#so that basically makes her a good person

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 2

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 4.9k

warnings: cuss words

The fun and relaxed vibe the islanders had been building quickly shifts when the new arrival walks in.

“Woah! A girl!” Topper calls out from the kitchen, prompting a giggle from the newcomer as she approaches and greets him with a hug. Y/N, Sarah and Maddy exchange glances while Rafe, JJ and John B get off the daybed to meet the new girl. Rafe turns back to the girls with a teasing grin.

“Not coming?” He jokes, prompting them to get up. Y/N adjusts her dress, taking Maddy’s hand as they join the group.

“Why do I feel like she’s going to stir up some drama?” Y/N whispers, earning a snicker from Maddy.

“You’re probably right. My intuition’s saying the same thing.” Maddy replies as they follow the others. The islanders greet her warmly, introducing themselves with hugs.

“I’m Alyssa!” She announces with a bright smile. “Shall we head to the firepit? I’d love to get to know all of you!” She leads the way enthusiastically, the boys trailing after her while the girls hesitate before following.

As they all settle in, the boys begin asking Alyssa questions. It isn’t long before she glances around the group.

“Okay, so who’s coupled up with who?” She asks. Topper quickly wraps an arm around Sarah’s shoulders.

“I’m with Sarah.” He declares, as if staking his claim. Alyssa nods, her gaze shifting to Rafe, who is sitting beside Y/N.

“What about you? Rafe, right?” She asks. Rafe blinks, caught off guard.

“Uh, yeah. I’m, uh…I’m coupled up with Y/N,” He stammers making Y/N’s brows furrow slightly as Alyssa smirks.

“And how are things going between you two?” Alyssa presses, leaning forward slightly. Rafe glances at Y/N, seemingly searching for the right words.

“It’s still early days, but things are good.” Y/N answers when his silence lingers. The rest of the couples share their pairings as Alyssa nods thoughtfully. Later, the boys excuse themselves to let the girls chat with Alyssa.

“What’s your type?” Cleo asks curiously, making Alyssa pretend to think.

“Hmm…someone fit, with light eyes, that always gets me. Someone who’s fun but can have deep conversations too.” She pauses. “Rafe seems like that kind of guy.” She adds, causing the girls to exchange pointed looks. “Honestly, Rafe and Y/N seem like the it-couple here. They’re so close already and it’s only day two.” Maddy speaks up, making Y/N roll her eyes jokingly. Alyssa shruggs, undeterred.

“Well, like you said, it’s early days. His head could still turn.” She reveals, making the girls widen their eyes as they look at Y/N who turns to Maddie.

“Told you. Drama starter.” Y/N mutters to Maddy, who giggles, before turning back into conversation.

“Look, I’m not here to make seasonal girlfriends. I’m here to find love. If that means stepping on toes, so be it. You can’t expect to stay coupled up with the same person for weeks on end.” Alyssa leans back, addressing the group.

The girls exchange tense glances as Alyssa stands up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to chat with the boys. See you around.” She walks away, her hips swaying exaggeratedly as she approaches the guys in the kitchen.

“Oh my god.” Sarah mutters.

“I was this close to punching her.” Kiara says through gritted teeth.

“She’s got some nerve.” Cleo adds. They all turn to Y/N, expecting a reaction.

“Aren’t you going to say something? She basically said she’s coming for Rafe.” Kiara presses, but Y/N only shrugs.

“Guys, it's still the second day. I…yeah, I have fun with Rafe already and there’s definitely something building there, but if his head is gonna turn, I can't help it.” She says, her voice casual, though there’s an underlying tension in her words.

“He’s not going to go for her.” Maddy says confidently and the others nod in agreement.

“Early days, Mads.” She tries to remind Maddy, but mostly says it as a reminder to herself.

The rest of the evening unfolds with Alyssa effortlessly mingling with the guys, laughing and chatting as she tries to make connections. When it’s finally time to wind down, the girls retreat to the makeup room, giggling and talking as they remove their makeup and change for bed. Alyssa, however, is in the bathroom, mid-skincare routine, when Rafe walks in wearing nothing but his boxers, ready to brush his teeth.

“Oh, hey.” He says casually, grabbing and wetting the bristles of his toothbrush. Alyssa smirks, letting her hair tumble free from her ponytail and running her fingers through it.

“Hey, Rafe.” She replies, her tone light and flirtatious. She leans against the counter, her gaze roaming over his defined chest and abs.

“You good? Having fun?” He asks, voice slightly muffled from toothpaste as he starts brushing his teeth.

“Yeah.” She answers, her smirk widening. “You guys are fun. Nice. And very good-looking.” Rafe chuckles, spitting into the sink before wiping his mouth with a towel. She steps closer, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

“So, what is it you said you do?”

“My family owns a construction and development company.” Rafe replies, his tone polite but detached. Alyssa nods thoughtfully.

“Do you have a type?” She asks, her bluntness catching him off guard.

“Uh…not really.” He says after a pause. “I guess I like someone I can have fun with, adventures, good banter, that sort of thing.” As he speaks, his thoughts drift to Y/N. If they could go far enough to explore whatever this chemistry between them has to offer.

“Oh my god, that’s exactly what I look for too!” Alyssa exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “So…would you say I’m your type?” Rafe glances at her briefly before shrugging.

“Uh, sure.” He replies nonchalantly, his tone devoid of enthusiasm, but Alyssa smirks.

“Good to know.” She murmurs.

Just then, the bathroom door opens and Y/N steps inside. She’s wearing a pink pajama set with delicate lace trim, her tank top and shorts hugging her frame perfectly. Her wide eyes flicker between them.

“Am I interrupting?” She asks quietly, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. Rafe straightens immediately, relief washing over him at the sight of her.

“No, no, not at all.” He assures her, stepping aside so she can reach the sink. Alyssa gives Y/N a slow, appraising look before humming softly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Nice talking to you, Rafe.” Without waiting for a response, she saunters out of the room. Y/N ties her hair back and begins washing her face. Rafe leans against the counter, watching her through the mirror.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice softer now and she nods, glancing at him with a small smile. Rafe’s chest tightens at her smile. He waits patiently as she finishes rinsing her face and grabs her toothbrush.

“What do you think of Alyssa?” She asks suddenly, catching him off guard. Rafe’s brows shoot up.

“Uh…she’s…okay?” He says hesitantly and Y/N raises an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.

“She’s pretty.” He admits, shifting uncomfortably. “But there’s something missing. I just…I don’t think I could ever be attracted to her. Not in the same way as…” He trails off, his gaze locking with hers through the mirror. He closes his eyes, scratching the back of his neck, before finishing his sentence. “…you.”

Y/N’s eyes widen as she nearly chokes on her toothpaste. She turns away, coughing violently. Rafe immediately steps forward, gently rubbing her back.

“You okay? Want me to grab you some water?” He asks, concerned but she shakes her head, still coughing.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just…swallowed wrong.” She manages, her cheeks flushing as she spits into the sink. Rafe chuckles, leaning against the counter again as she wipes her mouth. His eyes drift over her, taking in her loose ponytail and her now-glowing, makeup-free face.

“What’s that?” He asks when she grabs a small jar from the counter.

“My moisturizer.” She explains, with a hoarse voice. “Do you want some?” Rafe nods, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Only if you do it.” He murmurs making Y/N laugh softly as she gestures for him to lean down. He crouches slightly, closing his eyes as her fingers gently glide over his face. Her touch is featherlight and Rafe exhales a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“That feels…really good.” He whispers. Y/N smiles, carefully working the cream into his skin.

“It’ll feel sticky at first, but it’s great for hydration. With all the sun we’re exposed to, it helps a lot.” She explains. When she finishes, Rafe glances in the mirror, noting the glow on his face.

“Looks good.” He says, turning back to her. His eyes linger as she adjusts her tank top strap and his jaw tightens at the sight of her effortless beauty.

“Ready to head downstairs?” He asks, clearing his throat and Y/N nods, leading the way to the bedroom. They settle into their respective sides of the bed, adjusting the covers. Y/N shifts slightly, her leg brushing against his and Rafe’s breath hitches.

As the rest of the islanders head to bed and the lights dim, Rafe props himself on one elbow, watching Y/N as she faces him. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face.

“You don’t have to worry about her, you know.” He whispers, making Y/N hum softly in question, her eyes meeting his.

“Alyssa.” He clarifies. “I like what we have and I want to see where it goes. However long or short that is.” His fingers twist a strand of her hair as he speaks, his voice barely audible. Y/N smiles, her arm draping over his torso in response. Rafe mirrors her smile, pulling her closer. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, the warmth of her body lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

The next day moves at a slower pace compared to the earlier ones. The girls lounge by the pool, gossiping about the boys as they work out and relax around the villa. Rafe and Y/N find a quiet moment together, stretched out on the couch under the terrace, getting to know each other better.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Rafe asks, his eyes closed as Y/N’s nails lightly trace along his arm, the touch comforting them both.

“Uh…I dance. I paint. And I read a lot too.” She reveals, her voice soft but genuine.

“Creative, aren’t you?” He teases, a smirk tugging at his lips, making her chuckle lightly.

“What can I say?” She teases, making him laugh along.

“What kind of dancing do you do?” His curiosity is evident and her touch doesn’t falter as she answers.

“I do some hip-hop, some contemporary too but mostly heels dancing.” She admits casually, catching him by surprise.

“Heels dancing? How does that even work?” He asks, raising a brow in disbelief.

“It’s this really sexy, technical style of dance in stilettos. It can be very challenging, but it’s so beautiful.” She explains, her face lighting up with enthusiasm as she talks about it. Rafe can’t help but admire the way she glows when she speaks about the things she loves.

“That sounds…I mean, I’ve got to see that.” He teases, grinning at her reaction.

“We’ll see about that.” She murmurs, looking away bashfully.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He prods. “I bet you’re incredible at it. Especially that kind of dance.” Her nails pause briefly as she looks at him.

“You really think so?”

“I do.” He says earnestly. “And I’d love to see you dance. Anytime.” Her lips curl into a smile.

“Okay.” She whispers, agreeing softly.

Their quiet moment is interrupted by the sharp ping of a phone notification. Gasps ripple through the villa and Y/N sits up quickly, exchanging wide-eyed glances with Rafe as he follows her lead.

“Yeah? You’ll actually let me?” He presses, slightly surprised, but her soft laugh and nod are all the confirmation he needs. He grins, satisfied, before pulling his sunglasses back on and laying back down on the couch.

“I got a text!” Alyssa’s voice rings out, full of excitement. Y/N rises from the couch and glances toward the pool, where some of the girls chill in, Rafe instinctively placing a hand on her shoulder as he trails behind her.

“Alyssa, tonight you get to couple up with a boy of your choice, leaving a girl single and vulnerable. #maketherightchoice #steppingontoes.” Alyssa grins, reading the message aloud. Her excitement is palpable, while the rest of the girls exchange uneasy looks. The boys huddle nearby, their murmurs growing louder. Y/N glances at Rafe, the pit in her stomach tightening.

“I’m…I’m gonna go talk to the girls.” She mutters, her voice low. Rafe nods slowly.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later.” He says, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting her go. His eyes follow her as she walks toward Maddy and Sarah, her bikini accentuating every curve.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” Sarah groans as Y/N sits down beside her.

“Did you see how thrilled she was to read that? She doesn’t care about any of us.” Maddy snaps, glaring toward Alyssa.

“Y/N, what’s on your mind?” Sarah asks, noticing the tension on her face.

“I…I don’t know. It’s just…I can’t control who she’s going to pick. And if it’s Rafe…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll be pretty bummed.” Maddy shakes her head firmly.

“He won’t give her a reason to pick him. He likes you, Y/N. It's obvious.” Before Y/N can respond, Alyssa’s high-pitched voice cuts through the villa.

“Rafey! Can I chat with you?”

Y/N stiffens, glancing over as Alyssa grabs Rafe’s arm. He looks confused but doesn’t protest. He turns back briefly, as if to gauge Y/N’s reaction, but she’s already averting her gaze. With a sigh, he lets Alyssa lead him to a secluded couch far from the others.

“Spoke too soon.” Y/N mutters under her breath, her fingers fidgeting with her ring as she tries to suppress the unease bubbling in her chest.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Maddy insists. “Rafe likes you. A chat doesn’t mean anything.”

Meanwhile, Alyssa is pouring on the charm as she talks to Rafe, her fingers twirling a strand of hair.

“When was your last relationship?” She asks, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. Rafe shifts uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.

“Over a year ago.” He says flatly.

“Was it a bad breakup?” She presses, leaning in closer and Rafe’s jaw tightens.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Relax, it’s just a question.” Alyssa replies with a low chuckle, her eyes shamelessly scanning him. “You work out, don’t you?” He nods curtly, barely holding back his irritation. Alyssa laughs softly at her own comment, but Rafe is already tuning her out. His thoughts drift back to Y/N. He can’t wait to walk away from this pointless conversation and return to her.

In the kitchen, Y/N is slicing fruit for a smoothie when Pope joins her, sliding onto a nearby stool. His eyes flick toward where Rafe and Alyssa are seated.

“They’ve been talking for a while.” He notes casually. Y/N glances in their direction briefly before returning her attention to the fruit. Her hands move quickly, but her grip on the knife is noticeably tense.

“Are you okay?” Pope asks gently. “Maybe…put the knife down for a second?” Startled, Y/N looks at her trembling hand and sets the knife aside with a sigh.

“I’m fine. Just…you know.” She struggles to explain, but Pope nods knowingly.

“I get it. My ex, she was gorgeous.”

“She’s not dead, Pope.” Y/N quips, cracking a small smile despite herself and he laughs.

“Fair. But yeah, she always got a lot of attention. And I’m not the jealous type, well, I try not to be, but it got to me sometimes.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just…worried.” Y/N admits.

“That’s fair.” Pope says thoughtfully. “But even if things don’t go as planned, you’ll find someone who’s perfect for you.” He pauses, smirking. “Maybe he’s closer than you think.” Y/N chuckles, shaking her head as Pope blushes.

“Thanks, Pope. I appreciate it.” She says warmly before turning back to her smoothie.

“Hey.” Rafe says casually, drawing both of their gazes. Cleo smirks, rising from her seat.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the villa comes alive once again, music and laughter weaving through the air. Islanders mingle, drinks in hand, their conversations buzzing with energy. Y/N sits with Cleo on the daybed, both of them laughing loudly as they chat, until he approaches.

“I’ll leave you two to do your little Bluetooth thing.” She teases, waving a hand between them. Y/N rolls her eyes, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement.

“See you later, boo.” Y/N murmurs as Cleo leans down to kiss her cheek, then walks away with a knowing grin. Rafe takes her place, kneeling on the daybed before sitting down beside Y/N.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice soft as his eyes fall to her hands, which are busy twisting the rings on her fingers.

“Yeah.” She whispers, but her tone betrays her. Rafe frowns slightly and reaches for her hand, his touch gentle.

“Be honest. Did I do something? You’ve been...distant. Earlier, we were good. Did I say something stupid?” Y/N lifts her head, her eyes meeting his briefly before she shakes her head.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything. It’s just...I...” She trails off, struggling to find the words.

“You can tell me. Whatever it is, I want to know.” He squeezes her hand, his voice steady and comforting. Y/N exhales deeply.

“Alyssa.” She finally murmurs. “She...I’m worried.” Rafe shakes his head immediately.

“You shouldn't be.” He says.

“I mean, I get it…it's pretty early to close things off or anything and of course I'm not gonna ask you to do something like that. It's just…I like…how we are. The vibes, the talks, everything. And…I wanna explore this. But I can't help and worry. You know?” She explains and he nods understandingly.

“Yeah, I get it. And for the record, I do like how things are going too. But…I'm not interested in her.” He assures her, his voice firm. She exhales softly, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“Okay.” She whispers. “But…what if-”

“She's not gonna pick me. I made it pretty clear that I'm not interested in her. Okay? Can you trust me on this?” He asks, grabbing her hand to reassure her. Her fingers tighten around his as she nods, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, everything else fades away. Her breath hitches when his gaze drops to her lips, but the moment is broken by the sharp ping of a phone. Y/N pulls back slightly, her eyes darting to the kitchen where Topper is staring at his screen.

“I got a text!” He announces. “Can all islanders gather at the firepit? #shitisabouttogodown #stealingtime.”

The group buzzes with chatter as they move toward the firepit. Rafe helps Y/N to her feet, keeping her hand in his as they walk. Just before they arrive, he gently tugs her closer.

“We’re going to be okay.” He murmurs, his arm slipping around her waist as he leads her to sit down beside him.

The tension in the air is thick as everyone waits, nerves on edge. Another phone ping sounds and all eyes turn to Alyssa, who smirks as she stands, her phone in hand.

“Alyssa, it’s time for you to choose which boy you want to couple up with.” She reads aloud, stepping forward. The girls exchange uneasy glances, but Y/N keeps her focus on the fire.

“This wasn’t an easy decision.” Alyssa begins, her tone practiced. “I didn’t have much time to think and I’m not sure if it’s the right choice. But this boy made me feel welcome and I really enjoyed the banter we shared. And I think there's more to explore with him.”

“The boy I want to couple up with is...” She pauses, the silence stretching. Sarah glances nervously at Y/N, Kiara’s leg bounces restlessly and Cleo suppresses a yawn.

“Rafe.”

Y/N feels her chest tighten at the reveal, her heart sinking.

“Oh my god.” Maddy whispers. Rafe looks at Alyssa, stunned, before turning to Y/N, whose face is unreadable as she stares into the flames. Alyssa steps closer, extending her hand to Rafe. He rises reluctantly, not touching her, his gaze fixed on Y/N.

Another ping breaks the silence. Y/N picks up her phone with trembling hands.

“Y/N, you are now single.” She reads quietly. “But don’t worry, the best is yet to come. #itsokayboo #troubleinparadise.” Sarah and Maddy immediately move to her side, guiding her away from the firepit. Rafe steps forward, trying to follow, but Cleo blocks him.

“Give her some time, pretty boy.” She says firmly, following the group with Kiara.

“What the fuck just happened?” JJ mutters, staring into the firepit as the others look on in stunned silence.

In the kitchen, the girls gather around Y/N on the couch, their faces etched with concern.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah asks cautiously and Cleo elbows her.

“What kind of question is that? Obviously, she feels like shit.”

“Cleo!” Maddy snaps, before turning back to Y/N. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I’m fine.” Y/N lies, twisting her ring anxiously.

“Don’t do that.” Kiara says softly, kneeling in front of her. “It’s okay to be upset.” Y/N exhales shakily.

“He told me not to worry. That he made it clear to her he wasn’t interested. He said she wouldn’t pick him. And yet...here we are.” The girls all stare at her with sympathy, wanting to comfort her. Before the girls can respond, Rafe’s voice cuts in.

“Can we talk?” He asks.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Kiara snaps, her tone icy.

“Fuck off.” Sarah adds sharply.

“All men do is lie.” Cleo mutters, shoving him back. Rafe stumbles and sighs, his eyes glued on Y/N who looks at Maddy on the other side. Maddy rubs her back as she stares back at her.

“Please.” Rafe says desperately, his eyes fixed on Y/N. “I didn’t know she’d do this. Y/N, come on.” Y/N finally looks up at him, her voice steady but cold.

“She wouldn’t have chosen you if you hadn’t given her a reason to.”

“I didn’t!” Rafe exclaims, frustration coloring his voice. “I told her I wasn’t interested!”

“Yeah, right.” Y/N retorts. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe. You made me trust you and now you’ve ruined it.”

“She didn’t misunderstand.” Alyssa interjects smugly, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t mean to betray your trust…upset you. I meant it when I said that I'm not into her. Okay? I don't know, she…she must have misunderstood.” He exclaims, Alyssa and the boys following her.

Rafe turns to her, frustration evident in his furrowed brows, but before he can say anything, Y/N stands abruptly from the couch and heads inside the villa. The group shifts their attention to Rafe and Alyssa.

“Alyssa, what do you mean?” Sarah asks, adjusting her dress.

“I mean, Rafe was being nice to me, flirting, even. He never said he was closed off or that he wasn’t interested.” Alyssa claims, her voice laced with confidence. Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Alyssa, I’m not interested in you. And I wasn’t flirting. I was just being polite. That’s it.” His tone is firm, and Alyssa stiffens at his words. “I like Y/N.” He continues, his voice unwavering.

“I like how things are with her. Yeah, it’s early and she said we should keep our options open, but I’m not keeping them open for you.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving everyone stunned, including Alyssa.

Upstairs, Y/N sits on the terrace, absentmindedly twisting a ring on her finger as her eyes glimmer. The soft click of the door closing behind Rafe makes her glance up.

“Can we please talk?” He asks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. She nods and he steps closer, settling beside her.

“Don’t shut me out.” He pleads. “Yell at me if you have to. Just…don’t shut me out.” Y/N sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“I shouldn’t be upset. We never said we were exclusive and it’s still early. But…when she said you made her feel welcome, that she wanted to explore something with you, it frustrated me. Because you told me you weren’t interested. That you made it clear to her.”

“I did make it clear.” Rafe insists. “I swear, I never meant to give her the wrong idea.” She exhales shakily.

“Trust is a big thing for me, Rafe. And it’s not easy for me to just-” She stops, her voice trailing off. Rafe reaches out, resting a reassuring hand on her thigh.

“I know I messed up. I should have been more direct with her.” His thumb brushes against her skin in a soothing motion. “I get it if you’re upset. You have every right to. But I want to make this up to you, to prove to you that I like you, Y/N. That I’m in this.” His voice softens. “I can’t promise I won’t screw up again, because, honestly? I can be kind of an idiot.” A small laugh escapes her lips and Rafe grins.

“But I can promise to try for you.” He finishes, the sincerity in his eyes catching her off guard. She leans in slightly and he takes the hint, cupping her face gently. Her eyes flicker to his lips.

“I don’t want you to feel obliged to choose me.” She murmurs. “I love spending time with you, but I don’t want you turning people down just because of me or because you think you have to.”

“Just…let's see where this takes us? Okay?” She asks and Rafe doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens for half a second before melting into him, the kiss soft yet charged. When they finally pull apart, Rafe’s lips curl into a small smile.

“Promise me you won’t shut me out.” He whispers. “I need to hear you. Even if it’s just to tell me I’m being a dumbass.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

“Okay, Rafey.” The moment the nickname leaves her lips, Rafe tenses. He swallows hard.

“Wh-what?” His voice comes out rougher than expected. She smirks.

“It’s not ridiculous.” He mutters under his breath, making her brows lift in confusion.

“Oh, that ridiculous nickname Alyssa called you earlier.” She rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Oh? My bad, I didn’t realize you actually liked it-”

“No, no.” He interrupts quickly. “I don’t mean that. I just-” He hesitates, then exhales. “I don’t like it when she says it. But…when you say it? I don’t mind.” Y/N tilts her head, amused.

“Oh? Good to know.” A knowing smile tugs at her lips as she leans back and Rafe watches her, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Under the night sky, they sit together in comfortable silence, the tension between them slowly fading into something lighter, something undeniable.

Later that night, as the islanders get ready for bed, Y/N heads downstairs and immediately notices the newly added bed in the room, her name plaque resting on top. She sighs softly, slipping under the covers and getting comfortable. Maddy walks past, pausing just long enough to press a quick kiss to her forehead before heading to her own bed. Moments later, JJ strolls by and stops beside her, smirking.

“You know, Maddy wouldn’t mind me joining you.” He teases. Y/N rolls her eyes, fighting back a smile.

“Go to bed, J.” She says and JJ shrugs.

“Well, I offered.” He exclaims before wandering off. Soon after, Rafe makes his way to his own bed, only to pause when he notices the name plaque on it has changed. His gaze sweeps the room until he spots her. Without hesitation, he walks over, leans down and presses a kiss to her lips before she can react.

“I’m gonna miss you tonight.” He murmurs, his lips still grazing hers. From across the room, Topper and Sarah holler in amusement, making Y/N giggle. She playfully pecks Rafe’s lips once more.

“You mean you’re gonna miss me hogging the blanket?” She teases.

“Oh, 100%.” He deadpans. “I love waking up in the middle of the night freezing while you’re wrapped up like a human burrito.” She laughs, giving him a gentle push.

“Go to your bed.” She murmurs. Rafe smirks, backing away slowly before finally climbing into his bed, conveniently positioned across from hers. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, watching as she shakes her head and turns to chat with Cleo.

Then, Alyssa enters the room. The energy shifts as everyone’s attention flickers toward her. Without saying a word, she moves to her bed and lies down, keeping to the very edge. She doesn’t look at Rafe. Doesn’t speak to anyone.

“Goodnight, everyone!” Kiara calls from across the room, sparking a chorus of sleepy goodnights as the lights dim. Just as the room falls into silence, Rafe’s voice cuts through the darkness.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” She furrows her brows, cheeks instantly warming, nervous for what to come out of his mouth.

“W-what?”

The entire room seems to hold its breath, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“For the love of God and for my sake, please don’t dream of Captain America tonight.” He jokes. Laughter erupts, filling the space. Y/N grins, grabbing her pillow and launching it across the room. It hits Rafe with a muffled thud, making him groan. As the laughter fades and the room settles, Y/N exhales softly, sinking into her bed.

Maybe Rafe was right. They’re going to be okay.

to be continued...

A/N: a little late valentine's day gift for you guys, hehe

taglist: @cherrygirlfriend @judesgfirl @slickdickwitchbitchh @leather-n-velvet @alinavalentine @littlelamy @nami11 @madiisynnxx @ts1mp0ne @starkeyslibrary @venusluves @rafecameronsfavourite @lolharrystylesissexy @nofacenocase00 @k4yr14 @drewslefttoe @tinie03 @angielvsnick @dellevans @malibuhearts @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @harryweeniee @imawhoreforu @fastlovela @jjmaybankmylovee @miserablebl00d @angeliki-spiteri9711 @drewsnr1slut @laniirackssss @emotionsmgcbabe @oconnrs @missabsey @amterasuu @cornliastreett @pvyden @italk2god @swagmoneydrew @lerclec @emmaaas-posts @dorcas4meadowes @isabellaxlilah @xoxosblogsblog @bxbychxrry @julesbog @annaaaamichelle @st8rkey @lewispool @my-name-is-baby @silkylovey @soincredible (if you have added yourself on my taglist and your tag doesn't show up here or if you want to add yourself, comment or reblog!!)

[sha-brytols]

the most compelling part about bethany's character arc i think is the fact that she's like. never allowed to have a Choice in her life. like people bitch and moan about how bethany is too boring because she's so nice and agreeable and its like i want to slam a brick into their head because thats the POINT THATS HER CHARACTER ARC. if you're not playing a mage hawke bethany knows that everything that happens in your family is implicitly her fault. you're constantly moving and living in poverty because she cant be seen by templars. hawke and carver are basically enlisted by their father as bethanys own personal bodyguards and taught to throw their lives away for hers and carver NEVER made this part of their childhoods a secret he's very vocally bitter over how everything in their family revolves around bethany. like imagine being in her shoes, she feels like her entire life is a burden to the people she loves most of course she doesn't ever rock the boat because why ADD to their suffering. she has no agency, no control. her personality is completely informed by her circumstances she CAN'T afford to be selfish because every single thing she does has the potential to ruin her entire families livelihood.

which is why i'm super against the notion that warden bethany is her "bad" ending because "look at her she's so miserable and angry 😧 she's much happier in the circle omg." like erm. hm. perhaps. she only appears happier in the circle because it is yet another circumstance she has no control over and every wrong move she makes could result in a fate worse than death? perhaps. it's actually. good. and healthy. that as a warden she's finally showing her true unfiltered emotions and freeing herself from the mask of false optimism she used to protect her family because shes no longer a passive prisoner to her own life. the way bethany finally blossoms into herself as a warden is actually beautiful it just Takes A Second to get there because she doesn't get to fully process her anger until act 3.

[worldsokayestdragon]

So one thing to know is that gender and pronouns don't always line up one to one like that. There are gay men who use she/her while still being men and butch lesbians who use he/him while still being women. And in the same way, some nonbinary people may choose to use traditionally "male" or "female" pronouns instead of they/them, it/its or neopronouns while still being nonbinary. Pronouns are just an aspect of presentation, a way to play around with your identity and how you interact with the world. They don't have to mean any more about who you are than you want them to.

Also worth noting that "nonbinary" is a pretty big umbrella term. It doesn't always mean "I have no gender" or "I'm perfectly in between being a man and a woman" or "I'm something else entirely that doesn't align with either of the binary options at all" (although it can mean any of those things) it could also mean "I'm a woman sometimes but not always" or "I'm closer to being a woman than anything else, but not exactly." Or like a ton of other options.

A nonbinary person with she/her pronouns might be using them to express gender nonconformity, or she might feel a connection to womanhood and femininity while still not being a woman, or she might not feel that she has any particular gender and therefore feel fine keeping the words she's always used for herself because it doesn't make a difference to her.

Hopefully that makes sense! Basically just there are as many reasons a nonbinary person might use a particular set of pronouns as there are nonbinary people. Gender and presentation can be really specific to different individuals, and you don't necessarily have to understand why someone uses the pronouns they do as long as you still treat them with respect (which I think you do! It's good to ask questions and try to learn more when you don't get something!)

"The nonbinary afab who goes by she/her, dresses femininely, and uses a push-up bra when I—" when you what? What's wrong with her?

Is she not nonbinary enough for you? Is the way she experiences her queerness and how she presents not perfect enough for you? Nonbinary people don't owe you androgyny, right? So why is she the exception? Why does she have to hate herself to appeal to your standards? Why is she any less trans—any less worthy of respect—cause it's "not visible"? Queer solidarity my ass. Don't spout this bullshit on Pride, man.

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 1

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: mentions of injury; Kyra is a pest and reader is grumpy

Word count: 3.5k

Masterlist here

| PART 2 | PART 3 |

..

Y/n’s teammates said she didn’t scream when Millie Bright stepped on her tibia. Beth said she could hear the crack as Y/n’s bone broke in two. But again, Y/n didn’t scream.

Leah said Y/n didn’t cry when the medical staff took her to the infirmary when they touched her broken leg to see where it hurt.

Y/n didn’t show any emotion. It was as if she wasn’t there.

Y/n was unable to answer any of the doctors’ questions when the Arsenal staff went to check her in at Great Ormond Street Hospital. They gave Y/n’s personal information and explained what had happened during the match against Chelsea.

Y/n was now lying in a hospital bed, wearing an ugly hospital gown, as a series of different doctors tried to explain her condition to her.

“It seems like a transverse fracture, miss,” one of the doctors had told her.

“Surgical intervention will be necessary—” said another.

“At least 8 months to full recovery,”

That last voice echoed endlessly in/n’s mind and that’s when she cried for the first time.

..                                   

Y/n’s has been at the hospital for two days now. Her operation was yesterday, and thankfully, she was able to go home, but there was one problem: Y/n had no one to go home to. She has lived on her own since moving to London years ago after she signed for Arsenal.

Y/n was sure she could look after herself. She had been injured before and had managed just fine on her own. She was very independent, self-reliant and—

“Stubborn,” Kyra told her. “You are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my entire life,” the Australian said. Standing in front of Y/n’s hospital bed with her jaw clenched.

“I am not stubborn. I have the legal system on my side, and I’m not letting you break into my house,” Y/n told Kyra, her long-time friend and teammates

Break in?” Kyra said exasperatedly, pressing her palms to her face and dragging them down in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I’m kicking you out of your own house so I can live in it alone.”

“That’s basically what’s happening,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m only moving in with you because you need someone to help you around until you are completely healed.” Kyra took a step closer to Y/n’s bed, softness on her face. “It will be just like when we have film nights, come on’.”

Y/n and Kyra had been friends since the U19 World Cup. When they met again as Arsenal’s teammates, their friendship just grew. They were always at each other’s houses and always found something fun to do after training alongside Alessia or any other girls. Y/n adored Kyra. How could she not? Kyra was sweet and funny, and yeah, sometimes a pest, but Y/n loved her anyway, she was her happiest self when Kyra was by her side. Unfortunately, Y/n wasn’t in a position to be just her usual self. She was injured and didn’t even know if she would be back on the pitch when her recovery was complete.

She was frustrated, and at the moment, Kyra was her punching bag.

“I’m not incapacitated, I can take care of myself, they gave me crutches and everything,” Y/n said, pointing to her new best friends for the rest of the year. The crutches were in the corner of the room, next to the hospital bag Leah packed for her after the team found out that Y/n would be in the hospital for a few days.

“And how will you drive? How will you do your groceries? How will you cook?” Kyra said, trying to make Y/n see the real situation they were in. She needed help, and Kyra was on a mission to be everything Y/n needed right now, even though she was being difficult about it.

“I can take a cab and order takeaway,” Y/n said persistently. “Besides, you can’t even cook! Last time Alessia tried teaching you how to make chicken pasta and you couldn’t even touch the chicken

“Okay, first of all, chicken is gross,” Kyra got up from Y/n’s bed and picked up Y/n’s bag from the floor, along with the girls’ crutches. “Second, I’ll try hard to cook us both good meals! I even bought a cookbook,” Kyra said proudly

“Oh God, you’ll poison me.” Y/n said dryly, pressing the bridge on her nose.

“I will if you don’t get out of this bed and let me take you home. The hospital needs its bed back,” Kyra handed Y/n her crutches and helped her to her feet. It wasn’t the first time the girl had stood up after the surgery, but she still wasn’t used to her new cast. She felt like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

The cast looked cute, though. The Arsenal girls had come by later that day, and everyone had written well wishes on it, Vic had even draw some flowers near Y/n’s ankle. Kyra also took a lot of time drawing small doodles all over it; the Australian had said it looked sad, ugly and boring before her special touch.

With a hand on Y/n’s back, Kyra slowly urged the girl to take a step in. “Does it feel all right? Do you think we should get a smaller crutch?” She asked, hovering over Y/n.

Y/n looked at the crutches in disgust. “No, their size is fine, I just— I hate this, and I hate this cast, and—” Y/n felt her eyes well up with tears.

Frustration.

Y/n’s body was filled with frustration and pain. Her leg hurt, even though she had been given strong painkillers, and now she was a mess, crying in an ugly hospital gown. Her hair was dirty because she hadn’t had a chance to wash it since the game. Her life was completely chaos. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Y/n was used to being independent. She had moved to London after her eighteenth birthday to play for Arsenal, her first professional club.  For the first time in her life, she was without her parents and family, and she genuinely thrived on it. Y/n was pretty much a free bird, she didn’t need anyone, until now.

Y/n felt Kyra coming closer, friendly arms embracing her before she could resist the physical touch. “Shh, it’s okay,” Kyra said to Y/n, trying to comfort her. “You’re in a lot of pain right now, and the situation hasn’t really sunk in for you yet, but once it does, it’ll get easier.”

Kyra was the same age as Y/n, but she was definitely the most easy-going and good-humored of them, although right now Kyra looked older. Y/n was usually the more mature one, at the moment she wasn’t. So, she just let her friend comfort her.

“Steph told me that she cried for a whole week when she got injured during that Matilda’s match back in May,” Kyra said.

“Is that an attempt to soothe me?” Y/n asked playfully, lips still trembling.

“I’m trying my best,” Kyra admitted. “I’m better with jokes than support-giving.”

“I think you are pretty good at both,” Y/n replied. “But it’s all right now, no more affection,” Y/n mumbled, cleaning her cheeks away from the tears and pulling away from Kyra’s embrace

Damn, Y/n really needed that hug. Maybe the whole neuroscience community was right when they said that humans needed other humans. Oxytocin released all that.

“Oh, come on, you love my affection,” Kyra teased, a glimpse of her cheeky smile showing.

“No, I don’t.” Y/n huffed.

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“Whatever.” Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. She took a deep breath and looked around the room she’d called hers for the past few days. “Can you get my things please?”

Kyra rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, asking for my help now, are you?”

Y/n crossed her arms. “If you keep being annoying, I’ll just ask Leah to come over and take care of me.”

Kyra picked up Y/n’s belongings from the hospital’s wardrobe, it wasn’t much, but other players had been kind enough to send gifts for Y/n.  “Leah’s a tough love person; you guys wouldn’t last a day living together,” Kyra warned.

Y/n sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I always am,” Kyra said under her breath, taking one last look around the room “I think I have everything,” Kyra said, shifting a load of things in her arms. “I’ve got your bag, the flowers Millie sent as an apology, Beth and Viv’s plushie, Leah’s basket, Alessia’s ballons…”

Y/n bit back a laugh. Kyra wasn’t exactly short, but with all the things she was carrying, she looked like a child drowning in oversized toys and presents.

The two girls left the hospital, and for Yn’s misery, she had to use a wheelchair. Kyra teased her all the way out of the hospital to the car.

..

After a 20-minute drive, Kyra parked her car in Y/n’s garage. It was a sunny Tuesday, and the neighbourhood was quiet. Y/n neighbours were not around at this time of the day—they were busy at work and school— which Y/n was grateful about; she didn’t want any further attention on her injury.

It was already enough having a million texts from her family every 5 minutes asking how she was, she didn’t want her neighbour to worry too. Especially Mrs. Petunia, the old lady who lived across the road. Mrs. Petunia was a sweetheart, but she started to treat Y/n as a child once she found out the girl lived ‘all alone,’ during one of their quick conversations.

When Kyra turned off the car, Y/n was already on a mission to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, but Kyra was quicker.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Kyra said, helping Y/n to her crutches against her will. “I can’t have you falling face-flat on the pavement on my first day as your caretaker.”

“I can get out of the car own my own, Ky, thank you very much!” Y/n said grudgingly, trying to get keep her balance on the crutches, but failing miserably. “Okay, I may need your help,” Y/n admitted.

Kyra smiled, as if she had won an argument. “See! that wasn’t so hard.” The other girl said, holding Y/n’s elbow, guiding her towards the front door.

Y/n didn’t answer, a forming on her face.

“Don’t start getting annoying now, we’ve barely made it to your house, we’ve got a long way to go,” Kyra said, unloading Y/n’s belongings from her car. “So just try to smile—like this.” She flashed an exaggerated grin at Y/n, showing off her pearly white teeth.

“I’m going to  be annoying until this stupid bone grows back, which will take a longtime, and that’s why you don’t need to move in with me ,” Y/n said, still unwilling to accept the whole arrangement Kyra and the rest of the team had apparently plotted behind her back.

"Will you drop it?" Kyra asked, pulling a large teddy bear out of the car— the one with a ‘Get Better Soon’ t-shirt, courtesy of Katie and Caitlin. “It’s already been decided; I’m staying here until you are completely healed.”

“That’s the problem! Who decided it? It’s my house, it’s my life,” Y/n argued, if she wasn’t holding on to the crutches for dear life, Y/n would dramatically throw her arm into the air.

“Me and Leah decided it when you where—well, you know—catatonic,” Kyra replied, fishing a set of keys from her pocket.

“I was never catatonic! What are you going to say next? That I’m hysterical? Is this the early 20th century?” Y/n said, allowing herself to be melodramatic.

“You do look a bit crazy right now,” Kyra shot back, turning the key in the door.

Y/n wished Millie hadn’t broken her good leg, or else she’d have kicked Kyra right there. So much for five and a half years of friendship.

“Hand on, how did you get my keys?” Y/n asked when she noticed that Kyra was already unlocking thedoor.

“Leah took them from your locker at the stadium after you went to the hospital,” Kyra explained. “Just so you know, Leah came here yesterday to make sure the doors and windows were locked and to check if you had left the cooker on or not.”

“Leah was here? And she took my keys and gave them to you? And why would I even leave my cooker on anyway?”

“Yep. She was also kind enough to make up your guest room for me to sleep in while I stay here,” Kyra said with a grin, ignoring Y/n’s rhetorical question.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Good to know my house is not my house anymore.”

“It’s our house now,” Kyra teased as she let Y/n pass through the door first, following close behind. “We are roomies!”

“No, we are not,” Y/n muttered.

“Roomies!” Kyra repeated, more enthusiastically

Y/n tried to hold her laughter, but she failed. Kyra looked cute when she was excited. It was Y/n’s first real laugh she broke her leg on the pitch.

Maybe sharing a house with her best friend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

..

Y/n hated sharing a house with Kyra. She wasn’t sure is she could do it anymore.

“Wow, rude! I’m right here!” Kyra pouted.

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Y/n asked, her voice dripping with false remorse.

Kyra rolled her eyes. “I’m just helping you get down the stairs. Can’t your brain tell the difference between receiving help from a gorgeous friend and feeling threatened?”

Now, it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “You are so dramatic, Kyra.”

“So are you!” Kyra replied, raising her eyebrows. “At least I got two working legs.”

“That’s low even for you,” Y/n said, elbowing Kyra in the stomach— not hard enough to hurt.

“And now you attack me, what’s next? Hit me with your crutches? Kick me…”

Kyra explained to Y/n all the ways she could hit her, given the circumstances, as they walked down the stairs. Y/n thought them but decided not to act on her deviant ideas—especially after Kyra made her popcorn, like the sweetheart she was.

Y/n was stretched out on the couch, the popcorn bowl on her stomach, her bad leg propped up on a pillow in Kyra’s lap as they watched a ‘90s rom-com. Y/n couldn’t even remember the title. The plot was the same though—about a boy and a girl.

“God, I love popcorn,” Y/n said, “I could eat it all day.”

“I can see that,” Kyra smiled. “Just don’t choke on it, I don’t know how to do the Heimlich maneuver. Kyra picked up some popcorn and threw it playfully at Y/n’s head.

Always the pest.

Kyra’s love language was an act of disturbance.

“I still don’t know why I put you as my emergency contact,” Y/n said, eating more popcorn and watching as the couple on the screen shared their first kiss.

“Because you love me,” Kyra said smugly without taking her eyes off the screen. “There is no way that was a technical kiss; I can literally see their tongues!”

Y/n squinted at the television. “Yeah, there was definitely tongue there.” Y/n agreed.

Damn, Y/n missed being kissed like that. It had been a long time since she’d been to a club and really seen other people. It was hard to combine a social life with football season. That was probably why most footballers dated within their own circle-- an athlete understood another athlete.

Maybe Y/n should stop looking for a girlfriend in London’s busy nightlife and start looking for one on the pitch.

Y/n stared at Kyra, but the girl was too caught up in the film. Y/n shook her head, trying to get rid of the very strange thought she’d just had.

..

During the first night, Y/n cried. “Stupid fucking leg”, she said through her tears as Kyra at her feet on the bathroom floor, a worried look on her face. Y/n hated crying in front of people, but in the last few days it had been all she could do.

Y/n had convinced Kyra that she was more than capable of having a bath by herself, she only asked Kyra to get the bath ready for her. At first Kyra didn’t agree, but Y/n was very persistent, so Kyra made her warm bath and left Y/n alone.

Big mistake.

Five minutes after Kyra had closed the bathroom door, she heard a scream. Kyra was sitting out in the hallway like a lost puppy, so It didn’t take her long to get inside the bathroom again.

Unfortunately, the scene Kyra encountered was ugly. Y/n had a white towel wrapped around her body, but she was lying on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Kyra quickly picked Y/n up from the floor and sat her on the toilet. Checking for injuries. “What happened? Where does it hurt? Did you slip?”

Y/n just nodded through her sobs. “I should’ve had li—listened to you.”

She should, Kyra thought, but she wouldn’t say it.

Kyra didn’t want to leave Y/n alone, but she also didn’t want Y/n to feel that she had no privacy or control over her life, especially when Kyra knew Yn was private about her body.

Y/n was always the one to hide behind her lockers in the changing room when she was putting on or taking off her kit, even around their teammates, who were all more than used to seeing each other in underclothes. Kyra had asked Y/n at one of her girls’ nights why she was so shy about it. Y/n just explained that it was the way she was, and Kyra left it at that  

Kyra didn’t know what to say, so she just let Y/n cry on her shoulder. She wasn’t used to seeing Y/n like that. They’d been best friends and teammates for five years now, they’d seen each other on their ups and downs, both on and off the pitch. but Kyra had never seen Y/n this frustrated and angry.

“How about we try again?” Kyra suggested, feeling her heart ache for the girl in front of her. “The water’s still warm; do you want to get in? Or we can wait till tomorrow— it’s your call.”

“I want to take a bath today,” Y/n said. “I still smell like the hospital.”

Kyra smile. “No, you don’t, you smell like buttered popcorn.”

“I don’t think that’s any better,” Y/n murmured.

“It’s not,” Kyra teased. “So, this is my plan…” she continued, saying as if she was planning a football game strategy. “—I’m going to help you into the bath, then you’re going to sit down and I’m gonna lift your leg…you’re already wearing your cast cover, that’s good.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile, Kyra looked adorable with her furrow browns and narrow eyes.

“That’s a good plan,” Y/n agreed. “Now help me, please.” Y/n lifted her arms so Kyra could help her off the toilet.

Kyra did so, her strong arms steadying Y/n until she was at the foot of the tub. “Close your eyes,” Y/n said, shyly

It was true she didn’t like being naked in front of people--some people were comfortable with it, but Y/n just wasn’t. It wasn’t rooted in insecurity or anything; it was just the way she was. But standing there with Kyra, Y/n realised she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she thought she'd be. But she wasn’t sure why.

Of course, they had been friend for years, but she wouldn’t be okay if it was Alessia in the room with her right now. Kyra’s presence just felt different, but Y/n wasn’t sure why.

Maybe the painkiller was messing with the way her brain cells were wired. Which made sense because she was taking ibuprofen, naproxen and hydrocodone. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

Kyra held Y/n’s arm with one hand while dramatically covering her own eyes with the other. If Y/n had been paying attention, she might have notice the way Kyra shallowed hard. “No need to tempt me,” Kyra teased.

Y/n let her towel drop to her feet, feeling secure in Kyra’s strong grip as she lowered herself into the warm bath.

As promised, Kyra carefully lifted Y/n’s injured leg, Kyra’s hand lingering on her cast for a moment too long before pulling away.

The bubbles in the bath concealed most of Y/n’s body, and the berry-like smell scent filled the bathroom. Y/n was sure her skin would be smelling of strawberries until morning.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyra asked, sitting beside the tub.

“Yes. Thank you for helping me—and sorry for all the crying I’ve been doing,” Y/n added sheepishly.

“I always knew you were a softie,” Kyra teased.

Without missing a beat, Y/n splashed water at Kyra’s face.

“Hey! I thought we were making some progress here!” Kyra pouted, glaring at the wet patch spreading across her grey sweater.

“You wish,” Y/n laughed.

..

PART 2 HERE

PART 3 HERE

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

Please like, share and let me know what you think! :D

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Found You First

Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff & humour with a slight side of angst. kind of a slow burn.

Word Count: 17K

Warnings: adult language. alcohol and food mentions galore. Hoshi meddles and creates more problems for everyone involved. reader’s size is not specifically mentioned, but Jihoon and she fit into each other’s clothes. one mention of “daddy” as a joke.

[best friends to lovers!AU] For years you’ve hated Valentine’s day, convinced you’d never find a love worth celebrating. Maybe this year you’ll see that what you needed has been right in front of you all along.

♡ This fic is a part of @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab! Please check out the other writer's works as well! They're all so good and we've all worked so hard!! ♡

[Still don’t know what to get your loved-one for Valentine’s day? We’ve got you covered!]

You stared at your phone, almost praying it would blow up and disappear along with the message. Unfortunately, you still needed your phone and the universe knew it. You sighed and deleted the message.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so bitter every February if the world was a little kinder to single people. After all, at least half the people in the world must be single – whether by choice or not. And yet it seemed that everything in the world was keen on reminding you of how entirely single you specifically were, your sister included.

She all but wrestled the phone out of your hand. “That’s it. I’m signing you up for dating apps.”

“Please don’t,” you replied with only half your usual annoyance and enthusiasm. Maybe a part of you thought this was exactly the push you needed. 

Already nose-deep in the app store, she didn’t even bother to pretend to hear you. 

“This one has good reviews–” she mumbled to herself as if it was her phone all along.

You only hugged a cushion to your chest and stared at the TV. Whatever romantic film your sister had chosen to watch today was not helping your problem. 

“What’s the point? Maybe Soonyoung’s right.”

“Who?” She finally glanced up.

“Soonyoung.”

She blinked. “Is this Soonyoung cute?”

“Can you please stop trying to set me up with every guy you hear about?” You rolled your eyes. “He said that the key to finding love is to first love yourself.”

“That’s, like, basic philosophy,” she replied easily and turned back to your phone. “I need your email and a password– Oh, wait, I can just make something up.”

You were fairly certain she wasn’t listening to a word you were saying but you were past the point of caring. At least talking to a person who isn’t listening is a (small) step above talking to the lonely snake plant on your windowsill. 

“Maybe I should take some time to just find myself,” you contemplated out loud. “I could try a new hobby. Or a new style. Find new books to read. Maybe then I won’t even care that I’m single.”

Still not looking up from the app she had newly installed on your phone, your sister hummed. “One of my friends did say that fictional boyfriends are better than real ones.”

So maybe she was better at multitasking than you had thought.

You put the cushion away and leaned closer to her. “What are you doing on my phone anyway?”

Proudly, she turned the device for you to see. “Ta-da! Your first ever dating app profile!”

A shiver of fear ran up your spine. “You signed me up for a dating app?”

“And you’re not allowed to delete it until you find a boyfriend,” she declared. “And if you do, I’ll just download it again.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Whatever,” she laughed and handed you back the phone, picking up her own from the coffee table. “Oh, I should get going.”

You couldn’t help but pout. “Already? Why?”

She rolled her eyes and went to pull on her coat. “Because, unlike you, I have a boyfriend who wants to take me out on a date. In fact,” she was practically beaming and you felt the ugly green tentacles of jealousy crawling up your leg already, “he’s taking me on a date every day until Valentine’s day.”

A pause. With a startle, you soon realised she was expecting you to cheer for her. You tried to find words that weren’t as bitter as you were feeling. “Oh, that’s so sweet of him.”

It was the right answer. She actually squealed as she confirmed, “Right? He’s such a romantic.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper as she leaned closer to you over the back of the sofa. “I think he’s going to propose on the big day.”

You almost sighed in despair. “I hope so! You deserve that ring.”

“You are so right,” she agreed and opened her mouth to say something more when the door suddenly opened. 

You tilted your head to see who had intruded. It was Jihoon, black hat covered in white snow and a takeaway bag in his hand. He blinked at the sight of your sister before smiling and waving. “Hi. I didn’t know you had visitors.”

“I do have friends other than you, Hoon,” you informed him. “Also, I do have a working doorbell.”

He gave you a funny look. “And I have your spare key.”

It was clear you had made a mistake when you awarded him the honour. Now you were stuck dealing with him even when you didn't want to.

“I’ll leave you two,” your sister announced and left, not before whispering something in Jihoon’s ear in the passing.

Jihoon’s ears turned red as he cleared his throat and set the takeaway bag on the table. 

“What did she tell you?” you asked him with a groan. You knew your sister better than anyone – there was no way she hadn’t told him something so embarrassing you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes for weeks to come. “Lay it on me.”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” His reply was just a little bit too quick and wavering, but you decided to let it go this once. “I brought you some leftovers.”

You raised a brow. “Leftovers?”

“They ordered too much food to the studio today, so I brought you the extras,” he told you almost timidly, gesturing to the bag like it was no big deal and had required zero thought from him. He was a strange man but maybe that’s why you liked to keep him around. “Can’t let the good food go to waste. Besides,” his eyes seemed sharp all of a sudden, “have you eaten at all today?”

He didn’t need an actual answer – you both knew the truth.

“I’ll be sure to savour it,” you told him with a joking salute. “Want to join me for a movie?”

His nose scrunched up at the mention. “I wish. I promised to help Seungkwan set up for the party tonight.”

Right. The party. Seungkwan’s “Jeonghan’s party”. In three hours. You had forced yourself to forget about it. 

Jihoon pursed his lips in thought, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “But we could always pretend we got kidnapped by a serial killer.”

“Sounds like too much work.”

“We escape to Iceland, become anonymous sheep herders and no one ever hears from us again,” he then suggested, snapping his fingers for emphasis and raising his brows as he waited for your reaction.

But as tempting as that sounded… “Seungkwan would find and skin us in fourteen days flat.”

He groaned and threw his head back. “Then I guess we have no choice. We must commit a crime so vile they give us a life sentence.”

“He’d just bring the party to the jailhouse,” you laughed. “And we wouldn’t even be able to sneak out.”

He took a deep breath and straightened back up. “Well, I’m out of ideas. Just plain suffering it is then.”

You glanced at the clock. “It’s not too late to fake our deaths.”

Jihoon snorted a laugh. “You just said that pretending to get kidnapped would be too much work.”

“Faking deaths is different! Or! We could summon a freak storm that would leave us stranded here,” you suggested. 

“How?”

“I’m sure there’s a good Youtube tutorial somewhere.”

He giggled at the idea. “You really don’t want to go to the party, huh?”

You could only sigh and wish for the plush green fabric of the sofa to swallow you whole. “There’s definitely going to be so many couples there, all dressed in matching outfits and giggling and making out. And I’ll be all lonely and miserable, quietly downing all of Seungkwan’s wine.”

When you looked at Jihoon, he was smiling at you almost fondly. He was silent for a while. Then he spoke again, “I’ll keep you company. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not the same,” you whined like a little brat even as his promise made you feel a tiny bit gooey and soft inside. 

“I’m sorry?” He just laughed again and shook his head, the remnants of snow falling onto the floor. “I’m bringing those muffins you like so much.”

You felt yourself perk up immediately. “Muffins? Why didn’t you just say so?”

He laughed harder but said nothing else as he turned and left. You would’ve been upset if you didn’t know him better. 

Your phone chimed with a new notification. 

[Claim your Valentine’s day coupon now and surprise your partner with a free tour of the museum!]

You groaned but didn’t delete the message.

[HOON: if you want to match with someone, I’m wearing red today]

You groaned harder and shut off your phone.

It wasn’t that you actually disliked these parties. You quite liked them, really. Seungkwan had figured out the perfect balance of socialising, snacks and music. It was a joy to be present, hanging out with your friends as you forgot about the problems of the week. 

The only problem was that ever since Seungcheol and Chan had introduced the idea of an annual friendly “Party King” competition, the number of parties you were gently blackmailed to attend had doubled. And, frankly, your social battery was due for an upgrade that never came.

You suspected the same went for Jihoon.

Clad in his dark red hoodie, he joined you on the sofa the moment his eyes caught yours. Sipping his soda and softly singing along to the music, he completely ignored your personal space and made himself comfortable by your side.

“No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend,” Seungkwan joked when he walked past the two of you, a box of party games in his arms. His smile was blinding as he told you, “Your guard dog’s going to scare all of the guys away.”

You blinked in confusion. He nodded to your side. Following the gesture, you found yourself face to face with Jihoon. A groan left your mouth.

“What?” Jihoon wondered. 

“Seungkwan says you’re the reason I’m single.”

He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the fact. “Well, if they want to date you, they have to impress me first.”

You almost felt a little fond of him, appreciating his protectiveness. But you also knew your Jihoon and you knew he wasn’t finished yet.

Under your warning eyes, he took a sip of his soda before smirking. “God knows you wouldn’t recognise a red flag if it slapped you in the face.”

Glancing down at his clothes, you snorted a laugh. “You’re literally dressed as a red flag yourself. I should be avoiding you of all people.”

“No, I’m just warning other people that you are a red flag,” he replied effortlessly, cutting your laugh short. Sensing he was now in real, actual danger, his eyes widened. “That was a joke. Just a joke. I’m sorry–”

You smacked him upside the head and shook your head. “Did someone mix alcohol into the soda? You’re so mean today.”

He blinked once. Twice. Looked into his soda cup. And then cursed. “I knew it tasted funky! Yoon Jeonghan!”

You could only laugh harder as he jumped up from the sofa and ran into the kitchen with fury that could not be matched. Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. Which is precisely why you hardly drank anything at these gatherings. 

Jihoon returned less than two minutes later, two unopened colas in hand. There was still an attitude to his foot stomps and a glint of annoyance in his eyes, but he opened one of the cans before handing it to you like he always did. 

“Not even Jeonghan can tamper with closed cans,” he reasoned almost bitterly. “Who mixes vodka into soda?”

“Lots of people,” you told him with a chuckle and a gentle pat to his shoulder. “It’s called mixing a cocktail.”

He rolled his eyes. “Rude of them to not consider people who don’t drink alcohol.”

“Kind of like it’s rude of them to not consider the single people here,” you half-joked in camaraderie. “Have you noticed they’ve only been playing love songs tonight?”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “Have they?”

You nodded towards the speakers that were blasting Love Me Right. “The last two songs were Lover and Steal the Show.”

He grimaced. “There’s still 12 days left until Valentine’s day. Are they insane?”

“Probably.” You rested your legs onto his lap. “I guess I’ll just be extra bitter and lonely this year then.”

“No shot at romance?”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “You literally just said you’re wearing red to warn others how much of a red flag I am. And now you want me to find romance?”

“I have mixed feelings about you dating,” he told you honestly – a little too honestly, if the red tint of his ears was anything to go by. He cleared his throat. “I should start checking the drinks for alcohol before I drink them.”

Pretending not to notice, you took a sip of your cola. “I keep thinking about what Soonyoung said yesterday. About loving myself before I can find someone.”

“Isn’t that just social media nonsense?” Jihoon wondered quietly, resting his free hand on your knee. His thumb rubbed little circles onto your skin, comforting you.

“What if he’s right?” you continued. “What if I love myself so little that I simply cannot be loved?”

Frowning, Jihoon let out a sharp noise of protest. The gentle touch of his thumb turned into a warning pinch between his fingers. “You are loved! Who put this dumb thought into your mind?”

“... Soonyoung?” 

“I’ll beat him up on Monday,” he half-heartedly promised, a heavy look still on his face. Softening his voice, looking straight into your eyes, he spoke, “Don’t you dare think you cannot be loved. You are loved.”

“By whom?”

He looked away and didn’t say. 

“Whatever,” you sighed once the silence became too much. The speakers began playing Die With a Smile. You sighed once more. “Can’t they play something less romantic? I’d kill for a dumb, mindless party song right now. Do you think you could ask Jeonghan to play something else? He scares me–”

But it seemed that Jihoon was still stuck on the last topic. “What are you doing for Valentine’s day this year?”

“... Aside from crying myself to sleep after watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before for the 15th time?”

“You don’t think you love yourself enough to be loved by someone else,” he echoed your earlier words, his eyes stuck on something in the distance, “so why not change that? Treat yourself to something good this year. No sad movies and ice cream,” he finally looked at you again, “just do something you’ve always wanted to do.”

You knew he was right – he always was right. “But it’s boring to do that alone.”

“Then I’ll come with,” he decided after a moment of thought. A small smile appeared on his face. His thumb finally resumed its circles on your knee. It was sweet. Until he opened his mouth again, repeating the words playing on the stereo: “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

To the sound of his giggles, you snorted and slapped his hand away. “You’re awful.”

“I’m serious–”

“Aren’t you two just the cutest!” Jeonghan interrupted your banter with a childish pout on his rosy lips as he leaned against the wall across from the table. Soonyoung was smiling brightly at his side. “Are you dating yet?”

You wondered if he was done asking that at every party yet. It’s not like it was ever going to change (no matter how much he, Soonyoung, and your mother hoped it would).

Jihoon sat up, narrowed eyes settling on Jeonghan as if he was the devil himself. “Did you mix vodka into the soda?”

“Maybe,” came the reply with a shrug and a wicked giggle. 

“I could get you a boyfriend for Valentine’s day,” Soonyoung suddenly said, his brown eyes set on you. There was that glint of mischief again. You realised you feared this man more than you feared bears, and not for the usual reasons.

Even so, you laughed. “Soonyoung, if you were any good at being a wingman, Jihoon wouldn’t be single right now. In fact, you’re, like, the number one reason why he’s single.”

Forgetting his own argument with Jeonghan, Jihoon seemed to take offense to your statement. He let out a noise of hurt before pinching your knee once again.

“Au contraire, my friend,” Soonyoung argued and leaned so close that you could smell the raspberry-flavoured liquor in his breath, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”

You raised a brow. “Remember, just last week you told a girl Jihoon’s not into women when she asked if he was single.”

“I was drunk,” he told you, wearing a mask of nonchalance. “I don’t remember much from that night.”

“Or the time I got a girl’s number but you stole it and dropped it in the pool,” Jihoon pointed out with a smile that seemed almost venomous. You had no doubt he’d hold that mishap over Soonyoung’s head for the rest of their lives – you almost hoped he would.

Soonyoung had the decency to look a little deflated at the mention, at least. But even so there was no stopping him. Mumbling under his breath, he repeated himself, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”

You shared a look with Jihoon and mutually decided to forget this exchange.

When you were sixteen, Jihoon’s dad let you in on a little secret. He had peeked out of the kitchen to make sure his son wouldn’t hear and then he’d told you that Jihoon had set his phone up so that he would never miss your calls. He thought it was the most adorable thing, and so did you. 

You hadn’t even realised your phone’s Do Not Disturb setting had an option to do so but suddenly you were giddy, excited to set your phone up in a similar manner. And when you didn’t quite manage to figure it out, you decided to compromise and just make his ringtone the loudest one you could find. It worked just the same for you.

You’ve had many phones since then, but the ringtone never changed. 

Though you were no longer sure if it was the obnoxiousness of the ringtone itself or the muscle memory of answering so many calls from him late at night, it never failed to wake you up when he needed you. 

Once again you woke up to the noise, hand automatically reaching for your phone even though your eyes were still closed and your mind was still halfway lost in dreamland. 

“Jihoon?” you mumbled his name as if his ringtone hadn’t been burnt into your memory.

The other line was silent for a moment. Then you heard a soft sigh. “Sorry. Did I wake you up again?”

“No,” you lied, dragging the vowel out as much as you could to loosen up your vocal cords. “What’s up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare, stress or boredom?”

“... All three?”

“You have to pick one.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

He groaned but it was soon followed by a soft laugh. “Do you remember when we were kids and I threw that ball into Mr Yang’s window?”

Weird change of topic, you thought, but Jihoon did love to reminisce. So you humored him. “You mean the time he yelled at you so hard that you cried?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “And then you told me he deserved to have his window broken. And you built a pillow fort in your closet for me to hide so my parents couldn’t find and scold me.”

“It had world-class security,” you joked. “Buddy and I were a trusty team.”

But it was like he hadn’t heard your interjection, too lost in his own memory book. 

“You hid in there with me and hugged me when my mom came to get me,” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “You know, she wasn’t even that mad at me. I only had to do the dishes for a week.”

“You were just a kid and she knew that,” you spoke so softly that you wondered if he even heard you this time. The shared memory of the day ran in front of your eyes. It was a simpler time but even back then you had been ready to do anything for him.

Silence engulfed the two of you, only the gentle static of the phones reminding you of the other still being there. Ten whole minutes went by like this and for a moment you wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“I should go to sleep,” you spoke low in case he really was asleep. “I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

He hummed. “Why?”

“I’m going to a museum and I want to leave by 10. So I should get up before 9. And it’s already almost 3 am, so you know…”

“Since when is 9 am early?” he half-joked before suggesting, “Just go later.”

“I’m a woman of principles, Lee Jihoon. When I have plans, I see them through.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Liar. Remember that novel you said you were going to write?”

“No clue what you’re talking about,” you feigned innocence, “and you have no proof.”

His laugh sounded like he was sitting right next to you. You silently thanked the wonders of modern technology. 

As you prepared to say good night, you heard his voice again. “You remember the thing Soonyoung said yesterday? About finding you a boyfriend?”

You scoffed. “You don’t think he was serious about that, right? He was just joking, being Soonyoung.”

“Right. Right…” He sounded distant again, like he was in a daze, as he spoke, “Do you think– Have you ever wondered if—” He groaned and you could practically see him scrunching his eyes shut in frustration. “Nevermind, it’s dumb. Sleep must be sneaking up on me.”

You hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath. It came out in a not entirely genuine laugh. “Maybe we should both go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. “You’re right, like always.”

“Always?” you teased.

“... Well, maybe not always.”

“You can’t take it back now,” you whined through laughter. “You almost never compliment me or my choices.”

He took a breath like he was about to say something. But nothing came out. Only a sigh. Then the phone call ended without another word – the way Jihoon liked it.

You rolled over to your side, reaching to put your phone away again when it buzzed. The screen lit up with a message. 

[Hoon: if I complimented you and all of your good choices, it would take forever.]

Crawling out of the comfort of your bed on one of your few days off, you wondered if the art of loving yourself was really worth the effort. 

As usual, half an hour was spent on reading the news and watching videos you weren’t entirely interested in. Another half an hour went by as you stared at the ceiling and contemplated your life decisions until you finally found the willpower to shower, get dressed, and eat a quick breakfast.

By 10, you were starting to feel like a human-being again, so you grabbed your keys and bag, and you walked out of your apartment. 

“You said you wanted to leave by 10,” Jihoon’s voice nearly shocked you into running back to your room. He was the dictionary definition of nonchalance as he stood in front of your door, barely even lifting his head, trying to read something off his phone. “It’s already 10:04, slowpoke. Are you ready to go yet?”

You stared at him for a while. Why was he here? Had you invited him along? No, you were sure you hadn’t. And then your jaw dropped as his words sunk in. “You’re the reason I stayed up until 3!”

“And to make up for it, I already sacrificed my arm by cleaning the snow off your car. You’re welcome. Let’s go.”

He never once looked up from his phone as he headed back down the stairs. You could only laugh in disbelief and lock your door before following after him. 

“Why are you here anyways?” you finally asked when the two of you reached your car which had, indeed, been brushed clean of snow. “I was going to go alone.”

Jihoon shrugged. “I was bored.”

“You were bored and just invited yourself along?” You wished you had that kind of audacity. 

The car seemed to be colder than the weather itself. You involuntarily shivered as you pulled the door closed behind yourself. Jihoon let out a noise of complaint as he settled into his usual spot in the leather passenger seat. Envy filled you as he adjusted himself and burrowed further into his warm fleece jacket. 

In an act of something akin to revenge, you tossed him your phone. “Read the directions. If I miss a turn because of you, I’m making you pay for my coffee.”

“Yes, captain,” he joked and turned the heat up to the maximum. One could only pray that your car’s battery would survive the trip. “Are we making any stops on the way?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You really weren’t. It was just a 70-minute drive to the museum – adding to the duration really wasn’t on your bucket list – but knowing Jihoon, not stopping for snacks was simply not an option. The deepening pout and his wide eyes were enough indication that you were right to assume so – he only ever used his cuter side to win. A deep sigh bubbled in your throat. Through gritted teeth you spoke, “But I suppose we could squeeze in a quick stop.”

He let out the tiniest cheer and happily gave the first instruction: “We need to go right, turn left at the intersection and then–” A noise of curiosity. “A Hyunjin wants to know if you have any pets? I guess?”

You frowned. There wasn’t a single Hyunjin you could think of. “Hyunjin?”

“That’s what it says,” he told you with a shrug. “He also wants to know how you feel about… ferrets.”

You weren’t entirely sure what that was about. “Just ignore it. Where to next?”

“Uh,” he vocalised, “right again.”

“Why did we even turn left then?” 

He chuckled. “I’m just telling you what the app says.”

“Whatever. Next?”

“Just keep going straight. We should reach the highway in, like, fifteen minutes.” 

Fifteen minutes straight through the busiest part of the city? You regretted your museum plans already. Should’ve just stayed at home and watched Youtube the whole day. There was a sneaking suspicion that even if you had watched traffic camera livestreams, you would’ve seen fewer red lights.

While you painstakingly stared at the lights, praying for them to turn green already, you noticed Jihoon happily scrolling through your phone. Your hand rose and somewhat forcefully landed on his thigh in a warning gesture. “Stay out of my private messages, creep.”

“Why would I want to read your private messages?” he half-joked and made a face that made you roll your eyes. “By the way, your mom said to bring tiramisu cake to dinner on Friday.”

Defeated, you sighed. “Tell her I’ve got it covered. What’s the occasion?”

“She wouldn’t tell.”

“You’re chatting with her right now?”

He smiled at you like it was obvious. “She’s my mother too.”

“Stop. That’s gross.”

“Also, who’s Andrew?” he then asked, smile dropping.

Another name you weren’t sure could be associated with yours. “Who?”

“An Andrew Johnson,” he slowly read the screen. “He wants to know what your favourite colour is.” His head whipped up just as you pressed the accelerator. “What’s with all these weird chats? You don’t seem to know these people?”

Desperately, you tried to recall a Hyunjin or an Andrew. You had no recollection of either. And somehow the list only seemed to grow with Jihoon calling out a new name and question at what felt like every minute: “Jongho just sent the cringiest pick-up line I’ve ever read”, “Joshua wants you to know that you have a typo in your profile”, “Minjae asked if you prefer walks on beaches or forest hikes”. 

Each notification made you more confused than the one before and soon you felt your brain would melt.

You finally had enough of the confusion when he said, “Turn right. I want a burrito. Also, Chanyeol says you look hot in your profile picture.”

“What profile picture?” you nearly cried out as you slammed the brakes in front of the gas station. “What is going on?”

Jihoon looked just as disheartened and puzzled as you felt, if not even more so. He unbuckled his seatbelt like it had been trapping him and threw your phone back to you for inspection like it was burning hot. He was already halfway through the door when you caught your bearings again. “You want anything?”

“Just a coffee,” you told him, barely paying half a mind to the conversation as you scrolled through your notifications. 

You barely noticed he left when you tapped on one of the notifications showcasing an unfamiliar name, a message and a photo of a handsome man. The screen opened on an app you had barely any recollection of ever downloading. A familiar ‘swipe left or right’ homescreen made you groan and shut your eyes as you locked the phone and tried your hardest to pretend this wasn’t real. 

Minutes passed in blissful almost-ignorance. You felt at almost-peace. It was almost nice.

Until Jihoon arrived once again, two burritos, a water and a coffee in hand, and a scowl on his face. 

“Did you figure out who those guys are yet?” he asked and for a moment you thought he sounded bitter. 

You didn’t have any sighs left in you, so you just grabbed a burrito and the coffee. “Yep.”

He raised a brow while he silently took the burrito back and handed you the other one instead. “So?”

You frowned at his actions. “Did you just swap the–”

“You wouldn’t like this one,” he said and took a pointed bite out of the burrito. “So, the mystery men?”

There it was: the last sigh you could force out of yourself. It didn’t feel anywhere as freeing as you hoped it would. “My sister got a hold of my phone the other day and downloaded a dating app. I think she might’ve messaged a few guys she thought I’d like.”

“You don’t seem happy about it.” You barely understood his words with his mouth so full of food. 

“I don’t really believe in dating apps working, you know,” you told him honestly and took a bite of your own burrito. Your eyes closed in bliss – you should’ve trusted Jihoon’s judgement from the start. “This is so good.”

“I know,” he replied with a knowing half-smile that disappeared as fast as it appeared. “If you don’t believe in the app, just delete it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Made a promise to not uninstall it.”

Your phone made the executive decision to light up with another notification just then. Jihoon tilted his head to read it and carefully voiced out the message: “Seungho says your eyes look as pretty as the starry night sky– Okay, that’s just cheesy.” 

Brows furrowed and nose scrunched up in disgust, he grabbed the phone, unlocking it with ease (you had only half a memory of ever giving him the password), and scrolled through the apps until he found the culprit. 

“I’m uninstalling it,” he told you when he felt your curious eyes on him. 

Your eyes widened at their own accord. “You can’t. I promised my sister–”

“Lucky for you, she’s not my sister,” Jihoon says as he swiftly uninstalled the app and brought peace into your life once again. His frown turned into a proud smile as he handed the phone back to you. “You’re welcome.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, confused. “Did you really just–?”

“Anything for you.” He said it with the uttermost seriousness. “If she tries that again, tell her she’ll have to deal with me first.”

Shaking off the odd wave of appreciation you felt for this man – your best friend, you reminded yourself –, you settled back down in your seat. You stared out the window for a while, slowly devouring your burrito. 

Head whipping around to stare at him in disbelief, you jolted upright again. “Wait, so my mom is your mom, but my sister is not your sister?!”

He was too busy enjoying his food (and accomplishments) to ever reply.

The banners of the café were mocking you.

Bright reds and pinks snickered as you walked past. Papers cut into perfect little hearts flew past your head, giggling as if they were better than you.

“Happy Valentine’s day!” they all said, side-eyeing you while you resisted the urge to commit your first arson. 

“When was the last time you ate something other than candy?” is all that Jihoon said in reply when you told him such. 

You spared a glare at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “You just tend to get a little…” he hummed in thought, glancing up at the sky as if he was expecting a dictionary to drop from a cargo plane any second now, “imaginative when you’ve had too much sugar.”

“I’m always imaginative.”

“It was not a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes in response and opened the door. “You can say what you want but I know for a fact that this whole holiday was invented to make fun of me.”

It didn’t take much to figure out that the pensive scrunch of his nose, the narrowing of his eyes and the tilt of his head meant that he was holding back a question that would probably end with one of you in the ER and the other in a police car. You decided the look alone was enough to warrant slamming the café door closed in front of his face and marched up to the register. His loud laughter taunted you as you did so; not even the thick walls of Soonyoung’s mother’s café could muffle the sound.

You didn’t bother to turn around to look at him as the bell chimed and Jihoon walked right up, taking his usual spot next to you, the remnants of laughter still on his tongue. “I will never get your deal with Valentine’s day, I swear.”

“There’s no deal. Only hatred. Even loathing, if you will.”

“I’ll make sure to ask Soonyoung to make your coffee as dark as your soul then,” he promised with a cheeky grin. The list of crimes you wished to commit on this day was growing by the second – he knew damn well to not come between you and your vanilla mocha latte.

“Anyways,” you sighed theatrically, “can’t Valentine’s day be over already?”

“I sure hope not,” Soonyoung’s bright voice sounded as he practically danced out of the backrooms, “our sales are always the best on Valentine’s day. So, what can I get you two?”

Why did everything have to be Valentine’s themed anyway? And so expensive? The new higher price of the chocolate muffins had you absolutely appalled.

Your bitter thoughts were interrupted by a nudge to your side. “What do you want?”

A new wave of confusion hit. “Since when do you ask that?”

“You’re acting like I order at random,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “They don’t have your usual waffles.”

You were even more appalled. Absolutely horrified, really. “They don’t have waffles?! What kind of a café doesn’t have waffles?!”

“We have waffles!” Soonyoung seemed offended by your best friend’s claim, a pout on his lips as he stood at the counter in his red apron (and was his name tag heart-shaped? (You could’ve sworn it was just a rectangle last week)). 

Who were you supposed to believe? Soonyoung who worked at the café and was too earnest to ever really lie to you? Or Jihoon who sometimes lied to you just to have a laugh? You were leaning towards the former, and Jihoon could read it from your face.

He groaned. “Fine, I’ll get you your pink heart-shaped waffles.”

The use of emphasis was not accidental and his brows rose in challenge, daring you to agree to his absolutely horrifying order.

“Heart-shaped?” You prayed he was joking. 

Turning to face Soonyoung, you found yourself disappointed to realise he wasn’t. With a bright, proud smile on his face, Soonyoung nodded. “We’re switching up the menu for the holiday.”

Single and lonely as you were, you could think of few things less appetizing than pink heart-shaped waffles. Biting back a whine of frustration, you leaned your forehead onto Jihoon’s shoulder and mumbled, “Just get me anything but that.”

You realised your mistake almost as soon as you said those words. Eyes widening, you pushed yourself back upright and tried to stop him as he placed an order for cinnamon rolls and a Nuts About You praline latte with a wicked grin on his face. You both knew exactly what he was doing and he found great amusement in your misery.

“Perfect–,” Soonyoung started, already clicking away to add your order.

You interrupted with a rather loud, “I do not want that!”

Jihoon’s lips quirked. “Why not? Too nutty for you?”

“I just don’t want it,” you declared, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “Just because.”

He pretended to roll his eyes before turning to Soonyoung again, “She’ll have a Cupid’s Special Never Bean Kissed instead.”

“We’re no longer friends, Lee Jihoon.”

The stupid smile didn’t leave his face. “You don’t want me to pay for lunch?”

Second mistake of the day. You groaned and his laughter filled the store as you did so. 

“Your food should be ready soon. Are you paying together or separately?” Before you could answer, Soonyoung added – and you could’ve sworn his eyes glinted with something not entirely wholesome –, “If you say you’re a couple, I can give you a 20% discount and two slices of cake for free. This goes until February 15th.” 

You and Jihoon stared at him dumbfounded. 

He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to assume.”

“What about this–” Jihoon widely gestured to the both of you, appearing equally baffled, “–says ‘might be a couple’?”

Soonyoung shrugged once more and put on a wide smile. “Are you?”

“No!”

“Worth a shot,” he sighed, his smile never fading. “You two could pull off being a couple though.”

“Why are we friends with you again?”

“Because you love me.” Your scrunched up face must have seemed doubtful enough because he soon added, “And my mom makes me give you employee discounts.”

“Exactly why does he keep offering us the couples’ discount every year?” Jihoon wondered under his breath two minutes later while practically throwing himself onto the chair across from yours. “He knows we’re both single.”

“Maybe he’s trying to play matchmaker,” you joked, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the plate he’d placed on the table. “You know, to set us up or something.”

Jihoon caught your eyes. A moment of silence passed as you contemplated your words. 

Then he shook his head and huffed. “He’s not dumb enough for that.”

“No, you’re right.” You took a bite and almost moaned at the taste – Soonyoung’s mother had a knack for baked goods. “God, this is so good– Besides,” you quickly returned to the topic, “I think he might have been right last time.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the whole ‘you have to love yourself to be loved by someone else’,” you reminded him with a shrug. “I’ve been trying to do things for myself this week and it’s actually been so nice.”

“Things like what?” he wondered, grabbing a cinnamon roll as well.

“Well, the museum visit, for one. I got a text about it and thought ‘I don’t have anyone to take with me, but I might as well go for myself’, so I went and it was actually really nice,” you pointed out. “Freeing, in a way.”

He blinked. “I was literally with you the entire day.”

“You’re practically attached to me,” you joked with a dismissive wave of your hand. “It doesn’t count.”

“Your coffee’s ready!” Soonyoung appeared at the table with two cups. He placed one in front of you, keeping the other in a flimsy grip in his other hand as he did so. 

Before you could comment on it, the other cup dropped from his hand with a loud gasp and an apology.

“I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung was reaching for tissues before you could even comprehend what had happened. 

Then you felt your suddenly cold button-up shirt press and stick to your skin. Glancing down, you cursed under your breath and reached for a handful of tissues of your own, starting to dab away at the spots of coffee on your white shirt.

“Should’ve known something like this would happen,” you spoke through gritted teeth as Soonyoung’s lips kept spilling apologies after apologies. “This is why I never wear white.”

Jihoon sat frozen on his chair, wide eyes wildly switching between you trying to clean your shirt, and Soonyoung, practically on his knees, wiping the floor. Eventually, he settled on watching you.

Your desperate clean-up attempt soon slowed. It was no use. You didn’t possess the magic necessary to get an iced americano out of the white fabric. 

“Can I do anything…?” Jihoon asked softly.

“Nothing short of finding me a new shirt to wear,” you told him with a laugh that had no joy in it. You still had four hours of work left and you were certain your boss would have a word with you for the accidental dress code violation – wearing clean clothes was, after all, written in bold on the first page of the employee handbook.

He frowned. “I could give you my hoodie to cover-up?”

You perked up at the idea. “Would you?”

He snorted a laugh. “Is that really a question?” 

Without another word, he sat upright and pulled on the hem of his black hoodie, revealing a grey t-shirt under it. It took him a few seconds and some noises of struggling (that you suspected he only made to cheer you up), and then he handed the hoodie to you. 

It was warm to the touch and smelled like your best friend when you pulled it over your head. Your day was better immediately.

“It feels like a hug,” you mumbled without really meaning to.

Jihoon’s breath seemed to get caught in his throat at that exact moment. He coughed twice before humming, “You say the weirdest things.”

Thursdays are movie nights. No matter the situation, no matter your feelings, Jihoon and you would buy copious amounts of snacks and gather at either of your apartments to watch a movie together.

“We’re not watching The Lion King,” he declared while hauling your giant grocery bag up the stairs (he’d insisted it was easier to just stuff everything into a giant bag than to carry several bags; who were you to try and stop him?). “I don’t feel like crying today.”

“You never cry anyway,” you grumbled and supported the bag from underneath. There was just the tiniest tear in its side and you were growing wary. There was only one more flight of stairs to go.

He stopped and turned his head to glare back at you. “Are you suggesting I’m a monster? Who doesn’t cry during The Lion King?”

“You,” you supplied with an innocent smile and pushed at the bottom of the bag to urge him forward. “If you don’t want to watch The Lion King, then pick something better. I dare you.”

“Captain America.”

“I’m locking you outside,” you replied with a scoff. “You can sleep on the doormat, or maybe Ms. Kim will be merciful and give you one of her dog beds.”

“Can you stop acting like you don’t enjoy Marvel movies?” he wondered. “Or would that break your programming?”

As you arrived on your floor, you told yourself it was not worth the fight. You reached into your pocket to pull out the keys, ignoring Jihoon’s groans of exhaustion as you slowly and meticulously pressed the key into the hole. But when you began to turn it, the door handle tilted downwards and the door opened.

You blinked in surprise as Yoon Jeonghan gently ushered you out of the way so he could leave. He wore a pleasant smile as he opened the door wider to let you into your own apartment. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you found your voice again.

He shrugged. “Wanted to see if you had any of that good ramyeon.” When you lifted a puzzled brow, he victoriously held up three packets of your favourite ramyeon. “I’ll be taking these. Thank you for being such a good friend!”

While you searched for words to say, he rushed down the stairs. He was still in hearing range when your brain kicked into gear and you called out, “How’d you get inside?!”

“Stole Jihoon’s key!” came a joyous reply from three stories below. 

Beside you, Jihoon let out a loud groan of frustration, brows knitted and nose scrunched. “That son of a bi–.”

“I was looking forward to that ramyeon!” you whined and stomped into your apartment, pulling your best friend after you by the sleeve.

Lost in noodle-grief, you burrowed into the sofa cushions as he placed down the bag and began rummaging through the two drawers you had so kindly surrendered to him and his clothes. You watched as he closed the drawers with a defeated short hum and opened your closet instead. It didn’t alarm you – it hadn’t in years. 

“Why are your shirts so much nicer than mine?” he suddenly asked, pulling off his crispy black button-up shirt to replace it with your favourite white t-shirt.

Momentarily you were brought back to reality just to reply with a short and simple: “Because I actually pay attention to what I buy from the store?”

His head turned just to give you good-natured glare. It soon gave way to a mischievous smirk – one crafted to annoy you. “Why would I do that when I can just borrow your clothes?”

“One day I’m going to take away your closet privileges,” you lazily vowed. 

He stuck his tongue out. You always did bring the more mature side of him out.

As you turned on the TV – one that came with your studio apartment and would have been entirely useless if not for the movie nights –, Jihoon threw himself into the cushions next to you.

Taking advantage of your state of not-quite-being-there, Jihoon stole the remote. When you whined and tried to get it back, he laughed and pushed you away with his free hand. While you fought to get the remote, the TV began playing yet another Marvel movie. 

The opening credits began playing and you only knew it was Iron Man because he’d made you watch this movie a thousand times. You wanted to argue but the movie nights had one unbreakable rule: once a movie starts playing, there’s no changing it. 

“Seriously?” you groaned and threw your head back against the backrest of the sofa. 

Like the TV, the green sofa had also been in the apartment for as long as you knew. You had always thought it to be a rather cosy and perfect lounging spot. Slowly, however, you were realising it had its flaws, the worst one being that with Jihoon’s manspreading habit, there simply wasn’t enough space.

“Move,” you nudged his leg that was leaning too close to yours for comfort. “Hoon, you’re on my side of the sofa.”

He only nudged your leg back with a laugh. “Since when?”

“Since ten minutes ago,” you declared, pushing back harder. “And stop manspreading. That’s rude. You’re taking up all of the space.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice to guests?” he teased, leaning even closer with his whole body now until his chin rested on your shoulder. 

You found yourself pleasantly surprised by his warmth. It was cold outside, you reasoned with yourself, of course you were enjoying any warmth you could get your hands on. Besides, it wasn’t often that Jihoon burrowed this close to you. You were bound to find joy in his rare act of affection.

Your joy was short-lived though because it was only now that you noted (with slight to moderate annoyance) that he had stolen a coke from your fridge. You scoffed.

“You’re hardly a guest. A parasite is more likely.”

As more and more of his weight pressed onto you, you groaned in pain. He only laughed at your misery. 

“You steal my clothes. You steal my space. You use me as your personal cushion,” you counted. “Does your audacity have no limits?”

He paused, lips pursing as he thought for a moment. Then he smiled brightly. “No.”

It took all your strength to push him off you. He had the gall to giggle the whole way, and you soon found yourself laughing along with him. 

“You’re awful,” you told him with an affectionate grin. Your efforts of moving him were in vain and he happily rested his head on your shoulder, occasionally slurping his (formerly your) coke. You tried really hard not to think of how awfully domestic this position would’ve looked to a stranger.

“You’re not allowed to complain,” he eventually told you. “You’re the one that stole my hoodie yesterday.”

You gasped, appalled by his accusation. “You offered!”

“I was practically blackmailed,” he spoke loudly as if announcing it to a theatre of people. “What choice did I have?”

“Maybe I need to do this self-love journey just so I’ll have someone who actually loves me and isn’t faking it to be a drama queen,” you concluded with a theatrical sigh. 

Jihoon laughed and nudged your side. “No way. You’re stuck with me no matter what.”

And you appreciated that. You really did. But. There was always a but.

“How am I supposed to learn to love myself more anyway?” you wondered, leaning into the cushions as well as his warmth, angling your body to enjoy the benefits of both. “I socialised at Seungkwan’s party. I went to a museum. I feel like I love myself enough. What else can I do?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something that says I’m unapologetically me,” you said thoughtfully, trying to think of something. You weren’t entirely sure it had anything to do with self-love. Really, it was probably more-so to avoid your loneliness on Valentine’s day. “Something I’ll enjoy but find a little challenging, so when I’m done with it I’ll feel pride.”

“You could order your own coffee for a change.”

Dreams shattered, you let out a scoff. “I would but you never let me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed readily, “you always get the same thing anyway.”

“Well, what if I wanted to try something different?”

“You snooze, you lose. Just be glad I pay for your lunch.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

Silence. Long and awkward (just how you liked it) as you watched his reddening face with a wicked grin. This is what he got for being mean and useless. Finally, he ran a rough hand over his face and declared, “That’s it. You can pay for your own lunch from now on.”

“Oh no, how will I live,” you bemoaned, fully aware that he’d never let you pay for your own meals. “I’m still open to ideas though. I need something to do.”

Jihoon offered a mocking smile. “Well, you didn’t like my idea, so–”

“Please,” you begged, tugging at his shirt with one hand. “Anything. Please. Tell me to read The Odyssey. To start a charity. To paint an overcomplicated mural–”

Clearly uninterested in the topic at hand, he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “Is it just me or is it cold in here?”

Now that he mentioned it, your hands were feeling a little freezing. Just a bit. And your toes felt like they’d been on an ice block this whole time.  You frowned. 

“No, you’re right,” you realised and jumped up to check the thermostat. It proudly showcased the number 10. You hurriedly set it to a higher heat. 10 degrees was not enough to keep you alive, you feared. 

“Someone’s messed with my thermostat,” you told him as you returned to the sofa. “This old building gets cold so fast.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed in thought. “You don’t think…”

“What?” you wondered, pressing closer to him in an effort to get warm again. The world off the sofa was far worse than you had anticipated and now you were forced to shiver as you waited for Jihoon’s natural warmth to reach you as well. You felt your eyes widen as the pieces clicked into place. “Jeonghan?”

“He was acting suspicious,” he confirmed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you closer. 

Though you found yourself wanting to purr in bliss, you told yourself he only did so because he felt sorry for you – you never were built for the cold climate. Making a mental note to fight Jeonghan the next time you saw him was the best distraction you had.

Minutes passed in silence, par the movie playing in the background. You weren’t sure either of you were focused on it. But the rule stood and neither of you dared to be the first one to break it. So you remained right there, in his arms, unable to think about anything other than your vengeance plan and Jihoon’s embrace.

It was warmer now. Whether it was the doing of your apartment’s heating or Jihoon holding you like you were his lifeline, you were too comfortable to contemplate. The soft chimes of dreamland were calling you now.

“You know,” Jihoon spoke, voice low and gravelly, “they say cuddling helps to preserve heat.”

You knew it was just a dumb excuse. You knew you should’ve poked his side and made a joke about him using you for his personal gain. But as you pressed your cheek against his chest and wrapped your arms around his frame just a little tighter, you forgot all about it. 

By the time you remembered to argue, you felt your eyes getting heavy and his heartbeat slowing down under your ear. 

You hadn’t disliked Seungkwan’s parties all that much last week or the week before that. But this was getting excessive – even Seungcheol had said so, but Seungkwan listened to no one. Seungkwan, you see, had a goal and no one could dissuade him from reaching it.

“I think at this point they have no choice but to crown him the party king,” Jihoon mused, once again sitting by your side on the sofa as the two of you watched the party host gloat about his impeccable party streak. “It’s quantity over quality.”

Taking a sip from your soda, you hummed in agreement. “If nothing else, they should crown him for all the effort alone. Have any of the others even planned any parties yet?”

“I think Seungcheol’s planning the Valentine’s day Party with Soonyoung.”

You nodded. “I’m definitely going to be sick for that one.”

“You’re going to have to pick a different excuse,” Jihoon pointed out with a chuckle. “You’ve pulled the flu excuse four times already this year. They’re getting suspicious.”

“Join me in becoming sheep farmers in Iceland?”

“If Seungkwan would find us in 14 days, Seungcheol would find us in half that,” he told you and you weren’t entirely sure he was joking. 

You sighed. “Do you have to ruin all of my dreams?”

He laughed and nudged your shoulder. It was only recently that you’d noticed how often he did that. You hadn’t seen him do it to his other friends, now that you thought about it. It was always him and you. Perhaps, you thought, you had finally discovered his love language.

You noted with glee that he did it again, this time so slightly you almost didn’t feel it. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” you wondered, unable to think of anything you had done to warrant those words.

The room seemed to get brighter, lit up by a radiant magical glow, as his face broke out into a wide smile. “For staying sober with me. I think I’d go insane here if you didn’t.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic. You’d live,” you told him and took a sip of your cola as you surveyed the room, taking note of your friends’ antics. “I’m not entirely sure about the others, but you would live.”

He burst out laughing at your words as if it was the funniest joke in the world (it really wasn’t; you had elicited far colder responses to far funnier jokes but you appreciated the enthusiasm). “You’re probably right. But still,” he took a calming breath, a bright grin still on his face, “I’m glad to have you with me. I can’t imagine you have much fun sitting here with a sober me when you could be doing drunk karaoke with Joshua and Jihyo.” 

You were about to tell him there was no place you’d rather be when Vernon appeared from what you could only assume was the shadows and gave the two of you that blank helpless wide-eyed look of his. 

You and Jihoon sighed in unison.

“What is it this time?” he wondered, already adjusting his sleeves and flexing his fingers in preparation for whatever herculean task awaited him.

The reply was short and laconic. “The fridge is being weird.”

Jihoon offered you a look that told you he couldn’t have cared less about the decade-old fridge Jeonghan had wrestled out from some old lady’s hands at the second-hand store. It wasn’t his property. It had, in fact, absolutely nothing to do with him because he didn’t live here. 

“Just go,” you laughed and waved him away, earning a look of betrayal. “The child won’t leave you alone if you don’t help him.”

“I’m not a repair guy,” he told you with a mild glare before groaning once more and finally getting up. From his new higher vantage point, he could look right into your empty cup and roll his eyes as if he didn’t want to say the words he’d utter next: “I’ll get you a new drink while I’m gone.”

You sent him off with a grateful smile and a plan to conquer the space he’d left behind. Your feet would thank you for the gentle stretch of being rested on the sofa and you could already practically hear the odes they’d sing to you. But then, as fast as the spot beside you became empty, it immediately was filled again. 

“I’m sorry if this upsets you,” a girl you vaguely knew by the name of Yeonmi spoke as she slumped into the free space Jihoon had left, slurring her words, “but I’m going to marry him.”

You quirked a brow. “Who? Vernon?”

“No!” She pointed at your best friend. “Him! Jihoon!”

You suddenly wondered if you were hallucinating this entire interaction. You blinked once, and then once more, before turning your head to look. Certainly Yeonmi was drunk off her ass and had mistaken him for someone else! Or maybe you yourself were drunk – who’s to say Jeonghan hadn’t mixed vodka into the soda once again? He’d done it before, more than twice.

But then you saw: Jihoon stood at the kitchen aisle. Laughing at what appeared to be the funniest joke in the world, he passed bottles of water around for his drunk friends. One by one, they accepted their bottles with grateful glee and promises to never drink again. 

Then, whining something about how he’s not that drunk yet, Seungcheol tried to push the bottle away and your best friend’s grin morphed into a short-lived frown as he smacked him across the back of his head with the very same bottle and forced it into his hand. Just like that Jihoon’s smile returned as Seungcheol’s pout only pursed out more.

As you began to laugh at the scene, you suddenly remembered why you’d looked over in the first place. Brows furrowing, your head snapped to glare at Yeonmi once again. “You want to marry him?!”

You weren’t entirely sure why the idea irritated you as much as it did. Maybe Jeonghan actually had mixed something into the soda. You certainly had no other reason to be so irate by the concept of Jihoon marrying someone. 

“Absolutely,” Yeonmi mumbled, gaze stuck as if Jihoon was a beautiful mirage that would disappear if she took her eyes off of him. She took a sip of her cocktail, unaware of the scathing look of disapproval she was on the receiving end of. “Isn’t he just perfect?”

Fighting to keep your irrational temper in check, you took a deep breath. “Since when do you like him like that?”

“Today.”

“What?”

Yeonmi must have taken the growing volume of your voice for a sign of excitement because she quickly added, “I think we’ll get married tomorrow.”

“You can’t marry him,” you told her without as much as a scoff. It wasn’t a joke. It was not a threat. It was a clear-cut fact of life. To you it was anyway.

Finally, Yeonmi tore her attention away from him and stared at you, blinking her saddened puppy-dog eyes. “Why not?”

You didn’t have a reason. Not a very good one anyway. “You just can’t.”

“But I want to!” She continued pouting. You noted with glee that it was the alcohol talking. Sober Yeonmi would never do this to you. But sober Yeonmi was far gone – six beers deep gone. “Why can’t I marry him?”

Unfortunately, drunk Yeonmi was far less reasonable than you knew sober Yeonmi to be. You had to think long and hard about your words if you wanted to put this conversation to rest soon. “Because he–”

“Who’s marrying who?” Seokmin stumbled into the conversation and onto the sofa, settling right between the two of you like a rather ill-fitting puzzle piece. A drink in his hand, a backwards cap askew on his head, and a comically large tiger plushie under his arm (one you could practically hear Soonyoung already frantically searching for), he stared at you two in child-like excited wonder. 

You almost had a spark of hope – could this be your saving grace? your ticket out of this conversation that was irritating you for reasons outside of your comprehension? – until you realised that Seokmin was almost certainly just as drunk – if not more – as Yeonmi. You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned.

“I’m marrying Jihoon,” Yeonmi declared all too proudly, her pout turning into a bright smile that could rival the sun. For a moment you found yourself almost bitterly thinking she was exactly the pretty kind of girl your best friend deserved. Then she just had to open her mouth again: “Tomorrow. I’m marrying him tomorrow, for sure.”

Her words were met with a dramatic gasp and a matching bright smile. “You are?”

“I am!”

“She’s really not,” you mumbled from where you’d been pushed against the armrest by their celebration.

Then Seokmin froze mid-squeal-of-joy. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He loudly whispered, “But you can’t!”

Yeonmi’s smile once again dropped. “Why not?”

“Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend!” He told her with such conviction that you began to wonder if you had missed a major life event of your own damned life. 

You frowned. “We’re not–”

“Oh.” Yeonmi nodded solemnly. “You are right. I can’t believe I forgot that.” She paused before loudly whispering, “You know, I heard they’re actually married. Eloped in Vegas during spring break back in college.”

“I heard that one too!” Seokmin pointed out with inexplicable uncontained glee. “I heard he wrote a song and sang it to her at the proposal.”

“That’s so romantic,” Yeonmi swooned, smiling like it was the cutest news she’d heard all day. Her dreams of marrying Jihoon had disappeared just like that. 

But you felt like you were living in a nightmare.

“What are you guys talking about?” you cried out, watching them in astonishment and horror. “There’s nothing going on between us!”

“I mean,” Soonyoung joined in, leaning against the armrest like he’d been there all along, “you’re practically married, even if the elopement thing isn’t true.”

Yeonmi gasped. “It’s not?”

You ignored her.

“It’s okay if the spark goes out a little bit, you know what I mean,” Soonyoung attempted to explain? comfort you? Whatever he was doing, you wished he’d stop. “Relationships take work, you know.”

You felt your left eye twitch. “We’re not dating.”

This was news to your friends – if their wide eyes and dropped jaws were anything to go by, anyways. 

“But–” Seokmin started, slumping in his seat as if his whole world had shattered into pieces. “But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). You’re practically always glued together.” 

“So? We’re friends. Best friends. You know this.”

“If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is?” he wondered, asking no one in particular it seemed. His gaze had frozen on the fairy lights taped to the ceiling. He looked close to tears and you decided you’d had enough of this and got up off the sofa. 

It had been a while since you’d been out on the balcony anyway. It was nice and quiet and away from your nosy friends who clearly could not wrap their minds around the possibility of two friends not dating. The fresh air bit at your nose but you decided it was better than facing them again. 

Looking out at the nightlife of the city below, your thoughts kept drifting back to what they said. Why had you felt so irritated at the idea of Jihoon being with someone else? He wasn’t yours to keep, as much as you liked to joke about it. He wasn’t your husband, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not even a friend with benefits. He was just Jihoon.

You were just you and Jihoon. That’s what it had always been. 

So why did the idea of being ‘just (Y/n) and Jihoon’ suddenly sent a rush of rage and insult up your spine? 

“(Y/n)?” a voice called out and you felt the subtle warmth of the apartment creep out through the opened balcony door. You turned to find Seungkwan standing right there, his kind eyes looking at you as if you were insane. “Aren’t you cold?”

“It was stuffy in there,” you excused yourself and turned back to stare over the railing.

He hummed in understanding but couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Could’ve just opened a window instead of standing out here without your jacket.”

You let out a short laugh. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Warmth surrounded you, the feel of a soft knitted cardigan following soon after. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m a little surprised Jihoon hasn’t given you his sweater yet,” he noted under his breath as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted you to hear it or not. He cleared his throat and added louder, “Sorry, I’m sure you’ve heard enough of Jihoon today. Seokmin and Yeonmi are a lot, I know.”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “You heard them?”

“I’m sure half the party heard them,” he told you as if it was obvious before his expression melted into something more compassionate. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was hard to choose. So you stayed silent instead. Seungkwan seemed to decide that was a yes.

“You know, I think Jihoon holds you closer to his heart than he sometimes lets on,” he told you. “Most of us see through his facade by now, but sometimes I wonder if you’re still one of the few who can’t.”

Great. Exactly what you needed: a double dose of ‘I’m an awful friend’.

“You know that keychain you have? That little cat he whittled out of wood back in high school?” He chuckled to himself. “He spent a whole week making it, constantly texting the group chat if it was perfect yet. Perfect for what, we’d ask and he’d always say it was for you like it was the most obvious thing.”

He leaned against the railing with you. Just as soon as he did so, he cursed. Seungkwan stepped away almost immediately. His voice was suddenly much louder than before: “It’s so cold! Can you even feel your arms?”

A little dazed by the information you’d learnt, you shrugged. “I guess.”

“That’s it,” he decided and grabbed a hold of your arm before dragging you back inside against your will (not that you were complaining; you suddenly realised it was indeed very cold outside). “If you want to be cold, I can give you ice cream, but please stop trying to contact frostbite.”

You barely made it through the kitchen door before running into Jihoon. It was starting to feel like Seungkwan needed to find a bigger venue for his parties because you were clearly not able to find even a minute of peace here. 

“There you are,” he practically cheered at the sight of you, a wide grin breaking out on his face as if he hadn’t seen you in days rather than mere 20 minutes.

You were painfully aware of Seungkwan’s knowing smile as Jihoon handed you a cup of soda. You took a small cautious sip – it didn’t taste anything like alcohol. There went your accidentally tipsy theory. You let out a soft groan at the thought.

“You good?” he wondered, hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Soonyoung said you looked kind of upset.”

“I’m fine,” you said. It was a lie – at least it felt like a lie. You always did hate to lie to Jihoon. But what else were you supposed to say? “It’s just been a long day.”

If he caught onto your false narrative, he didn’t mention it.

It was 2 am and you couldn’t sleep. Your friends’ words kept echoing in your head and no amount of “we’re just friends” could keep them at bay. 

For a short moment, you almost reached out to him. Your fingers knew the path to Jihoon’s contact in your phone without you even thinking about it. It was only when your thumb hovered above the green call button that you realised what you were doing. 

You found yourself scoffing. Exactly was your plan? To text him? To call him and tell him…? Tell him what?

“Hey, Jihoon, I just wanted to let you know that Seokmin and Youngmi and probably half our friend group think we’re married or at least dating and, honestly, not even gonna lie, I think it suddenly made me realise I might be and have been for a while sort of, kind of, maybe just a little bit or maybe even very much in love with you. Thoughts?”

You didn’t exactly pride yourself in your ability to put together words (and you were certain Jihoon wouldn’t have cared much for it if you did), but even you knew you couldn’t tell him that. Certainly not at 2 am and definitely not after being his friend for so many years.

So you muted your phone, put on a ridiculously long historical movie you weren’t planning on paying any attention to, and found a tub of ice cream from the deepest crevices of your freezer. It was you against your demons now. You weren’t going to leave your apartment until you’d figured out how to look him in the eyes again.

Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend. You’re practically married.

The voices kept echoing in your head like annoying little mosquitoes, sucking on your lifeforce. It was nothing short of irritating; not because you thought they were wrong, but precisely the opposite.

You sat on the sofa, head heavy with foreign thoughts. Foreign thoughts that weren’t all that unfamiliar at all – they’d been peeking their heads out every once in a while ever since high school. But you had always acted like they weren’t there: you brushed them aside, painted over them with other thoughts, and told yourself what you felt for Jihoon was just friendship.

Good old plain and very platonic friendship. Nothing else at all. 

Your heart fluttering every time he laughed at your jokes? Friendship.

Your breath getting caught in your throat every time you saw him without a shirt? Definitely friendship.

The ugly jealous feeling in your chest – the very one that took over your entire being when Yeonmi said she’d marry Jihoon? Friends get jealous all the time, don’t they? 

“They don’t,” the character on the TV said at that very moment, like a sign from the universe.

But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is? 

The voices kept on echoing. You squeezed your eyes shut and drowned your sorrowful realisations in stracciatella ice cream. 

Spoonful after spoonful, your brain numbed and froze. But the knowledge had sunk deep into the crevices of your very being and you knew that no matter what happened, one thing was true: nothing about your feelings for Lee Jihoon was platonic in the slightest.

Jihoon’s studio was a cosy and comfortable place. Dimly lit and full of his soft humming along to the songs he rarely let you listen to, it had become your safe space the day he showed it to you. 

Never once had you felt out of place in it. But when he invited you to come keep him company this evening, you found yourself hesitating at the door for the first time. 

It was as if you had forgotten how to act. 

Did the you who felt only platonic feelings for Jihoon ever knock? Did you simply burst through the door and throw your keychain at his head when he was too focused on his work to notice? Or did you just sit outside the door until he suddenly remembered he’d invited you over and come searching for you?

Had your heart always sped up, doubling its pace when you stood in the hallway? Had you always worried your hair was a mess? Surely you hadn’t. Suddenly you felt like a fool for putting on a lip stain.

You forced a deep breath of air into your lungs and knocked on the door. It immediately felt wrong.

The door opened seconds later. Jihoon greeted you with furrowed brows and an amused smile. “Since when are you so polite?”

You feigned a laugh. “Had to make sure you weren’t rotting away in your chair.”

He rolled his eyes. His hand reached out and wrapped around your wrist before swiftly pulling you inside. “Come on, you’re probably freezing. How long have you been standing there?”

Silence filled the room as he led you to the sofa. 

You realised under his confused gaze that the old you – the definitely-not-in-love-with-my-best-friend you – would’ve argued. You would’ve told him something silly to distract him from your tells of embarrassment. You would’ve shoved him and  he would’ve laughed. He had expected you to.

Making your lips curl into another smile that wasn’t quite sincere, you nudged him with your foot. “Did you miss me? Be honest.”

Another silence. You thought of how he should’ve snorted a laugh and told you “you wish” before turning to his computer and telling you about his woes as a music producer. Instead, he frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Your mouth felt dry. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just,” he started, scratching the back of his head all the while watching you cautiously. You felt like a cornered stray cat as  you sat on his sofa, still clad in your coat and hat. “You’ve been acting a little weird today.”

You wanted to laugh. You hadn’t even interacted with him enough for him to come to that conclusion. In fact, there had been a conscious effort to avoid him until you could trust yourself to look him in the eyes and not burst into ballads about how wonderful he was. 

“I guess I’m just a little under the weather.” You still despised lying to him, but you told yourself it wasn’t a complete lie. If nothing else, you were at least a little bit love sick and you weren’t entirely sure yet whether seeing him was the cause or the cure. 

His eyes blinked wide. “You’re sick?”

Jihoon waited a minute, watching you patiently (though you could see a line between his brows that only appeared when he was particularly frustrated). Then he walked forward. You blinked up at him standing over your seated form, his brows knitted with concern as he held the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Do you have a fever?” he wondered and leaned his face closer on instinct, pressing his lips to your forehead like a mother would to her child. He pulled back before long, seemingly finally realising his error, and grumbled, “Definitely a fever.”

Right. A fever. You were hot to the touch. Definitely a normal reaction to seeing your best friend for the first time all day. Nothing abnormal about that. 

“It’s nothing,” you told him, still forcing a smile, and patted his hand. “What are you working on today?”

At the mention of his work, he seemed to perk up a little. His lips quirked in that way they always did when he was about to tell you a lie. “Nothing interesting.”

“I’ve known you for nearly two decades,” you told him with a scowl. “You can’t keep things from me.”

He scoffed and turned on his heel, returning to his usual seat at the desk. His eyes narrowed when he glanced back at you over his shoulder. “I’ll keep all the secrets I want from you.”

“No chance,” you teased, resting your head on your palm as you leaned forward against your knee. “You're practically transparent.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he told you with a chuckle and turned to the screen. Before long, his headphones were on his head and his head was deep in the music again. 

You’d never felt like you didn’t belong in this room and you didn’t feel like it now either, even as your chest threatened to burst open with all of your doubts and feelings. Your coat slid off your shoulders and you settled down on the sofa.

The you from before would’ve unlocked your phone and watched something on it at an obnoxious volume just to annoy him (but had that ever really been the goal and not just a ploy to get his unwavering attention at any cost?), but you found yourself lost in your thoughts, overthinking every memory you had of him.

You thought back to how he always seemed to be pressed to your side on movie nights – giggling in your ear, repeating and mimicking the actors just to make you laugh, nuzzling his cheek against your collarbone like a cat showing his affection. 

You thought back to the late night calls and how they made you so giddy despite the fact that you desperately wanted to sleep; to the protective glares he gave any man that looked at you and how a shiver went up your spine every time he crossed his arms over his chest while doing so; to the shirts and sweaters of his that you had unapologetically stolen to keep warm at night and breathe in his scent.

As you watched him – his head bopping along to the beat you couldn’t hear, his lips pursed in an effort to not spoil the lyrics, his dark eyes flitting your way every so often –, you realised there was no room for doubts. There was nothing uncertain about your feelings for Lee Jihoon. 

All this time, you had loved him for his laughter and his jokes. You had loved him for his yelling and his tears. You had loved him for his melodic voice and his silly 3 am ideas. You had loved him for the warmth of his hands when he taught you to play the guitar and the fond disappointment in his eyes when you failed your driving test for the first time.

There was nothing you didn’t love about him.

Even now you noted with certain fondness that one side of his headphones was off his ear just enough so he could hear you and it made you love him all the more so. 

The only thing you didn’t entirely adore about this man was that he wasn’t yours.

His eyes found you again and he quirked a brow. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I think I just realised why I don’t like Valentine’s day,” you told him without thinking. It was silly. Of all the millions of things you could’ve told him, of all the possible insults and puns and jokes, you told him the vulnerable truth you had only barely just graped yourself.

Jihoon swiveled his chair to face you, suddenly intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His raised both his brows this time, staring at you with interest. You didn’t shy away from eye contact – not now when you’d finally learnt to appreciate the shades of brown. You only smiled and watched him as he sighed in defeat and turned back to the computer.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he mumbled under his breath.

You weren’t sure you had another option.

While you had always hated Valentine’s day, Seungcheol and Soonyoung loved it with their whole hearts. Who would’ve guessed that the two men who could strike fear in anyone’s heart with just a look were hopeless romantics?

After spending hours contemplating if you wanted to be present at this event at all, you arrived fashionably late. Why they had decided to hold the celebration the night before Valentine’s day was beyond you, even if it was the reason that finally convinced you to go.

Welcoming you into their house brimming with roses and heart-themed decorations, Seungcheol handed you a red paper rose at the front door and sent you on your way with a wink. 

“Jihoon’s in the kitchen,” he told you with a smirk that said he could see right through you. You hoped you weren’t as obvious to the others.

Taking your time to look around was just an excuse and it felt like everybody knew it. They gave you smiles and winks and claps on your shoulder as you passed them by with soft greetings. You couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Looking for distractions, you craned your neck to look at the decorations. Heart-shaped balloons of red and pink and white floated against the ceiling. They were surrounded by pink and white party banners hung between the walls, cut into triangles with little hearts drawn in the centre, little fairy lights wrapped around the strings keeping them together. The floor was covered in rose petals. If Seungcheol and Soonyoung knew anything, it was how to go all out (and the amazed yet annoyed look on Seungkwan’s face told you he realised it could cost him the competition).

As you walked through the crowd, you realised that for once the pinks and reds hadn’t filled you with frustration and anger and resentment. Instead, a strange feeling of bitter sadness filled your chest. The spot on your side felt empty even with tens of people pushing past you. Even when you were avoiding him, you missed him.

You decided there was no point in torturing yourself further. After all, you thought, wasn’t being by his side but never being able to call him yours torture enough?

True to Seungcheol’s word, you found Jihoon in the kitchen. And you quickly realised why people had been greeting you the way they did. A laugh threatened to bubble out of you at the sight.

Jihoon stood on the kitchen island, surrounded by countless bottles of beverages, singing into a wood spoon. Eyes heavy-lidded in a way you hadn’t seen them be since that one night he got drunk in an act of teenage rebellion in 11th grade, he swayed in his spot and sang love songs at the top of his lungs. 

You dreaded to think what Seungcheol and Soonyoung might think of his actions. But when you looked around you found that rather than trying to get him down, Soonyoung sat on the kitchen counter across from the island, a whisk in hand, harmonising. People came and went, getting their drinks, and loudly cheered the duo on but didn’t pay them much mind beyond that. Perhaps they didn’t realise how unusual this sight really was.

Their rendition of a Bruno Mars song came to an end to the sound of a drunken applause and a few shouts for an encore. Jihoon waved away the compliments, nearly knocking himself off balance in doing so. As he lifted the spoon to his lips to start another song, his eyes met yours. The spoon clattered to the floor and his body followed not much more gracefully. 

He called your name with such joy that you couldn’t help but smile and open your arms as he practically tackled you in a hug. His face pressed against your shoulder so tightly that you worried if he could even breathe. “You came!”

You didn’t have any words to tell him, still too baffled by the situation at hand. Your eyes found Soonyoung’s and you raised your brows in question. He only smirked and shrugged innocently before practically dancing out of the room.

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. That is the only reason why you hardly drank at gatherings; not at all because Jihoon once smiled at you all pretty and told you he was glad he had at least one sober friend to keep him company. But it seemed that tonight he was too drunk to appreciate the sentiment.

“I think I’m drunk,” Jihoon mumbled after a while and pushed himself upright. You kept one hand on his shoulder to keep him from tilting further left than he already was. “But it doesn’t feel so bad.”

“You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” you told him softly and led him to sit down. 

Like an obedient puppy, he followed your command and sat on a chair, leaning his forearms on the back of it and his chin on the very top. His eyes watched you curiously as you found a glass and filled it with water. You held the glass out for him to take but he just stared at you with starry eyes.

“You look pretty tonight,” he finally uttered when you raised your brows in question. 

You frowned and pushed the glass closer to him, hoping he’d take the hint. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he told you, a smile appearing on his face but there wasn’t any humour in it. It was hard to tell what emotions he was trying to convey: happiness? fondness? adoration? Whatever it was, it was making you just a little flustered. And then he delivered the final plow: “You always look pretty.”

Your heart was positively working at three times– no, ten times its usual pace. You sucked in a shallow breath and nudged him with the glass again. This time he took it. 

“Since when do you drink anyway?” you asked to change the topic.

For once he answered the question and shrugged. “Soonyoung thought that maybe I should give it a try again. You know, with all the rejection and everything.” His gaze fell to the tiled floor as he mumbled, “It’s actually been kind of nice.”

“What rejection? Who would reject you?”

He laughed but it sounded bitter. “Who indeed?”

“Did you ask someone to be your Valentine?” you realised and it felt like someone was trying to carve out a piece of your heart. “And they said no?”

Jihoon scoffed and placed down the water. His hand reached for a different cup, full of liquor you could practically smell from all the distance away. As he lifted the cup to his lips, he spoke, “What’s the point of asking if they’re going to say no anyways?”

The room felt hotter than usual. You could hardly breathe. You hadn’t even known Jihoon liked someone. Of course you had to find out merely days after coming to terms with your own feelings for him. Your love life was cursed and so was everything related to Valentine’s day.

You stayed silent to mourn the reality.

“You know what’s the worst part?” he then spoke again. It was hard to tell how drunk he was because he was hardly slurring his words. “I see her every day. Well,” he frowned, “almost every day. Whatever.” He shook his head and took a long sip of the drink. “Every day I see her and every day I think today is going to be the day I finally tell her. And then I don’t. Because I’m just her friend. She’s spent all those years telling everyone we’re just friends and I don’t want to be just her friend. I want so much more. But every time I try to tell her so, I chicken out.”

You could hardly listen to his proclamations. Your eyes were burning, ready to shed silent tears. You wondered if he’d even notice if you did cry. The Jihoon in front of you was a side you hadn’t seen before and you loved him just the same, even if this side was reserved for another woman.

Finally lifting his head, his eyes found yours. They widened. “Are you okay?”

Turning away to discreetly rub the tears out of your eyes, you nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Must be allergic to something in the air. Maybe it’s all the pollen.”

When you turned back to him, he looked almost deflated. He looked down again and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re just allergic to me.”

The tears seemed to vanish at the absurdity of his words. “... What?”

He shrugged. “Every time I say something nice to you, you start acting all weird. Avoiding me. Sometimes I think that if I confessed to you, you’d die on the spot.”

Whatever Soonyoung had been making him drink had to be incredibly strong. Every sentence he uttered seemed more absurd than the one before.

“I should get you home,” you decided with a sigh, resisting the urge to tug your hair out. Just because he was drunk didn’t mean he could play with your feelings like this – knowingly or not.

He whined. “I don’t want to–”

“You’re drunk, Jihoon,” you told him firmly. “If you drink any more tomorrow, you’ll murder me in the morning for letting you get this hungover.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes and glared at you before pouting and looking away. “As if I’d ever hurt you.”

“You’re drunk and you’re not making any sense and I’m taking you home to sleep,” you repeated yourself and reached for his arm. You expected him to resist your strength as you pulled him up but instead his hold on your fingers tightened. He stood up and leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” he told you after a moment of resting. “Can we just nap somewhere?”

You didn’t have the willpower to fight. The little you had, he had shattered without meaning to. You went to hook your arm around his elbow – he didn’t let you, only tightening his hold on your fingers. 

Without much of a choice, you squeezed his hand and slowly led him to a guest room. Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s house had two of these, one on the first and one on the second floor. For a moment you headed towards the one on the first floor. Then your heart ached just a little and you decided you needed to get away from the people to let your heart break in peace.

The second floor guest room had floor to ceiling windows covered with white curtains. The streetlights shone through at an angle that you knew would annoy you if you tried to fall asleep. You suspected that’s why they had designated it for guests rather than sleeping here themselves.

You practically shoved Jihoon onto the mattress to avoid any further complications. Instead of grumbling like you expected him to, he fell down with a series of giggles. You couldn’t help but smile.

There was a single fleece-lined blanket folded on the foot of the bed. You placed it over him with care. When you went to turn around and find a place to sit – or maybe even go back downstairs to drown your sorrows in wine –, his hand shot up and grabbed a hold of yours.

“Stay,” he spoke so softly you almost thought you hadn’t heard him right. “Stay with me. Don’t leave. Please.”

“I was just going to sit down,” you told him gently, trying to pull your hand free. 

He let out a whine. “See? This is what I mean. You’re allergic to me.”

Exhaustion was making your head ache. Or maybe it was all the tears that were waiting to be shed. You didn’t have the energy to fight, so you sank down next to him, crawling to fit under the blanket with him. “Just go to sleep.”

His hand never left yours as he curled it to rest against his chest and placed his heavy head on your chest. Silence filled the room. You didn’t dare breathe – who knew when you could have him this close again without feeling guilty or angry at the fates?

Minutes passed. You thought he’d fallen asleep when he whispered, “When other guys flirt with you or smile at you or tell you you’re pretty, you smile and thank them. When I do that, you avoid me.”

You wondered when the topic had shifted from his mystery crush to you. 

“Because we’re friends.”

“There it is again,” he mumbled, glaring at the ceiling as if willing it to crumble and rain down on him. “Friends.” The word sounded like venom. “I pour my heart out to you, I write songs to you, I dream of you every time I fall asleep, but that’s all I ever am. A friend.”

“It’s never bothered you before.” You frowned. Despite his harsh tone, you found yourself playing with his hair, and him leaning into your touch. 

He let out a deep breath. “Because I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.” His head nuzzled closer to you, his breath tickling your skin. You thought you felt his warm lips press down before he whispered, “The other guys will have to go through me if they want you for themselves. I found you first.”

Silence filled the room again, soon accompanied by his soft snores and mumbles of promises he wasn’t conscious enough to actually make. You weren’t sure you could sleep now or ever again, too busy putting the puzzle pieces together.

His words had mangled your heart in every way possible. And yet there was a glimmer of hope as you wondered what he’d meant by his words. 

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say and now you found yourself wondering how much truth there was to his words. 

He whispered your name in his sleep and you found yourself giving in to the wistful dreams of that being his truth. As you pulled him closer, you prayed you wouldn’t have to wake up to another heartbreak.

If you had thought the streetlights at night were a curse last night, then now you found yourself thinking that any and all kinds of outside light had been invented just to make whoever inhabited this room as miserable as possible.

The morning sun shone right into your eyes even through the curtains at 6 am. Even if you hadn’t spent the entire night in a restless limbo between sleep and trying to solve the mystery of Jihoon’s words, you would've been upset to awaken to the horrid rays of bright sunshine.

The more you woke up, the more your world seemed to be upside down. Sometime at night, Jihoon’s arms had wrapped around you, tight and secure as they held you close to his chest. His lips were pressed to your temple. You almost wished he’d never wake up so you could enjoy this embrace for an eternity.

But another part of you didn’t want to face the disappointment of him jerking away from you as he’d wake up, embarrassed to have ever cuddled you in his sleep.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to detangle yourself from his limbs. Finger by finger, you pulled yourself free. You were just about to roll off his left arm when it suddenly curled and effortlessly pulled you back into his chest.

When you looked at him, Jihoon wore a frown and a pout. “You were supposed to stay.”

“I did,” you whispered, unsure if he was really awake yet or not. 

“Stay longer,” he demanded almost childishly, wrapping his newly free arm around you once again. “It’s still early.”

Your brain was trying hard to convince you that he thought you were someone else. Then he mumbled your name again and you saw his eyes slowly flutter open. Instead of pulling away and apologising like you expected him to, he offered you a smile. 

“What?” He chuckled, voice gravelly from sleep. 

You hesitated. But you knew that if you didn’t get answers, you’d drive yourself insane. “Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

His brows furrowed just a little but his lips remained in a pleasant smile. “About what?”

“About the girl who you’ve wanted to ask out for years but never did,” you supplied softly. “And about us being friends?”

The joy melted from his face. His eyes wavered. His lips quivered. He gave them a nervous lick before practically gasping for air. He remembered.

You tried to choose your words carefully, you really did. But they still came out all clumsy like they always did. “Is the girl me?”

He looked like he’d been caught in a crime. But his arms remained around you – you wondered if he was filled with the same selfishness you’d felt the night before: the urge to enjoy this feeling of closeness before it could get ripped away forever.

“How’d you know?” he whispered. 

“You said something last night,” you told him carefully. “Something that made me realise that maybe you feel … the same way as I do.”

He avoided your eyes, looking around the room. Then his gaze snapped back to you, suddenly full of clarity. “The same way?”

This was it, you realised. It was now or never. It was true love or losing your best friend. Except you weren’t sure you could still be friends even if you didn’t pour your heart out – could you look him in the eyes again and not think about the words he said last night? 

“Jihoon, I think–” The words were on the tip of your tongue, clinging to it like it was their last lifeline. It was hard to say what you wanted to.

His face, so devoid of joy just moments before, had lit up with hope. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m in love with you. I thought I could keep it a secret and not ruin our friendship,” you told him through nervous laughter, turning to look at the ceiling, “but now I’m not so sure I could have.”

“What made you change your mind?” he wondered as he looked at you with nothing short of awe. 

“When you were talking about that girl last night,” you were still struggling to breathe, adrenaline pumping through your veins, “I was so heartbroken. I was going to cry all through the night. Then you said something that made me think… It made me think, or maybe foolishly hope, that you meant me. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you mean me–?”

“I love you,” he replied before you could even finish your sentence. A smile appeared and you were filled with relief as he leaned his head closer to press against yours. “I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade. I thought I’d never get to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded to know.

His breath sounded more like a hopeless laugh. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought there was no way you’d love me back.”

“Clearly you were wrong.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled and surged forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. You savoured the feeling, pressing closer to him, tugging him closer with a hand on the back of his head. He pulled back and laughed again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Good thing you can do it again as many times as you please,” you told him with a smile. “You know, I’ve always hated Valentine’s day, but you have a real shot at changing that right now.”

The door burst open just as he matched your grin and began to lean closer. Startled, the two of you looked up. Clad in a tiger-striped onesie, Soonyoung stood at the door, eyes wide. Moments of awkward silence passed. Then his face broke out into a wide grin and he slammed the door shut. You heard the lock click just a second later, followed by an almost villainous laughter.

You exchanged startled looks with Jihoon. Then he shrugged and leaned forward to kiss you again.

“All the more time to make up for the lost years,” he told you as he pulled you closer. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Author's Note: I both loved and hated writing this fic. If at any point, you found yourself thinking "huh, i wish the writer did more with this random crumb in this story that looks like it should've been a part of something bigger", i can almost guarantee you i had plans to do something with it and then forgot or abandoned the idea mid-way through.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed this fic at least moderately and if you did, please feel free to reblog with comments or leave an emoji-filled reply or maybe even send me an ask to let me know what you thought!

[littleestkirby]

I don't know if you want this perspective, so I'll put it below a cut, but here's what I can say as a practicing christian who also gets fed up with the church sometimes.

1. I think you may have been mistaught that story; Jesus never refused to heal someone. It could either be (a) the story where he doesn't travel to heal a believer's daughter becaus he heals her from that distance. (Basically, the girl's father said "I know you can heal her from here" and Jesus was impressed by his faith and said "ok I will") or (b) the story where he stops to heal someone else on the way (a bleeding woman who had been cast out from her community) and the girl dies before he gets there. He then raises her from the dead

2. The goal of Christianity is to know God. As someone smarter than me (CS Lewis, maybe?) once put it, "we don't love God because we want to go to heaven, we want to go to heaven because we love God." Basically, heaven isn't a magic rainbow land where everything YOU want comes true, it's a perfect union with god. Following Jesus (in the christian belief, anyway) is the closest you can get to heaven on earth. So, OF COURSE Jesus cares about "good christians" (though the bible says no one person alone is truly good; most who would refer to themselves as "good christians" are... misguided to say the least) Because christianity isn't a pass/fail class where if you feed enough homeless people and don't have sex before marriage, you get to go to rainbowland; it's a personal relationship with your Father/Savior/Creator. That relationship (I believe) DOES make your life better, but not in a "you'll drive a nice car and never get sick" kind of way, but a "you'll be at peace with yourself and those around you" kind of way.

3. Jesus doesn't go out of his way to meet with sinners because they're the ones whose souls are in danger, he goes out of his way to meet with sinners because they actually have the humility to listen. THEY actually WANT to know him and have been kept out of the synagogues. There are no good, already-going-to-heaven people in the bible. The Pharisees (self-appointed and societally recognized "good religious people" in the gospels) are NOT fans of Jesus and they are NOT obeying God; the reason he doesn't seek them out is because they wouldn't have listened. They BELIEVED they were already right about everything, so they were just threatened by his influence instead. They were too busy LOOKING righteous and trying to trap him in doctrine to try to know him or God.

4. Obviously, you don't have to listen to any of this. Of course I can't explain why suffering happens, or why it affects who it does. That's one of like, the main things that the collective efforts of christians through history can't explain. I'm not expecting this to convert you, but just wanted to help you understand why so many people still believe all this despite, yknow. All the suffering and stuff

One of the biggest eye-openers for me back when a I went to church was that like…

Oh man how do I explain it.

There’s this prevalent idea I see a lot in Christian circles that if you pray right, if you follow God correctly, if you’re a truly virtuous person, your problems will be solved, right?

If you suffer, if you fall ill, if bad things happen, it’s because you aren’t good enough. You don’t need medicine because if you’re worthy, if you’re faithful enough, God will reward you by healing you. Right?

But like. Discussing this with my mother, and travelling out east with our pastor… Jesus didn’t spend all his time with perfect, virtuous people. Jesus didn’t seek out and heal well-to-do, faithful, perfect Christians. In fact, there’s a specific story in which he straight up doesn’t travel out to heal a believer’s dying daughter, because she’s already “saved”. Her earthy death is okay because she’s going to heaven already.

And like… coming from our Pastor, who is one of the best guys I’ve ever met- there seems to be an ongoing, underlying message of, “Jesus doesn’t care about you if you’re a good Christian”. If you’re a good Christian, if you’re living a virtuous life on earth, then any suffering you experience is only temporary- your ETERNITY is secure. Jesus goes out of his way to meet with sinners and the unfaithful because those are the people whose souls are in danger.

So like. In that perspective, being good doesn’t make your life better, it’s just good for others and good for your soul. Praying and doing good probably won’t cure your cancer, but it may mean you don’t have to worry too much about your death.

And like. I dunno. I wouldn’t call myself a Christian, but I find myself thinking about that concept a lot

Does suffering mean you deserve a reward?

Is suffering proof that you’re unworthy?

Or is suffering just an unfortunate facet of life that doesn’t reflect on your worth, that you still have to deal with as best you can?

Maybe suffering is just suffering.

Maybe the bad things you experienced weren’t about you

And maybe you just gotta try your best and be kind anyways, so you can rest easy when you go

[luvr444writes]

girl dad hamzah or maybe hamzah and the readers first double date with martin and mandy

DOUBLE DATE

The evening air was crisp and carried with it the scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You could feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you checked yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. Tonight was the night. It was your first time meeting Mandy, Hamzah’s friend and Martin's girlfriend, but it wasn’t just that—this was a double date with him and Martin. You had met Martin a few weeks ago and had instantly hit it off with him. He was chill and easy to talk to. But meeting the only other girl of the small friend group felt a little more special.

Hamzah had been excited all week. He’d been talking about this night non-stop—how Martin was his best friend, how you’d love Mandy, and how great it would be to hang out in a different setting and get to know each other. But despite the excitement, you were still a little nervous. The dynamic was different when meeting someone new, and the last thing you wanted was to make it awkward or have her absolutely hate you.

Your phone buzzed on the table with a message from Hamzah alerting you he was almost there.

You smiled at the message and typed back a quick reply before setting your phone down and refreshing your perfume.

You quickly grabbed your jacket and headed out the door. The moment you stepped into the cool night air, you spotted Hamzah’s car pulling up. He grinned through the window as he parked, and you waved excitedly, walking toward them.

The car door opened, and there he was—Hamzah, with that bright smile and infectious energy you were so fond of. He stepped out and immediately pulled you into a warm hug, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Hey, you!” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “You look beautiful."

You laughed, returning the hug. “Thank you!" you blushed, pulling away from him slowly.

Hamzah stepped back, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m really glad you agreed to come. It's gonna be great, I promise!” He reassured as he opened the passenger door for you.

As you slid into the front seat, you turned your head slighty, catching a glimpse of Martin in the backseat. He was sitting beside an unfamiliar girl who you assumed was Mandy. You had gotten to know him over the last few weeks, and you smiled warmly at him as he waved.

“Hey!” he greeted you with a silly grin and cracked a joke. “You ready for tonight?”

“I think so!” you said, a little more excited now that they were here and you'd get the awkward first introductions over with.

“And this is Mandy!” Hamzah said, gesturing to the girl as he began to pull out of your driveway.

Mandy was even more gorgeous than you imagined. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and her smile was both warm and inviting. She wore a stylish yet casual outfit, and she radiated a calm but confident energy. You could already tell you’d get along just fine.

“Mandy, this is y/n.” Hamzah introduced you, and you offered her a bright smile, softening it once you realized you might seem a little to eager.

“Hey, it’s great to meet you!” Mandy said, her voice smooth and welcoming. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Hamzah talks about you basically 24/7." She laughs.

“I’m excited to finally meet you!” you said, feeling your nerves slowly settle. “Hamzah and Martin have said so many good things.”

Mandy laughed softly. “I'm surprised Hamzah talks about me at all, let alone good things." you laughed along with her and the four of you quickly broke off into conversation, telling funny past stories and talking about each others interests.

As you all arrived and headed inside the restaurant, the energy shifted from nervous anticipation to a more relaxed and excited vibe. You couldn’t help but notice how natural everything felt when you were with Hamzah and Martin. And now with Mandy joining the group, it seemed like the perfect mix of personalities.

The dinner conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself laughing more than you thought you would. Hamzah and Martin had a way of making everyone feel at ease, and Mandy fit right in with her witty remarks and infectious laugh.

You shared stories and jokes, and before you knew it, the meal was winding down. The waiter came to clear the table, and Hamzah looked over at you with a glint in his eye.

“So, what’s the plan now?” he asked. “Do you want to grab ice cream, or maybe go for a walk in the park? The night’s still young!”

You glanced at Mandy, who smiled at you in agreement. “I’m down for anything, honestly.”

“Same here,” you said with a grin. “Ice cream sounds good!”

Everyone agreed, and you all piled into the car to head to the local ice cream shop. The walk there was filled with more laughter and casual conversation, with Hamzah playfully teasing Martin about his "terrible" taste in music, while you and Mandy bonded over your shared love of sonny angels and told each other about your collections. By the time you reached the ice cream shop, the nerves from the start of the evening were completely gone.

The ice cream was as sweet as you imagined it would be, but what made it even better was the easygoing atmosphere between you all. Hamzah and Martin were being their usual goofy selves, while you and Mandy kept chatting about everything and nothing at all. The more you talked, the more you realized how easy it was to connect with her.

“I’m so glad we did this,” Mandy said, looking at you with a sincere smile as you both leaned against the railing, enjoying your ice cream.

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, feeling like you’d gained a new friend tonight. “This has been so much fun.”

Hamzah and Martin were a little further ahead, talking amongst themselves about the weirdest ice cream flavors they’d ever tried.

Mandy’s gaze flickered over to them, and she chuckled. “I’m pretty sure they would leave us for each other if they could.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, theirs definitely something more going on there."

It felt like you’d known Mandy forever, even though this was your first time meeting her. It was easy to see why she and Martin were so good together. They both had similar personalities—easygoing, but with a good sense of humor. By the time you all headed back to the car, you couldn’t help but feel a little bummed that the night was almost over.

“I’m really glad we could all hang out like this,” you said, turning to Hamzah as you all piled back into the car. “It was really fun.”

“Same here,” he said, his voice warm as he looked at you. “I'm glad you had fun. We’re definitely doing this again.”

You smiled, feeling a little giddy as you rode back in the car with Hamzah, the cool night air and the sound of laughter in the background.

As you pulled up to your place, Hamzah turned to you with a soft, content smile. “I’m glad you came, we'll have to hangout next time we're all free.”

You met his gaze, feeling your heart flutter a little. “Me too. And that would be awesome. Mandy gave me her number earlier so I'm sure we could all plan something.”

You stepped out of the car, saying your goodbyes to Martin and Mandy, who were already planning the next hangout. You waved to them as Hamzah lingered for a moment and got out of the car to walk you to the door.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. I really like spending time with you.”

Your heart melted a little, and you smiled. “I really like spending time with you, too.” you leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the lips, before pulling away and leaving another on his cheek.

And with that, you headed into your house, face bright red and a big cheesy smile on your face.

sorry if this is bad.

also!! even though i did the double date for this one, i might make another one-shot for Girldad!Hamzah

ALSO ALSO, sorry if they are all kind of ooc but I was lowkey so tired when I wrote this and I was feeling writers block tbh lol.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiiiiii, stumbled across your blog when trying to find COD fics to gush over and yours are SO FUCKIN GOOD. I love how you write the TF 141 guys!!

My personal fave is Simon and I thought the SFW ABC’s HC were so cute! I’m wondering if you’d be interested in writing a NSFW ABS’s for him as well!

Don’t rush it or feel pressured to do it tho. Thank you pookie ❤️

Oh my goodness! I remember the SFW Alphabet I did for Simon. That was forever ago, back when I first broke 1k followers. Compare that to now with over 6k and if feels like ancient history.

I am more than happy to do a NSFW Alphabet for Simon!

Word Count: 1.1k

NSFW Alphabet Template

A = Aftercare

Aftercare all depends on the relationship. If it’s a quick fuck or a casual thing, Ghost isn’t really all that interested in providing aftercare. He might allow a brief cuddle, or some stiff conversation, but he’s more interested in getting his dick wet. But if Ghost is in a steady, serious relationship, then aftercare is important to him. Not that he knows what he’s doing. Aftercare is not his jam, but if he cares about you, he will make sure you have it.

B = Body part

Ghost loves his hands. He loves that he can kill with them yet bring pleasure as well.

C = Cum

Ghost has a terrible breeding kink. Watching his cum ooze out of his partner makes him fucking feral. Not only does the sight of it turn him on, but he’ll verbalize how good his cum looks dripping out of you.

D = Dirty secret

During his final year of secondary school, Simon got into some serious trouble, and nearly ended up expelled. It wasn’t his fault though, and he felt scorned. So, to retaliate, he fucked the principal’s daughter (a classmate of Simon’s) on the man’s desk. Took her virginity while the principal was in a meeting and the two of them should have been in class.

E = Experience

Ghost is experienced with sex but not experienced with love. He can fuck you all goddamn day and turn your limbs to jelly. But the intimacy part is difficult for him.

F = Favorite position

Face down, ass up. Not him, of course, but his partner. For Ghost, it’s dominating and rough and fulfills every primal urge he has.

G = Goofy

More serious than goofy in the moment. Doesn’t mean that Ghost lacks a sense of humor. The guy can crack a joke, but if he is a bit silly in bed, the humor is dry and might go over your head. Ghost prefers to be completely invested in the moment, and his level of silliness isn’t something he’s thinking about. Now, if something happens during the act that’s actually funny, he will laugh and won’t shame himself or you for it.

H = Hair

Doesn’t care about hair but hygiene. Body hair doesn’t scare him nor does a decent bush. Didn’t shave your legs/armpit/bikini line/face/etc.? Ghost could give a shit. If you’re willing and consenting, and he’s willing and consenting, body hair doesn’t even factor into it.

I = Intimacy

Ghost is terrible at intimacy. Sorry y’all, but he is. Doesn’t matter if it’s a quick fuck or a committed relationship. This man will literally approach you and be like “you want to fuck?” and expect a very clear yes or no answer to the question. But hey, at least he’s clear when it comes to communication.

J = Jack off

Ghost is a rigorous masturbator. The every day kind of masturbator. While he prefers his privacy, nothing is sexier to him than when you’ve been a bad boy/girl/one and Ghost decides what you need is a bit of punishment. He’ll restrain you and make you watch as he jerks off, giving himself pleasure while giving you nothing. Not until you’re a begging, whimpering mess.

K = Kink

Breeding, primal, semi-public, CNC, breath play, BDSM

L = Location

Cramped, enclosed spaces. In the car, against a wall, on the sofa, in the shower. Basically, anywhere where Ghost can feel big. He enjoys having a sense of largeness about him, that he’s trapping you under him. That you cannot escape him when he’s fucking you.

M = Motivation

This man is constantly down to fuck. Sure, talking dirty is fun, but what he really wants is clear communication first. Tell him you want to fuck him, and tell him plainly, and then the two of you can do whatever. A clear, “fuck me, Simon” sets him OFF.

N = No

Simon leans heavy on consent. His hard “no” is no clear “yes.” If you cannot communicate that you clearly want him, he’s immediately turned off. That also includes how he sets up a CNC with you.

O = Oral

Gives and receives equally. He doesn’t necessarily prefer one over the other. But when he does receive, he is vocal. Ghost wants you to know that he appreciates you going down on him, but also how much he enjoys it. When it comes to giving, Ghost is sloppy…but in a good way.

P = Pace

Ghost mixes it up depending on position. If he’s looking to draw it out, he’s going to go slow just because he wants to watch you squirm and wiggle. But otherwise, he’s all rough edges, wants to hold you down and fuck you until you’re both senseless and dazed. Even in his roughness, he won’t hurt you, but he might leave some marks behind.

Q = Quickie

Loves a good quickie. Just say the word and Ghost will bend you over or put you on top of the nearest surface and go for it.

R = Risk

As long as Ghost has your enthusiastic consent, he’s down for anything. If there is anything new you want to try, he’s open to do it, but is also good about setting boundaries especially if this new thing might possibly harm you or himself. A risk taker, but understands that the risks might outweigh the benefits.

S = Stamina

This man has the stamina of a fucking horse. He can go for miles if he paces himself. Ghost isn’t the kind of guy to tap out after one round. Sure, he might need a few minutes to breathe, but he’ll be ready to go against shortly after.

T = Toys

While he doesn’t personally own a plethora of toys, Ghost isn’t afraid of using them. His favorite ones are the kinds that vibrate…especially if he can use them on you and have complete authority over the controls. Expect to be edged and have your orgasm denied constantly.

U = Unfair

Ghost isn’t a tease unless he thinks you’ve earned it as a punishment.

V = Volume

Ghost is vocal but he’s not loud about it. If he’s going to drop praises, he’s going to say it like he’s passing on a secret. You don’t find this man yelling his pleasure to the ceiling. He’s all soft grunts and groans. But you? You can be as vocal and loud as you need to be.

W = Wild card

Ghost is a visual creature. He enjoys simply watching you. Watching you get dressed and undressed. Watching you shower. Watching you get ready for bed or ready for the day. He loves looking at you wearing something sexy or nothing at all. He stares.

X = X-ray

Under those clothes, Ghost has a decent bush. Keeps it lightly trimmed but a bit wild. Absolutely a good mix of length and girth. Just above average size. He fits…snuggly.

Y = Yearning

When it comes to a committed relationship, Ghost yearns for you all the time. He is always ready, and always eager if you are. He thinks about you constantly.

Z = Zzz

If it’s just casual sex, Ghost is falling asleep immediately. The man is a rock. Lights out. But if this is a committed relationship, Ghost will stay awake long enough to get you the aftercare you deserve before promptly passing the fuck out. Sorry, but he snores.

main masterlist

[leeknowsnot]

SKZ when you suddenly call them with their full name

I am posting every entry I have written in my notes app to make it up to you guys. 😭😭😭 Anyway, happy hearts day to everyone!!

CHAN

— his eyebrows are immediately raised and he's looking at you like "Did you just call me with my full name?" with eyes wide enough for you to poke them

— you pretend you don't hear him and just continue on with talking to him and calling him Christopher

— he's immediately on your tail like a kid, asking the same question all over again you can't help but pinch yourself to stop yourself from giggling at how cute he is

— he calls you all sorts of cute nicknames to make you surrender to his cuteness

— eventually you do give up and when you start calling him back with your nickname for him, oh my God he smiles at you so cutely you could just dive into his dimples

— you are spoiled

MINHO

— definitely the type to call you back with your full name

— you challenged the wrong person, now he's gonna be the one who'll call your full name with EVERY sentence he'd say until you admit defeat iT BACKFIRED SO BAD

— evERY CHANCE HE GETS HE'S GONNA DO IT

— especially when you guys are out with friends, he's gonna call your full name WITH YOUR MIDDLE NAME people are gonna start staring

— you start ignoring him whenever he calls you your full name on purpose and oh does that annoy him eventually

— the audacity to ignore him and be annoyed with him when you were the one who started this little game, right?

— "kitten got a taste of her own medicine?"

— he's gonna punish you for being such a bad kitty wink w0nk

CHANGBIN

— his pouts are aLL OVER THE PLACE

— whoever sees him gets a free show over a man with biceps pouting like the big baby he is

— he'd feel a bit off at first but eventually gets used to it eventually cause he dares not to pick on how you want to call him

— even if it's a bit weird, he'll tolerate and learn to accept it if that's what you want

— tELL HIM IT'S JUST A PRANK HE'S TOO WHOLESOME FOR THIS WORLD 😠

— would be weirded out again trying to adjust to being called with his nickname again when you finally stop with your prank

HYUNJIN

— will give you an offended stare as if you just committed a sin

— no cuddles for u because he said you're not his gf and says he doesn't know u

— he's gonna make such a big deal abt it to the point Chan would be calling you in the middle of the night asking you if you guys fought cause Hyunjin's acting so weird, like he's so pouty and edgy

— so when you said it's only because you called him by his government name for a prank, Chan L O S E S it

— you'd find a pouty Hyunjin in the morning, complaining cause Chan gave him an earful for maging a big deal out of your prank

— he basically forgot you were the one who started it . at least he's pouty over Chan instead of you anymore

HAN

— waterworks EVERYWHERE

— how dare you make him cry

— the moment you call him Han Jisung it's over for him

— the London Bridge is falling, Eiffel Tower is collapsing, the icebergs are melting

— "Is he better than me? Is he treating you better at least?"

— sTARTS ASKING QUESTIONS THAT SOUNDS LIKE YOU LOVE SOMEONE ELSE NOW BC HE'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH AND HE THINKS YOU DESERVE BETTER

— expect him pulling all-nighters writing a sad love song

— when you explain to him that it was just a prank, he immediately bursts into tears, either in relief that you still love him or bc you messed with his feelings 💀

— how dare you make him cry pt.2

— turns the sad love song that he wrote into a body roll song

FELIX

— he immediately catches on and knows it's a popular prank trend amongst couples so he plays along

— but ofc he's still making sure it really is a prank and you're not actually mad at him

— your friends would be looking at you both weirdly and think you guys have broken up but maintained good friendship

— his friends only know you by nickname so when they saw your caller id on Felix's phone and it was your actual full name, they were having multiple question marks as to why Felix was being all so chummy and sweet with this (Y/N) on the phone

— the next time you meet them they'd be shaking while trying to tell you that Felix has been cheating on you with someone named (Y/N)

— oh my God you and Felix die from laughter

SEUNGMIN

— tbh he doesn't care

— he'd been trying to get you to stop calling him smookie poo, pookie, moochie bear, and all sorts of nicknames the past weeks so this was actually a win situation for him

— he enjoys it too much he starts frowning at you when you go back to calling him the nicknames

— "Where'd the 'Yah, Kim Seungmin' go?"

— 10 out of 10 he loves the prank, would definitely avail for more 💀

— Now he won't stop demanding you to do it again

I.N

— immediately thinks he did something wrong but he just sITS THERE PROCESSING AND STARING AT YOU WITH HIS FAKE EYES OPEN

— he'd malfunction so bad how can you do this to him

— he's already clumsy as is but bc you're making him overthink, he's unintentionally breaking and dropping stuff all over the place

— in the "is-she breaking-up-with-me/did-she-find-someone-better" lineup

— he doesn't show it tho

— he tries not to at least

— would send you all sorts of gifts; flowers, chocolates, champagne, stuffed toys, you name it—it's his love language

— he'd actually try to win you back from this "new guy"

— when you tell him it's just a prank, he doesn't talk to u for a few days and gives you the silent treatment

— i mean, you obviously had it coming

[winterspellsfrozenkit]

One thing I wish was understood a bit better about Twisted Wonderland.

Everyone in this game has trauma or personal struggles and it's NOT a competition of who has it worse. Honestly, sometimes I wish everyone's traumas were discussed more in depth in the game like we get with each person who Overblots, but we don't have time for it. With the Overblot boys, their trauma is shoved directly into the spotlight and we hear exactly how their situations make them feel. But the rest of the cast, ALL of them, have personal struggles and/or trauma. This is just a small list of some of the issues each non Overblot student has.

Ace masks the fear he feels in a lot of situations, and he's got an inferiority complex on some level. Notice how he bullied the player and Grim in our first interaction? That is a sign of someone who is looking to feel better by pushing someone else down because they don't feel good about themselves.

Deuce grew up with a single mother who had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, which causes him to worry about her, and he was a delinquent in middle school, which made his mom, the one person he worries over, cry. He lives with those regrets, but he's still got those old habits and he agonizes over the fact he's not academically where he'd like to be and his behavior regresses when in heated situations.

Trey has severe trauma at being screamed at for FIVE HOURS over giving Riddle ONE slice of tart, so much that his vitals are severely affected at the thought of Mrs. Rosehearts and he's heavily conflict avoidant.

Cater has had to move all the time and as a defense mechanism, refuses to be honest or get close to people because he doesn't want to get attached only to be ripped away from them.

Ruggie lives in EXTREME poverty when not at school. He struggles to make ends meet and he has to work so hard in a system that is DESIGNED to keep him in poverty, because many beastmen still prefer segregation in the Sunset Savannah.

Jack has one of the healthier mindsets, but he still struggles with being open and honest about his feelings, which makes it hard to have friends, and he struggled with watching Leona, someone he's idolized, fall short of what he believed of Leona.

Jade and Floyd are implied to have grown up in some form of crime family and both seem to have handled the fact their lives could be in constant danger differently. Both like things being interesting, but Jade seems to prefer seclusion and control, while Floyd enjoys scaring people off and having as much fun as he can before he goes.

Kalim is someone who has had multiple assassination attempts on his life, even from his own family. He masks behind a smile, but he's afraid to trust people, and when he DOES TRY to talk about it, it gets brushed off because he has money. Also, he has to deal with the fact Jamil has been undermining his ability to progress by not treating him as if he's capable at all.

Epel has been teased and bullied on how he looked to the point where he started instigating fights to ensure he wouldn't be teased. He also has to fall in line with what Vil wants because he made the error of picking a fight with Vil and getting his butt HANDED to him. To further add, Vil is NOT NICE about it when Epel resists, with one example being Vil grabbing him by the ear and pulling hard as a form of punishment.

Rook has deal with the fact that for being someone who is super perceptive and can notice details, he didn't realize Vil's feelings around Neige, likely because he was blinded by his own admiration for both of them and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Ortho has to deal with being basically created as a replacement for dead Ortho Shroud, trying to figure out if he's just really a robot made by Idia with really good AI or more than that, and dealing with the fact he loves his brother so much, but his brother doesn't take care of himself and it's disheartening to watch Idia's self-destruction.

Lilia has so much war trauma, losing his loved ones, having been exiled, and so much other crap. Even so, he forced himself to put the war and his trauma about it in the past, where it belonged for the sake of his two sons who both lost so much to war, which is something Baur/Baul could NOT do which was to Sebek's detriment.

Silver has had to live with the idea that his adoptive father would likely outlive him, then is faced with the fact that his father is basically abandoning everything about their life in Briar Valley before he learns that his biological parents were the enemies of the person he serves and cares about, Malleus, and the only father he's ever known.

Sebek has grown up with internalized racism/speciesism against humans thanks to his upbringing and he basically rejects half of his heritage with how he treats his father. He does not even realize how hurtful his comments are until he's faced with those remarks being directed at him by a younger version of his grandfather.

And this isn't everything each student has to face. This is just broad strokes. Yana Toboso wrote a story about flawed people who all have gone through really hard and difficult things because that's the point. As Toboso said in a 2023 interview:

“Happy endings in Disney works come from righteous actions and love, but I believe that the villains are characters who do not get saved during the story. That is why, through this game, I want to portray the message that even if you get beat up all the way to a bad ending, you can grow from it and live your life without feeling discouraged.

Acting lame, obstinate, without hesitation, being open and honest—it’s not as bad as it sounds. 

I would like to paint a positive picture of living honestly with yourself and not worrying about others.

In today’s society there are so many people who live in fear of failure and are always walking on eggshells, but nobody’s flawless. It is exhausting to try to live your life so that no one will hate you.”

Everyone, even people you don't know or do not like, have gone through things that shaped who they are. Sometimes, how we've adapted to handle the bad things that happen will force us to hit rock bottom. But you don't have to die when you hit rock bottom.

You can have terrible things happen to you and have maladaptive strategies to handle your experiences, but you aren't stuck that way forever. You can learn how to change your habits, learn to be okay with yourself, and work at being better than you were the day before.

Human growth is not linear. It's a bunch of taking steps forward and backsliding and learning and making mistakes over and over again and accepting failure, not as a testament to your character, but as part of the process of growth... and that's something all the students have to learn, not just the Overblot boys. Because all of them, every single one, are handling their own personal issues, even if it isn't shoved right in our faces.

[snoozify]

Me and My Husband PT3

Milf Abby x Suburban Wife Reader

Warning: Abuse, Sexism, Smut (in later part), cussing, homophobia, Men being Men, child abuse, happy ending, substance abuse, cheating.

A/N: This fic is based off the song Me and My Husband by the Queen Mitski. 16k words. Happy Valentines Day my gift from me to you (I posted it early)

tags: @glass-apothecary. @asothinking. @half-of-a-gay. @0h-basic. @antobooh. @soniiyi. @h0n3yf0rlif3. @vienwood. @icedsimpsayo. @0h-basic. @marsstupenditious. @femme-tobe. @thatgrlnany

P1 P2 PT3

Since that kiss in the pantry, everything between you and Abby had shifted in a way you couldn’t quite explain. It was subtle at first, a few extra glances, a lingering touch here and there, but it was enough to send your heart racing every time you saw her. You told yourself it was just a moment, a one-time thing—something driven by heat, by everything you’d been suppressing. But with each passing day, it became harder to deny that it was more than that.

Abby never pushed, never rushed you. She gave you the space you needed, always respecting your boundaries, even as your connection deepened. She’d always been thoughtful like that—tuned into you in a way that felt... different from what you were used to. You were used to being invisible to your husband, your needs always secondary, but Abby—Abby saw you. She didn’t just see the woman on the surface; she saw everything. And for the first time in so long, it felt like you mattered.

During the days when your husband was at work, Abby would show up at your door with Ezekiel in tow. At first, you hesitated, unsure if letting them in so often was a good idea, but the way she looked at you, with her quiet, steady understanding, made it hard to say no. And in truth, you were grateful. She would step in without you needing to ask, a quiet comfort in the chaos that was your life. While you scrambled to manage everything—dishes, laundry, endless piles of work—Abby would step in with that quiet strength of hers, taking care of the kids, ensuring they were fed and entertained, so you could catch your breath.

Abby’s presence became a small, bright light in your overwhelming days. You found solace in the way she would help you with Madison, Kimberly, Jayden and Nico, her steady hands helping with everything from changing diapers to feeding bottles to brushing little heads of hair. Ezekiel, with his quiet intelligence, would play quietly with the younger ones, offering Madison a hand when she needed it or sharing toys with Kimberly, always with that kind smile of his. They didn’t just become a presence in your home—they became a part of your rhythm, something you never thought you could have, especially with everything that had happened in your own family.

Abby didn’t just help with the kids, though. She took care of you, too, in a way you hadn’t realized you were craving. She would linger by your side when you felt the weight of everything on your shoulders, offering gentle reassurance, or simply holding your hand when you needed the comfort of another person. When you were exhausted from doing everything alone, she would make you tea, or simply sit beside you in the quiet, not asking for anything, just giving you the peace you hadn’t known you needed.

There were moments—small, fleeting moments—when you would catch yourself staring at Abby, heart full of gratitude and longing, wishing that everything could just fall into place. Wishing you could be the person she deserved without the constraints of your current life holding you back.

But every time you caught yourself, you’d pull away, guilt gnawing at the back of your mind. You were married. You had kids. You had responsibilities, and you couldn’t let your mind wander too far from the reality of it all. Abby never made you feel that pressure, though. She never forced you to make a decision, never demanded anything in return for her kindness. But you felt it—the quiet tension between the lines, the electricity building each time she came to your door, the way your heart would race when she smiled at you, when her fingers brushed against yours.

She wasn’t your escape, you reminded yourself. She was your ally, your friend, a support system in the chaos. But sometimes, when your kids were in bed and the house was quiet, you’d find yourself longing for more. Longing for the care and tenderness Abby offered without question, without hesitation. It made you wonder what it would be like to let go of all the walls you had built, to let yourself feel the freedom you hadn’t known since before you were married.

As the days turned into weeks, the boundary between what was right and what was beginning to feel so right blurred. You were falling for Abby, slowly but surely, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating all at once. The way she made you feel cared for, seen, loved—without expecting anything in return—was something you hadn’t realized you’d been starved for, something that began to gnaw at your heart when you weren’t with her.

She was at your door every morning now, without fail. You had stopped asking for her help and had started welcoming it. It wasn’t just the kids she helped with, though that in itself was a godsend, but it was the way she made everything feel less lonely. The way her presence filled a space in your heart that you didn’t even realize was empty.

She steps inside, the door clicking shut behind her with a quiet finality. You had stopped locking it once your husband left for the day—an unspoken invitation for Abby to slip in seamlessly, filling the gaps where you were left to carry everything alone. She never questioned it, never made you feel like a burden for needing the help. She just showed up.

Trailing in behind her, Ezekiel clutches his dinosaur toy in one small hand, his other rubbing his tired eyes. The moment he spots Madison and the others, his posture shifts, his little feet already poised to run off and join them. But before he can, Abby places a gentle hand on his shoulder, her voice steady yet soft. “Say hello to Y/N first before you go play, Ezekiel.”

The boy halts mid-step, turning to face you with a sleepy grin. “Hi, Mrs. Y/N!” he says, his little wave filled with a warmth that tugs at something deep in your chest.

You manage a soft smile, waving back. “Hey, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he’s off, disappearing into the small chaos of childhood laughter filling the house. Abby watches him go for a moment before turning her attention back to you. Her expression shifts, that familiar warmth still present, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something searching. She leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossing loosely over her chest as her gaze settles on you.

She smiles at you warm, effortless, like it costs her nothing at all. And you wish, God, you wish you could return it with the same ease. But the exhaustion, the weight of everything you carry, clings to you too tightly, wrapping around your ribs like a vice. The effort of trying to push it all aside, even for a second, feels impossible. So instead, you do what you always do—you move.

You step past her, reaching for the nearest task, something to keep your hands busy, something to focus on besides the way your chest feels too tight, besides the way she sees you.

But Abby doesn’t let you.

Her fingers curl gently around your wrist, her grip firm but careful, a tether pulling you back before you can disappear into routine again. You freeze, caught off guard, blinking up at her as she tilts her head slightly. Her brows knit together, concern etched into the softness of her expression.

"Y/N." Her voice is quiet, steady. "Smile."

The request is simple. Too simple. And yet, it knocks something loose in your chest.

You swallow, searching for some kind of defense, something that will make her let you go. "I smile," you argue weakly, but even you don’t believe it. Abby does. She always does. And she sees right through you. A quiet chuckle escapes her, something small and knowing. She shakes her head before stepping in closer, her presence grounding. "Not enough." The words settle in your chest, heavier than they should be. You open your mouth to protest, to tell her that you’re fine, that she doesn’t need to worry—but the words never come. Because before your mind can convince you to pull away, before you can second-guess it, you just… let go.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself a moment of relief. Just one.

You lean into her, resting your head against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath you. It’s brief because it has to be, because the guilt is already creeping in but it’s enough. Enough to remind you that you are here. That you are not alone. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally speak. "Thank you for helping." You hesitate, gripping onto the fabric of her shirt for just a second before exhaling shakily. "I’ve never had this kind of help before."

Abby exhales softly, and without hesitation, her arms come around you, solid and sure, holding you like it’s second nature. She doesn’t tell you that you don’t need to thank her. She doesn’t try to convince you that you deserve more than this. She just holds you.

Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, she rubs slow, soothing circles into your back, her voice a quiet murmur against your hair.

"No need to thank me." A pause. A promise. "I got you."

You pull away from her warmth, but not before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. It’s quick, almost shy, but the way she doesn’t immediately pull back makes your heart skip. The feeling lingers on your lips as you turn back to the sink, letting the familiar sound of water running and dishes clinking settle your nerves. But Abby doesn’t leave. She stays there, still leaning against the counter, her eyes fixed on you.

"How about a little picnic?" she asks, her voice quiet and gentle, but there's a warmth in it that makes you stop what you're doing for a moment.

You don't answer right away, continuing to scrub a plate with more force than necessary. The weight of her gaze stays on you, waiting.

"Just me, you, and the kids," she continues, her voice a little closer now, nudging herself into your space. "A day outside, some fresh air. No chores, no responsibilities."

You let out a sigh, turning the faucet off and gripping the edge of the sink, trying to find some balance between the pull of her suggestion and the heaviness in your chest. "I don’t know, Abby. I have so much s—"

She cuts you off before you can finish, stepping in front of you. Her hands come to rest gently on your waist, firm yet soothing, grounding you as her touch sends a wave of warmth through your body. "Just one day," she says softly, her tone unwavering. "If you don’t like it, we never have to do it again."

You stare at her, lips parting as if to argue, but the words don’t come. Your eyes flicker to the floor, fighting the rush of conflicting emotions that pull at you. The weight of everything you’ve been carrying, the endless cycle of cleaning, cooking, meeting expectations that were never yours to meet. All of it feels suffocating at times, and the thought of just one day free of it, just one day to breathe, begins to soften the edge of your resistance.

Would it really hurt?

You glance up toward the stairs, hearing the faint sounds of your kids’ laughter echoing down. The joy in their voices is so simple, so pure, it tugs at your heart. You can almost see them outside, running across the yard with the sun warming their faces, their laughter filling the air. You imagine sitting beside Abby, no pressure, no responsibilities. Just a moment of peace.

Your throat tightens, the words almost caught in your chest, but you swallow them down and take a deep breath.

"Fine," you whisper, barely audible. Then, a little stronger, with more conviction, "Let’s do it."

Abby’s expression shifts, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face. She doesn’t say anything else. she brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingers lingering at your cheek.

"You get the kids ready and grab a blanket," she murmurs. "I’ll handle everything else."

You nod, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, something lighter blooming in your chest. For the first time in so long, you feel something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in what seems like forever—hope. A tiny spark of it, something you thought might have been lost.

As you walk past her toward the stairs, you can’t help but let that smile grow a little wider, allowing yourself to believe, just for today, that maybe you deserve a break. Maybe you deserve this.

Walking into the kids' room, you pause for a moment to take in the familiar chaos. Madison and Ezekiel are sitting cross-legged on the floor, engaged in some intense game that involves making up silly stories with their toys. Their laughter fills the air, a sound that always brings warmth to your heart. Kimberly, sitting nearby, watches them with wide, fascinated eyes, her attention completely captured by whatever game they’re playing. Jayden is sitting alone, chewing on one of his toys, his little face scrunched up in concentration. Nico, meanwhile, is sleeping soundly in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern, so peaceful in his slumber that it almost seems like he’s untouched by the noise around him.

As soon as Madison catches sight of you walking in, she springs to her feet with an excited squeal. "Hi, Momma!" she chirps, her face lighting up like a little sunbeam. She waves her arms wildly as if she’s just spotted you after years apart, even though it’s only been a few hours since breakfast. You smile back at her, your chest swelling with affection as you make your way over to the closet to grab a blanket for the picnic.

But before you can even reach the shelf, Madison’s face suddenly shifts, her expression turning curious as she watches you. “What’s wrong, Momma? Where are we going?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. There’s an innocent concern in her voice, a sweetness that makes your heart ache. You stop in your tracks, kneeling down in front of her. Gently, you tuck a loose curl behind her ear and cradle her small face in your palm.

“Abby is taking us on a picnic,” you say softly, letting the words settle between you.

The second the words leave your mouth, Madison's face lights up like a Christmas tree. She shrieks with glee, her little hands flailing as she jumps up and down in excitement. The sound is almost too high-pitched, but it's full of joy, and it makes your heart flutter. Kimberly, always ready to follow her older sister's lead, claps her tiny hands together and bounces in place, giggling with the same unrestrained excitement.

Jayden, who’s been quietly playing on the floor, doesn’t join in the chorus of celebration, but his face breaks into a huge grin, and a soft giggle escapes him as he watches his sisters. The room is filled with the sound of their joy, and it makes you feel lighter just being surrounded by it.

Madison, still buzzing with energy, whirls around to grab Ezekiel’s hands. “Ezekiel! Your momma is taking us on a picnic!” she practically sings, her voice bubbling with pure happiness. Her enthusiasm is so contagious that you can’t help but smile, watching as Ezekiel giggles along with her. The sudden excitement, though, is enough to rouse Nico from his nap. The peaceful silence of his sleep is shattered by a sharp, startled cry. His little face scrunches up, and the high-pitched wail echoes through the room.

Madison freezes immediately, her bright smile fading into a look of guilt as she glances at you. Her eyes widen, and she takes a cautious step back, almost as if preparing for a scolding. “I’m sorry, Momma. I woke up Nico,” she whispers, her voice small and full of regret.

Your heart tugs at the sight of her concern, her big eyes filled with worry. You quickly shake your head and smile at her, reassuring her with a soft, gentle tone. “It’s okay, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” You walk over to Nico’s crib, your arms outstretched as you lean down to lift him. His tiny body is warm and soft against your chest, and as soon as he’s settled in your arms, his cries slowly start to fade, replaced by the quiet sniffs of a baby who just needed to feel the safety of your touch.

You sway gently, rocking him in your arms as his tiny hands grip onto your shirt, and the crying gradually gives way to a contented sigh. He’s calm now, his little body melting into yours as you continue to rock him back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on his back. You whisper quietly to him, “Shh, it’s okay, Nico. You’re alright.” Before you can say anything more, Abby’s voice breaks through the soft lull of the room, her familiar tone filling the space with its calm warmth.

“Everything okay?”

You hear Abby’s voice before you see her, soft but laced with concern. You turn, finding her standing in the doorway, her brows slightly furrowed as she looks between you and the now-settling Nico in your arms. The sight of her, the reassurance in her presence, does something to you—calms you in a way you didn’t even realize you needed.

Letting out a quiet breath, you give a small nod, still swaying gently with Nico in your arms. “Nico woke up,” you explain, your voice carrying the weight of your exhaustion, but there's also a tenderness in the way you speak about him.

Abby exhales, her shoulders relaxing as she steps fully into the room. “I got Jayden,” she says softly, her voice steady, as if this is just another part of her day. She moves toward Jayden, who’s sitting on the floor, his small hands reaching up toward her with innocent eagerness. Abby crouches beside him, her grin wide as she ruffles his curls with affection. She makes quick work of slipping his tiny sneakers on, the sound of the soft Velcro and the shuffle of his small feet filling the air.

Jayden kicks his legs, giggling uncontrollably as Abby’s fingers tickle his sides. "You ready for the best picnic ever, little man?" she asks, her voice low but playful, her eyes dancing with warmth. Jayden’s response is an enthusiastic nod, his little arms flailing as he lets out a delighted squeal, clearly thrilled by the idea of a picnic. Abby finishes tying his shoes, her hands nimble and sure as she adjusts the laces.

Watching the scene unfold, you feel something shift in your chest. The way Abby so naturally interacts with your children, like she’s been doing this for years, is a kind of magic you never thought you’d experience. She doesn’t just care for them—she connects with them. She’s part of the rhythm of your home, part of your family in a way that feels effortless, yet profound. For the first time in a long while, something inside you whispers that this—that this feeling—is what family is supposed to feel like.

Abby looks up at you then, her eyes meeting yours with an unreadable softness. She lifts Jayden effortlessly, settling him in her arms as he wraps his little hands around her neck. With a smile, she murmurs, “I got everything packed up in my truck.” Her words are casual, but there’s a depth to them, like she’s offering more than just a picnic—it’s an invitation to let go, to trust, to be.

As you walk down the stairs and out the door, a wave of anxiety crashes over you. What if your husband found out? What would happen if he came home early and saw an empty, uncleaned house? What if he walked in and found you, playing house with another woman? The fear bubbles up inside of you like a knot, and your feet freeze on the last step.

This wasn’t normal. You didn’t leave the house by yourself—not unless it was for church, the grocery store, or to drop the kids off at school. Every other moment, you were expected to be there, within these walls. You weren’t allowed to do anything else, to go anywhere else. And now... now, you were stepping outside, into something that felt like freedom, but freedom that came with its own set of consequences. This house had become a prison, and the world outside felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Abby, oblivious to the storm of worry inside you, opens the door. The kids burst through, their laughter and giggles filling the air like a bright, blinding light. They’re carefree, already caught up in the magic of the moment. But you stand frozen, caught between wanting to join them and the weight of all the “what ifs” that suffocate you.

Abby notices your hesitation, and for the first time, she softens. She turns to you, her hand outstretched. "Come on, Y/N. It’s gonna be fun, trust me."

You hesitate, your breath shaky as you look at her, then at Nico in your arms, and then back at Abby. You want to say no, but something inside you just needs a break from the constant weight on your shoulders. After a long breath, you finally give in, your fingers brushing against hers as you take her hand. It’s simple, but it feels like a step toward something you didn’t realize you were craving.

Abby gently takes Nico from your arms, placing him in the car seat, then opens the door for you. “Don’t stress yourself,” she says softly, her voice a quiet anchor against the storm inside your mind. You let out a shaky breath as she closes the car door, and her calmness is a balm to your nerves. She moves quickly, buckling in Jayden and Kimberly before getting in herself.

With a rev of the engine, Abby turns to look in the rearview mirror at the kids. “Who’s ready for our picnic?” she asks, her voice light, almost teasing.

The kids burst into a roar of excitement, their collective joy ringing in the car like a symphony. You catch a glimpse of their faces in the mirror, their wide eyes filled with happiness, and you feel a small spark of warmth deep inside.

And then Abby drives off. The world outside the window blurs into motion, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, today could be different.

The drive there was worlds apart from the usual tension-filled trips with your husband. Instead of the stifled silence or sharp words that often accompanied car rides, there was an easy comfort in the air. The kids were talking over each other, their excited voices filling the truck without any fear of being scolded for being too loud. Madison and Kimberly were laughing, whispering back and forth in their own little world, while Jayden, always the chatterbox, babbled about whatever his little mind had come up with that day. Nico, strapped in his car seat, cooed contentedly in the back, his small hands waving in the air as if he was just as excited as the rest of them.

But it wasn’t just your kids who were enjoying the freedom of this moment. Ezekiel, Abby’s son, was in the mix, happily playing with a small toy in his lap, making little noises of his own as he watched the world whiz by outside the window. His occasional giggle blended seamlessly with the rest of the chatter, as if he were always meant to be part of this lively atmosphere. Abby glanced back at him through the rearview mirror with a soft smile, checking on him in between moments of glancing at the road, a picture of calm assurance.

What really struck you was the absence of tension. Normally, your husband’s presence on these drives would make everything feel tight and stifled, his constant reminders to keep the kids quiet, to behave properly, hovering over every conversation. But here, with Abby behind the wheel, there was no need for that. She let the kids talk, laugh, and express themselves freely, her eyes occasionally flicking to them with a smile or a gentle word to encourage their joy.

As you glanced around, you realized something you hadn’t even thought about until now. This wasn’t just a break for you, escaping the weight of everything you carried at home. No, this was a break for your children too. They were allowed to be themselves in a way they rarely got to be allowed to talk loudly, laugh without restraint, and just be without worrying about causing any disruptions. Even Ezekiel seemed to thrive in this environment, his bright eyes alight with excitement, free from the pressure of expectations that often loomed over him at home.

And Abby, in her quiet way, had helped create this space. She hadn’t just made it about giving you a break—she had also made it about giving your children something they deserved: the ability to simply exist without the constant pressure of living up to someone else’s rules. With every gentle word she spoke to them, every kind glance she shared with Ezekiel, you realized how much of a gift this day was not just for you, but for all of you.

It was rare that you got to experience this kind of freedom, and even rarer for your children. But here, in this moment, there was nothing holding them back. They were happy, carefree, and so was Ezekiel. He was part of the group, fully included in the joy of the day, just as he should be. The weight of everything else—of your husband, of the expectations, of the pressure—faded away as you let yourself sink into this rare peace. It felt like a small victory, a chance to breathe that you’d almost forgotten you needed. And it wasn’t just yours—it was something you and Abby were offering to your children, to Ezekiel, and even to yourselves.

As Abby pulls up to the park, the engine hums to a stop, and she switches off the ignition. She turns to face the kids, her voice bright with excitement. "We’re here!" she announces. The moment the words leave her mouth, the kids erupt in a chorus of cheers, their voices blending together in a symphony of joy. They scramble to unbuckle their seatbelts, barely waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before they’re ready to burst out of the vehicle.

Abby chuckles, shaking her head at the flurry of energy, before she gets out and starts helping the kids with their seatbelts. You sit there for a moment, still in the car, the realization slowly settling in. You actually did it. You actually left the house. You didn't just think about it, didn't just imagine the freedom—you did it. A mix of relief and disbelief washes over you as you take in the moment. For so long, leaving the house had seemed like an impossible feat, something you weren’t allowed to do without consequences. But now, here you were, in the middle of it, feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long time: choice.

You take a deep breath, willing the unease to dissipate, before you finally open the door and step out of the car. Abby's already setting up the picnic blanket near a large maple tree, the basket she packed full of food resting beside it. You help her lay Nico down on the blanket, giving him a moment to squirm and explore in his own little way, his tiny hands reaching up at the sky, his eyes wide with wonder at the world around him.

Madison and Ezekiel immediately take off running, their laughter carrying through the air, the sounds of their joy so pure and unrestrained. Kimberly and Jayden, not to be left behind, follow as best they can, their little legs moving as fast as they can manage, the younger ones struggling to keep up with the older kids’ energy.

Abby sits down on the blanket next to you, her arms gently wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You lean into her, your head finding its place on her chest as the peaceful sounds of the park fill the space around you. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the sun shining down through the leaves above, and the gentle rustling of the trees.

“You’re doing great,” Abby whispers softly, her voice steady and soothing. You let out a long breath, the weight of everything you've been carrying lightening just a little. You smile faintly, feeling her warmth, her solid presence beside you. You interlace your fingers with hers, the simple touch offering more comfort than you thought it would.

You turn your gaze to the kids, watching them chase each other through the grass, their faces alight with joy. Abby follows your gaze, her voice tender as she speaks. “Look at them, having fun.” She pauses for a moment, as if reflecting on the significance of it all. “Ezekiel told me he’s not so lonely anymore, not since he started playing with Madison and the others.” There’s a softness in her tone, a quiet pride, as she looks at you, her eyes warm and open.

You look up at her, your eyes meeting hers. Her gaze is gentle, filled with understanding, and for a brief moment, the world outside of this peaceful bubble you’ve created fades away. It’s just you and Abby, here with the kids, and something deep inside you shifts. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight dances on her hair, or how her hand feels in yours, but in this moment, you feel something that’s been missing for a long time a connection, a sense of belonging, not just for you but for your children as well.

You stay in the quiet of the moment, feeling the peaceful rhythm of your breath match Abby’s. The air feels different here—lighter, freer, almost like the weight of the world hasn’t quite found its way into the space you’ve carved out beneath this tree. You look at Abby again, her gaze still soft but purposeful as she watches the kids play.

Her hand gently squeezes yours, grounding you. “I’m glad we did this,” she says quietly, as though reading the quiet thoughts you hadn’t voiced. The kids are running in circles now, a blur of limbs and laughter. It’s the kind of joy that feels contagious, so unburdened and alive. You watch them for a moment, feeling a smile tug at your lips, a warmth spreading across your chest.

“I didn’t think I could,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, your words directed more to yourself than to Abby. “I didn’t think I could get out. I never... I never really realized how much I needed to.”

Abby doesn’t answer right away, her attention still on the kids, but her grip on your hand tightens just slightly. It’s not forceful, just a reminder, as if telling you, I’m here. It’s all she needs to say, and you feel the truth of it settle into you. In that moment, you realize that this wasn’t just a picnic, or a break from the house, it was something far more important.

The fact that you could leave, that you could make a choice, felt like a small rebellion, a reclaiming of something you thought was lost. Abby’s right here beside you, a steady presence, and suddenly the heaviness you’ve carried for so long doesn’t seem so impossible to face.

You take in a slow, deliberate breath, the weight in your chest lifting just a little more. For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not suffocating under the pressure of expectations—yours, your husband's, society’s.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” you say, voice cracking slightly, but the gratitude in your tone is undeniable. It’s a simple thing, really—just a day in the park, just a moment outside the walls of your house. But it’s more than that. It’s a chance to breathe again, to remember that there’s more to life than everything that’s been piled onto you. And Abby made it happen, without any fanfare or demand for recognition. She just... did it.

She smiles at you, that same calm smile that feels like a lifeline. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. Just... keep trusting me, okay?” There’s no rush in her voice, no pressure. Just an invitation, a quiet promise that she’s here for the long haul, ready to help you untangle whatever’s been holding you back.

You nod slowly, feeling the gravity of her words sink in. Trusting Abby feels easy in a way it never has with anyone else. The way she makes you feel like you matter, like your needs—your fears are valid, and worth addressing.

“I’ll try,” you say softly, squeezing her hand in return. Your gaze drifts back to the kids, who are now tumbling across the grass, laughing with abandon, their carefree spirits filling the space.

The day stretches before you, a soft, hopeful kind of promise, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to truly hope for more days like this—days when the weight feels lighter, when you can simply exist without the constant pressure of being everything for everyone.

Kimberly toddles over to Abby, her little feet kicking up bits of grass as she makes her way across the picnic blanket. She taps Abby’s shoulder with her tiny fingers, her face set with determination. Abby, who had been resting back on her hands, looks down at her with a curious smile.

“What is it, kiddo?” Abby asks, shifting so she’s sitting up straight.

Kimberly doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she raises a small hand and points toward the picnic basket, her dark eyes expectant. Without a word, she clambers into Abby’s lap, settling against her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Abby lets out a small chuckle, wrapping an arm around her instinctively to keep her steady.

“What are you after, huh?” Abby teases, her fingers brushing gently over Kimberly’s back. “You got something in mind?”

Kimberly’s little finger continues to point, unwavering. “Juice, Mom.”

Everything around you stills.

The laughter of the older kids playing in the distance dulls, the rustling of leaves in the gentle afternoon breeze fades, and all you can hear is the rapid pounding of your own heart.

You freeze, the motion of reaching for a napkin completely forgotten. Your gaze snaps to Kimberly, then to Abby, who has gone completely still beneath the weight of that single word.

Mom.

She called Abby Mom.

Abby’s lips part slightly, her blue eyes widening as she processes what just happened. Her grip on Kimberly tightens instinctively, protectively, but she doesn’t correct her. She doesn’t question it. Instead, she looks at you.

And you don’t know what to say.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind a mess of emotions you can’t even begin to untangle. Kimberly doesn’t seem to realize the significance of what she’s done—she just keeps looking at Abby expectantly, waiting for her juice like it was the most normal thing in the world to call her Mom.

Abby blinks, then clears her throat, her voice a little softer when she finally speaks. “Juice, huh?” She reaches over, pulling a small bottle from the basket before twisting off the cap and handing it to Kimberly.

The little girl beams, taking the juice with both hands and sipping happily. She wiggles a little deeper into Abby’s hold, completely oblivious to the way your entire world has just shifted.

Abby looks at you again, searching your face for a reaction, for permission, for something.

You don’t know how to respond.

Kimberly remains curled up in Abby’s lap, sipping her juice, blissfully unaware of the weight of her words. She called Abby Mom. And Abby… she didn’t correct her.

Abby shifts slightly, adjusting Kimberly so she’s more comfortable, but her eyes stay locked on you. There’s something careful, something almost hesitant in her expression when she finally speaks.

“I didn’t want to correct her,” she says quietly, watching you for any sign of discomfort.

You hold Nico close, his small, steady breaths against your neck grounding you. You should say something. Maybe correct Kimberly yourself. Maybe tell Abby that it was just a slip of the tongue, that it didn’t mean anything.

But that would be a lie.

You glance down at Kimberly, completely at ease in Abby’s arms, and then back up at Abby, who’s still waiting for your response. A part of you wants to dwell on it, overthink it, let the fear creep back in. But another part of you—the part that’s been longing for something safe, something real—pushes all that doubt aside.

You swallow, offering Abby a small, soft smile.

“It’s okay.”

Abby’s lips twitch into something like relief, and before either of you can say anything else, Madison’s voice cuts through the moment.

“Momma!”

She comes running over, her curls bouncing as she skids to a stop in front of you, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you play in the water with me?” she asks, clasping her hands together, her wide, pleading eyes making it impossible to say no. Abby chuckles, giving Kimberly’s back a small rub before glancing at you. “Go,” she encourages. “I’ll keep an eye on Nico and Ms. Kimberly.” You hesitate for only a second before sighing, carefully setting Nico down on the blanket. The second you’re up, Madison grabs your hand, dragging you toward the lake.

“Come on, Momma!” she urges, her excitement contagious.

Jayden and Ezekiel are already in the water, splashing at each other, their laughter ringing through the air. As you step closer, you slip off your shoes, dipping your toes in first—only for a sharp chill to shoot up your legs.

“Oh-” You suck in a breath, shivering slightly before laughing. “It’s cold!”

Madison giggles at your reaction before spinning back toward Jayden and Ezekiel, kicking at the water and sending droplets flying in every direction. Jayden yelps, shrieking with laughter as he splashes back, while Ezekiel joins in with a mischievous grin.

You watch them, smiling as you move your feet in slow circles beneath the water, enjoying the rare feeling of peace. And then Madison suddenly stops. She turns toward you, her excitement dimming just a little, her voice softer now.

“Momma, I like Miss Anderson.”

You blink down at her, caught off guard. “You do?”

Madison nods, her curls bobbing with the motion. “She makes you smile,” she says simply. “And she makes us laugh.” Your heart clenches at her words, at the sincerity in her voice. Before you can respond, she hesitates, her little hands playing with the hem of her shirt. “I wish she could replace Daddy,” she murmurs, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

Your breath catches.

Madison looks down, her fingers twisting together as her face falls. “I wish she could be our second mom,” she says, her voice just a whisper now. Then, as if she’s afraid she’s said something wrong, she finally looks back up at you, eyes glassy. “I don’t like Daddy, Momma. He makes you cry… and he’s rude.”

Your throat tightens.

She shouldn’t have to notice these things. She shouldn’t have to carry these thoughts in her little heart. You sink down to her level, your hands gently cupping her face as you take in the sadness in her eyes, the way her tiny body is tense, like she’s bracing herself.

Tears prick at your own eyes as you press a kiss to her forehead.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

And then you pull her into your arms, holding her tight as she clings to you.

Madison buries her face into your shoulder, her small body trembling slightly as she clings to you. You stroke her curls gently, pressing another kiss to the top of her head as you blink away your own tears.

No child should have to feel this way. No child should have to wish for a different father, for a different life. You hold her tighter.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion.

Madison sniffles, her grip on you tightening before she finally pulls back, her big, brown eyes searching yours. “Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly, her voice so small.

Your heart shatters.

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” You shake your head quickly, cupping her face in your hands. “Never. You can always tell me how you feel, okay?” She nods, but you can see the uncertainty still lingering in her expression. You hate that she’s even questioning whether her feelings are allowed. You brush away a stray tear from her cheek before offering her a small smile. “You know what? I really like Miss Anderson too.”

Madison’s face lights up, her sadness momentarily forgotten. “You do?”

You nod, glancing over your shoulder toward Abby. She’s still sitting on the picnic blanket, holding Nico against her chest, his tiny body completely relaxed in her arms. Kimberly is beside her, contently sipping from her juice box while Abby absentmindedly runs her fingers through her curls.

It’s such a natural sight.

Like they belong there.

Like this is how things are supposed to be.

You turn back to Madison, brushing another curl behind her ear. “Yeah, baby. I really do.”

Madison beams before suddenly gasping, her eyes widening with excitement. “Can we tell her? Can we tell Miss Anderson we like her?”

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t want to tell Abby—God, you do—but because this is still so fragile. You’re still so scared.

But then you look at your daughter’s hopeful expression, and something inside you steels.

“Yeah,” you say softly, nodding. “We can tell her.”

Madison lets out a delighted squeal before grabbing your hand. “Come on, Momma! Let’s tell her now!” She tugs you toward the picnic blanket, her excitement contagious. You laugh softly, wiping away the last traces of your tears as you let her pull you forward.

As you approach, Abby looks up, a soft smile already on her lips. “You guys have fun?”

Madison nods enthusiastically, her curls bouncing as she shifts from foot to foot, barely able to contain her excitement. “Momma says she likes you!” she blurts out before you even have the chance to sit down.

Your entire body goes still.

Your breath catches in your throat as your wide eyes dart to your daughter, who is now grinning up at Abby like she just handed her the best news of her life. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, the weight of those words settling deep in your chest.

You glance at Abby hesitantly, afraid to see her reaction. Afraid that maybe she won’t feel the same. That maybe this moment—this thing between you—has all been in your head.

Abby raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as she leans back slightly, arms crossed over her chest. There’s a teasing glint in her eye, but beneath it, something else lingers. Something softer. Something hopeful.

“Oh yeah?” she muses, turning her attention to you.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling warm under the afternoon sun, though you know it has nothing to do with the weather. You can’t bring yourself to look at Madison anymore—her innocent excitement is too much—so you keep your focus on Abby instead.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice quieter than you intended. “I do.”

The words come out almost like a confession, one you weren’t sure you were ready to say out loud. But now that they’re out there, hanging in the space between you, you realize how right they feel.

Something in Abby’s expression shifts. The teasing fades just enough to reveal the sincerity beneath it. And then she smiles.

Not just any smile—but that smile. The kind that reaches her eyes, the kind that makes her dimples appear, the kind that makes your heart stumble over itself in your chest.

“I like you too,” she says, her voice just as soft, just as certain.

And just like that, something settles in your chest. Something you didn’t even realize had been restless all this time.

Madison giggles, clapping her hands together like she’s just witnessed the best love story unfold right before her eyes. “I knew it!” she exclaims before skipping off toward Ezekiel, already eager to share the news. But you barely notice. Because Abby is still looking at you, that smile still lingering on her lips.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

The drive home was quiet—not because of the words left lingering between you and Abby, but because the kids had all drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep, their tiny bodies worn out from the excitement of the day. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence, and for a moment, it almost felt like you were driving toward something good rather than away from it.

But then Abby’s truck slowed, the familiar sight of your house creeping into view, and your stomach twisted painfully.

The streetlight outside flickered, casting eerie shadows over the driveway, and as soon as the truck came to a stop, the weight of reality crashed down on you.

You didn’t want to go back.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, your breath shaky as you stared at the house—the place that had felt less like a home and more like a cage for as long as you could remember. Today had been the first day in years that you’d felt truly free, the first day where laughter hadn’t been followed by fear, where your children could just be kids without walking on eggshells. And now, after just a few hours of warmth, of safety, of happiness, you had to step back inside and pretend none of it ever happened.

Pretend you weren’t suffocating.

Pretend you weren’t miserable.

Pretend you were someone you weren’t.

Abby must have sensed the shift in you because she didn’t move to turn off the truck just yet. Instead, she rested a hand on the gear shift, glancing at you carefully, her voice gentle when she finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to look at her. The soft glow of the dashboard lights traced over her face, highlighting the quiet concern in her eyes, the silent promise in them.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if you didn’t have to go back. If you could just drive past this house and keep going—if you could give yourself and your kids a new life, one without fear.

But life wasn’t that simple.

You swallowed hard, pushing the fantasy aside before it could take root. With a deep breath, you reached for the door handle, steadying yourself. “I have to,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

Abby didn’t argue. She just exhaled slowly, nodding, but before you could step out, her fingers brushed over the back of your hand—a fleeting touch, but enough to ground you. “I’ll be here,” she murmured. “Whenever you need me.”

You didn’t trust yourself to respond. Instead, you gave her a small, wavering nod before finally opening the door, stepping back into the life you wished you could leave behind.

The house was eerily silent as you moved through the dimly lit hall, gently pulling the blankets up over each of your sleeping children. Their faces were peaceful, untouched by the fear and weight you carried, and for a moment, you just stood there, watching them.

Madison’s words echoed in your mind. I don’t like Daddy, Momma. He makes you cry.

You had tried so hard to shield them from this. You had done everything in your power to keep them safe, to keep him away from them when his temper flared. But was it enough? Had it ever been enough?

A deep sigh left your lips as you turned to leave the room, carefully easing the door shut behind you. But as soon as you stepped into the hallway, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps, the creak of the floorboards beneath his weight.

Your stomach dropped.

He was home.

The scent of alcohol hit you before you even saw him. And when you did—when he stepped out of the shadows, swaying slightly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto you—you knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“Where the hell have you been?” he slurred, his voice thick with drunken anger.

Your throat tightened. Did he know? Of course he did. He always knew.

“I was he—”

He lifted a hand suddenly, and before you could stop yourself, you flinched. A bitter smile twisted across his face at the reaction. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “Don’t lie to me.” Your mind raced for an answer, a way out, something to de-escalate before things turned worse. “I was here,” you said quickly. “Cleaning.”

It was a lie. A pathetic, obvious lie. But he was drunk—maybe he wouldn’t press it.

For a second, it seemed to work. His head tilted slightly as if considering your words, and then, just when you thought he might let it go, his expression twisted into something ugly. “Oh, okay,” he mocked, stepping back. But the momentary relief vanished as he suddenly whipped the glass bottle in his hand toward you. You barely had time to react before it shattered against the wall beside you, shards flying, the sharp scent of liquor filling the air.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stalked forward, his voice rising. “You think I’m stupid, Y/N? You think I don’t notice things?” His hands grabbed your arms, shaking you hard enough to make your head spin. “You don’t think I know you’ve been playing house with that—” He sneered, his grip tightening. “With that fucking dyke?”

Your heart pounded. He knew.

Tears pricked your eyes as he shoved you back, your spine hitting the wall with enough force to make you gasp. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?” he spat. “I saw her coming into my house. Rubbing all over my wife. Talking to my kids like she has any damn right—”

His voice blurred, rage twisting his words into something unintelligible. Your body was frozen, trapped between the wall and the fury in his eyes, as panic clawed its way up your throat.

His grip tightened on your arms, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. His breath was hot and reeked of alcohol, his words slurred but no less venomous. “You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” he sneered, shaking you again, your head snapping back against the wall. “Thought you could just run around behind my back like some cheap whore?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you forced yourself to stay still, to not give him a reaction that would make things worse. Stay calm. Stay quiet. Don’t provoke him.

“I wasn’t—”

His hand moved too fast for you to react, slamming against the wall beside your head with enough force to rattle the picture frames. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N!” he roared.

You flinched, your body instinctively shrinking against the wall. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. The kids were asleep—God, please let them stay asleep.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, the scent of whiskey clinging to him like a second skin. His voice dropped into a low, venomous whisper, each word laced with cruel amusement.

“You really think she’s gonna save you?” His lips curled, twisting into something sharp, something cruel. “You think she’s gonna take you away from me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides before he reached up, tracing a knuckle along your jaw in a mockery of affection. The touch was deceptively light, a sick contrast to the storm brewing in his eyes. Then, his expression darkened.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, his voice barely above a growl. “You. And those kids.”

He stepped closer, caging you in, making the walls feel smaller, the air thinner. His eyes bored into yours, daring you to contradict him, daring you to fight.

“You think that bitch is gonna take care of them? Think she’s gonna want you once she realizes you ain’t worth shit?”

Disgust curled in his tone, but there was something else beneath it—possession. A sick, twisted need to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

Then, before you could react, before you could so much as breathe, his hand lashed out. The impact was immediate, the sharp crack of skin against skin echoing through the room. The rings on his fingers bit into your cheek, amplifying the pain, sending a sharp, stinging heat spreading across your face.

He watched you, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling like a man who had convinced himself he had every right to do this.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, eyes dark and unforgiving. “Not you. Not them kids.”

Your head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, the taste of metal blooming in your mouth. The pain throbbed, sharp and searing, as the imprint of his rings dug into your skin. For a moment, the room blurred—your vision swimming, your breath caught somewhere between shock and something dangerously close to fury.

But you didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

His hand lingered at his side, fingers flexing, like he was considering doing it again. Like he wanted to.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, shaking his head as if you were the problem. As if you were the one who drove him to this. His lips curled into a sneer, his voice dipping into something almost mocking.

“See what you make me do?” He reached out, gripping your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. His touch was rough, bruising, like he wanted to make sure you felt every bit of his control. “You belong to me. Ain’t no one coming to save you. No one’s gonna love you like I do.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a noose tightening around your throat.

Then, his gaze flickered, shifting toward the hallway—toward the room where the kids were. A slow, knowing smile crept onto his face, something dark gleaming behind his eyes.

“You wanna leave? You wanna take them?” His fingers dug into your jaw, enough to make your teeth clench. “Go ahead. Try it. See what happens.”

His grip loosened just enough for you to pull away, but you didn’t dare move, not yet.

He let out a low chuckle, stepping back with an air of arrogant ease, like he had all the time in the world. Like he had already won. The smirk on his face lingered as he turned, making his way up the stairs, his heavy footsteps disappearing into the bedroom.

The moment he was out of sight, your legs gave out beneath you, and you slid to the floor, your body curling inward as your hands instinctively cradled your swollen cheek. The sting was sharp, the metallic tang of blood coating your tongue. The pain was nothing new, but tonight—tonight, something cracked inside you.

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over in hot, silent streams as you whispered to yourself, "I need to get out of here."

The thought turned into action before you could second-guess yourself. You pushed yourself up, wiping at your face, and stumbled toward your children's bedroom. The moment you stepped inside, your hands shook as you yanked an old suitcase from the closet, unzipping it with frantic urgency. You didn’t think—you just grabbed, stuffing clothes, shoes, anything your hands landed on.

Your mind reeled, flashes of the last five years playing in a relentless loop. The bruises. The gaslighting. The cheating. The nights spent crying yourself to sleep while he acted like nothing was wrong. The threats—God, the threats. Every time you tried to leave, he reminded you just how powerless you were. And for so long, you believed him.

Until Abby.

Abby, who looked at you like you were someone. Who made you feel like you were more than just a punching bag, more than just some broken woman too afraid to walk away.

Your breathing hitched, chest tightening until you were gasping for air. You pressed a trembling hand to your lips, trying to keep quiet, but the sound was enough to stir Madison. She blinked sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed.

"Momma?" Her small voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

You swallowed the sob clawing at your throat and crossed the room, kneeling beside her. Gently, you stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Shh, baby," you whispered. "We need to go. Get your things, okay?"

She stared at you, her little face scrunching in confusion, but she nodded. No questions, no complaints—just trust.

One by one, you woke Kimberly and Jayden, telling them the same thing. Sleepy and confused, they obeyed, moving quickly but quietly, stuffing their backpacks with whatever they could grab. You moved to the crib, lifting Nico carefully into your arms. He whimpered, stirring slightly, but you rocked him, whispering soft reassurances until he settled back into sleep.

You listened, straining to hear any movement upstairs. The bathroom door was still shut. Good. Keep wasting time in there.

Turning back, you looked at your children—Madison, Kimberly, Jayden, and little Nico in your arms. They didn’t understand, not fully, but they trusted you. And they were ready. You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself. Then, carefully, you peeked into the hallway before stepping out into the living room. The front door loomed ahead, freedom just on the other side.

Your gaze dropped to your hand. The wedding ring glinted under the dim light, a symbol of promises long broken. A life you never wanted.

Your fingers trembled as you slid it off. It felt lighter than you expected, as if it had never truly belonged there in the first place. Without hesitation, you placed it on the table. A final goodbye.

With one last breath, you turned the knob and slipped out into the night.

Every step across the yard felt agonizingly slow, your pulse thundering in your ears. You kept looking back, expecting to see the door swing open, to hear his voice, to feel his hands dragging you back. But the house remained still.

Abby’s porch light flickered ahead, a beacon in the dark. You all but ran up the steps, your heart pounding as you knocked—once, twice, then harder. Your desperation bled into each bang against the wood.

"Come on, Abby," you whispered, voice shaking. "Please—please answer."

The porch light flickered on, and moments later, the door swung open. Abby stood there, her face groggy with sleep, confusion evident—until she saw the bags. The kids. You. Her smile faded. Her eyes darted to the bruise forming on your cheek, the raw redness where his rings had cut your skin. "I—I had nowhere else to go," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. "He hit me. Please—please let me in."

Abby didn’t hesitate.

"Come inside," Abby said, her voice firm, steady—like an anchor in a storm you had been drowning in for years.

You stepped over the threshold, each footfall heavy with exhaustion, with fear, with the  unbearable weight of everything you had just done. The kids trailed behind you, their little hands clutching their bags, their tired eyes flickering with confusion and trust all at once.

Then the door shut.

The lock clicked into place, sealing you away from that house, from him.

Something inside you cracked.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent but relentless. Your body trembled, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, refusing to let you rest. You didn’t even realize you were swaying until Abby gently pried Nico from your arms.

"I got him," she murmured, her touch steady, reassuring. "Come on, let’s get them settled."

You nodded, but it felt mechanical—like you weren’t really there, just watching yourself move. Abby led the kids down the hall, her voice soft as she whispered to them, soothing their worries, making them feel safe.

Safe.

You stood there, frozen, as the reality of it all loomed over you. You had done it. You had left. But instead of relief, there was only a crushing hollowness, a weight pressing down on your chest so hard you thought it might break you. You moved on autopilot, sinking onto the couch. The second you sat down, the silence wrapped around you, deafening. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingernails digging into your palms as you stared ahead, unblinking.

You needed to cry, to let it all out, to sob until there was nothing left inside you—but the tears wouldn't come the way they should. You swallowed them down, forcing yourself to sit up straight. Stay strong. 

But strong for who, exactly?

You weren’t in that house anymore. You weren’t standing in front of him, pretending you weren’t scared. So why did you still feel like you had to hold yourself together? Footsteps padded back into the room, and then Abby was there, sinking down beside you. "I put the kids in the room with Ezekiel," she said softly, her voice warm, grounding. Before you could say anything, she pulled you into her arms. The warmth of her, the solidness of her presence, undid something in you. Your body sagged against hers, your face pressing into her shoulder as your breath hitched in uneven gasps.

"He—" your voice broke, and you swallowed hard before forcing it out. "He hit me, Abby. He found out—he knows about us."

Abby tensed for half a second, but then her arms tightened around you, her hand moving up to cradle the back of your head.

"Shh," she whispered, her voice steady. "You don’t have to think about that right now."

You wanted to fight it—to tell her that fear wasn’t something you could just shut off like a light. That the terror sitting in your chest, coiled tight like a spring, wouldn’t simply disappear because she said so.

But the way she held you—the quiet strength in her arms, the way her fingers traced soothing circles against your back—it was enough to make you want to believe her. Enough to make you sink just a little deeper into her warmth, even as your mind screamed at you to stay alert.

Then, gently, she pulled away.

She stood, her movements slow, deliberate, giving you time. Then she held out her hands. “Come with me.”

You hesitated.

She noticed.

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t waver. “Follow me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you reached out and took hers. Her palms were warm, steady—nothing like the hands you were used to. The ones that hurt. The ones that tore you down piece by piece.

Abby gave your hands a light squeeze before leading you forward, turning off the living room lights as she went, plunging the space into darkness. You followed her down the hall, past the soft murmurs of your sleeping children, until she stopped at a door and pushed it open. The room inside was small but warm. A bed, neatly made. The kind of place meant for peace, for safety. “You’re tired,” she murmured, guiding you inside. “You need rest.”

That word—rest—felt like a foreign thing, something you weren’t allowed to have.

Rest. Rest. Rest.

Your mind repeated it like a warning. Like something dangerous. Because rest meant letting your guard down. It meant leaving yourself open. And the last time you did that, it nearly destroyed you.

But Abby—Abby—wasn’t him.

She had been patient, even when you pushed her away. Even when you swore you could handle this alone. And yet, here she was, standing beside you, still willing to hold you up when you weren’t sure you could stand on your own. She led you to the bed, sitting you down gently before settling beside you. Close, but not too close. Giving you space, but letting you know she was here.

“We’ll figure everything out tomorrow, okay?” she said softly.

Tomorrow.

A future. A choice. Something you never thought you’d have again.

Her fingers reached for your face, cradling your jaw as her thumb brushed lightly over the fresh bruise. You tensed at the touch, but she was careful—so careful—like she knew just how much you had already endured.

She did know.

And she wished she could have saved you sooner.

For so long, you had pushed her away, convinced yourself that she couldn’t be your way out. But now, sitting here, feeling the way her touch only soothed, never hurt, you realized something—she was never going to let you go again.

Not unless you wanted her to.

Abby leaned in slowly, hesitating, waiting—her breath ghosting over your lips, her body still, waiting for you to decide. She wasn’t talking. She wasn’t demanding.

She was giving you a choice.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered.

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, the fear clawed its way up your throat, choking you. But when you looked at her—the quiet patience in her eyes, the way she was holding herself back just for you—you felt something else, too.

Something softer.

Your hands found her face, fingers tracing the edges of her jaw, her cheekbones. Solid. Real. Safe.

“I always have,” you whispered.

The moment the words left your lips, she leaned in.

Her lips met yours in a way that felt nothing like the past.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. There was no pressure, no demand. Just warmth, just patience. Just her.

Her hands remained steady—one cupping your face, the other resting lightly on your waist, like she was afraid you’d break if she held on too tight. You melted into her, exhausted, overwhelmed, but for the first time in years, safe.

She pulled back first, her forehead pressing against yours as she exhaled, slow and steady. “We can stop,” she murmured, her voice gentle, careful. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, shaking your head.

Because if you stopped now, the fear might creep back in. The past might claw its way up your throat and pull you under again. But right now, in this moment, there was only her. Only this warmth, this safety, this impossible chance at something new.

She searched your face for hesitation, for regret, but when she found none, she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. She didn’t kiss you again—not yet. Instead, she shifted, guiding you gently onto the bed. You tensed for half a second, old instincts screaming, but she just pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a tenderness that made your chest ache. She didn’t try to pull you close. Didn’t try to hold you down. She just sat beside you, watching, waiting.

And that was when it hit you—she wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not unless you told her to.

Your fingers curled around the sleeve of her shirt, gripping it lightly. “Stay?”

Her expression softened, and she nodded. “Of course.”

flinched, instinctively bracing for the criticism that never came.

But Abby—Abby wasn’t him.

Her hands were steady, warm as they traced over your skin, her touch reverent, careful. She didn’t rush, didn’t demand, didn’t make you feel less than. Instead, she looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, something sacred.

Her fingers brushed over your stomach, the soft lines of your body, the places you had learned to hate because he had made you hate them. But when Abby touched you, it wasn’t with judgment—it was with admiration. With something so tender it almost hurt.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” she murmured, her lips pressing against your shoulder, trailing warmth in their wake. “Not from me, baby.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you swallowed them down, focusing on the way she felt. The way she kissed down your body, taking her time, like she had all the patience in the world. Like she wanted you to unlearn every cruel word, every harsh touch, every moment of self-doubt he had left behind.

Her hands spread over your hips, holding you like you were something fragile, something precious. Her mouth followed, trailing heat and devotion over every inch of you. And when you finally looked down, meeting her gaze, there was nothing but love staring back at you.

Real, undeniable, unconditional love.

And for the first time in forever, you let yourself believe it.

She leaned down again, her lips meeting yours with more passion this time. The hesitation was gone—she had your permission now, and she intended to show you just how much she wanted this. Wanted you.

Her hands trailed down your body, slow, deliberate, never rushing. She never looked away, her gaze locked onto yours as if afraid that if she did, you might disappear. As if you were something fragile, something fleeting, and she wasn’t willing to risk losing you.

With agonizing patience, she slipped your shirt up, her fingers grazing your skin as she peeled the fabric away. Not once did she break eye contact, watching you as though she was memorizing you, as though she was trying to make sure you stayed here with her, in this moment, and not in the past.

Then, her lips followed where her hands had been. Soft, reverent kisses trailing down your body as she rid you of each layer, until there was nothing left between you and her.

You felt exposed. Vulnerable. And when her eyes roamed your bare form, drinking you in with something close to awe, you turned away, shame creeping in, clawing at your chest.

But then she smiled.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice so full of sincerity it made your throat tighten.

You tried to smile back, but it didn’t come—not when the past still loomed over you like a shadow. Memories of your husband’s sharp words, the way he’d sneer whenever your body changed, how he made sure you knew every extra pound was a failure. And after Nico—after the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the way your body no longer felt like your own—you never got the chance to change it.

But Abby didn’t care.

She had never cared.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?” she murmured, her lips brushing against your cheek.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, barely able to meet her gaze.

Her smile returned, warm and reassuring, before she kissed you again. This time, her hands followed—caressing, exploring, showing you with every touch that she wasn’t just here to take; she was here to worship.

Then, she shifted, adjusting you with ease until you were on her lap, your back pressed to her chest, her strong arms wrapped securely around your waist. You gasped at the sudden change, your body tensing instinctively, but she only held you steady, her grip firm yet patient.

“Just breathe,” she soothed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Her hands guided your face, tilting it towards the mirror in front of you.

And there you were.

Bare. Exposed. Ugly.

You turned away, your stomach twisting at the sight.

But Abby wouldn’t let you.

“Look at yourself,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm, grounding.

And then—she parted your legs.

Her hands, strong yet impossibly gentle, kept you steady as her fingers trailed lower, teasing, barely there, yet enough to send a shiver up your spine. The first brush of her fingertips against your clit was featherlight, a slow, deliberate stroke that had your breath catching in your throat.

Your fingers dug into her thighs, trying to ground yourself as pleasure coiled in your stomach, warm and insistent. But still, you turned away, unable to face your reflection, unable to see yourself the way she did.

Abby wasn’t having it.

“Watch,” she murmured, her voice low, coaxing, but firm.

She wasn’t asking.

She wanted you to see. To see the way you melted beneath her touch. To see how beautiful you were when you let go.

To see what she had always seen.

Her eyes never left your face as she kept working you, slow, careful, reverent. “You’re beautiful, Y/N,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, the words sinking deep, wrapping around the parts of you that had forgotten how to believe them.

Her fingers moved with agonizing precision, rubbing slow, purposeful circles over your clit, soft but insistent. In the mirror, she watched you—the way your body tensed, the way your thighs trembled, the way you fought the urge to pull away even as you craved more.

You groaned, torn between shying away and sinking into her completely. The contradiction warred inside you, but the need won.

“Abby,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on her name. “More—please.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her chest as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her lips warm and reassuring.

And then—she gave you what you asked for.

She pushed a finger inside, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch, every stretch. Your mouth parted in a shaky moan, your hands gripping her tighter as she filled you, her other hand never ceasing its soft, deliberate movements against your clit.

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice rough with something deeper, something primal. “Just like that.”

And this time—you didn’t look away.

Abby worked you open slowly, never rushing, never pushing more than you could take. She watched you in the mirror, her gaze locked onto your face, catching every twitch, every shudder, every unspoken plea for more.

Her finger curled inside you, searching, learning, until she found the spot that had you gasping, your head falling back against her shoulder. A smirk ghosted across her lips as she did it again, dragging her fingertip against that spot with precision, like she wanted to draw every sound from you, like she wanted to pull you apart piece by piece.

“Fuck, Abby—” You moaned, your hips rocking into her hand, needing more, needing everything.

“I know, baby,” she murmured against your neck, her breath hot, teasing, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Her free hand slid up your stomach, fingers splaying over the softness there, holding you in place as she added another finger, stretching you, filling you, coaxing another desperate sound from your lips.

“Look at yourself,” she whispered again, her voice a mixture of command and praise. “Look how good you take me.”

You forced your eyes open, your gaze meeting hers in the mirror. The sight made your breath hitch—her strong arms wrapped around you, her hands working you apart, her expression so full of hunger and something deeper, something you weren’t sure you could name.

She looked at you like you were something to be worshipped.

Like you were something precious.

Your lips parted, a whimper slipping free as she fucked you with slow, deliberate strokes, her palm grinding against your clit just right. Your body tensed, the pressure building, every touch sending you higher, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“That’s it,” Abby praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re so good for me.”

You were close—so fucking close.

Your fingers clutched at her wrist, your thighs trembling as the pleasure threatened to consume you. Abby felt it, knew it, and instead of letting up, she pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw, whispering the words that finally unraveled you.

“Come for me, baby.”

And just like that—you did.

The pleasure crashed over you in waves, white-hot and overwhelming, leaving you gasping as your body locked up against hers. Abby held you through it, her hands steady, her lips whispering soft, reverent praises against your skin as you rode it out.

Only when the aftershocks left you boneless in her arms did she finally slow, her fingers slipping from you, her touch shifting from teasing to soothing.

She kissed your temple, her hands rubbing gentle circles over your stomach as she whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body still thrumming from the intensity of it all.

Abby chuckled, low and warm, her breath brushing against your ear as she held you close. She pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then another, her lips trailing downward as she carefully eased you onto the bed. She moved with purpose—not just to take, but to give, to replace every memory of him with something new, something that belonged to only you and her.

Her hands, rough yet tender, mapped your body with slow, deliberate caresses, fingertips ghosting over your skin like she was memorizing every inch of you. She wasn’t rushing, wasn’t impatient—she was savoring you, worshipping you, as if she had all the time in the world.

Then, her lips followed.

She started at your collarbone, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, just enough to leave a mark. A quiet, pleased hum vibrated against your skin when you gasped, your body arching into her.

She liked that.

Liked seeing the way you reacted, how your breathing changed, how your body responded to her.

She moved lower, pressing her mouth to the swell of your breast, her tongue flicking over your nipple before she sucked, slow and purposeful. The sensation sent heat curling in your stomach, a quiet moan slipping from your lips as your fingers found her short hair, tangling into the strands.

“Abby,” you breathed, barely more than a whisper.

She smirked against your skin, her mouth trailing downward, leaving a path of love bites along your ribs, your stomach, the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Each one was placed with intention, a silent claim, a way to erase every touch before her.

By the time she settled between your legs, you were already trembling.

You felt seen. Worshipped.

Her hands slid up your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open, her thumbs tracing soothing circles against your skin. She took a moment to just look at you—all of you—and when her eyes met yours again, they were dark, needy, full of something deeper than lust.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” she whispered, voice thick with reverence.

You turned your face away, heat creeping up your neck.

But she wasn’t having that.

“Hey,” she murmured, shifting up just enough to capture your lips again, slow and deep, her fingers tipping your chin so you’d look at her.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her breath mingling with yours. “I mean it,” she whispered. “I want you to believe it.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening. You wanted to—God, you wanted to. But the years of being picked apart, of feeling like your body wasn’t yours to love, still lingered in the back of your mind.

Abby knew that.

That’s why she took her time.

When she finally positioned herself between your legs, her slick heat pressing into yours, she didn’t take—she let you feel it first, the warm, slow friction of her against you, her body melting into yours. Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping her arms. She groaned at the contact, her grip tightening on your hips as she rolled her hips forward, grinding against you in the slowest, most agonizing rhythm imaginable. “Abby,” you whimpered, nails digging into her skin.

She shuddered at the sound of her name on your lips. “Feels good?” she rasped. You could only nod, your head falling back against the pillow as she rocked into you again, the delicious friction sending pleasure curling low in your stomach. She wasn’t rough—not this time. She was taking her time, watching every expression that flickered across your face, feeling every shudder, every twitch, like she wanted to engrave it into her memory.

Her hand slid up your body, fingers brushing over your stomach before reaching your chest, palming the soft flesh, teasing.

“Look at us,” she whispered.

You hesitated, knowing what she meant. Knowing that the mirror beside the bed reflected everything. You swallowed hard.

“I—”

She thrust forward, her slick clit grinding against yours, and you gasped, eyes fluttering open at the sensation.

“Look,” she urged again, her voice softer now, full of something almost pleading.

So, you did.

And what you saw nearly broke you.

The two of you, bodies intertwined, her broad form wrapped around you, her muscles flexing as she moved, her face twisted in pleasure—it was intimate, raw, something deeper than just sex.

You saw her.

You saw yourself.

And for the first time, you didn’t hate what you saw.

Abby caught your gaze in the reflection, her lips curling into a soft smile. “That’s my girl,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as she rolled her hips again, coaxing another broken moan from your lips.

The pressure was building, tighter, hotter, deeper.

Her hand slid between your bodies, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

You whimpered, your body tensing, the pleasure too much, too good.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

Your body shattered.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your breath stuttering, your body arching, your fingers digging into her back as you came, pleasure rolling through you in waves.

Abby followed soon after, her hips stuttering, a strangled moan slipping from her lips as she buried herself against you, her body shaking with her own release.

She held you through it. Kept moving, slow and gentle, until the pleasure faded into soft aftershocks. Until you were just breathing together, bodies tangled, lips barely brushing.

Then, silence.

Warm, safe, full.

Abby pressed one last kiss to your lips before tucking you against her chest, pulling the blanket over you both.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Because when she whispered, “I love you,” into your hair, you already knew.

Abby’s arms stayed wrapped around you, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling against your back. Her lips brushed against your hair, a soft, absentminded press—like she just needed to feel you there, grounded in her arms.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

The room was quiet, save for the slowing rhythm of your breaths, the occasional sound of the sheets shifting as Abby traced slow, lazy circles on your stomach with her fingertips.

It was grounding. She was grounding.

You swallowed hard, the weight of everything settling in—what you had just shared, what it meant. How different it was from what you had known before.

How easy it would be to fall into the fear, to let the echoes of the past creep in, to tell yourself you didn’t deserve this.

But Abby wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice still thick from the pleasure, but softer now. She pressed another kiss to your shoulder, her lips lingering there. “You still with me?”

You nodded against her, blinking slowly. Yes. You were here. With her.

She hummed in response, pleased, her arms tightening slightly around you. “Good.”

You shifted slightly, turning onto your side to face her, your hands sliding up to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat beneath your palm. Her eyes softened when she met your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

You just looked at each other.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t afraid of being seen.

Abby’s thumb brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?” she asked gently, her voice careful, like she was ready to hold you together if you suddenly fell apart.

You could only nod, because yes, you were.

More than okay.

For the first time in years, you felt safe.

Abby exhaled softly, her forehead pressing against yours. “Good,” she whispered again. “Because I meant what I said, y’know.”

You swallowed. “About what?”

Her fingers traced absentminded patterns on your hip, her voice low but firm. “That you’re beautiful.”

A lump formed in your throat. You started to turn away, but Abby caught your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.

“Hey,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over yours. “I need you to hear me.”

You blinked up at her, your fingers tightening slightly against her skin.

She kissed you again, slow and reassuring, like she was trying to press the words into you. Like she wouldn’t stop until you believed them.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—bodies pressed together, exchanging soft kisses, whispering against each other’s lips, holding each other in the dark.

But at some point, exhaustion settled in, your body melting further into hers. Abby pulled the blanket up around you both, her hand running soothingly along your back as you buried your face into the crook of her neck.

She pressed one last kiss to your temple, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time, you actually believed it.

Abby let you rest, truly rest—something she knew you hadn’t done in years. She handled everything, making sure you didn’t have to lift a finger.

When your husband came banging on her door the next morning, demanding to see his wife, Abby didn’t hesitate. She squared her shoulders, met his drunken rage with an unshaken stare, and sent him away without a second thought. She didn’t give him an inch, didn’t let him weasel his way back in with apologies or empty threats. And while he wasted himself away in whatever bar or gutter he crawled into, she went back to your house, collecting the last of your things—the clothes, the kids’ toys, the small pieces of your life you were finally taking back.

And the kids? She cared for them like they were her own. She made them breakfast, kept them entertained, ensured they never felt the weight of the storm you were escaping. Every now and then, she’d peek into the room where you slept, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your brow would furrow even in sleep. She wanted to smooth away every crease, every shadow of pain he left behind. She would sit at the edge of the bed, just watching, wondering how someone as strong as you had been forced to endure so much. But now… now you were here. And she wasn’t going to let you slip away.

“Is Momma ever gonna wake up?”

Madison’s small voice pulled Abby from her thoughts. She looked down to see the little girl standing in the living room, watching her with wide, worried eyes.

Abby softened, offering a gentle smile. “Of course she will,” she reassured her, ruffling her curls. “And when she does, we’ll all go to the park. How does that sound?”

Madison nodded, but instead of running off to play, she hesitated. Her tiny fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt as she stared up at Abby, something uncertain in her expression.

“I don’t wanna see Daddy anymore,” she whispered, her voice small but firm. Her lower lip trembled as tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “I want you to be my new dad. You make Momma happy. Please don’t leave us.”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat.

She had faced down men twice her size without blinking, fought through storms that had tried to break her—but nothing had ever shaken her quite like this.

Madison wasn’t just asking for comfort. She was asking for permanence. For security. For a love that didn’t come with pain.

Abby crouched down, gently wiping the tears from Madison’s cheeks. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promise.”

Madison sniffled, her little body trembling as she threw her arms around Abby’s neck, holding on like she never wanted to let go. Abby instinctively wrapped her arms around her, steadying the tiny girl against her chest. Madison clung to her, pressing her face into Abby’s shoulder, and in that moment, Abby could feel just how much this meant to her—how much she needed this.

Then, Madison pulled back just enough to meet Abby’s gaze, her eyes wide, uncertain, yet filled with so much hope. She hesitated for only a second before asking in the softest voice, “Can I call you Mom too?”

Abby’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that—not so soon, not so openly. But the way Madison looked at her, like she was waiting for permission to love her, like she needed Abby to say it was okay, broke something inside her.

A slow, warm smile spread across Abby’s face as she gently cupped Madison’s cheek. “You and your siblings can call me whatever you want,” she murmured, her voice steady, filled with nothing but certainty.

Madison’s face lit up with pure joy, the weight she had been carrying lifting in an instant. Without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to Abby’s cheek before giggling and darting off to play, her little curls bouncing with each step.

Before Abby could fully process the moment, a small tug at her pant leg made her glance down. Jayden stood there, his round eyes filled with curiosity, his tiny arms raised expectantly. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to.

Abby let out a soft chuckle, bending down to scoop him up with ease. He nestled against her without hesitation, resting his head on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Abby held him close, her heart swelling as she realized—this wasn’t just a moment. This was the beginning of something bigger, something real.

Your eyes flutter open, disoriented for a moment as you take in your surroundings. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the walls. Panic sets in almost immediately. You overslept. Your heart lurches, and you scramble out of bed, fumbling for your robe as you rush to the door.

You forgot to clean. You forgot to take care of the kids. You forgot—

But as you step into the living room, reality doesn’t meet you with the usual weight of dread. There is no angry man waiting to bark orders, no overwhelming list of tasks you must complete to avoid his wrath. Instead, the space is filled with something else entirely—something you barely recognize.

Laughter. Warmth. Family.

Madison is the first to notice you, her eyes lighting up as she dashes toward you. “Momma’s up!” she exclaims, throwing her little arms around your waist. Before you can even react, Kimberly follows suit, wrapping herself around your leg, and even Ezekiel, usually more reserved, runs to you with a beaming smile.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, running your fingers through their hair as you hold them close. They’re safe. They’re happy. And then, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen.

Abby stands at the stove, effortlessly balancing a sleepy Jayden on her hip while stirring a pot with her free hand. In the corner, Nico babbles happily in a playpen, giggling at nothing in particular. The scene is so… normal. Domestic, even. It takes you a second to process that this is your life now—that you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Abby teases, flashing you a small smile as she starts plating food.

You don’t say anything at first, just watching her—watching this. The way she moves with such ease, cooking for your kids, holding Jayden like he’s always been hers, making sure everyone is taken care of. It’s overwhelming in a way you can’t quite put into words.

You glance around, suddenly aware of the mess—scattered toys, little shoes abandoned by the door, a crayon rolling off the coffee table. Instinct kicks in before you can stop yourself, and you bend down to start picking them up.

But before you can get far, Abby is there, her hand gently stopping yours.

“No, no. I got it, okay? Just sit at the table,” she says firmly, her touch lingering on your wrist as she meets your gaze.

“But—”

She shakes her head, not letting you finish. “I’ll do all the heavy labor around here. You just rest, alright?” Her voice is so full of certainty, of care, that you don’t argue. Instead, you let her lead you to the table, where she carefully settles Nico and Jayden into their highchairs before bringing over the food.

“Mom, can I help?” Ezekiel pipes up, eager to be involved.

Abby grins and nods, handing him some utensils to place on the table. Madison, never one to be left out, rushes up next. “I wanna help too, Mom!” she announces proudly.

You smile

Dinner is a quiet kind of chaos—the good kind. The kind where there’s giggling between bites, where Kimberly insists on feeding Nico even though half of it ends up on his bib, Jayden eating the food in front of him, where Madison keeps trying to sneak extra pieces of food onto your plate, saying, “You need to eat more, Momma.”

Ezekiel talks about his favorite game, going into a detailed explanation that only a kid his age would find fascinating, and Abby listens—really listens—nodding along like his words are the most important thing in the world. It’s such a stark contrast from what you’re used to that your chest tightens.

For so long, dinner had been a silent affair, tense and suffocating. One wrong move, one misplaced word, and everything could go south in an instant. But here? Here, the air is light. The table is full of life.

Abby catches your gaze from across the table, and it’s like she sees every thought running through your head. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and places a hand on yours, her grip steady and grounding. You swallow past the lump in your throat and squeeze back.

After dinner, the kids insist on a movie night, and you don’t have the heart to say no. They pile onto the couch, dragging blankets and stuffed animals with them, making a mess of the living room that Abby just cleaned. But she doesn’t scold them—doesn’t care at all, really. She just chuckles and lets them bury her under the weight of small bodies and soft laughter.

You sit on the edge at first, hesitant, unsure of where you fit in this picture. But then Abby reaches for you, pulling you in, slotting you right against her side like you belong there.

And maybe you do.

Madison curls up in your lap, her tiny fingers gripping your shirt. Kimberly tucks herself against your arm. Ezekiel lays in Abby’s arm and  Jayden is already half-asleep on Abby’s chest, and Nico, bundled up in a blanket, rests peacefully in his playpen.

The movie plays in the background, but you barely register it. Instead, you focus on the warmth surrounding you, on the way Abby’s fingers trace absentminded circles against your arm, on the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing.

You don’t realize how exhausted you still are until your eyelids grow heavy. The last thing you hear before drifting off is Madison’s sleepy whisper:

“Momma, can we stay here forever?”

And for the first time, you don’t have to lie.

"Yeah, baby," you murmur, your fingers gently threading through Madison's soft hair as you finally, finally let yourself rest. The weight that’s been hanging over you for so long, the constant worry, the need to always be on edge, melts away. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You turn to Abby, a smile creeping onto your face. It’s different now—real, unguarded, unbroken. She’s the woman who saved you, the woman who stayed, who didn’t give up on you even when you doubted yourself. The one who was patient when you couldn’t even recognize your own worth. The one who helped you find your courage.

"I love you, Abby," you say, your voice soft but full of everything you couldn't say before, leaning in to kiss her cheek. It’s not a desperate kiss, not a goodbye, but a promise, a pledge. A pledge that you’re here, with her, and you’re finally letting yourself believe it.

The truth hits you like a wave. You had dreams once. A childhood dream of being a ballerina—spinning, twirling, the spotlight shining down, your heart light and free. It was your escape, your sanity while living in a cage you built yourself, with him in the center of it. You clung to that dream because it was all you had, the only thing that kept you going when nothing else made sense.

But now... now you realize something you never truly understood before. You don’t need to be a ballerina to feel like you’re dancing anymore. You’ve already found something even better, something you never thought you’d deserve.

You’ve found a family. A family with laughter, with love, with chaos that doesn’t feel suffocating but freeing. A family that isn’t bound by broken promises or fake smiles. A family that isn’t based on fear, but on the kind of unconditional love you always thought was out of reach.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t need to pretend. You don’t need to hide the cracks or the bruises or the old scars. You can just be. You can just love. You can just exist.

And as you look at Abby, holding your kids close, the world outside seems so far away. It doesn’t matter anymore. This is your home. This is your family. This is the dream you never knew you needed.

You take a deep breath, your heart full to the brim, and you finally let yourself believe in the future.

"Thank you," you whisper under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, but Abby hears it. Her eyes soften, and she squeezes your hand in reassurance.

"We’ve got this," she says, her smile lighting up the room.

And for the first time in so long, you believe her. You believe in the life ahead of you. You believe in the family that you never thought you could have.

You’ve found your peace. You’ve found your place. And nothing could ever take that away.

And so, you rest—because for the first time in your life, you finally can.

You made it to the end (I hope)! It's finally over. Thank you all so much for all the love and support throughout these last two parts. It really means the world to me, like truly. 🥹 This fic has been sitting in my drafts since 2023, and I was so scared to post it, but seeing how much people have enjoyed it makes me want to cry (just like I did while writing the ending). If anyone has any requests, don't hesitate to ask. Thank you all again for everything! © seulszn.

[tkwrites]

regarding your reblog about quinn sitting out for four nations….. i’m sure sarah would also be very relieved that he’s prioritizing his health, but i’m now also so curious how you think sarah would have dealt with the whole situation leading up to now….. i.e., quinn playing with his injured hand for weeks, the fact that they kept sending him back out in that one game when he was clearly in so much pain and couldn’t even make it through a shift (the game was basically over anyway!), and even just the process of him making the decision to skip four nations. how do you imagine sarah was feeling about all of it and how outspoken do you think she would have been about her concerns? do you think quinn was asking for her opinion? do you think the topic caused any sorta tension at all? (rambly as hell as per usual mb)

Well, this took on a life of its own (rambly as hell in my own way).

We're going from injuries and Sarah's worry that Quinn is putting himself at risk for the team, all the way to her keeping to her Valentines Day plans despite the fact that they're spending the lead up to the day together.

I had this idea for Sarah gifting Quinn lingerie to get him hyped for her arrival in Montreal on Valentines Day, and I just couldn't let it go, so you get everything together.

Warnings for lots of angst, and then lots of teasing and longing at the end. Also, some praise kink stroking.

Hope you enjoy even though it's a little chaotic!

Though they live together, and they’re fully committed, she’s still not quite sure what her place is in this situation and how much she should say. All Sarah wants is for Quinn to not push himself too hard. To not injure himself any further. 

They first talked about it when he decided to join the team mid-way through the road trip after his hand injury. This caused a minor argument. She thought he shouldn’t go. He felt like the team needed him, and, as the trainers told him, he couldn’t injure his hand any more than it already was if he took the proper precautions. To him, it was a no-brainer.

“You’re not the only person on that team, Quinn,” she said as he was packing. 

“Yep, that’s the definition of a team.” 

“I just…” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to make herself heard. “I know you’re the best player on the team, but —” 

He stiffened, “no, I’m not.” 

“Statistics don’t lie, Quinn.” 

He turned from his suitcase then, “but what?” 

The way he was looking at her, all hard edges and determination made her pause. 

“But what?” he demanded again. 

There was no good way to say this. “But, if they can’t figure out how to play without you, I’m worried you’re going to run yourself into the ground trying to keep them afloat.” 

Anger flashed in his face before he turned back to his packing, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” she acquiesced, “but I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself even more. Isn’t it worth taking time off to heal?” 

“I have to help them,” he said, voice sounding like it was cut from glass. 

“Quinn, I know you want to win, but…” she trailed off, leaving out the at what cost? 

“We need to win these games, or we miss the playoffs.” 

“I know, but —” 

He slammed his suitcase closed. “I’m going, okay. I can’t hurt my hand any more.”

She winced, mind racing with images of someone targeting his injury, slashing him, or slamming him into the boards to guarantee it would get worse — keeping him out of the game even longer. 

The way she was looking at him, resigned and… almost frightened, made Quinn pause for half a second. His shoulders dropped, “I have to go, Sarah.” 

“Have to?”

“Yes. I have to help however I can.” 

Even though she’d thought this would be the outcome of this argument, she had to fight for him, even if he wasn’t going to fight for himself. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her soft voice was like a punch to the gut. 

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, pulling a half smile onto his mouth. 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she still drove him to the airport and kissed him goodbye, hating the scratchy feel of the brace straps when his hands cupped her face. 

“I’ll call you when I get there,” he promised. 

She nodded, “Please be careful.”

“I will,” he promised. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she said, giving him a sad smile goodbye.  

He finally understood the guilt Mysey talked about when he came back from injury as soon as possible last season. 

The night he injured his oblique, she was watching from home (of course), wincing through the whole game. Everything felt off with JT suddenly gone. Then, near the end, when they announced Quinn was off the bench, her heart started to race, and she grabbed her phone, hoping he’s sent her some kind of update. He didn’t until after the game, and after she’d watched him try, and fail to skate the way he usually did more than once, knowing it wasn’t Tocc throwing him out there, but Quinn throwing himself out on the ice. 

When he came home, wincing at every movement, she watched him with big, worried eyes. 

She didn’t talk to him when he went to the rink for the following game, angry that he was so blatantly ignoring his own welfare. She even thought about not going to the game at all but ultimately decided that would cause more damage than she wanted to repair. It was a nice surprise when he appeared next to her to watch the game. Relief flooded through her, knowing that the trainers and coaches wouldn’t let him play, despite his insistence he could push through. 

As the tournament loomed closer and closer, and his injury was getting better, but not healed, she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Quinn is competitive and intense, and hockey is something that brings him an enormous amount of joy. She didn’t want him to miss this opportunity to play for his country and with his brother and best friend, but she knew he just couldn’t. Hearing his grunt of pain when he sat up in bed each morning was enough to tell her he couldn’t feasibly play. His hand injury, though persistent, didn’t affect much of their everyday life, other than she’d been on top most of the time, which neither of them minded all that much. But this was different. And both of them knew it. 

When he finally announced he wasn’t playing, relief swept through her life like a wave. She’d even contemplated calling Jack to beg him to make Quinn see sense. The fact she didn’t have to made her feel almost giddy. If he hadn’t been so sad, she would have danced around the house in celebration.

The only thing she was a little sad about was the change to their Valentines Day plans. With school, she’d been planning to fly out to him on Friday night, and had care packages packed to sneak into his suit case, something to open on the 12th, 13th and 14th to get him excited for her arrival. 

She stuck to the plan, even though they were home, leaving a gift out for him to find each morning. 

When Quinn got up to go to PT on Wednesday, he had a text from Sarah. Don’t forget to open your gift! 

He had no idea what she was talking about. 

The gift she was referencing turned out to be a black silk drawstring bag, no bigger than a sheet of notebook paper, left on the dining room table. The tag tied to it read, This time, you get to choose. Package 1 of 3, which will it be? 

When he opened it, he pulled out a swath of meshy lace. Blue, to match his jersey. It took him a while to figure out which way was up, but once he did, he couldn’t help the noise that crawled up his throat. It was a lace body suit. Sheer and stretchy. Just imagining Sarah in it gave him an instant boner. 

He brought it up after she got home that evening, but she just patted his knee with a coy smile, “you have to wait to see all three options before you can make a choice.” 

“There was only one thing in that bag!” 

“I know,” she said, pressing a teasing kiss to his mouth, “they were supposed to go in your suitcase, so you’d be excited to see me on Valentine’s Day.” 

“They?” he demanded. 

“There are more,” she said simply, sauntering out of the room and leaving him feeling breathless. 

“You’ll get the second tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. 

He groaned despite the excitement that reared in his stomach. 

The next morning, after a restless night of wanting, another black bag appeared. This one on the bar counter. Two is the middle, but will it win of the three?

His fingers brushed something soft when he reached inside, and for a moment, he thought it might be empty before he realized the thing he was touching was made of the same material as the bag. He pulled out a pair of little silk shorts, trimmed in lace, then a matching black camisole. Compared to her gift from the day before, this seemed incredibly tame. All the same, he had to admit, he wanted to see it on her. He knew it would be her perfect brand of comfortably sexy. 

The thought of her in the little silk set popped into his mind even more than the blue number had. The blue lace was a fantasy — one he definitely wanted to see come to life — but the silk was real, something he could see her wearing often. He could imagine sliding it off her when they settled into bed on a normal Tuesday night. 

The image of her curvy thighs swathed in the slippery material assaulted his thoughts so often, he practically jumped on her when she got home from work, cornering her against that same bar counter where she’d left the gift that morning. 

“Hi,” she said, giggling against his mouth. 

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” 

“Am I?” she asked, innocently batting her eyelashes. 

“Why don’t you put this on?” he asked, fingering the lace where it lay on the counter behind her.

“You have to see all three,” she said, easing away from him. “Pick which one’s your favorite.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want you to wait. And the whole point of this was to get you so excited to see me, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me once I was there.” 

“But you’re here now.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Quinn.”

“This isn't patience. This is torture.”

“Torture?” she repeated, arching a brow. 

“You don't get it! I've had a hard on for two days now, and I’m going crazy. It’d be different if I was gone, but you’re right here.” 

She smiled a satisfied smile and walked to the kitchen. 

He was so desperate for her the next morning, he followed her to the bathroom, crowding her against the sink, hips pressed to her ass as she brushed her teeth. 

“Please?” he groaned in her ear. 

She shook her head before leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste. The move caused her to press back against him, and he grunted. 

“Just because you’re home doesn’t mean we should skip out on the amazing Valentines Day sex I had planned.” 

“It is Valentines Day,” he reminded. “We can have amazing sex right now.” 

Shooting him a look in the mirror as she swished mouthwash, Sarah shook her head. 

Letting out a groan of frustration, Quinn let his head fall on her shoulder. 

“You just have to make it until I’m done with class,” she said, turning in his arms. “I was planning on making you wait until I would have arrived in Boston, but then I decided that was too mean.” 

“Why don’t you skip class,” he asked, nosing her jaw as his mouth dipped to her neck. 

She let out a pleasured hum. 

“Come on,” he whispered into her skin, “I’ll get you off as much as you want.” 

Swallowing her desire and clinging to the knowledge that the anticipation would make everything better, she broke away from him, “I have to go to class. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He was gripping the sink, breathing deeply when she left the final present on the bed, and slipped out the door. 

Barely glancing at the tag, Package 3 of 3. Are you getting excited to see me?, he tore into the silk bag, nearly ripping it in the process. Too impatient to wait, he turned it over. Several pieces of red fabric spilled onto the duvet. 

He swore as he pulled the pieces apart. The largest was a robe, satin and short. There was a bra with a bunch of straps he couldn’t figure out, but he knew would look dead sexy once Sarah had it on. Then, a pair of panties made from the same lace as the bra. Only, it seemed as though the whole back of them was missing. Like a thong in reverse. 

How was he supposed to decide which of these to pick? He wondered if he could convince her to try them all on for him so he could make an informed decision. 

In the end, after laying each piece of lingerie side by side on the bed, he decided it had to be the blue. He’d never seen her in anything like it before, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he could wait for her to change. 

He left it out on the bed and left the apartment. He needed to clear his head and had to pick up her gifts. 

When he got back home, he called for her, hoping he hadn’t beat her home. 

“I’m up here.” 

He raced up the stairs, nearly dropping the roses and chocolates in his haste. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he said once his eyes landed on her where she was leaning against the lucky couch, wrapped in tight blue lace. 

“You like?” she asked, skimming a hand down her side.

He made a nonsensical noise that nevertheless served as an affirmative answer. She looked incredible, all lace and curves, and yet, still his loving Sarah. She was a fantasy come to life.

“You’ve been so patient for me,” she said, padding toward him and taking the gifts from him. 

She made a show of leaning over to set them on the coffee table. 

His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and he made a sort of guttural sound of longing. 

Her hand trailed up his arm when she came back to him, “you’ve been such a good boy for me, Quinn.” 

“Fuck.” 

“You know what good boys get?” 

“Rewarded?” he ventured, his voice cracking over the word. 

“That’s right. Are you ready for your reward?”

Knees wobbling, he nodded frantically. 

Giving him a sexy smile, she led him to the bedroom. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Director's Commentary:

First of all, THIS HIT 200 NOTES IN LESS THAN 2 DAYS????? 🥺💝🥺💝🥺💝🥺💝 Thank you SO MUCH EVERYBODY, I have never had any of my self ship art get this many notes this quickly!! I've also screenshotted every tag I've gotten and will continue to do so! Thank you so much everyone 🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖

Second, I hope that everyone knows I did this 100% original! I have actually had more than one person call this an edit, which makes me very proud of how convincing this apparently is as an imitation of the PPG style! 🥺 But no, I did all of this by hand myself! The screenshots were just referenced :D

Y'all should also know that I don't have any type of tablet or way to do digital art with a pen, I use Adobe Illustrator and only use my mouse. For the first image I did a sketch of the pose on paper and traced over digitally, but I'm proud to say for the other two I did it entirely originally using just reference images and my own imagination! That's something I'm usually not really able to do so I'm very happy that the final result came out so good

The context of the original scene is that Ms. Keane and Professor Utonium just went on a failed date that was set up by the girls, but ended up sharing a little moment after Ms. Keane accidentally tripped and the Professor ended up catching her. I'd like to think the context here is essentially the same, but I'd consider it an AU scenario because there wouldn't be a time in my ship canon where this setup would happen before Cherry and Mojo are dating.

I came up with Cherry's outfit kind of on the spot, it's basically just a fancy version of their normal outfit, with a low cut white shirt, yellow and orange cardigan, and some nice tan boots. They borrowed the choker with the pendant from their cousin, Ms. Bellum :3

I find it funny to think that Mojo wouldn't really wear an actual outfit out on a date, because in his mind, what fit could possibly be better than the villain outfit he designed for himself? He just put on a bowtie to be slightly more fancy 💖 That's actually a reference to the panel below from a DC PPG comic where he's trying to find a date for Valentine's Day and failing... I would have been there for him 🥺

Also I liked the idea of the moon being bright enough to shine through the back of Mojo's big ears, which is why the shading on them if a bit oddly shaped. No one has mentioned anything about that yet so I'm not sure how obvious that came across 😅

Ngl I struggled a bit on the background of Mojo's panel just because it's a unique perspective that I hadn't tried before, so I went and laid down on the floor in the corner of my room to see how the perspective of that looked 😂

In fact now that I think about it... This is the first time I've ever done a full color background at all, digitally OR traditionally. I'd say for my first time it came out pretty good!

In general I'm very happy with the end results, although there are a few mistakes here and there, like there's a secrion of Cherry's shadow that's not filled in all the way, and I think some of the background colors could be better adjusted so they don't blend together as much (especially the bench, what was I thinking making it so similar to the wall color aaaaaah)

That's all I can think of for now that I'd like to comment on. Once again thank you to everyone who has liked or reblogged and an even bigger thank you if you read this far! 🥺💝💝💝💝💝

There are benefits to being clumsy... sometimes you get to fall into the arms of a handsome chimpanzee 💜🩷💜🩷💜

Screenshot redraw of a cute scene from what's basically PPG's Valentine Day special! This was so fun to do, I feel like I learn more abt using Illustrator every time I go back to it :3 🩷 Reblogs are all seen and appreciated, click for higher quality!! Tag list + Screenshots referenced will be under the cut 💜

Tag List!! Click here to be added or removed.

@absentmoon, @avas-wonderland, @bee-ships, @beetleboyfriend, @berryshipbasket, @bugthecalmchild, @canongf, @cloudyvoid, @derelictdumbass, @dissonantyote, @edencantstopfallininlove, @final-catboy, @chickenout , @flowering-darkness, @gibles-lovely-selfships, @hoppinkiss, @hyperionshipping, @impulse-exe, @iwishihadfangs, @iyamifucker, @kissingarthurclaus, @lex-n-weegie, @lficanthaveloveiwantpower, @little-miss-selfships, @little-shiny-sharpies, @loogi-selfships, @mandrakebrew, @midoridayz, @mintpecks, @mothfinite, @mrs-kelly, @nameless-self-ships, @nerdstreak, @odysseyyaoi, @oleanderspride, @orbitingaroundyourlove, @paper-carnation, @reds-self-ships, @rotten--cotton , @spacestationstorybook, @squips-ship, @theheroand, @toogayforthistoday, @winterworlds, @yuzuibanagi

[inkdrinkerworld]

SOFT DOM REMUS HELPING READER GET OM HER GRINDDDD like i love working out and school and stuff sometimes I find hard to keep going once the motivation wears off not out of lack of discipline but more out of negative self talk he would nooooooot allow that

Reader’s having a it of negative self talk, mention of their body not looking the way they want it to and having lumps and rolls (I thought of what I say to myself to make it a bit realistic) but please don’t read if that’s gonna be triggering <3 thank you for your request, lovely

You’re on your third outfit and all you see when you stare into the mirror is nothing to be proud of.

You huff as you basically rip the dress of your body, pout in full effect as you rifle through your clothes for a good outfit.

“I swear to god nothing looks right.”

Remus turns from his spot in the bathroom where he’s shaving his face with a frown. “How do you mean dove?”

There’s not much for him to alarmed about yet.

“There’s something wrong with how I look I’m telling you, Rem.” A few shirts fly from your pile.

“I have to wear pink or red tomorrow for work and it’s like everything I own in those colours either make me look pregnant or like I’ve got extra limbs.”

Remus shakes his head and sets down the razor as he makes his way to you.

“Could it be that you’ve just gone off your period so you’re still a little bloated?”

You don’t want to hear reason right now.

You’re ugly and that’s all. But it’s not, because it’s untrue.

“Or a second thing which is much simpler, I’m just unattractive. And nothing’s right on me because there’s lumps and rolls.”

Remus shakes his head, stern as he meets you in the closet and sets your hands to your side with firm pressure.

“Cut it out.” His tone cuts through the air leaving no room for arguments. “You’re a day off your period dove, some bloat is normal. I understand that you don’t feel comfortable in your body right now but that’s no way to talk to or about yourself.”

Remus has a way of melting down the fat of every negative conversation you try to have with yourself and helps you be neutral about your body.

Your bottom lip juts out just so. “I just want to feel pretty.” There’s a lot less attitude and upset in your tone, just a little sadness Remus wants to wipe away.

He nods, kissing your forehead as his eyes scan your rack dresses. “How about you wear that red and white dress? And I can curl your hair tonight and help you do the bun tomorrow morning?”

You nod, tears gathering in your eyes. “I didn’t mean all that.”

Remus smiles, stroking your face. “It’s alright to be frustrated with the way you change baby, but there’s nothing wrong with the changes.” He kisses your nose. “Plus, no matter what you think, you’re the most gorgeous person on the planet.”

You giggle, a little shy under his doting. “Can I wear your jumper to bed?”

Remus rolls his eyes but it’s all fond. “This one yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

[doodler16]

I hope season 2 proves me wrong but currently I don’t see Valentino as a menacing and threatening figure like many say. I also don’t find him to be a good villain. People are right when they say he’s a quirky rapist. The only thing that’s scary is the rape (which yeah, of course it is, duh).

Male version of Stella:

In Valentino’s debut episode, he basically bitches and moans about Angel Dust. Vox of all people had to calm Valentino down, coddle him, since he was going to shoot everyone including Angel Dust in the hotel. Along with reminding Valentino that Angel Dust isn’t going anywhere because he’s still a slave. Valentino is treated similarly to Stella in season 2. He’s the dumb, impulsive bitch of the trio who has be told the obvious by somebody else. Vox and Valentino’s dynamic is basically Stella and Andrealphus except there is no incest undertones.

Valentino’s voice:

Valentino’s voice acting is another reason why I don’t take him seriously. Joel Perez does the best he does with the material and atrocious dialogue given to him but the voice direction just doesn’t do him justice as he is changing accents every 5 seconds.

In Episode 2, 4, and 6 you will notice that Valentino uses a deep "intimidating" voice when he abuses Angel Dust. In my opinion, it's so unserious, which is why I prefer Paranoid DJ's performance of Valentino. He doesn't need to change his voice when abusing Angel Dust because he is always be in control of the situation.

Not Charming:

Masquerade and Welcome to Heaven demonstrates that Valentino is not a charming. Villains are known to be charming individuals that the viewers can cling onto. Valentino is the exact opposite of that. It makes me question how he had power over anyone including Angel Dust in the first place.

In episode 4, Charlie comes into the porn studio unannounced and the two finally met. Instead of Valentino introducing himself like a normal person with respect and dignity or at least try to make a good first impression with the princess of hell, he instead licks Charlie’s hand.

How is that charming or sexy? In universe, Charlie is grossed out as well. Even in episode 6, Welcome to Heaven: the way he was trying to make the women around him into stars was so lame and boring.

Valentino was literally asking them if they could suck dick and if they need a job. The way he does it is so casual and doesn’t even try to manipulate/ exploit the two woman or make it sound enticing, like they are missing out on the best thing ever.

Sucks As An Abuser:

As mentioned earlier, Valentino is dumb. His worst moment is in Masquerade. Valentino couldn’t conceal his true colors for 5 minutes when Charlie was in the studio.

He had to scream at the top of his lungs and drag Angel Dust into the dressing room to whoop his ass and have Charlie (the princess of Hell) witness that. He couldn’t wait until Charlie left to beat up Angel Dust. The only reason why Valentino was able to get away is because he used Angel Dust as a meat shield against her and Charlie doesn’t have a backbone.

Imagine how compelling it could’ve been if Valentino purposefully concealed his true colors and was one of the few overlords to befriend Charlie. Charlie would be convinced that Valentino is one of the good ones and not believe Angel Dust words about being abused and trafficked.

Then sooner or later, Valentino’s mask cracks and Charlie discovers the truth, feeling betrayed and disgusted with herself. Obviously, Charlie doesn’t have to take 5 seasons to finally learn the truth but at least make it subtle and somewhat slow-burn instead of Charlie finding out immediately in one episode.

[insomniadreamzz]

You are perfect to me

College AU Powder x Fem!Reader

Contains angst and a lot of fluff

———

This was a request I got and I immediately fell in love with it. The request was pretty long so I decided to not quote it here but write the story down. I hope you like what I made out of it anon ❤️

For as long as you can remember you had a crush on one of your classmates in college. It was no other than Powder, the blue haired girl had such a beautiful and kind heart, it just made you fall for her but there was one problem. Powder had only eyes for another classmate, Ekko. He had the same interest as Powder, loving to tinker with scrap and making something cool out of it. You knew they spend a lot of time together after class.

How you knew? Well you were a friend group together with Caitlyn, Vi and the two older students Jayce and Mel. Vi was Powders sister and she knew about your crush on Powder but never said anything. She didn’t want to get between you two and let yourself do the thing.

No matter how much you tried to give her signs that you liked her, Powder always took it in a friendly way, not really getting that you try to flirt with her. Of course she didn’t since she only had eyes for Ekko and basically did the same, wanting to give Ekko signs that she liked him more than a friend.

It was a rollercoaster of emotions living like that. You knew she liked someone else but you couldn’t control your own feelings as well. You couldn’t just turn your own emotions off as if it wasn’t hard enough to fall for someone in your friend group.

A few days ago Caitlyn invided all of you to her home for a house party. Her parents were away so she had the house for her own and of course it had to be a party. You first didn’t know if you should agree or not because you already knew you might see Powder and Ekko getting closer but then thought why should that stop you from having your own fun? So in the end you agreed to come to the party.

You decided to dress up not too fancy, wearing jeans and a crop top, a coat on top. It was cold outside and you weren’t a big fan of dresses, at least when it was cold outside. You were more the ‚cozy but still beautiful‘ kind of person.

When you arrived at Caitlyn‘s house, you could already hear the music outside of the house. That woman never failed doing a great party. You ringed the doorbell and Caitlyn greeted you with a wide smile, pulling you into a hug. „Hey there!! I am so happy you decided to come. Please come in.“ She said and you went inside after thanking her for the invitation. Everyone else greeted you happily and already in a very good mood caused by alcohol. Caitlyn also invited more of her own friends, thank god the house was big enough for so many people, some were dancing, some were talking. It was a very comfortable atmosphere. The only thing making you feel uncomfortable was seeing Powder dancing with Ekko. It made your tummy twist uncomfortable, making you want to have a drink to get over it but you won’t drink today since you were here with your car.

„Alright! Why are you standing there? Come on get a drink!“ Vi told you, being clearly tipsy but you shook your head in response. „No thanks no alcohol for me this time but I would like to take a coke.“ You said, making her accept your decision before handing you the drink, Vi was here to party but also help out Caitlyn with the guests since they were a couple, Vi wouldn’t just chill there and let Caitlyn do the work. She was very kind. Just like her sister Powder.

…

The music kept on ringing in your ears as you drove off into your own thoughts. You tried not to stare too obviously at Powder as you remembered how many times you tried to ask her out, trying to be cute and sweet towards her but it never really seemed to work.

Of course she appreciated your compliments and everything but as always, just in a friendship way.

You got back to reality once you noticed a conversation getting a little bit out of hand, Ekko and Powder were standing near you, talking to another person, you couldn’t ignore the conversation since they were near enough for you to hear.

„…well we all know Powders creations wouldn’t function without my help anyways.“ You only heard that but it was enough for understanding why Powder left. You watched her run away out into the backyard meanwhile Ekko kept on talking, clearly not noticing what his stupid behavior caused.

You stood up from the couch you were chilling at with your coke before following Powder, seeing her sitting down against a tree with her knees against her chest, head resting against them as she cried. You frowned, heart breaking at the sight, your legs moving automatically as you approached her. „Powder…?“ You asked softly but you didn’t get an answer, just little sniffs. So you just sat down beside her in silence, just letting her know you are here.

A little chilly wind appeared, making you look at Powder who was still not really there. She was heartbroken, you just knew it but something else you noticed was her body shivering so you decided to take off your coat and wrap it around her body. This action made her look at you, her beautiful makeup all smudged from the tears, her white dress was probably also dirty from the ground. „Thank you…“ She murmured, her red puffy eyes making you feel so sad for her, reaching forward with your hand to wipe the tears away with your thumb. „It’s okay.“ You answered before thinking about leaving, this was it for tonight. You needed to take her home. „Let me drive you home. I think it’s enough for tonight isnt it?“ You carefully asked and she nodded slowly in response. „You are right…“

Of course you couldn’t miss the fact that Powder was drunk as well like the others. You had to hold her up a little as you walked her to your car which was a black BMW. You never really wanted to talk about the things you have, not wanting to show big dick energy. You were simply thankful for being able to afford some things, that was it.

„Wow I didn’t know you have such a fancy car.“ Powder spoke and you just chuckled a little before unlocking it, letting her get in. „I am not the one to tell people how amazing I am and the things I have.“ You mentioned before getting into the drivers seat, starting the engine.

„Yea…not like someone else…“ She mumbled and you knew she talked about Ekko. He really was behaving like an asshole but you tried to comfort her, knowing Powder liked Ekko a lot. „He is drunk. Maybe he didn’t think about how it would make you feel.“ You said as you focused on the road, Powder looked out the window as she listened to you. „He didn’t think at all. Ekko knows I always had problems in the past with my work since everything I tried to create when I was younger…just didn’t work like it should. It always made me feel insecure and now he even made me feel worse about my own work.“ You heard her voice crack, knowing she was on the edge of her tears again.

„You are very intelligent Pow, you don’t need a second person to make things work.“ You tried to help but she didn’t seem to listen, being lost in her own sad thoughts which made you have an idea. You decided to put on her favorite song and then, silence. Both of you just listening to the song as you drove, it didn’t last long though. Powder turned to face you, looking at your concentrated expression as you focused on the road before she interrupted the silence. „Why are you doing this?…all of this?“

Her soft voice made you smile a little. You didn’t have anything to lose at this point so you decided to just be honest. „Because I like you. Very much.“ You confessed, these words were enough for the blue haired girl to understand but she still wanted to know more. „You do? Why…you never told me before?“ She asked and you just chuckled with a little shrug. „Really? It’s obvious you have a crush on Ekko. I didn’t have a chance.“ You simply stated and that made her frown before looking out the window again. „Yea…I ‚had‘ a crush.“

You decided to stay silent after her last sentence, knowing the alcohol was also talking. Maybe she would think different when being sober.

Finally you arrived, the last five minutes were filled with silence and you felt a little awkward knowing Powder knew about your feelings now but you tried not to show the tension you felt as you got out of the car, offering your hand for her to get out. Her eyes met yours and you could still see the sadness and disappointment in them, it made you feel sad. „It’s okay Pow, just take a good rest and tomorrow everything will be different yea?“ You smiled, trying to make her smile as well but she only gave you a little, sad smile. „Thank you a lot for caring. I won’t forget the sweet gesture of yours.“ Powder rushed to you after saying that, closing the gap between you as she hugged you so tight, you thought she would break you any second, scared to lose you but you were there, hugging her back just as tight. „Thank you so much…“ She mentioned and you felt the tension between you, blushing as you smelled the beautiful scent of her perfume. „Don’t thank me. Of course I wouldn’t leave you like that.“

„I know because you are very sweet and kind. Please never change your attitude. I am happy I can count on you.“ Powder let go of you with a smile, now she was really smiling at you, making your heart melt. You both stare into each other’s eyes, the moonlight reflecting in Powders beautiful blue ones, making them look even more beautiful. For a few seconds you just kept staring, silently admiring each other before the door to Powders house opened, Vander getting out of there. „Hey girls! It’s cold outside, don’t you want to get inside??“ He asked with a little chuckle, not really noticing he just interrupted a intimate moment. You wished he didn’t because you were very close to kiss Powder but who knows why it happened like that. Maybe it was better that way. She was still drunk and you wouldn’t want to make a move in her like that. You wanted her to be sober when you try to make the next move.

„It’s okay! I just dropped her off home. The party was a little much and I wanted her to get home save.“ You told Vander and Powder let go of you, taking a few steps back before looking at you again. „Thank you again. Goodnight.“ She said before turning and walking towards Vander who waited for her to get back inside. You smiled before waving at them. „Goodnight! See ya!“

On your way home you questioned yourself if Powder would remember what you said today. Maybe she would forgive Ekko? Or she would get closer to you. Whatever it will be, you knew you will fund out the next day.

———

Part 2?