#just remembered a girl from my high school

[beaked-whales-in-exile]

The opposite also sucks. You're so used to the treatment described above, you completely misinterpret the few people who do really care. You convince yourself that they also barely tolerate and secretly hate you. This leaves you utterly unable to handle affection and peoples' genuine interest.

Had this happen to me a few times. I was convinced this girl from my church I had a huge crush on in high school was only tolerating me as some kind of good deed and thought I was creepy and weird. Then last year, my mom saw her at a funeral, where she asked about me and clearly remembered me fondly as a good friend.

Same with this girl in my art class senior year. We'd always be talking and showing each other our drawings and stories. Hell, we even had a little moment during this one paper mache sculpting project where I was wiping residue off her hand and she just held it there, seemingly enjoying my touch. Hell, she wrote a whole page's worth in my yearbook in different colored sharpies and shit . Didn't dawn on me until years later she probably liked me.

every piece of ""autistic representation"" in hollywood sucks not just because of the infantalization and inspiration porn but because movie executives always fail to realize the real universal autistic experience: spending your childhood slowly and unfalteringly realizing all of your friends not so secretly hated and/or merely tolerated you at best and you've missed every social signal about it ever

[tsuyalovebot]

don't make me wait forever.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

cw: sfw. semi-prominent reader characterization (spoiled, occasional use of she/her pronouns, referred to as a "little sister" once). kisses. casual touches. throat holding (both by reader and by caleb). use of "older brother" to address caleb (not by reader). pipsqueak as a term of endearment. reader wears makeup. some spoilers from tender moments, memoria, and bond story. caleb typical warnings (manipulation if you squint).

wc: roughly 3-4k words. unnecessary word vomit.

author's note: a man who yearns is a man who EARNS. hi, it's me again! i had an idea and had to bring it to life. enjoy! ( ^ -. ^ )

Caleb wasn't lying when he said he spoiled you too much as children.

You didn't quite get it at first—he was nothing but sweet with the occasional menace during childhood, sure, but he didn't spoil you spoil you.

You were leaning into his chest, eyes closed while listening to the TV in the background as his large arm wraps itself around your waist. Tucking you against him, feeling his lips against the crown of your head.

"I baby you too much," he sighed, a mellow cheeriness beneath his words.

"And yet, you sound so happy over it," you grumbled. Sleep is so close yet so far, and you'd been squirming around in search of the closest boarding gate. His touch delicate as he pulled you onto his lap.

You snuggled closer on instinct. Picking up on the faint smell of sandalwood and something finer, richer. There was movement on your back, Caleb's palm stroking up and down, while the other held you by the back of your neck like an infant.

"I spoiled you, too."

You frowned, looked at him blearily. "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh." He pushed your head back onto his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Sure, Caleb took extensive measures to ensure your comfortable upbringing with him. But you weren't spoiled.

Right?

But you go on your first date with someone that isn't him, and it kind of hits. Making an offhanded comment about how the water temperature was more cold than warm—you asked for room temp—doesn't result in your date immediately requesting another glass or them buying you bottled water from the convenience store across the restaurant.

Instead, you're told, "they probably forgot, it's fine" and the date continues. You watch the condensation form on your glass quietly. Every rational droplet is speaking to your acrid gut feeling—it's just water. It'll be room temperature eventually.

Later on, your date messages you. They asked if you got home safely, all the while you'd been drinking a glass of lukewarm water in Caleb's dining room. You pressed block once you heard his familiar, curious voice asking how the date went.

"It was meh." And you asked for another glass.

Another time, you'd been hanging out with old high school friends as a simple gathering. Though, you hadn't expected that it would lead to seemingly endless anecdotes in relation to you. Over fruit smoothies and café pastries, they'd all been exchanging stories once the conversation turns over to yourself in high school.

"Remember when she would always ask us to do stuff?" One girl laughed, cutting into her french toast.

Another cleared her throat, exaggerating her voice into a falsetto, "hey, can you get me a bun from the cafeteria? Oh, there's no more? Then, a banana milk and whatever pastry they have."

It earned a crackle of laughter along the table of five people. You, the object of discussion, smiling at the head of the table. Rather awkwardly, too, as you sipped on your drink.

"You forgot to add on the "you can do that at least, right?" at the end!"

"Oh, oh, the sulking too, if you don't do it!"

"She'd always complain about our fans, too."

"Oh my God, yeah. "Why does your fan battery run out so quickly? Did you not charge it?" Like, hello?"

One of the girls face you amidst the active exchange, grinning. Despite the recollection of your nature in the past, they weren't mad. Simply taking the entertainment value in it.

"Don't worry," and she said your name, placing a hand over yours on the table.

"You've got an older brother, right? It may have been annoying, but we're friends. You were like, our little sister."

A muscle in your jaw ticked. His face popped up in your face and you wanna punch him, despite him being nowhere near you at the time of this event. But, you laughed and nodded; acquiescing to her reassurance was easier this way.

It slipped out once more when you go out for movies with Tara. It's the same theater you and Caleb always frequented before. You already swiped your card for payment of movie food, and had besn walking to the screening room.

"Tara, can you check the bucket? Make sure it has enough butter on it?"

"Hm? Okay," she replied. While you scrolled on your phone, you heard the plastic lid of the bucket pop open.

"Seems good to me. You check."

When you move your attention over to the bucket, you're met with mediocre-looking buttered popcorn. The golden syrup of butter scattered over the pieces. You frowned. Since when were they so shy about buttering literal corn?

You stopped walking, brows furrowed. "It's so... pale. Let's go back and ask for more, I didn't pay for that."

"Huh? Oh, okay?" You didn't really register Tara's confused tone of voice until after you had a spat with the person at the popcorn station.

It was some moody teen probably working minimum wage. He was scowling while you talked about the butter portioning.

He sneered, "over some popcorn? Really? Were you that spoiled as a kid?"

It winded you. Tara was pulling at your arm, seeming to try and hold you back despite you being frozen. The manager came out once the commotion seems to stop, only because you were gobsmacked.

He'd been apologizing profusely to you and Tara upon recognizing you both as hunters; his eyes had landed on you with so much familiarity. He's probably been working here for a decade or so. Long enough to have previously seen you and Caleb at movie screenings.

Tara's at the butter dispenser of the self-service station—something they closed over half a decade ago apparently, but frantically opened for today, coincidentally—with you behind her when she finally spoke

She was a bit bewildered, but it was easy to pick up the lighthearted tone. "I didn't take you for the pampered type. That was the normal amount of butter on popcorn for most places."

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't. I was a regular here in the past. Every time we got a bucket of popcorn, they were always so generous with the salted butter."

"By yourself?"

"No, with my friend."

There'd been a pause between you two. She pressed the lid back into place and begun shaking it, the popcorn rattling. Then, she turned to you, like she knew something that you didn't.

"And you never once thought this friend scared the employees into putting extra butter for you back then?"

It always went back to him.

Whenever you'd go to a colleague's place and bore holes into the crooked cuts of the apple slices on a plate, you found yourself recalling Caleb's expert cuts. These ones weren't even red delicious apples.

You're a bit peeved when the food from the monthly catering service at the Association doesn't taste the same way that Caleb makes it, even though the food is the same kind and recipe.

Your next trip to Skyhaven is definitely highly anticipated. You're been exhausted and haggard for the past few days. It only amplifies as the day stretches on, grimacing when Caleb opens the door. He's surprised to see you, panting and sweaty in his white tanktop. Fresh from a workout, most likely. It makes you a bit, a tiny bit, mad.

"Pipsqueak? What's the occasion?"

"You," you hiss, releasing your hold on your suitcases. You kick off your shoes as you push your way into his place, pointing an accusing finger to his chest.

Caleb's confused. It's clear in the furrow of his brow and frantic blinking that his synapses are doing rapid fire checking of what today is, what he's said or done recently, what stores are on sale, and what snacks you need.

Despite being the one who said he himself spoiled you, he clearly has no idea how it's manifested in your life, and it pisses you off even more.

"I'm the occasion?" He squawks, confused. "It's too early for my birthday—"

"You and your stupid past self. I should have your head on a stake," you bark, slamming your fists onto his pecs, pushing him further into his own home.

He laughs a bit, still completely in the dark, but his voice gets a bit more pitchy.

He leans down, cranes his gargantuan ass down to your height. It's polite. You know this, he's done it countless times. But your gut speaks to you. You're going to throttle him.

"Huh? What did I do?"

"You piss me off!"

His face softens with concern. His hands come up, ghosting over yours. He murmurs your name—

Then you're gripping him by the neck. You get to drink in the way his eyes widen to saucers as your fingers delicately wrap around his throat, palms on either side. You don't squeeze, and instead, aggressively shake him. "Pipsqueak?"

"You spoiled me!" You shriek, voice shrill with accusation.

Frustration, the buildup from the past couple of weeks comes to full fruition in this very moment. It's only for a split second that you see realization dawn on Caleb's face before you continue yelling.

"I relied on others to get me snacks because of you, I complain over batteries because of you, now I want specific water temperatures, I can't stand pale popcorn because you demanded extra butter, I'm picky over food—"

"Hey—"

"Don't you hey me, mister!" You jut your finger up at his face, and he shuts his mouth instantly. "I'm like this, because of you!"

You don't miss the glitter of mirth in those stupidly ethereal eyes of his, and it's wholly unreal how your anger amplifies when you notice his twitching lips. He found this funny.

"You're laughing?" You whisper, low and indignant. You squeeze his throat, feel his breath pass under the skin. Adrenaline riveting and real in the low thrum of your heartbeat.

"I'm here, devastated over the effect of your stupid actions on my life, and you're laughing?"

"Devastated?" Caleb echoes. The idiot sounded delighted over this. Like he was finding a great deal of validation in your admission.

A grin quirks his lips into its signature, charming curve, and he's leaning down into you some more. One of his hands sliding over yours with a gentleness only he could emulate. Your resolve stutters, and he's quick to take advantage of that.

"Oh, please, pipsqueak." He chuckles. "That's not true and you know it."

His fingers gently slide between the gaps of yours, making room for himself and filling the emptiness. Effectively peeling them away from his throat, and doing the same to the other hand. You relent, letting your arms hang loosely at your sides.

Caleb's still smiling when he takes a step forward, crowding your space now. It doesn't register that he's cornered you until your back is flat to the closed door and you're surrounded by him and everything about him.

The very man who's fed you every granule, acquainted you with the taste of having the world at your every whim. A charged zap runs up the base of your spine when he lifts your chin.

"If you were really devastated, you'd have come here cryin' instead. You'd be on your knees, weepin' over how I've ruined you. Not yelling and screaming and accusing me," he coos, sickly sweet. His thumb rubbing below your lower lip.

"Are you done? Do you feel better after getting it all off your chest?"

His gaze feels abysmal. Two pools of an oceanic depth, spatial and intergalactic and beyond your comprehension. Hungry.

Something darker lurks there. That one look that flickers in and out of conversations whenever you're close to him, or when the topic tilts into something that you know you shouldn't be touching. Like he's satiated, but still craving more and more. You feel small under it every time.

"Even a kid knows how to manipulate their guardian into givin' them what they want."

The double meaning, one of comparing you to an immature brat, isn't lost on you. Heat crawls up your skin as your cheeks round with the scrunch of your nose. Ready to retaliate with equal venom, even if his words weren't inherently insulting.

But, before you even could, the expression on his face stops you in your tracks.

It's like looking at the colonel. Caleb cocks his head to the side, expression clinically cold. "When someone is speaking, we?"

He stares. He's waiting for a response, you realize.

You finish his sentence, pacified. "We listen."

"Good. Seems you still have the manners I taught you."

Your face heats up.

That stupidly patient smile on his lips was grating on your nerves, far more than any revelation of his ingrained presence in your every action, thought, word, and emotion.

His thumb is soon pressed flush to your lips. He isn't prying it open like he did before, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb along your lips, caressing the divot of your cupid's bow. He's playing with the glossy texture and film of your lippie, smearing it past the corner of your lips.

The first thing you want to do is push him away. Shove him, hard, and make space between the two of you so that your train of thought could return. Yet, the softness that decorates his grape-colored irises was making you hesitate. He's an annoying guy, someone who gets on your nerves, with featherlight caresses and an admiration so sincere.

Rouge stains the pad of his digit when he draws it back. He's curious, his gaze thoughtful as he examines the pigment. Then, you're watching as he lifts it to his mouth with a deliberate kiss. Lashes fluttering over his cheekbones.

When he drops his hand, the scarlet pigment is smeared over his lips like a brand.

You're burning alive. You reach up, immediately trying to wipe it from his lips. "You—"

"Weirdo? I know." Caleb catches your hand with ease, beaming with half-lidded eyes. "Buuut, you're just as weird as me for lettin' me do that, y'know."

He's making a point. You're going to gut him alive, you think to yourself. In stealing an indirect kiss from you, he's replicating every scenario you've ever bared yourself to him. How easy it is, to melt in one's earnest wonder and affection, unable to say no.

In an attempt to regain your composure, you scowl with all the feigned vitriol you could muster. "You're even weirder for condoning my every action."

He cocks his head, like he was reloading a couple memories from the past. The countless times he let you get away with things.

"It's... not that easy for me, pipsqueak."

"Yes, it is." You huff and free your hand from his grip. Settling your palms flat over his chest, fingers curling into the stretchy fabric. "Telling me no couldn't have been that hard."

"Yeah?" He teases. "You think it's that simple for me?"

"Grandma could handle me."

Caleb deadpans at your mention of her, his face relaxing into something like bemusement.

"If Gran or I took away your stuffed animal to clean it, you'd kick and scream and cry. If I denied you of your favorite food or a candy apple, you'd say you hate me."

You blink. That wasn't the response you were expecting. All of a sudden, you feel like someone's wiped your mind of everything you've ever known, and redefined your recollections of childhood. Embarrassment crawls up your face in burning streaks.

"Gran could handle you?" He repeats, shakes his head with a sad look.

There's a pained aspect to his current physiognomy, the furrow of his brow, the deepened set of his mouth. "That's because it's her. Of course, she wouldn't mind your cries. But I did."

He crouches, and for a moment, it was as if he was falling. The sunlight filtered in through the glass of the door behind your head, catching on the nutty brown strands of his hair. Cradling his head against the junction of your neck and shoulder, hiding away his face.

"I didn't want you to hate me." He admits, the words fanned over your throat. You inhale deeply, and his familiar scent invades your senses. You hope that stupid central organ wasn't too loud, or else he'd hear the beating of your pulse working double time.

Caleb's a constant in your life. He was a pillar, from youth 'til now, that never failed to offer you assistance regardless of the circumstances. You knew him to be reliable, persistent, generous. Perhaps it plays into the way he's coated your teeth in sugar, nipping at your enamel in a thick film that tastes of sweetness.

Yet seeing him like this, frustrated and amused and annoyed—it was unfounded.

"I didn't know much." The vulnerability was low yet blaring. "I just knew I didn't want you to hate me. I knew I loved seeing you happy. And if I denied you, you weren't happy."

It's too black and white. So childish and simplified. It's an easygoing description of his feelings toward you during early youth, one that could easily be swallowed up and consumed by the nasty nature of the world.

Yet, you card your fingers through his hair. Press your lips to his temple all the same, and listen to his utterances.

Your bottom lip is jutting out before you can stop yourself. And in spite of his own admissions, the uncomfortable nakedness that comes with it, you mumble a pointed, "you made me high maintenance."

"You're only figurin' that out now?" He snickers against your skin and the subsequent vibrations make you jump. "Pipsqueak, everyone's known you're high maintenance."

You protest, "that's not true."

"Yes," he says, amused. "It is."

Peeling away from your neck, Caleb's face is less grave now. Relief floods your senses and you cup his face, smoothing over the corners of his lip to wipe away the frowns. There's a weight behind you that isn't the door, his palm a welcome touch as his fingers splay over the small of your back.

His other hand resting on the side of your throat, fingers resting on your nape and thumb rubbing the ridge of your jaw. The motion is soothing, and you close your eyes to memorize its rhythm.

"Even if you're high maintenance, I'm the one who caused it. Allegedly."

You bristle and your eyes fly open, "allegedly? There's proof—"

"Ah-ah."

Caleb's brows are raised on his forehead as you pipe down, amused by how quick you were to correct your behavior.

"Much better. As I was saying."

Despite the extra firmness to his voice, his touch on you was nothing short of gentle. Like your body was carved from marble, reinforced by a fragile porcelain, he does that thing where he tilts your head with the hand on your neck. His thumb rubbing your earlobe.

But the most violating part had to be those intense, smoldering eyes that beheld you with utmost priority. How did you ever think he didn't care for you?

Caleb's tone of voice is chiding. "You're high maintenance because of me, and that makes you mine to maintain."

He's talking down to you. Treating you like one would to a child learning how to tie their shoelaces, his voice chiseled with the vines of condescension. Heartbeat speeding in your chest, distinguishing your heartbeat from your rampant thoughts became far more difficult.

The little smile that's on his lips seems manic. Far away, distant, as you slide your hands over his pecs. A shudder ripples over your skin.

"After all, it's my fault for making sure you're comfortable. It's my fault for prioritizing you above all else, as children and as adults." He starts, chillingly calm. He shakes his head to himself with a deep sigh, and tilts your head back against the door. Examining you with an unblinking, almost detached visage. Yet, his words were anything but, thick with emotion.

You breathe slow, torturous inhales and exhales, feeling Caleb's hand wrap itself around your throat. Alarms ring out in the back of your mind—loud, incessant, disturbing, yet you close your eyes and let him hold you there.

He won't hurt you. He never would, intentionally.

Quietly, like a forbidden fruit to not be consumed or heard, he mutters, "it's my fault for wantin' nothing but the best for you, because it's what you deserve. Nothing less."

Oh, you breathe out.

There's absolutely no pressure to the way he holds your neck. His palm wasn't against the column of your throat, instead, the pads of his thick digits were clasping the skin with a touch so invisible it almost felt nonexistent. When you swallow, the flexed skin presses itself up to his touch.

"Do you really want me to take it back?" Caleb asks, breaking the momentary silence and taking you out of your thoughts.

You blank out for a moment too long. "What?"

"You came over to let me know I've spoiled you beyond reversing repair, without wantin' me to change?"

Why did you come over? Why did you decide to come up to Skyhaven one day, literally days away from your regular times of visiting him? Over something like this? Literal outdated information that you've only recently discovered.

Why? You don't know, but you're rushing to speak, holding onto his top. "That's not what I—"

"It's not what you what?"

He tilts his head down toward you and every coherent thought exits your headspace instantly. God, his eyes. They're darker now. Frustration brimming in the burning fuchscia, the indigo of his irises all-consuming.

"I can stop pamperin' you starting today." He offers.

The surfacing ache in your chest is abrupt, disruptive.

"Starting today, I won't buy your favorite snacks. I won't ever pat your head again. I'll leave you to fend for yourself in every fast food line, and you can get your own stuff when we go shopping. You can even do your shopping alone. Is that what you want?"

No. No, it's not what you want, but how do you express that? An entity, so puissant and arresting, is crawling up your esophagus, scraping at the backs of your teeth, trying to pry your mouth open, and wail its truth into the minimal distance between you and Caleb. It's an ugly feeling, one stripping you down to your base needs.

Pain bleeds into his expression, his eyes only softening as a thought crosses his mind. "Are you gonna tell me you don't need me again?"

"Caleb, no," you manage.

"If not, then what's the problem? It's too late. If I've ruined you, you've destroyed me."

You destroyed him? When? You've never... When have you ever—?

Your chagrin spikes in time with your bewilderment. "I never did anything like that."

Caleb peered into your eyes. Your soul. Questioning, a bit disbelieving. Like he can't really believe your own blindness. An incredulous laugh slipping through his nose when he realizes you weren't lying.

He takes a step forward. You're fully sandwiched between him and the door now, and one of his arms come up to rest above you on the surface. "Caleb–"

"I can't go through the grocery store without thinking of what you want for dinner." He admits, the revelation so tender and tied with candor. Your words die on your tongue and dissolve.

"I can't do my laundry anymore unless it's with your brand of fabric softener, since it reminds me of you. Every time I try on a new jacket, I wonder how it would look good on you."

The information comes pouring out of him like a geyser. And his voice is full of nothing but love. You press your hands to his chest with more force, but he won't budge. Your ears are scalding and you're avoiding his gaze now, his face.

"You dedicated a journal to me. You came to every basketball game." Caleb laughs, breathless. A little in awe of you, so full of adoration. "You always visited Skyhaven when I moved out. You pretended to be my girlfriend. You didn't want me to get a girlfriend. You kissed me at my graduation."

He stutters over himself at the end, sighing deeply and it's making your stomach do flips. "God, you kissed me."

Really? You're burning. Did he have to bring that up?

He's pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, using his hold on your yielding neck to find your gaze once more. You could crumble into ashes right now. In fact, you hoped the floor underneath you would just swallow you whole and leave nothing behind for Caleb to dissect.

"You're think you're spoiled, pipsqueak?" Another laugh, and it's mixed with raspy agony and disbelief, shining in his stare. "I'm rotten."

In Caleb's home, you never really heard much commotion. Simply the low hum of the television in the background, the living room a few paces away. Yet, your heartbeat was the soundtrack to his life, and he's made it his favorite ringtone.

You could feel his own racing heart under your palm. He looks defeated now, conflicted. Oh, Caleb.

"You never wanted me to take it back." He says it to himself. Like he's trying to get himself to believe it.

"You just wanted reassurance that I'd never leave you, no matter how coddled you are."

The heart that's thudding rapidly against your ribcage was so fickle, so naïve. It might jump out of your throat at this rate—God, Caleb could probably feel your pulse like this.

Your mind's racing. There's only one way you could resolve this rift formed from these series of revelations and confessions. You weren't going to lose him again. He has no right to leave after this.

"You're so quiet now. Don't tell me you're thinkin' of runnin' away, pipsqueak." His voice is lighter, more in jest now. The first sign of distance, denial.

You clasp his wrist, and whisper, "I'll take responsibility."

"What?"

"I'll take responsibility. For ruining you. In exchange, take responsibility for me too." You declare, louder. You sound more sure.

He's blinking at you now. Then, his brows furrow and a bewildered laugh leaves him. Before he could reply, you push forward, not allowing him any time to recover.

"I'm in your hands now, aren't I? You said so yourself. You did this to me. I did this to you. I'm yours to deal with."

You wind your arms around his neck, hearing how his breaths stutter and feeling his hand leave your throat. You're on your tippy toes, pulling him down so you could settle back against the door, feeling his grip settle over your waist. It's a lovely sensation. One so right. It cements your resolve.

"The only ones who can handle us are each other. Nobody else."

You don't know what you're saying anymore.

But you know you like the rising determination, you like whatever this is. You like the hope that swims in his gaze. The fear that's within them, terrified of this being one of your pranks. It wasn't; you'll prove it to hom.

"You can't make all these promises and leave me alone," You speak in a hushed tone, finality thick in the waver of your voice. You're leaning in before you can stop yourself and whispering, "I won't let you."

You can't help but feel like whatever game you two are playing now, you've lost. He's won yet again. Yet it doesn't quite feel like a loss this time around, not when Caleb's face is smoothing out into one of relief. One of contentment as he closes the distance.

The breath that fans over your mouth is hot and his voice is full of yearning, "I never planned on it."

[heartsriki]

ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Van's Valentines - Heartbreaker

70s DOFP! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: My first Valentines-themed fic! It came out more angsty than planned... All my Valentines fics are gonna be themed around these cute lil Valentine cards that I found through Pinterest!

Plot: He has moved in and out of your life for the last two years, you love him, but you're not sure if you can let him in again...

Warnings: Angst, but a happy ending! Logans a menace, reader is described as a waitress, with some backstory

Word Count: 2168

“Hey pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of his voice. Trouble. 

Logan Howlett. The menace of your life. The sole reason you have not been able to move on with yourself, to find someone else that you could fall madly in love with. He was the devil incarnate. A son of a bitch who’s made you cry more than you care to admit. 

You met him a little over two years ago. He walked into your small family restaurant. A little restaurant your grandfather started when he was about your age. You were just a waitress when Logan showed up. Handsome man who sauntered into the building with arrogance and snug jeans. He (unfortunately) charmed you off your feet. 

The next month you were in bliss. Until he decided to leave.

He told you it wasn’t you. It was him. That he wasn’t a homebody, that he needed to go out there. See the world. Sticking around just wasn’t him. You didn’t have a choice but to accept that and move on. You may have shed a few tears, missing the warmth of him in your bed, the sound of his voice when he came in to visit you at work, the way he made you feel like the only girl in the world that mattered. Nevertheless, you moved on. It was only a month you were together anyway, right? You had college and work to focus on. There’s other fish in the sea.

Then he came back.

Then he would leave again.

And he would come back again.

Every single time you accepted him into your arms like a fool, he would kiss you and you’d melt under his warm and timber voice, calling you baby, and sweetheart. Then you’d watch him leave again, tears falling down you cheeks as you inevitably began to wonder, why won’t he stay?

Even so, you never let him see the tears. You didn’t want him to know the power he held over you. Even if you both knew that you should’ve stopped opening your arms to him by the third time he showed up. It effectively ruined your love life. You couldn’t date any man without comparing the poor schmuck to Logan in more ways than one. Your heart felt wrong when you finally kissed the jock from your old high school you had a huge crush on during your high school years. You turned down the cute and very sweet new guy with pretty blue eyes who moved in town purely because you knew Logan was going to show up again- and you were right. 

Your grandfather told you once that your soul knew when it met it’s other half. He would tell you that there was strings that tied two people together and no matter how far you strayed from each other- you’ll meet again. You wondered often if that was the case with Logan...Now you're not too sure.

Now it’s been over two years since Logan came in and out of your life. The restaurant you worked in was now yours after the loss of your dear grandfather. The man who’s raised you and made you the person you were today. You dropped out of college when he died, taking over his legacy to the small town you were born in. You took pride in the restaurant, and everyone knew your name and respected you. It didn’t mean that you sometimes didn’t daydream about seeing the world, like Logan does.

It was Valentines day, and you were finishing putting up the pretty heart decorations, stringing along the ceiling and counters. Amongst many other little decorations that you had placed on various counter tops. The local radio station playing various cheesy love songs over the speaker. Despite having your heart broken by him more times than you care to remember. You were still a big romantic, and Valentines was your favorite holiday. Even if you believed you would be spending it alone. 

You didn’t turn around immediately to the sound of his voice. Your mind filled with irritation. 

Why did he have to show up today of all days? At this point you believed he must get off on causing you heartbreak.

You brushed your hands together, adjusted your apron, letting out a hard sigh and turned around, curses prepared on your tongue as you were about to finally tell him to get out of your life for good. Only it died back on your tongue as you saw him.

“Logan?” You blinked in surprise.

He was standing there, looking nicer than you’ve ever seen him. He always looked good, not one to make a fashion statement yet somehow sported the best looks you could see on a man. A clean button up shirt, tucked into smooth dark blue jeans- of course his classic belt with the almost comedically large designed buckle; It was the shape of a heart. His usual worn brown leather jacket that he would drape over you when he’d walk you back home, or when you sat on the back of his pickup and the sun would set, leaving a chill in the air. His hair was slicked back, his usual scruffy beard and mutton chops trimmed and cleaned up. He was sporting sunglasses that he took off, tucking into his shirt, as you took him in- as well as the gifts he was holding.  

He was holding a huge bouquet of red roses in one arm. The other was a big heart shaped box that you presumed held chocolates. 

He smiled- not his usual cocky smirk, it was something soft and genuine. Like the smile you seen your grandfather give your grandmother. He stepped forward. 

“Happy Valentines day baby.” He says, handing you the bouquet, which was so big you needed both arms to cradle it carefully. The aroma of the roses wafted to your nose, and you closed your eyes, taking a big sniff. “I thought you’d like em.”

“I…” You opened your mouth and shut them, looking back up at him with wide eyes, still slightly shocked. You looked into his eyes, the eyes that always made your knees weak.

“Had to get my girl something special for her favorite holiday, hm?” He smiled. 

You looked down at the roses,your heart fluttering at the sound of him calling you his girl. For a moment, you forgot about your irritation, your constant heartbreak. The fact that you thought about him all the time, wondering if he was okay. You have filled yourself with jealousy, jealousy of his lifestyle, jealousy of the girls who probably captured his attention somewhere else. Your heart sank. What are you doing? You’re letting him do it again! 

“Thank you.” You say, your tone firm. “I can’t take these though.”

He blinked in surprise, his smile dropping. “They’re for you.” He states, looking down at them. 

You sighed, moving to set them down on the counter, careful so that the roses don’t get crushed. “We can’t keep doing this Logan.”

“Doing what?”

Your brows creased angrily, a small scoff escaping you. “What? Are you serious? This!” Your voice pitched higher, and he blinked in surprise at your sudden outburst. “You show up, acting like you actually care about me and then leave!” Your hand flew in the air, motioning to him. He shook his head at your comment. You never showed him any anger when he came back, always happy, open arms, and a sweet kiss. A lovesick expression on your face as he’d tell you new stories of his adventures, completely forgetting of how he made you felt when he left. 

“I do care about you.” His voice was low, as his eyes looked down at you in an expression that looked confused. “How could you think I don’t?” 

You blinked in disbelief. How could he care about you? He shows up into your life, he treats you like you’re so important, that he could even….but he leaves. He always leaves. He never looks back. It didn’t matter if you begged him to stay a few more days, for one more kiss. You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to move on with your life.

Shaking your head. “You should go Logan. Find some other girl to break the heart of.” You say, bitterness in your tone. There was a shakiness in your voice you attempted to hide. “The flowers are beautiful but I can’t…” You looked away from him, crossing your arms around you. You felt sick to your stomach. You didn’t want him to go.

He stepped closer. “You’re telling me to go?”

You nodded, not looking at him. A beat passed, and a hand came up, cupping your chin and making you look up at him. Your eyes were wet with unshed tears that you attempted to blink away- refusing to let him see the emotion on your face. 

The way he looked down at you almost made you burst into tears right then. A soft smile came across his face. 

“I’m sorry baby.” He says softly. His hand cupped your cheek, bringing his other hand to cup your face completely. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s my fault. I just couldn’t deal with how you made me feel.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m a huge asshole. I know.” He says softly. “I ain’t got no right. You don’t deserve it.” He continues. “I left that first time cause I knew that I…” He trailed off, looking at you with pressed lips. Like he was afraid to say what he wanted to say. 

“What?” You ask, your heart starting to beat faster. “Logan….”

“I kept coming back because I couldn’t get you out of my head. It was selfish I know.” His thumb rubbed softly across your cheek. Your hands, shakily reached up to rest on his hips. “Every time I left I couldn’t stop thinking about some asshole taking you. Someone who didn’t know how to make you laugh, or make you feel good like I know how.” He leaned forward, his forehead pressed to yours. “I missed you every single goddamn time. Thought about you every night. It drives me crazy. You drive me crazy.” 

You let out a small scoff, a small shake of your head. “Look who’s talking..” You mutter. He grinned. 

“I want you.” He says. “It took me some time to accept that. It terrifies me because there’s still some things you don’t know about me. I know it’s shitty. Don’t make me go away. No more running. You and me. We can make it work.” 

You blinked in surprise. “R-really? Logan I-”

“Be my Valentine?” He grinned. A small snort escaped you at the cheesiness of him. 

“Seriously?” You asked. You were still in disbelief. The way he just changed from your outburst. Was he serious? Or was he playing you like a fiddle again?

“Whatever you want. I could take you away from here, go on those adventures you always wanted to go on. I’ll take you New York, to Vegas, hell- I’ll even take you to my hometown in Canada.” He takes a breath. “If you want, after…We’ll come back here. Settle down. Anything you want. I’ll do it.” 

The determination of his face took you aback. Logan was always passionate yes, but he was casual about his passion, he’d pushed away whenever you brought up your relationship, what you meant to each other. Then later at night, in the heat of passion, he’d whisper sweet things in your ear- things he felt about you. You were never sure if it was true or he just said it, simply lost in the moment. You never knew what he was thinking or feeling. He wouldn’t tell you.

“I’ll be here for you. Just let me.” 

You thought back to the times he was here. They were some of your happiest memories. He did always know how to make you laugh. He knew what made you feel good. He knew what to say when you were stressed. He knew your deepest secrets. 

He was there when you lost your grandfather, somehow showing up that day after you found him. He stayed with you throughout the process. At the time, you thought he’d leave almost immediately. You were grieving, were in no mood for flings or flirting but he held your hand the entire way. It was actually the longest he ever stayed. Nearly 3 months. He held you when you cried. Supported you when you quit college. Even lent a hand at the restaurant. You couldn’t even be mad when he told you he had to leave. You were happy to just have someone who was there for you. 

Your grandfather always liked him. 

“Okay.” You smiled, leaning into him. You couldn’t believe yourself. Moments ago you were ready to cuss him out, tell him to get out of your life. Within minutes he made you fold. “We’ll make it work.”

He really was the devil.

[aeolianblues]

Even as I write this all though, I am not a millennial. I did consider this 'my time' because it's the first one I remember. I was not around in the 90s, everything I know about grunge and 90s TV and Britpop and whatnot is secondhand. Often thirdhand. Books, magazine scans, interview snippets. But I remember the 00s. Many colourful glittery clips, that's how mum did my hair. The multiple layers of gaudy colours; skirts (even shorts!) over tights of a different colour and striped tops was how my mum dressed me. Like the Disney kids on TV. Everyone in your grade was into Hannah Montana (they made kids books out of the episodes, does anyone remember?) Blackboards in school. Chalky hands wiped on your school uniform. Sure, I was too young for 'Oberlin College in the early 00s in NYC', but I had still considered these very 00s 'my time'. I lived it, so it's mine.

But as I get older I slowly begin to feel now to be my time. And I hope that one day I'll look back at the '20s as mine too. I'd love to be old and write, what were the 2020s?

They were Grian Chatten's poetry, Charlie Steen's shiny golden underpants at Glastonbury 2023. It's My Lady Of Mercy and swooning over girls with Abigail Morris. It's embracing the rejected freak with Alt Blk Era, we don't give a damn if they like it, we're normally like this.

It's showing two fingers to the monarchy, shouting 'Brits Out!' with Kneecap, it's Mo Chara reaffirming 'we don't hate yous, it's the government and monarchy. We have much more in common with a working class unionist than some rich fellow from Dublin'. It's Cuntology 101 with Lambrini Girls, it's reminding people of all the Calvin Harris songs that The Dare ripped off word-for-word and the weird 00s nostalgia.

It's Ezra Collective being nominated for BRIT album of the year for Dance, No One's Watching. It's a blurry phone pic posted on English Teacher's Instagram of the free drinks they got at their table for being invited to the Mercury Prize 2024 (SO real of them).

It is lounging in chaise longues all day long in floppy hats in the Isle of Wight, it is being someone's Iced Tea Boy, it's night raves with Master Peace, it's brats on the dancefloor, it's Chapell Roan inspiring people to stand up for themselves and take no shit from anyone, bitch! It's just heartbroke bitches, high heels, six inch In the back of the nightclub, sippin' champagne; it's women artists winning back the rights to their own music and going on to win over the world! It's Phoebe Lunny scaling a 20 ft. pole in a Leeds festival tent in heels and a skirt to fly a Palestinian flag high up on the Reading and Leeds 'Festival Republic' tent.

It'll be okay, we just need to be weird and hife for a bit and eat an old sandwich from our bag.

It's going to see your friends' tiny bands covering the Strokes every two weeks and knowing none of them have a chance in hell of making it because the music doesn't pay and the rent's too damn high. It's Lily Fontaine giving evidence in court about how even succesful working class bands like English Teacher can't afford to go on tour. It's Carlos O'Connell calling out other artists at the Rolling Stone UK awards for their silence on Palestine, it's Kneecap's 'You can all stay just don't be cunts'. Saoirse don Phalestine, quoth Kneecap. It's oppressed languages breaking through into popular music, it's Alffa's Gwenwyn becoming the first Welsh language song to cross 1 million streams on Spotify.

It's Jocelyn Si rejecting the homophobes and declaring, let us be young! It's Cal 'your boyfriend was looking at my legs' Francis singing about the price to pay for being this way. It's CMAT not giving a fuck and tearing into racist country music, no matter of whether or not she'd ever be able to work in the genre again. It's Skinty Fia talking about the lived immigrant experience. It was Olivia Rodrigo 'reviving' 90s alt rock for the masses, it was 16-year-old rockheads calling Josh Kiszka 'pookie' on Instagram—something unimaginable in 2017. It was James Smith embracing that indie artists can indeed aspire — to make funky pop hits!

Who knows what else the 2020s have to offer us. The Grammys are on Sunday. In a fever dream, someone like IDLES or Fontaines D.C. could walk away with one. A truly indie artist. I'm so scared about that. I just hope that in 20 years, I will still be able to say things like this

‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014!

It’s not tumblr-core and it’s not Lana Del Ray or 2013 AM, it’s not #girl interrupted, it’s not Ethel Cain (she literally is an artist of our time, what are you on about.)

It was 2001 with the Strokes on the cover of the NME every 2 weeks, it was cabaret night and English poetry with the Libertines in 2002, it’s those red and blue military jackets, it was the fucking grease in Julian Casablancas’ hair, it’s ’cocaine was the banker’s drug’ quoth Alex Kapranos, it was Don't Go Back To Dalston and the heroin, it was red and black horizontal striped tops and tight black shirts as evening wear, it was Russell Lissak’s mop top and a full page interview with London hairdressers in the NME in 2005, it was Jack and Meg’s saturated red and white dresses, it was glued glitter on the cover of Santigold’s first album, it was the sleaze and the sex of CSS’s music, it was ‘cold light, hot night’, it was the anti-Bush and anti-war stances of the bands at the time, it was America by Razorlight, it was Popworld on telly and Simon Amstel being a little shit to musicians, it was Karen O defying death on stage nightly, it was throwing up in shitty nightclubs on god knows what drugs, it was the fucking danger knowing this could all collapse any second—and rightly, it should. It was the godawful egos at DFA, it was knowing that while you were lucky to be seeing these bands live, you’d fucking hate them if you had to spend even a minute in their individual company. It was Amy Winehouse telling the world to get the fuck out of her business, it was Leslie Feist and Peaches sharing a dilapidated flat above a sex shop in Toronto.

It was horrible camera flash and red-eye editing softwares and putting your feet by the warm, spinning fans of your computer while it whirred away and downloaded your albums in *checks* 46 more minutes. It was horrible, it was dirty, it was gritty, we all hated it and thought the 90s were the last time music was good and that nothing good had happened since 1997. It was garishly bright clothes we were all embarrassed of by 2011, it was multiple layers and leggings and asking your mum to cut the itchy tag on the back of your low rise jeans only for her to snip your back. It was bell bottoms at the start of the decade. It being thankful that by 2017, no one would dream of wearing low rises anymore, please please, please let them never come back.

It was faux nostalgic of the past itself. It was ‘please make sure baby you’ve got some colours in there’ in your clothes. It was moral panic over emos. It was wanting to escape into a better past that you could see was visibly impoverished in the present. It was watching your favourite programmes become less and less relevant on air. It was watching MTV decisively die a horrible death. It was watching important venues and nightclubs get bulldozed. It was watching the last regular broadcast of Top Of The Pops in 2006. It was seeing how the 2009 financial crisis most definitely put a stop to independent music in the western world for a decade, it was watching the rise of bedroom DIY and electronic music. It was seeing the phrase ‘SoundCloud rapper’ being coined. It was the rise of Disney pop. It was counter-culture Justin Bieber hatred. It was the MS paint meme of those tumblr girls thoroughly unimpressed by the guy.

It was not using the words ‘indie sleaze’ at all, in fact. That’s a retconned word. It was garage rock revival. It was ‘post-grunge’. We didn’t care what it was called, we hated it all the same. It was a lead into a decade of despair and nihilism, it was the last hurrah for the music industry before it splintered into a thousand little online ecosystems, it was the last time we had physical community and any shared pop cultural moments. It was Live8 2005. It was the same as it is now, and it was a time that’ll never happen again, for better and for worse.

But one thing is for sure: it was decisively dead by 2014. Santi and Karen O’s 2012 collab was its last hurrah and it was dead by Comedown Machine by the Strokes (2013). It has nothing to do with 2014.

[sirenedeslily]

── 𝓢weetest 𝓣orture ( jackie taylor ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆

・❥・─── 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a sugar-coated ache, golden and cruel, where longing is worship and desire feels like ruin.

( pairing ) — jackie taylor x female!reader 𝜗𝒞 ; angst & fluff ℳ. this is based off of the song lacy by liv !! 𓂃 ( 2.8k )

there's something about jackie taylor that makes the air feel thick with divinity. not a girl, not yet a woman, but something celestial—a creature so exquisite that the gods themselves must weep with envy. her skin glows like sunlight spilling over pale morning clouds, soft and warm, with a delicate fragility that reminds me of pastry crumbling beneath careful hands. she moves through spaces like she's dancing through starlight, and i'm left breathless in her wake, collecting the stardust that falls from her shoulders.

and i, a mere mortal, am cursed to know her. to see her and want her and burn under the weight of my own longing until every breath feels like inhaling fire. some days, i think i might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.

we're not supposed to feel this way about other people, are we? this kind of worship, this feverish ache that wraps itself around my ribs and refuses to let go. i am caught, tangled in her web, and every attempt to free myself only draws me closer to her light. it's a magnetic pull that defies physics, defies reason, defies every attempt i make to break free.

i remember the first day i saw her on campus. august heat made the air shimmer, and there she was, golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown. my heart stopped, then started again with a different rhythm—a rhythm that spelled out her name with every beat. jackie. jackie. jackie.

she was helping her parents unload boxes from their car, laughing at something her father said. the sound carried across the parking lot like wind chimes in a summer breeze, and i nearly dropped my own box of belongings. of all the colleges in all the world, she had to choose this one. my fresh start was over before it began.

she doesn't know. how could she? jackie moves through the world like it was made for her—head held high, eyes bright as morning dew, wearing a smile that could cut down armies and heal wounds in the same breath. she is a starlet reborn, a modern brigitte bardot, all charm and grace and effortless beauty. the kind of person who doesn't have to try to be remarkable. and she doesn't.

that's the cruelest part of all.

college was supposed to be my fresh start. after years of being tethered to my past—my mistakes, my insecurities, my endless jealousy—it was supposed to be my chance to let go, to become someone new. someone who didn't spend their nights writing poetry about unrequited love, someone who didn't feel like their skin was too tight for their body, someone who could breathe without feeling like they were drowning in want.

but then jackie chose the same school, and my carefully constructed plans unraveled like a sweater caught on a nail, leaving me exposed and raw.

she is everywhere.

in the dorm hallways, her laughter echoing off the walls like a siren's call. i've memorized the sound of her footsteps, the way they fall light and quick against the linoleum. sometimes i wait in my room, ear pressed against the door, just to hear her pass by. it's pathetic, i know, but i can't help myself. i'm addicted to even the smallest pieces of her.

in the library, she's a vision of concentrated beauty. head bent over textbooks, bottom lip caught between her teeth, the curve of her neck so perfect it makes my stomach churn with want. she twirls a strand of hair around her finger when she's deep in thought, and i've filled entire pages of my notebook just describing that simple gesture. the way the gold catches the fluorescent lights, the graceful movement of her fingers, the slight furrow in her brow as she reads.

at parties, she's ethereal. spinning under string lights in the cramped living rooms of off-campus houses, her golden hair catching the glow like it was spun from sunbeams. she dances like nobody's watching, but everyone is. how could they not? she's magnetic, drawing every eye in the room without even trying. i watch her from corners, from doorways, from behind red solo cups that i pretend to sip from. i watch her, and i burn.

and in my literature class. of all the small mercies the universe could have granted me, it denied me this one. jackie taylor sits a row ahead of me, her notebook open to pages of perfect handwriting, her pen tapping softly against her desk in a rhythm that matches my heartbeat. sometimes she wears her hair up, exposing the delicate nape of her neck, and i have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from reaching out to touch it.

she has no idea how much i hate her for it.

but hate is the wrong word.

hate implies anger, bitterness, something sharp and biting. this is different. this is the kind of loathing that curls inward, burrows into your chest, and eats you alive from the inside out. it's jealousy, yes, but more than that. it's admiration so intense it feels like a wound that refuses to heal, a constant ache that throbs with every glimpse of her.

i've started cataloging her outfits in my mind, creating a digital archive of every sweater, every skirt, every perfectly coordinated accessory. today it's a cream-colored cardigan that makes her look like she stepped out of a vintage photograph. the soft wool catches the light when she moves, creating halos around her shoulders. her hair is loose today, falling in gentle waves that make my fingers itch to run through them.

jackie is too kind, too sweet, too thoughtful in ways that make me feel like i'm unraveling thread by thread. she compliments me sometimes—offhandedly, casually, like she's not dropping bombs that explode in slow motion beneath my skin.

last week, she stopped me after class. "that point you made about symbolism in plath's work was brilliant," she said, and i nearly choked on my own tongue. she remembered something i said. she thought about it. she thought about me.

"your hair looks nice today," she'll say as we pass in the hallway, her voice carrying the warmth of summer afternoons.

and i'll nod, choking out a quick "thanks," while my pulse thrums in my throat and my stomach twists itself into elaborate nautical knots. her words shouldn't matter. they shouldn't burrow under my skin like splinters, shouldn't stay with me for hours, days, weeks. but they do. and it makes me hate her. it makes me hate myself even more.

at night, i lie awake and replay every interaction, every glimpse, every moment she's existed in my proximity. i imagine different scenarios, different endings. in some, i'm brave enough to tell her how i feel. in others, she confesses first. In most, i just watch her from afar, burning and burning and burning.

i write about her constantly. my notebooks are filled with half-finished poems and prose pieces that try to capture the essence of her. how do you describe someone who seems made of light? how do you put into words the way your chest aches when they smile? how do you explain that you're drowning in the ocean of your own wanting?

"write about longing," our professor says, her voice cutting through the comfortable silence of the classroom like a knife through butter.

the class groans collectively, a few students laughing nervously at the vulnerability the assignment demands. i barely hear them. my heart is already pounding against my ribcage like it's trying to escape, my palms slick with sweat. finally, an excuse to put this ache on a paper other than mine.

"desire," she continues, her eyes scanning the room. "the kind of want that keeps you up at night. the ache you can't ignore, even when you wish you could."

i glance at jackie before i can stop myself, a moth drawn to its inevitable destruction. she's sitting straight, her face calm, unbothered. of course she is. jackie taylor has never wanted for anything in her life. she's never had to learn to live with the kind of hunger that gnaws at your insides, that makes you forget what it feels like to be full.

but me? my longing has become a second skin, an ever-present ghost that wraps itself around my throat and pulls tight until breathing becomes an act of defiance.

the poem consumes me like wildfire.

i write it over three sleepless nights, the words pouring out of me like blood from a wound. my roommate finds me at 3 am, hunched over my desk, tears streaming down my face as i write. she asks if i’m okay. i lie and say it's just stress about midterms.

how do you explain that you're writing about the way someone's existence has become both your salvation and your destruction? how do you tell someone that you're crafting a confession that will either set you free or burn you alive?

i don't name her in the poem. i don't need to. instead, i write about angels. about cathedrals and sunlight and the soft cruelty of someone who doesn't know the damage they're causing. i write about jealousy, about the way it festers and rots and turns love into something ugly yet still beautiful in its devastation. i write about longing so deep it feels like drowning, and about the sweetness of surrendering to it anyway.

when i'm done, i sit back, my chest heaving, my eyes burning with unshed tears that refuse to fall. it's her. it's always been her. every word, every metaphor, every carefully crafted line is a love letter i never intended to send.

the day of the reading arrives, and i feel like i'm walking to my own execution, each step bringing me closer to a beautiful destruction of my own making.

our professor insists that poetry must be spoken aloud to be truly felt. i disagree. some feelings are too raw, too personal to be shared. some words are meant to stay hidden, buried in journals and password-protected files. but here i am, about to lay my soul bare in front of twenty pairs of eyes, including hers.

jackie sits in her usual seat, a row ahead of me. today, her golden hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail that catches the fluorescent lights like a halo. she's wearing that cream cardigan again, the one that makes her look like she belongs in a classical painting. she looks calm, relaxed, her notebook open in front of her like this is just another day, just another class.

my hands tremble as the professor calls my name.

i stand, clutching my notebook so tightly the pages crinkling under my fingers, and walk to the front of the room. my heart is racing, my stomach in knots, and i can't seem to catch my breath. but then i see her, and something shifts inside me. if this is my confession, my moment of truth, then let it be beautiful. let it be worthy of her.

the words pour out of me like a prayer,

the room is silent when i finish, the kind of silence that feels like holding your breath underwater. i keep my eyes fixed on the page, too afraid to look up, too afraid to see the faces of my classmates—or worse, jackie's. my hands are shaking so badly i can barely read the words anymore.

there's a polite smattering of applause, soft and distant, like i'm hearing it from underwater. i force myself to walk back to my seat, each step feeling like i'm moving through molasses. i sit down, my chest tight, my head spinning with the weight of what i've just done.

and then i feel it.

jackie's eyes on me, heavy as a physical touch.

i glance up, and she's turned completely around in her seat, staring at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. her lips are parted slightly, and there's something in her expression i've never seen before. recognition? understanding? horror? i can't tell, and before i can analyze it further, the professor calls the next name, and the moment shatters like glass.

the rest of class passes in a blur. i don't hear a single word anyone else reads. all i can focus on is the weight of jackie's presence in front of me, the way she keeps shifting in her seat, the way her hand trembles slightly as she writes in her notebook.

when class ends, i shove my things into my bag as quickly as possible, ready to flee, to hide, to pretend this never happened. but as i step into the hallway, i hear her voice.

"wait."

i freeze, my pulse racing, my breath catching in my throat like a butterfly in a net. slowly, i turn around.

jackie stands there, bathed in the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, yet somehow still looking ethereal. her cheeks are flushed pink, and she's clutching her notebook to her chest like a shield.

"that was..." she trails off, searching for the right words, her eyes never leaving mine. "beautiful."

i don't know what to say. my throat is dry, my hands trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. years of longing and watching and wanting press against my ribcage, threatening to spill out.

jackie takes a step closer, then another, until she's close enough that i can smell her perfume—something light and floral that makes my head spin. her gaze is locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

"was it..." she pauses, licks her lips nervously. "was it about someone you know?"

my heart stutters, trips, falls. for a moment, i think about lying, about brushing it off, about running until my lungs burn and my legs give out. but then i meet her eyes—those eyes that have haunted my dreams and nightmares alike—and something in me breaks wide open.

"yes," i whisper, the word falling from my lips like a prayer.

her breath hitches, a small sound that echoes in the space between us like thunder. and then, before i can think, before i can stop her, before i can do anything but exist in this moment, she steps forward and kisses me.

it’s soft at first, tentative, a question more than an answer. but then i make a small, desperate sound in the back of my throat, and something in her shifts. her hands come up to cup my face, gentle but sure, and she kisses me like she's been thinking about it as long as i have. like she's been burning too.

she tastes like cherry chapstick and possibility, and i feel myself melting into her touch like snow in spring. my hands find her waist, pulling her closer, needing to feel the solid reality of her against me. this can't be real. this has to be real.

when we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. jackie rests her forehead against mine, her thumbs stroking softly over my cheekbones. when i open my eyes, she's already looking at me, and what i see in her gaze makes my heart stutter.

there's wonder there, and vulnerability, and something that looks remarkably like the longing I've been carrying around all this time. she's looking at me like i'm something precious, something worth wanting, something worth burning for.

"i didn't know," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "i didn't know you felt it too."

and in that moment, i realize that maybe we've both been haunted all along. maybe we've both been burning, both been yearning, both been writing poems in the dark about the agony of wanting something we thought we couldn't have.

i reach up and touch her face, tracing my fingers along her jaw like i've imagined doing a thousand times. she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and my heart feels too big for my chest.

"jackie," i breathe, and her name tastes like salvation on my tongue.

she smiles then, bright and beautiful and real, and kisses me again. and again. and again. until the fluorescent lights dim and the hallway empties and the world narrows down to just this: her lips on mine, her hands in my hair, her heart beating against my chest.

the sweetest torture has become the sweetest relief, and i surrender to it completely.

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @maggot3647 @ifwdominicfike @sweetestpoetic @ch6rm

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Sailor Moon AU)

Adam ran through the hallways of a palace like every dream he had recently. He looked outside at the surface of the moon outside. The palace was an area of the moon that thrived and had life. But he continued to run passing by his reflection that was of a beautiful woman with flowing long brown hair and in a gown that was white and gold. On his forehead was a crescent moon mark of gold. He found what he was looking for, he Prince, his one true love. But a woman hidden in the shadows stabbed him through the chest.

Adam: NOOOOOO!!!!!!

The crystal in his hands pulsed with power around him, but before he could see what happened next he woke up in bed. Adam stumbled out of bed. He was a tall and attractive teenager with short brown hair and honey brown eyes. He pulled on his school uniform and went down stairs. His mother Rosie was setting up breakfast for him and his younger brother Abel.

Rosie: Good luck on the exam today sweetie.

Abel: He is going to fail.

As much as Adam loved him, Abel could be annoying. As a response Adam stuck out his tongue. After breakfast he ran through the streets and saw a group of kids harassing a cat.

Adam: Hey you little shitheads, stop it.

Adam ran over and picked up the cat. There was a bandage on the cat’s head and he removed it to see a crescent moon marking. But what really caught his attention was the teenager that ran to him. He had to be a year or two older than Adam with golden blonde hair and blue eyes. His uniform was from a very exclusive high school for the gifted.

Lucifer: Hey is everything alright, I saw those kids harassing that cat and came to help, my name is Lucifer Morningstar by the way.

Adam: My name is Adam Kadmon.

Adam was sure he was blushing up a storm at this very handsome young man. But the cat jumped out of Adam’s arms and onto a fence, the cat looked at Adam and ran away.

Lucifer: My school is close to where your school is, do you mind if I walk with you?

Adam: Not at all.

Lucifer watched the beautiful young man walking with him. He remembered his dreams of a Princess that lived on the moon. This Adam felt so much like her in spite of the fact that Adam was a man. If it wasn’t for his nightly activities he would have asked Adam if he wanted to hang out with him. Once they made it to Adam’s school, Adam smiled and waved at Lucifer before walking towards the school building. Just then Adam’s childhood friend, Angel walked up to him. In spite of the fact that Angel was a boy he always wore the girls school uniform because he said it was cuter.

Angel: So who was that hottie with you?

Adam: His name is Lucifer, I am sure that he was walking with me to be nice.

Angel: With the way he was looking, I don’t think that was the case. He is definitely attracted to you.

For the rest of the day his mind kept drifting to Lucifer.

There was just something about him that drew Adam in, maybe it was his kind blue eyes or the way he smiled before going to his own classes for the day.

Whatever it was, Adam was smitten with Lucifer and hoped to see him again and soon.

When he got home from school he went to his room to do his homework, sitting at his desk there was a scratching at his window. It was the kitty from before with the moon crest on its forehead.

Adam: Oh, hello kitty kitty.

He opened the window letting her in, he gave her a few pats.

Kitty: Adam?

Adam screamed and fell over: DEVIL CAT!!

Kitty: Shhh! My name is Luna and I've been looking for you.

Adam: What?

Luna: Yes, I need to tell you your purpose and why I'm here to help you. You're Sailor Moon, you're meant to protect the world from evil.

Adam watched in awe as this kitty used some magic to make a wand appear, it had a moon crest design on it, the handle black and gold.

Luna: To activate your power, just hold the wand up and say "Moon Prisim Power".

Adam was skeptical and wondering if he was dreaming. Carefully he picked up the wand and held it, it was smooth and not too heavy.

Here goes nothing.

Adam held it up: Moon Prisim Power!

A colorful light came out and surrounded him, he was covered in ribbons that changed into different clothes.

He now wore red knee high boots, white elbow length gloves, a blue and white sailor top with a large red bow and a mini red skirt. And to top it off he had a good tiara in his hair.

He looked good.

Adam: ..... Why am I dressed like a chick?

Luna: I can't tell you that, you have to figure that out for yourself.

Adam sighed, at least he made it look good. Kind of reminded him of his dream.

[tiramisuucakeee]

presenting ˙ . ꒷ 🍰 STRAWBERRY GIRL ᝰ.ᐟ fem reader. yjw.

@ ! CHAPTER ONE ( looked my way ). narrated fic.

cherry blossom petals twirled in the light morning wind, as students scrambled inside the high school, talking to their peers and meeting friends at the entrance.

jungwon stood on the street alone, a paper in his hand, with the directions towards his new high school. he was starting this last year in another city since his father had to move for work. of course it was going to be difficult not being with his old friends, but they had promised to meet in university later on in life.

though for that to happen, he would have to graduate high school first, and that will only happen if he was able to find it.

“ah, i think it was the other street,” he stopped in his tracks, looking back, and then around, confused about his whereabouts. he had taken a small shortcut, and now he was lost.

it was then when you appeared, walking down from the other street, recognizing his uniform, but not his face. he must be new and looking for the school. that was something that always happened since it was quite hidden in the block by trees.

“you’re a student right?” you spoke, as he turned to you, stunned. his eyes were wide, clearly not expecting to be surprised in this moment, as his face slightly flushed a pink tint.

you laughed light-heartedly at his reaction, as he nodded. “yes, i am yang jungwon,” he bowed quickly, nervous.

“l/n y/n, you definitely look new,” you commented, reciprocating his actions. he looked up, finally being able to meet her face.

it was as if pure sunshine had come down from the blue sky to greet him, you seemed so warm and inviting he was afraid to say or do something wrong in your presence. “yeah,” he breathed out, looking at you with admiration.

“yeah… you look new? or you are new?” you grinned.

“oh, uh- both?” he blinked.

“follow me. make sure you remember the way,” you murmured, slipping past him down the narrow street, your footsteps light against the worn pavement.

jungwon didn’t hesitate, before going after you, trying to make his mind picture the road, so he would get caught in a perchance like this. maybe, if it were you who found him, he wouldn’t mind.

the quiet between you two felt strange, but comforting, like something that was always meant to happen. when you reached the school, the bell’s chime echoed faintly in the distance, signaling the end of your small journey. but before you could steal another glance at him, your friend group appeared from nowhere, pulling you away as if they had been waiting for this exact moment.

“you’re almost late, what happened?” chaery asked, twirling her bag strap around her finger, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“i found a new student,” you explained, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as you adjusted the strap of your own bag. “he looked lost, so i just showed him the way.”

your friends rolled their eyes, an expression of playful exasperation on their faces. they knew you too well, how you couldn’t help but talk to anyone who seemed lost or lonely. it wasn’t unusual for you to help a new student find their way or sit with someone who needed a friend. some people thought you did it out of pity, or because you had an excess of kindness to give. but in reality, it was just because you could. you didn’t need a reason beyond that.

and maybe because you read in a magazine that most people regret not doing things rather than doing things.

“hello y/n,” your seatmate greeted you as you sat down with a smile, making you do the same.

you noticed a small transparent bag with some treats inside in your table, and you turned skeptically to him. “kento did you leave this here?”

“me?” kento’s voice was light, casual, as he leaned back in his chair, hands tucked behind his head. “oh no, there was this... gloomy depressed-looking guy who came by earlier. started asking me about where you were, like i had any idea. then he dropped that on your table and just... left."

you frowned, looking at the bag again, your curiosity piqued.

“he might not even know it’s not february anymore,” kento chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “maybe he's a bit... late.”

"hey, don't be mean," you laughed, taking the small bag in your hands and carefully inspecting the assortment of chocolates inside. "they look handmade."

"look," kento said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes, pointing to the bottom of one of the treats. "there's a brand."

"oh," you blinked, a little surprised, "maybe they thought i'd like this brand, or maybe he has no cooking skills."

"you're way too good," kento rolled his eyes, flopping back in his chair, his voice a little too loud. "i can see why everyone loves you." he sighed dramatically. you frowned at him, shooting him a glance that clearly said, don't embarrass me. but he only grinned, clearly entertained by your reaction.

just then, the bell rang, and the classroom fell into a quick hush as the homeroom teacher stepped in, flanked by someone unfamiliar. both of them stood at the front of the class, drawing everyone's attention.

he started explaining how he was happy to spend another year with the class, how he was looking forward to teaching again, his voice light and warm as he spoke. then, he shifted, gesturing to the person behind him. "this is our new student," he said.

as you were about to glance up to get a better look at the new arrival, a soft sound caught your attention. a small folded piece of paper appeared on your desk, almost as if it had materialized out of nowhere. you glanced down at it, your curiosity piqued.

it read: ‘want to go to the mall later today? - kento’

you couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, throwing him a quick, teasing look. he was acting completely normal, staring straight ahead at the teacher as if nothing had happened. ‘sure, let’s! - y/n’ and placed the note on his desk, hearing him open it and let out a hum of agreement.

just as you were about to refocus on the homeroom teacher, the bell rang again, signaling the end of the moment. the classroom erupted into movement as everyone stood up, eager to catch up with their friends before the next class began. the noise and bustle of students blocked your view of the front.

"hey, kento," you called, nudging your blond friend with a playful grin. "we should go to the pork bun shop after. i woke up with this strange craving..."

“are you pregnant?”

"i am going to pretend you didn't ask me that," you blinked, turning away to rummage through your bag for your math book, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “the words seem so weird coming from you.”

“it was just a joke, i know you always get weird cravings, if anything, your cravings are more like those of a toddler,” kento took your pencil case, rummaging through the interior to find a mechanical pencil for himself, already making your belongings a shared property.

he was one of your closest friends, someone you couldn’t imagine life without. you’d known him since kindergarten, when, with all the certainty of a five-year-old, he swore he would never leave your side. and while people often misunderstood the closeness of your friendship for a relationship, you didn't care about those rumors. you would never be afraid to admit that you’d cry your heart out if he ever left. and it wasn’t like you both haven’t sincerely tried to feel something for the other that wasn’t friendship love. but it was practically impossible for you both to feel that for the other.

the rest of the day went by in a breeze, and although the climate was still hot from summer vacations, you were glad to be back at school. it was strange, while many loathed going to school, you loved it. you loved seeing your friends, talking to everyone, having a routine, and the apple juice from the vending machine. if anything, you thought, you'd probably loathe the day when you’d have to leave all of this behind after graduation. but that was a future problem for another time. for now, you were content.

the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, and you made your way to the bathroom, sending kento a quick message to let him know you’d meet him at the school’s entrance.

when you stepped inside the bathroom, a group of girls from the summer classes greeted you with bright smiles. they were quick to gush about how, despite the heat, your skin seemed to glow in a way that made them envious. you smiled, a little embarrassed, but grateful for the compliment. “thank you,” you said, your voice light. “we should hang out outside of school sometime, maybe go eat something sweet?”

they all agreed excitedly, chatting amongst themselves as they gathered their things to leave for the day, each girl heading off to her own plans. once the door closed behind them, the bathroom felt a little quieter, the buzz of conversation fading.

you let out a small breathy sigh, standing in front of the mirror to fix your appearance, checking it your hair wasn’t down, or else you will start feeling hot. taking a paper towel, you gently patted your face, making sure it wasn’t too shiny, giving yourself one last look in the mirror. satisfied with the little fix-up, you felt a bit more comfortable. you were ready to meet kento and head out to the mall and then the famous pork bun shop, your craving still lingering in the back of your mind.

you were a simple person, even to dumb things like cravings, someone who always vowed to stay true to what you wanted. it wasn’t complicated, and it didn’t require much thought. you were content with who you were and wanted, and that was enough for you. that was why sometimes you didn’t bother to clear up meaningless rumors about you, because even if you did talk with many, it was a small group of people who actually knew you.

you sent kento a message, letting him know you’d be there in three minutes. the school was pretty big for a high school, but after all, it was the only school in the area, and there were many families with kids who wanted to enroll them here. it wasn’t easy to pass the entrance exam, at least you’ve heard from newer students. speaking of new students... as you were walking down the hall on the second floor, you heard some voices through an open window, people talking.

“y/n?!”

“huh?” you stopped on your tracks, looking around, and then figured the voice came from below. “was that kento-“

“absolutely every girl i know is like obsessed with her, everyone wants to be her friend, even my younger sister, she’s crazy,” someone said. you blinked, feeling a blush creep up your neck at the comment. obsessed? you hadn’t thought of it that way. sure, some girls did approach you now and then, asking where you bought your clothes or what face products you used, but it wasn’t like they were obsessed. you were just one student in millions more. you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at how the situation was being framed. it was all so... exaggerated. so much for trying to have many friends.

you didn’t quite know why they seemed so interested, but it was never something that bothered you. still, hearing this, made you feel slightly self-conscious. was that really how people saw you?

“kai don’t say that, it sounds like she’s a celebrity,” someone replied.

“but it’s true, jun,” kai replied, “my sister is always listening to the music she recommends, shopping at the same shops she does, it’s like y/n completely replaced bahiyyih!”

"okay, i don't think that's y/n’s fault, that's your sister's fault," yeonjun chimed in, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the group. he was standing next to jungwon, who looked like a sheep surrounded by wolves. kai was bombarding him with endless questions, soobin was trying to play the role of the class president by wanting to meet the new kid, beomgyu was laughing at everything kai said, and taehyun was lounging under a nearby tree, questioning how his friends managed to handle the heat.

"anyway," kai continued, his grin widening, "what do you think about her?"

“about who?” jungwon blinked.

"about y/n," kai clarified. "is she as awesome as all the girls say she is or what?”. beomgyu smacked kai’s arm at the remark, which definitely sounded a bit more sarcastic than it should’ve.

jungwon thought for a moment, his mind tracing back to the meeting before school, to which you came to save and guide him to school, then, he remembered the way you’d laugh in class, light and effortless, even if you didn’t seem to notice him there. but he noticed you. he noticed how you answered every question the teacher asked, how you weren’t afraid to speak up for those too shy to ask their own questions. jungwon was extremely observant, perhaps more than he wanted to be. but there was something about you, something that made him want to know you better. not just by watching, but by talking to you.

"she is bright," he said, finally breaking the silence.

“bright? smart?”

"okay, stop asking him dumb questions, i wanna go home and you take forever," yeonjun sighed, shaking his head. "it’s starting to look like you’re the one obsessed with y/n, not your sister."

they kept joking for a few moments, before deciding to all walk to the entrance, not leaving a single second for jungwon to say the contrary. they started heading out, not before making fun of taehyun, who was still lazily sitting under the tree, as if the heat had already defeated him. you observed them quietly, leaning against the window, your eyes following the group as they moved further away. what was that all about?

bright. bright. it was the first time someone had described you like that, and it lingered in your mind. did he mean you were smart? or was it your smile, your eyes, your face? maybe it wasn’t even about your appearance at all. was it a compliment, or was it sarcastic? you found yourself wondering about it, trying to figure out which part of you he had seen. what did he mean by that?

as the group walked farther away, it was almost as if jungwon felt something shift in the air. his gaze flicked back in your direction, and for a split second, time seemed to slow. your eyes met from across the wide patio, even from that distance, and something passed between you in that instant. a strange, silent connection. he didn’t mind, not even for a second, that you had overheard their conversation. in fact, it almost seemed like he didn’t care at all.

for jungwon, it was as if he had just been seen for the first time, by someone whose gaze felt different, like bright eyes had captured him in a way no one else had. something about it made him want to say more, to give you a compliment, to let you know exactly what he thought of your small encounter, but for now, he stayed silent. deep down, he felt it. the undeniable feeling that this wasn’t just another passerby in his life. this was different.

and you felt it too. his words had made sense of everything you do, everything you are. in some seconds, he got to know you to perfection without even actually knowing you.

@ masterlist

# TAGLIST OPEN ! @sol3chu @tasnemluvs @enhypen-myworld @firstclassjaylee …

[allthingsfangirl101]

My Archenemy – Tyler Owens

All anyone can talk about is Tyler Owens. My students are obsessed with his videos. They idolize him.

I, on the other hand, would love to go a day without someone bringing him up. After high school, I stayed in town and went to the nearby college. I remained here and ended up teaching science at my old high school. Tyler only reappeared when tornados came to town.

I tried not to think about him. I didn't want to. We were childhood archenemies. Tyler and I were constantly competing. From spelling tests to reading competitions to science fairs. I was better at biology. Tyler was better at environmental science. We were always going head-to-head.

Whenever one of us won something, the other jumped up and won at the next thing. It got tiresome for me, but Tyler loved the competition.

After a long day at work, I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. I roamed the aisles, grabbing things here and there. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw that there was still one box of my favorite granola bars left. I went to grab it but someone had the same idea.

"Oh. I'm sorry. . . I was just. . . Tyler Owens?"

"Well, I'll be," he chuckled, instantly smirking his famous smirk. "If it isn't little Y/F/N Y/L/N."

"I'm surprised to see you back in town," I said, resisting the urge to look him up and down.

"Did you miss me?" He smirked.

"No," I didn't hesitate. "But now I miss the peace that was here when you weren't."

I started to reach for the box of granola bars, but Tyler snatched it. "Really?" I mumbled under my breath.

"I seem to remember you always had several of these in your backpack in high school," he chuckled as he pretended to read the nutritional facts. He smirked at me before dropping it into his handbasket.

"And something tells me you're not going to give me the last box," I scoffed, grabbed my shopping cart, and started walking the other way.

"We could make an exchange," Tyler said after he jogged to catch up with me.

"You have nothing I would want," I scoffed.

"Not even in exchange for the only food I've ever seen you eat?" He chuckled.

"Nope," I said, grabbing some cereal.

"You're no fun," he pouted.

"Yep."

"You haven't changed, have you, Y/L/N?"

"You shouldn't change perfection, Owens."

* * * * *

After my weird run-in with Tyler, I went home and instantly ordered my favorite granola bars on Amazon. I then used a bottle of wine to help me forget about our town's hero.

When I went to work the next day, the students were all buzzed. I had no idea why until I heard a certain conversation.

"Can you believe he's here?" One of my female students giggled.

"Isn't he from here?" Her friend asked.

"He is!" Another one of their friends added. He did a video a few years ago, and they talked about how he grew up here and even went to this school!"

"Wait," the first girl said, "didn't Ms. Y/L/N go to this school when she was our age?"

I kept my focus on my computer, hoping they wouldn't do what I thought they were about to do.

They did.

"Ms. Y/L/N, we have a question."

"What's up, girls?" I asked.

"Is it true that you went to school here?" They started with a warm-up question. They did this all the time.

"I did," I nodded, leaning back in my chair and embracing myself for the question they really wanted to ask me.

"Is it true that Tyler Owens, the Tornado Wrangler, went to school with you?"

"He did," I sighed. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when they squealed.

"We know he's gorgeous, but what was he like in person?"

"Is he sweet?"

"Is he funny?"

"Was he always the 'risk his life to save others' type?"

"He is basically the town's hero! Did he ever save you?"

"Girls," I cut them off, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"Sure!"

"Have you finished your assignment?" I smirked when they looked at each other. I almost laughed when they sighed and walked back to their desks. Luckily, the bell rang before they could come back and ask me those questions.

At the end of the day, I finished a few things before heading out. By then, it was raining. I pulled my jacket over my head and ran to my car. As I got in, I debated whether driving home in this weather could be unsafe, but there was no sign of it letting up.

My need for comfy clothes and a glass of wine convinced me to risk it. I carefully pulled out of the staff parking lot and headed home. I got to a red light and looked at the clouds, wondering if this would turn into a Tyler Owen's Worthy Storm. When the light turned green, I didn't hesitate to go.

I should've hesitated.

Right as I went through the intersection, another car ran the red light. I didn't have time to react before they hit my back tire. My car started spinning but there was nothing I could do to get out of it. Suddenly, I heard a large bang and my car stopped spinning.

I looked around but nothing made sense. I couldn't recognize any landmarks. I couldn't even remember what light I was at when I got hit.

"Y/N?!"

I couldn't respond. My head was spinning too much. I reached up, gasping in pain when I touched something wet.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

When I brought my hand back down, there was blood on my fingers. I leaned my head against the headrest, waiting for the spinning to stop.

"Shit, you're bleeding," the voice said. "Y/N, unlock the door."

I could feel my hand shaking as I hit the unlock button. As soon as I did, the door swung open. Someone knelt next to me, gently putting their wet hand on my knee. I could feel the rain hitting my face.

"Y/N," they said, their voice softer this time. "Look at me. Please?"

When I did, it took a second before I realized who it was. "Tyler?" I stuttered.

"Oh good," he joked. "You didn't hit your head so hard that you forgot about me."

"I wish I had," I mumbled as I looked away.

"You wanna know something, Y/L/N?" He chuckled. "I don't think you actually hate me. I think you pretend to hate me so I don't find out that you have a crush on me."

"You wanna know something, Owens?" I repeated his question, slowly lifting my head and looking at him. "I would. . ."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest when it got too painful to try and focus on his face.

"We can bicker later," he said lightly. "Right now, let's get you some help. He grabbed my hand as he stayed squatting down but called 911.

Tyler stayed with me the whole time. He was right by my side, getting soaked in the rain, as we waited for the ambulance. Even as they put me in the back and took me to the hospital, Tyler stayed in the rain, watching.

* * * * *

I was only in the hospital for a night. I called the school and let them know what happened. They didn't hesitate to cover my classes for me and reassure me that they could handle things until I was better.

When I got home, I instantly collapsed on the couch. I put on a show I was binging before the accident and soon fell asleep on the couch. I woke up about an hour later to someone knocking.

"Tyler," I gasped when I opened the door. I subconsciously wrapped my cardigan tighter around me. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were released from the hospital earlier this morning and I wanted to see how you were feeling," he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets.

"I'm fine," I sighed.

"Are you sure? It was a bad accident," he shrugged. Something in his eyes changed. "Your car spun out and you ended up hitting. . ."

"I know," I cut him off, looking away from his weirdly soft eyes. "It was just a concussion."

"But it must've been scary," he said softly. I looked back at him, my heart feeling like it was in my throat.

"I don't remember it much," I mumbled.

"You don't?" He asked, taking a small step toward me.

"I remember my car spinning out," I recalled slowly. "And trying to turn out of it. Then. . . nothing."

"Y/N," he said softly.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, breaking this weird tension.

"What do you mean?" He chuckled.

"This," I said, gesturing between him and me. "You coming and checking on me. Being sweet. Saving me."

"Y/N," he gently cut me off. "Do you really think I'm the kind of guy who'd watch you get in a car accident and not help you?"

"You did it in high school," I said, dropping my voice.

As I stared at him, I remembered the day in high school when I got rear-ended on my way home from school. I still remember being on the phone, waiting for my dad to answer, and seeing Tyler drive by in his truck.

"Y/N. . ." He stuttered.

"Thank you for checking on me," I said, clearing my throat, "but I'm fine. In fact, I should probably get some rest."

Before he could say anything else, I shut the door.

* * * * *

A few hours later, I sighed when there was a knock on the door. I stood up but had to stop because I felt dizzy. When it passed, I slowly made my way to the door.

"Tyler," I stuttered. "What are you doing here? Again?"

"I wanted to apologize," he said. "I know we had our weird back-and-forth growing up, but I want you to know that I didn't hate you when we were younger. I've never hated you, Y/N."

I smirked as I folded my arms and leaned against the doorframe. "So the time you stole my science notes and spilled soda all over them? Or the time you wrote swear words on my notecard for our biology exam? Or the time you almost tripped me at graduation?"

"Don't you notice flirting when you see it?"

"Bullshit," I scoffed a little too soon.

I saw the look on his face drop. Only for a second though. He quickly recovered his annoying smirk. My heart jumped into my throat when he took a step closer, instantly feeling like he was towering over me.

"Clearly, I need to take a more direct approach."

"Direct approach?" I repeated. "Tyler, what are you. . ."

He cut me off by grabbing my face and pressing his lips to mine. I wasn't sure what to do. My mind was racing and all I could focus on, besides Tyler's surprisingly soft hands holding my face, was the feeling of his lips on mine. Sooner than I would've liked, he broke the kiss.

"I may not have stayed," he whispered, "but I called the police."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, matching his tone.

"That day," he continued, dropping his hands from my face, "in high school. When you got into your crash, I froze. I kept driving because I didn't know what to do. When I got home, I instantly called the cops. I didn't even tell my mom until after I had gotten off the phone."

"Why are you telling me this?" My voice was now under my breath.

"Because when I saw your accident yesterday, I didn't freeze," he said gently. "I knew I had to do something. And fast. I couldn't drive away again."

"I shouldn't have brought that up," I stuttered.

"No, it's okay," he cut me off. "I was wrong not to do anything in high school. I should've stayed around. I should've helped you."

"You did tonight," I said, my voice dropping again. I couldn't help but smile when I thought about the girls in my class the other day.

"What?" He asked, his playful smirk returning.

"It's something my students said the day of the accident."

Tyler smiled as he reached up and moved some hair out of my face, his hand lingering on my face. "What did they say, Ms. Y/L/N?" He lightly teased.

"You really are this town's hero."

Tyler laughed, slightly shaking his head. "I only care about being one person's hero," he said, slowly leaning in.

"Who's?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yours."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I ignored all the doubts that flooded my brain as our lips started moving in sync. I grabbed the front of his flannel, pulling him closer to me. He responded by wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Oh!" He broke the kiss suddenly. "I almost forgot."

Confusion flooded me as Tyler stepped slightly out my front door and grabbed something from the ground. When he turned back toward me, he was holding a box of my favorite granola bars.

"I believe I owe you these."

[rat-rosemary]

Even the most weird catholic girl can learn to side eye and be weirded out by someone saying a guy's dead name, and that gives me hope

[stromer]

can't get over qh43 actually speaking up about the locker room tensions in van and the jtpete divorce debacles x5 . like imagine being a 25 year old captain talking to a canadian market like "yeah, we all kinda hate each other rn Lol"

[ecrireverie]

okay lol mini rant in the tags sorry i just HAD to get this off my chest 😭 sorry if this is very incoherent and poorly worded or structured or whatever i'm just. pretty out of it and i cannot really think to write this properly. well, that or i am probably just illiterate actually. Yeah that's it lol

[tackrusso]

you know what. i went to my high school reunion in an outfit i would never have worn in high school and i talked to people i thought i’d never talk to and i had such a great time

[valewritessss]

Anyone who’s out of high school or in college, do teenage boys eventually get nicer? They make me not want to go to school.

[potatobugz]

Noelle Holiday? (Yes this is a bingo request that I guess is a semi-sequel to the previous one for Susie)

thgey call her noelle holiday the way she. brightens up. your day

[lapdogchase]

thought i hated this one girl just cuz her vibes are off but i just remembered something like actually awful she said the other day so nvm my hatred is justified actually