need to be willing to work with the guests that will bring in views.”

You sigh heavily. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know. But I always am.” He slides a folder across the table to you. “Here are his requirements.”

“Requirements? He does know this isn’t a blockbuster production set, right?”

“This is the modified list,” the man to Alec’s right, Stephen, says. “Trust me, this is significantly better than it once was.”

You open the folder, scanning the document. “Alkaline water, glass bottle. Absolutely no plastic,” you read. “Organic, non-GMO, dye free, gluten free crackers. Did he just pick every Whole Foods buzzword and stick them together?”

“We will make this as easy for you as we can. We just need you to focus on the episode. Okay?”

“Fine,” you mumble, shutting the folder. “He breaks any of my equipment, I’m billing you.”

“Deal.”

Two days later you’re sitting in your makeshift command center with your crew mates, Andrew and Mike, making sure that all the monitors are displaying the feeds from the static cameras set up inside the mansion. You’ve already filmed solo interview segments with the owner, an elderly man who inherited the house over thirty years ago but left it untouched because of what he believes is a ghostly presence.

The sun is low behind the gorgeous Queen Anne Victorian home, orange sky haloing the steep roofed mansion. The historic building sits on six acres of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence that the owner, Paul, had to unlock for you to set up for the night filming session you would be doing this evening. He stands behind you now with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you connect your equipment.

“So you’ll be in there all night?” He asks, voice wary.

“Most of it. We’ll get three hours of footage with Andrew following us through the house and then a few more hours of single camera action, coupled with the static night vision feeds that will roll all night. We’ll be inside until 3 a.m. and then work out here for a bit before packing up,” you reply. “Thank you so much for letting us come in and do an investigation.”

“I’ve got a bet going with a buddy of mine,” Paul says, puffing his chest out. “If you find something, he owes me a hundred bucks.”

You laugh. “I can’t guarantee anything. My goal isn’t to make a ghost where there isn’t one.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you, this place has always been weird.” He glances up at the house, his frame shivering despite the California warmth. “Doors always opening and shutting on their own, footsteps, voices. Whole nine yards. S’why I never moved in.”

You knew all of this, of course. You’d done a walk through of the property with one of your camera guys, letting Paul tell you his first hand experiences in the old house. You’re about to reply when the sound of a car barreling up the gravel driveway pulls your attention away from the conversation.

A black Escalade approaches, coming to a stop in a cloud of dirt that makes you cough. Paul pats your back as the back door opens and designer boots drop onto the gravel.

Dieter Bravo stands with one hand gripping the door of the car while he uses his other hand to tilt his sunglasses down his nose to squint at you. He’s wearing black joggers and a faded gray t-shirt with a hole near the collar, his hair a fluffy mess of dark curls.

“Hey,” you say in greeting. You hold a hand out and give him your name, forcing a smile on your face. “Welcome to the command center.”

“Command center? This some kind of secret army operation or something?” He asks, shutting the door and walking past you, leaving you with your hand out stretched for an unreciprocated handshake.

“Michael keeps an eye on the static cameras in case one needs to be fixed,” you explain, gesturing to the man sat in front of the wall of screens with a headset on. “Now that you’re here only,” — you check your watch — “an hour late, we can get started. Andrew, could you get him mic’d?”

Andrew approaches with a wireless microphone and the actor steps back and holds his hands up. “Hold up, I gotta make sure you got everything.”

“Got everything?” You ask.

“Yeah. My snacks and water?” He looks around expectantly.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes, they got your snacks. They’re in the cooler. Can you please let Andrew get your mic on? We have to start the guest filming before the light is gone.”

Andrew approaches Dieter again, who lets him get close enough to hook the mic to the waist of his pants. Dieter smirks as he says, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

You groan, grabbing your own mic. “Let’s get started.”

“The mansion itself was built in the late 1800s and has only been home to two families since it was finished. It’s been in Paul’s possession for thirty years,” you say, walking backwards towards the house as the camera man follows. Dieter stands off to the side of the wraparound porch, waiting for his cue. “And tonight, we’ve got the exclusive opportunity to explore this gorgeous home with a special guest. Tonight’s Spirit Seeker is none other than Emmy Award winning actor, Dieter Bravo!”

Dieter steps into frame and gives a smile to the camera, clapping his hands together. “Let’s catch some ghosts!”

“Now, Dieter, we’re not the Ghostbusters,” you say, your voice deadpan. Dieter raises his eyebrows at you.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” He asks. Your brows pinch together.

“Excuse me?”

“‘We’re not the Ghostbusters’? Really?” He waves his hands to the camera. “Come on, sweetheart, give it a little more energy.”

Your teeth are clenched so hard your jaw aches. “I had energy over an hour ago. You know, when you were supposed to get here?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Can we just get inside?”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to enter in front of him. Having toured the mansion already, you signal to Andrew to focus the camera on your guest for his reaction.

Dieter looks around the foyer, grand staircase and marble floors the centerpieces of the large space. “It’s a damn shame they don’t make them like this anymore. Look at the carvings! This has gotta be all original, right?”

“Yep. They’ve only upgraded the internal stuff, like plumbing and electrical,” you confirm. “The owner, Paul, inherited the house after his grandfather passed thirty years ago. He used to spend his summers here when he was a child and vividly remembers experiencing some…unexplained events that have left an impression on him.” You approach a table that’s been set up with your usually line up of equipment. “Tonight, we’re going to see if we can find an explanation for the inexplicable.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Dieter laughs. “You’ve got the cutest serious face, though.”

He thinks I’m cute? Your treacherous brain says, your face heating in response to the compliment. You quickly look at your equipment.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go through the equipment.”

You start with the basics. A digital recorder for capturing electronic voice phenomenon, night vision cameras, and dowsing rods. Further down the table you have thermal cameras, electromagnetic field meters, REM pods, and spirit boxes. Dieter listens attentively, to your surprise, and even asks a thoughtful question about the spirit boxes.

“How about we divvy up the gear? I can take the recorder and thermal camera, you can take the EMF reader—“

“No can do,” he interrupts, holding his hands up. “I don’t fuck with EMF.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“That shit is toxic. It’ll warp your DNA.”

“Dieter,” you say incredulously, “The entire planet is comprised of EMF.”

“No, that’s the geomagnetic field,” he argues.

“It’s the same thing!” You take a deep breath. “You know what? I’ll take the EMF detector. You can have the thermal camera,” you compromise, shoving the camera into his hands. You hastily gather the rest of the devices.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

It’s the last hour of the main filming session where Andrew films you and Dieter using the equipment. So far, there haven’t been many notable experiences. You’ve captured a few creaking floorboards and the EMF meter has gone off a few times, but nothing that you can undoubtedly point to as proof of the paranormal, which is par for the course. What people don’t realize when watching your heavily edited show is that you cut out hours of silence and empty footage.

“Alright, Andrew, you’re welcome to head out. We’ll do a bit more upstairs,” you tell the camera man. “Thanks for you help.”

“‘Night, boss,” he replies with a little salute. Dieter watches him as he leaves.

“So, it’s just us now, huh?” He says, his eyebrows raised suggestively. “All alone in a haunted house…pretty hot.”

“Oh, please,” you say nervously, fiddling with your thermal camera, “We haven’t gotten any evidence that this place is haunted.”

“Maybe the ghosts are just shy,” he suggests.

You grab the REM pod and turn on the device, the LED lights flashing. “Let’s do a REM pod session. Here, hold the camera.”

Dieter holds the expensive equipment delicately, staring at the night vision screen to keep you in frame. “Not often I get put behind the camera,” he comments.

You spend the next twenty minutes asking a series of questions in the quiet room, your digital recorder running in your hand. Dieter remains focused on the screen.

“Why don’t you playback the recording?” He suggests. You glance at him, his face illuminated in the dark by the lights of the camera and the faint moonlight that filters through a window.

“Good idea,” you admit, hitting the stop button and running the tape back. There’s some static feedback before your voice announces the date and time of the recording.

“Is there anyone here with us?” Your recorded voice asks. There’s a beat of silence and you fully expect your voice to be the next thing you hear but instead there’s a garbled, “Yes.”

“Holy shit!” Dieter shouts. “That was a fucking ghost!”

“Shhh!” You hiss, flapping your hand at him. You play it back and sure enough, the same disembodied voice echoes through the room, clear as day. “Holy shit!”

“Play the rest, play the rest,” Dieter demands. He steps closer with the camera trained on the recorder.

Together, you listen to the rest of the recording. There’s another moment where you think you might have gotten a response, but it’s not as clear as the first one. You play it back again and again, and finally Dieter takes the recorder from you.

“Alright, enough, if I hear you ask, ‘Do you mean any harm?’, one more time, I’m going to have to tattoo it across my ass,” he says with a laugh. “Actually, that would be kind of cool, right? Very…provocative.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help but laugh and the man’s face lights up with a cute smile, the corners of his brown eyes creasing with the force of it. “Let’s go check out the study.”

“How does this one work?” Dieter asks as you turn on the spirit box, the staticky feedback noise filling the room.

“It sweeps through different radio stations rapidly and, theoretically, a paranormal entity can manipulate it and use it to speak. Just ask question.” You fix the camera on him. “Ready when you are.”

“So…do any of the ghosts think I’m hot?” He asks, glancing around the room. You bite your lip to hold in your laugh as the static continues. “Tough crowd.”

You roll your eyes. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh…did anything like…bad….happen to you?” No response. “Do you…like having guests?”

“No.”

Dieter jumps, eyes wide as he looks at the spirit box. “No fucking way,” he says excitedly. “Okay, uh, why don’t you want guests?”

“Loud.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Keep going!”

“Do you want to hurt us?” Dieter asks. The device is silent, no responses coming through. His shoulders drop in disappointment. “Damn. Some confirmation that we’re dealing with Casper and not that fucking thing from Insidious would have been nice.”

“Try one more question? I’m going to get the thermal cam,” you tell him, rushing to the desk in the center of the room for your equipment. You hastily power it on and point both cameras at him. “Ok, go.”

“You’re supposed to say action,” Dieter says, making you roll your eyes. “But I’ll let it slide. Hmm…ghost, is there a room we should explore next?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you think maybe the session may be over, but suddenly the device spits out the word, “Attic.”

Dieter stares at you with wide eyes. “Guess we’ve gotta go higher.”

“Let’s do it.”

You open the door to the attic, revealing a dark, narrow staircase that looks particularly haunting. The man stands at your back, looking up into the inky black darkness. He audibly swallows.

“Uh…how about you go first? You’re the professional,” he suggests.

“You scared?” You tease, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s just a little attic.”

“In a very haunted house!” He hisses. “What if it’s luring us here to kill us?”

“Then you would have had to film for this ‘stupid show’ with nothing to show for it. Tragic,” you reply sarcastically, placing quotes around the words stupid show.

Because that’s what you’ve heard him call it. Your show was up for a Primetime Emmy award last year for your Halloween special and it was your first time attending an award show. Dieter was there to present an award and was seated only a few seats down from you, talking to another actor you vaguely recognized, when you overheard his feelings for your show.

“I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category,” he said, loudly. “It doesn’t even belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Dieter asks as you reach the open attic. There’s a circular window that looks out over the grounds, caked with dust and only allowing a tiny amount of light into the room. You turn to face him.

“At the Emmy Awards last year. I was sitting two seats down from you and you said — and I quote — ‘I can’t believe they put such a stupid show in this category’,” you snap.

He stares at you incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I love your show. I’ve been begging my agent to get me on as a guest since your first episode!”

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically.

“It’s true! Just ask him!” He steps closer, eyes wide and pleading, looking like a puppy who’s just been reprimanded. “I was talking about that stupid potato documentary. It was boring as hell and had no reason being nominated!”

“Wait…so...you like my show?”

“I love your show. It’s, like, the closest thing to being in an episode of Scooby-Doo.”

You laugh and Dieter’s face brightens, like he knows he’s in the clear. Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming has you both screaming and Dieter launches forward, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaps into the air.

It catches you by surprise, all of his weight leaning into you and sending you crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and an echo of groans.

“What the fuck was that?!” You ask. “Dieter, get off, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of you with a thump and another pained noise. “You were supposed to catch me.”

“Catch you?” You wheeze, flat on your back.

“Yeah, like in the shows. Scooby always caught Shaggy.”

“Why am I Scooby?!”

“I don’t know,” he shouts. “Listen, let me go check what that was.”

“You’re not leaving me up here,” you hiss. “We go together.”

The two of you make it to the bottom of the stairs, only to discover that the door to the attic has slammed shut. Not only that, but the damn thing won’t open. Dieter slams his shoulder into it as he twists the knob, cursing up a storm as he tries to shove it open with no luck.

“Remember what I said about the ghosts trying to murder us?” He asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a radio. I’ll tell Michael he needs to come try to open the door.” You tug the radio free from the waist of your jeans, pressing the button and asking, “Mike? You there?”

Silence fills the room. You try again.

“Mike?”

More silence.

“Fucking Mike,” Dieter grumbles. He heads back upstairs to the attic and you trail after him. He makes a beeline for the small window, feeling around the edges of it. “Maybe we can get the window open and call out to him.”

“Good idea,” you tell him, coming up beside him and pulling a flashlight from your back pocket, shining the light on the windowsill to help him find the latch.

There’s a rusted crank that he starts turning, the hinges squeaking loudly enough to make you wince. The window opens the slightest bit, fresh air flowing into the stale room.

“Can you get it open a little more?” You ask. With a grunt, he forces the crank around, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt.

Not that you’re watching his biceps. Or the muscles of his back as he moves. Definitely not.

“That’s as far as it’ll go,” he says. “See if you can see your little tent down there.”

“Command center,” you grumble, doing as suggested. You can can’t see much except a corner of the white tent fabric, but you call out anyways, “Michael! Mike! Hey!”

There’s no movement from below, no responding shout. You call out for him again and again, but it’s no use. He’s clearly not answering.

“I don’t have my phone during investigations. Do you have yours?” You ask. Dieter pulls his phone from his front pocket.

“Fuck, it’s dead,” he groans, tapping the black screen. You sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” You check your watch and find it’s 1:30 a.m. You have no idea where the fuck Mike went, but hopefully he’ll be back by 3 a.m. for debrief and a very stern lecture about abandoning his post. Dieter grins at you.

“Wanna get high?”

“The episode you did at the asylum in Kentucky is my favorite. It’s so fucking scary. The gurney moving? The shadows? Fuck, I was hiding in a blanket the whole time,” Dieter says.

You’re sitting beside each other with your legs out in front of you, your backs leaning against the wall beneath the small window. You’re pleasantly buzzed, your head a little fuzzy and your limbs loose from the joint you’ve passed back and forth for the last half hour and you’ve been talking about your favorite episodes, yours to film and his to watch, the conversation flowing surprisingly well.

“You know, maybe I was wrong about you,” you say when there’s a lull in conversation. Dieter looks at you, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know. I thought you were this high maintenance asshole, I guess. But you’re kinda cool.”

Dieter laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m definitely high maintenance. You weren’t wrong about that.”

Something about Dieter calling you baby makes you feel warm and gooey. You’d like to blame it on the weed but if you’re honest with yourself for once, it’s because of him. You tried not to like him, you really did, but he’s funny and nice and doesn’t think your whole ghost hunting gig is a waste of time like a lot of men you’ve dealt with in the past. Not to mention he’s so hot, with his messy hair and pretty brown eyes and warm tan skin. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but you’re realizing now that it’s actually part of his charm.

You must be quiet for too long or fidget too much because he’s smirking at you now, plush lips tilted up mischievously. “You liked that, huh?” He asks.

“Liked what?” You whisper. He’s scooches closer, his thigh pressing against yours and your shoulders brushing.

“Me calling you baaaaby,” he says, drawing out the word teasingly. “You got all quiet about it.”

“N-no I didn’t.”

“Riiiight,” he teases. He twists his body, reaching an arm across to grip your thigh. “C’mere.”

You go willingly, maneuvering your clumsy limbs until your legs are spread over his lap. He looks up at you with glassy eyes and a syrupy smile, sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans.

“You wanna try that again, baby?” He buries his face against your chest and you laugh, squirming in his grip. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“Maybe…maybe I kinda like it,” you mumble. His hands drift up your waist.

“Like what?”

“When you call me baby.”

He presses a kiss to your collarbone, the touch electrifying. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huff, trying to pull away from him. He holds you tightly.

“Nooooo,” Dieter whines, peppering kisses along all the skin exposed by your tank top that he can reach.”’M sorry, I’ll be good for you, baby.”

Your eyes flutter as you sink into his hold. His light kisses turn into teasing nips of his teeth that make you gasp and grind yourself over his lap. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, the length of his cock pressing deliciously against the seam of your jeans to give you the friction you’re craving.

Dieter’s hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you forward to press his lips to yours. It’s awkward at first, just a lingering peck, but then he licks at your bottom lip and you open up for him, his tongue hot against yours as you explore each other. Your mouths are a little dry from the weed but the kiss quickly grows hot and wet, a little desperate and messy as you move together.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans when he pulls back for a breath. “Keep moving, just like that.”

You have a better idea, though. You move down a little bit until you can get your hands on the fly of his pants, popping the button and pulling the zipper. He helps you out a bit, lifting his hips to shove his pants down just enough for you to reach into his boxers and wrap a hand around his thick cock. His eyes are dark and his mouth goes slack as you slowly bring your fist up, palming the slick head and smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive tip.

You withdraw your hand, bringing it to your face to lick your palm, getting it nice and wet as you keep your gaze fixed on him. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort and he gasps when you take him back in your hand.

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” he groans, tipping his head back against the wall with a thump. “Tighter, baby, squeeze it tighter. Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

His words have your clit aching with need and you reach down with your other hand to unbutton your jeans, trying to keeping your motions coordinated as you do. Dieter looks up and notices what you’re trying to do.

“You need a lil something, baby?” He asks. When you nod, his hand smacks yours away, successfully undoing the button and zipper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

His hand slides beneath your jeans and panties, thick fingers quickly zeroing in on your needy clit with tight circles that have your hand stilling around his cock as you moan. His other wraps around yours, encouraging your movements as he plays with your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, fingers dipping lower until they’re pressing against your slick entrance. “Keep moving your hand, baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed that you stopped, too focused on how good his touch felt. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Dieter murmurs, one finger pressing slowly inside of you. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You try to focus on his cock, sliding your tight fist over his length, twisting your wrist around the flushed head, smearing the wetness at the tip around with your thumb. He pumps one finger, then two inside of you in a matching rhythm, the heel of his hand brushing your clit and making you moan.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, rocking your hips the slightest bit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, baby, I’m right there with you,” Dieter replies, his own hips chasing your hand. “Come on, come on, all over my hand, baby.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles tightening before releasing all at once as you cum, clenching around his fingers and moaning his name. Warmth spreads over your hand and when you finally open your eyes you see that Dieter has cum as well.

“Uh,” you say awkwardly, “What…what do I do?”

“Huh?” Dieter mumbles, withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“With the” — you nod towards your cum covered hand — “mess?”

“Oh, right. Uh…just kinda…wipe it into my boxers?” He says. You do as he suggests, wiping the sticky mess into the fabric. “I’ll just deal with it later.”

“Boss? You there?” Mike’s voice calls out over the radio, which sits discarded to the side. You scramble off of Dieter’s lap to grab the device.

“Mike! We’ve been locked in the attic for over an hour!” You hiss. “Come get us right now and maybe I’ll let you keep your job.”

Mike responds that he’ll be right up and you fix your pants, hooking the radio back onto your jeans. Dieter stands, pulling his pants up and gathering some of the equipment. You stand together, waiting for Mike in what you would consider an awkward silence until Dieter bumps your shoulder with his.

“We should do that again sometime,” he says. “Maybe without the audience.”

“Audience?” You ask.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear and making your shiver as he whispers, “The ghosts.” You shove him away, both of you dissolving into giggles. His face grows serious once more. “No, really. You wanna like…get breakfast or something? I know this good farm-to-table place that opens super early.” You smile at him.

“I’d like that.”

Dieter sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of gluten free crackers in his lap. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”

“Your fancy microwave burned my popcorn,” you whine as you rush back into the living room. Dieter sneaks a hand into your bowl, shoving popcorn hastily into his mouth. “Hey!”

“Boyfriend tax,” he explains. “Now, hush, or I won’t invite you over to watch anymore.”

“It’s my show!”

The opening theme music starts, some eerie instrumental that plays over a montage of scenes from earlier episodes. As the music fades, shots of the house and your recorded voiceover explain the location for the episode right before it cuts to you and Dieter.

“…And this, is Spirit Seekers,” you and Dieter say along with your recorded self, matching grins on your faces.

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