#this is meant with the best of intentions

[jukashi]

I know when this sort of thing gets posted there will be replies going 'I'm just venting' or 'Men don't need any more coddling' or 'oh so we need to stroke men's egos by saying only nice things?' and so on. So, I want to add: sexism against women will always exist so long as there is sexism against men, and vice versa.

It would perhaps be nice to disassemble gender completely, but in the meantime the majority of human cultures assume most humans are either man or woman, and even if acceptance of nonbinary identities became magically universal they would remain a minority, so most people would still assume most people are either men or woman. When people think 'people who are not men' they think first of women, and when people think 'people who are not women' they think first of men.

So, statements like 'men are violent' necessarily implies 'non-men are not violent', drifting to 'women are not violent', implying 'women do not fight', and so 'men are violent' leads to 'women are weak'. If you convince people men are selfish, you will convince them that women are servile. If men are monsters, women are victims.

Besides that... making broad negative statements about any group that someone can't opt out of being a member of never improves anything, because there's never any actual intent to improve anything. When sexist societies said women were emotional and stupid, did they reward women who demonstrated discipline, who educated themselves? No, it was punished. At best it exiled you from your identity, made you Not A Woman, at worse you got 'taught your place'. You got worse than nothing for trying to defy the expectation. If you played into it, you got an excuse for mistakes and misbehavior. Insulting women as emotional only encouraged many to be emotional, made it part of the identity, made them go: well! I'll be emotional then! But I will say it better - that I am nurturing, kind, passionate! Good things, things to be proud to be identified with instead of ashamed, but in a sexist society they were code words for being a manipulable slave, which served the real masters of that society perfectly well.

Saying women were emotional, saying women were stupid, never encouraged them to be disciplined or to educate themselves. It was never meant to.

How do you think describing men as violent and dangerous will encourage them to be gentle and safe? The ones who defy the expectation are punished. At best they will be Not-Men, at worse being half-trained dogs, used and abused but never trusted, never let in. A man will never get anything from people who say men are bad by trying to prove them wrong. Insulting men as violent and dangerous only gives an excuse, reinforces it as part of the identity, encourages many to be violent and dangerous, to go: well! I'll be violent and dangerous then! But I will say it better - that I am powerful, capable, tough! Good things, things to be proud to be identified with instead of ashamed, but in a sexist society they are code words for being a tool to be used, which serves the real masters of society perfectly well.

This isn't a moral argument. It's not an argument about what's virtuous, not an argument about what beliefs make someone a good person or a true member of the approved group. It is an argument of method, of how to achieve a purpose.

Saying men are evil only ever achieves the opposite of everything that anyone who describes themselves as a feminist claims to want.

really cannot emphasise enough that "All Men Bad" and "masculinity is inherently violent, dangerous, and evil" are load-bearing pillars of radfeminism and these ideas cannot have a place in any truly progressive queer theorising.

[ellewritesx]

liquid assets

(part five of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: You left the boxes, but you never really leave.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, mentions of past sex, Harry's drunk, this isn't very smutty, sorry if that's what you're here for!

A/N: music has helped me tremendously while writing this part, especially ''the archer'' by taylor swift, which captures harry's inner turmoil perfectly, while ''my tears ricochet'' (also by taylor) represents y/n to a tee. both are a must-listen while reading this imo, i couldn't recommend it more!!! i hope you like it lovelies x

Word Count: 3,134

...

The city is still asleep when Harry stumbles out of the sleek black cab, the sky above him bleeding into a pale gray with the promise of morning and soul-crushing melancholy. The street lights flicker in sync with the pounding in his head, and his boots echo hollowly against the pavement as he makes his way toward his building.

He hadn't meant to stay out all night. Or drink that much. But lately, nothing felt intentional. Everything was senseless. Aimless. He hasn't slept in his bed since you left, not really, just collapsed onto the couch when the liquor dulled his mind enough to let him.

This morning, though, the ache is louder than usual. Maybe because the night before, he dreamt of you. Of your laugh. Your lips parting for him. The heat of your mouth. Your hands pulling him closer. Of the way you had looked at him when he'd told you to leave.

He nearly trips over the boxes on his doorstep.

At first he thinks they're deliveries. Something from his stylist, maybe, another line of designer clothes he won't wear. But then he sees the writing on the labels. You always write your ones with a little line at the bottom. Just weeks ago he'd jokingly called it pretentious and kissed your shoulder. Now, he just stared.

Two large boxes. One smaller. Taped shut, but not tightly. Like you couldn't care enough to secure them properly. Or like you couldn't bear to really seal them closed.

He stands there for a full minute, the back of his neck prickling with the sick, sinking understanding of what this means. You weren't just pulling away from him. This wasn't a temporary rough patch. You were returning everything. This was goodbye.

The elevator ride is unbearable. The boxes sit at his feet like the materialization of his guilt, heavy and silent. He drops his keys twice fumbling to get the door open, and when he finally does, he bumps the door open with his hips, carrying the boxes in, the weight similar to the one he's been carrying on his shoulders.

He drops the keys in the bowl, lets his coat slip from his shoulders, and shoves the largest box onto the floor in front of the coffee table. He sits down on the rug and starts cutting through the tape.

Perfume is the first thing that hits him. Your scent. Sweet and warm, a little citrusy. It blooms from the open cardboard like a ghost.

The top layer is fabric: folded, neatly arranged. A black silk nightgown he'd bought you at a boutique in Paris when you'd joked about needing something ''ridiculously fancy'' to sleep in. You wore it that night in the hotel, standing barefoot on the balcony while he held you from behind and the Eiffel Tower glittered before you, so close you giddily told him ''It's like I can touch it, Harry!''

Days before, when he'd first seen the excitement on your face at the prospect of going to Paris and seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle, he had made some calls, voice hushed so as not to spoil the surprise, securing you two the hotel with the best view.

He remembers watching you and thinking he'd never seen anything so painfully beautiful, the golden lights reflecting in your eyes. You had no idea how much it wrecked him, how much he would sacrifice to just stay in that moment forever. He lifts the fabric to his nose and nearly flinches. It still smells like the expensive red wine you'd spilled on it when he had impulsively pressed your back against the balcony railing and kissed you, making you smile against his lips.

He puts the dress down like it can rid him of the reminiscence.

Next is a pair of Louboutins. Red soles barely scuffed. You'd worn them on his birthday, matching the red lipstick that would leave imprints on his skin when you worshipped him just hours later.

You'd complained for days leading up to it, insisting on throwing him a party. ''It's your birthday, Harry. You deserve to be celebrated,'' you'd said adamantly, wrapping your arms around his neck, a pout on your lips. He told you he wasn't ''a party person''. He didn't have the heart to tell you nobody would've showed up.

He swallows and sets the heels aside, gently, fragile like the memory of you in them. He works through the rest with methodical silence. Each item slices him open a little more.

The floral sundress he'd brought home after he saw you eyeing something similar in a magazine. You laughed when he surprised you with it and teased him relentlessly about ''knowing trends now.'' Which he didn't. He had asked his stylist for advice.

The bottle of your favorite perfume is on the bottom of the box, half-empty. He turns it over in his hand and stares at the gold label. He remembers sitting in a shop with you for over an hour while you sniffed sample after sample and asked for his opinion repeatedly, only to go back to the first one you'd tried. ''You like it, right?'' you'd asked, a little shy. He had, and he told you so. Now, the scent clings to everything in the box. His chest feels tight.

Then come the little things. A silk eye mask he got you for the flight to Tokyo. A tiny tub of lip balm in that ridiculous flavor you always used. Marshmallow. He always hungrily watched you dragging it across your lips, then leaning in and asking, "Wanna taste?" like you didn't already know the answer. He swears he can still taste your lips, even after all these days without your kisses.

His hoodie, one he didn't even realize was missing. He reaches out and curls the fabric in his fingers. You used to sleep in it when he was away. Once, he caught you wearing it with nothing underneath, strutting into the kitchen, legs bare, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep. It undid him. He'd fucked you until the sunset that day.

And then, in the smallest box, wrapped in tissue like you'd been afraid he'd shatter it like he did your heart: the necklace.

It was simple. A fine gold chain with a tiny charm, an enamel daisy. You'd told him one night daisies were your favorite because they always looked happy and reminded you of simpler times. ''Everything changes. Daisies don't. They're the same ones I used to pluck as a kid. It's like a time capsule,'' you'd whispered, absentmindedly drawing the flowers on his bare chest with your fingers.

It stuck with him. He found the charm a few weeks later in a shop in Notting Hill and had it made into a necklace. He didn't give it to you on a special occasion. No grand gesture. Just left it on your pillow with a note that said ''My daisy''. You wore it every day.

He holds it now like it might burn him. You gave this back. You gave this back. His gift to you.

Harry feels his throat close. He stands abruptly, needing air, needing to escape, and forces his feet to move to the kitchen. The overhead light is too bright, worsening his hangover, so he snaps it off and leans against the counter in the dimness, still holding the necklace. It feels so small in his hand. Useless. Pretty and pointless.

He should have known. Should've known from the moment he pulled back when you hugged him that night that it would come to this. But he thought, selfishly, naively, that maybe you'd keep the things he gave you. That maybe they had meant something.

That maybe he had meant something.

Apparently, not enough.

He wanders back into the living room. The boxes stare at him. The scent of you, faint and persistent, clung to the air, to his clothes, to his goddamn skin. It was like you were everywhere and nowhere at once. His apartment hadn't changed, but it felt hollow now. Like you'd taken something with you when you left that he couldn't name.

He sinks down onto the edge of the couch and lets the necklace dangle from his fingers. It spins gently, catching light from the streetlamp outside. He doesn't cry. Just lets the silence pile up in the room like snow, cold and heavy. The kind that buries things.

You returned everything.

But the cruelest part, the part he couldn't just box up and send away, is that his apartment still smells like you. Still looks like you'd just been there. Like you never left in the first place.

It hits him strongest in the bedroom, where the air is thick with warmth and ghosted memories. Even after opening every window, even after lighting a cigarette just to drown it out with something acrid and biting, it clings to him. Your perfume, like flowers pressed into the pages of a book, has settled into his sheets, the curtains, the collar of the hoodie he instinctively pulled over his head this morning, only to realize halfway through the sleeves that it's the one you wore to brunch a few days ago. Your scent is stitched into the seams now.

He moves through the space like a man haunted. Maybe he is. Maybe that's what you get when you open yourself to someone just enough to let them settle into the cracks.

The shower still holds your shampoo. A tall bottle with a pearly label and one of those unnecessarily complex French names you'd once made him pronounce, laughing when he butchered it. He'd picked up the pronunciation eventually, just to see you smile when he got it right. Now it stands like a monument in the corner of the tiled stall, half-full and untouched since the last time you used it. He should throw it away. It doesn't make sense to keep it. When he tried, his hand lingered over the bottle, then dropped to his side again.

On the floor next to his bed is one of your hair ties. Black, thin, stretched nearly to its breaking point. He'd found another one wrapped around the knob of the closet door. Another tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. You were always losing them. Now he has a dozen, and not a single one matters.

In the living room, there's a single flower in a glass vase on the table by the window. He bought it on impulse. He'd seen it in a florist's window on the way home from an exhausting meeting and stepped inside before he could think twice, it was the last one. He'd watched her light up when she saw it, throwing her arms around him and accusing him of being soft, a romantic. He'd vehemently denied it, obviously. Helianthus. You'd taught him that word, too.

''Just call them sunflowers, baby,'' he'd said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. ''They're majestic, Harry. Helianthus suits them better,'' you'd argued passionately, face drop-dead serious, which only made his amusement grow. But he never referred to them as ''just sunflowers'' again.

The petals have started to curl in on themselves. Losing their brightness. He can't bring himself throw it out.

Your toothbrush is missing from the holder. The space where it used to sit is stark and empty. Your favorite mug is gone, the one with the cracked handle and a faded design of a dancing avocado. You must've taken it while he was at work.

The throw blanket is still draped over the couch from your last movie night. He drops into the cushions and buries his face in it, just for a second. Maybe longer than a second. Maybe long enough to feel pathetic and wallow in self-pity. Maybe long enough to remember how you looked wrapped up in it, curled into his side with your bare legs tangled in his lap and your voice low and sleepy.

There's a forgotten earring on the nightstand. A small hoop, nothing flashy, but he remembers watching you put them on in the mirror, remembers unhooking them with careful fingers before he laid you on the pillows. He doesn't know what to do with it.

His throat tightens with something sharp and sour. It's not just that you're gone. It's how thoroughly you were here.

You made this space feel like a home, like something more than walls and furniture and soft-close drawers. He let you in without meaning to, and now that you're out, he can't scrub you from the corners.

His phone buzzes on the table. He glances over, more out of instinct than anything else. Maybe delusional hope. Just a work notification. He throws it face-down and leans back into the couch.

He knows he should stop checking his phone. Knows you won't text, not first. Maybe not at all. But he can't help it.

Even silence feels loud now. It echoes. And in that silence, he hears you, your laughter bouncing off the walls, your bare feet padding across the floor in the morning, the sleepy hums you make when you stretch. The way you whispered his name sometimes, like it was a secret. Like you were afraid of breaking it.

He drags a hand through his hair. The strands are still damp from the light drizzle outside, and he catches a faint whiff of your shampoo again. Fuck.

He's not used to missing people. He doesn't make a habit of letting them stay long enough to be missed.

The couch dips under his weight as he sinks deeper into it. He drags a hand down his face, eyes gritty from the lack of sleep and too much thinking. He hasn't been out of his head in days. He's always done this. He shuts down, shuts out.

He's used to earning love by being quiet. That was the unspoken rule growing up. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't cry unless you're bleeding. Don't ask for anything unless you're prepared to owe something in return. There was always a weight to every act of kindness in his childhood home, like affection came with a receipt. He learned early to stop wanting what he couldn't afford.

He remembers once, he must've been around nine or ten, when he'd won some regional spelling competition. For some reason, it was a big deal where he lived. The children winning those were referred to as ''the bright ones''. Their parents always seemed so proud, he'd seen their families hollering and cheering them on. He'd figured that if he won, maybe his family would be proud of him, too.

Every day leading up to the competition, he spent hours on end in the library, reading the dictionary and quizzing himself on words like ''fiduciary'' and ''eudaemonic'', which was way above the reading level of a nine-year-old, but he liked to be prepared. He always has.

And he'd won, impressing students and teachers alike, but he hadn't cared about any of them. He ran home, clutching the shiny laminated certificate with shaky fingers, beaming. His mum looked up from her laptop just long enough to say, "Put it on the fridge, if you want."

No one came to the ceremony. That was the last time he brought something home hoping to be praised for it.

He's always lived in transactions. Give this, get that. Be good, be useful, be what they want, and maybe you'll be wanted too.

He doesn't think about those years often, it's easier not to. The past feels like something heavy in the water, always threatening to drag him under if he swims too close. But now, alone in the apartment with the ghost of you, it all comes rushing back. The empty dinner table. The silence that rang louder than any argument. The way he used stay awake at night dreaming of growing up just so he could finally be in control of his own life.

He'd told you from the beginning; nothing was yours to keep. Every dress, every dinner, every luxury, bought by him, belonging to him. He built the arrangement around ownership. Around control.

He's turned into his parents. He's replicating the patterns that once hurt him, and calling it safety. Because if everything is defined, then nothing can be taken without warning.

You'll never be left disappointed, suffocating in the aching emptiness where something you once called yours used to be.

He slumps back into the couch, fingers pressed to his temples. And for a brief, unguarded second, he considers going to your apartment and dropping to his knees and confessing his feelings, even though he's not sure what they are exactly. But then it leaks in again.

The thing he still carries, this quiet, aching fear that love only stretches so far before it snaps.

When he got sick as a kid, he used to fake being better faster than he was. He didn't like how it made his mum sigh, how she'd move around the house more angrily when he was home from school. He'd lay there, feverish and aching, but tell her he felt fine, insisting on going to school with a tight-lipped smile. He didn't want to be a burden. Didn't want to be more than she could handle.

There were no bedtime stories. No tucking in. No gentle hands brushing hair off his forehead. Instead, there were closed doors and flickering hallway lights, his own small fingers tracing shapes into the walls, waiting for silence to settle enough that he could sleep. Love, in his house, was a presence you had to earn. It had to be invited in, performed for, clung to. Maybe that's why now, even grown, he keeps things transactional. It's what he knows. It's what he can control.

He reaches for his phone to shake off the feeling, his thumbs hovering above the screen. There's so much he wants to say to you. ''I'm sorry.'' ''I miss you.'' ''Please forgive me.''

For a moment, he thinks about deleting your number. Blocking it. Pretending none of this happened.

But the truth is, it did. And it's eating him alive, consuming his every waking thought, and, as of last night, his dreams. He stares down at his phone for a long time before he types. Are we done?

There's a long pause. Long enough for him to regret sending it, for his heart to drop to his stomach and his hand to wander toward the half-empty vodka bottle still on the coffee table.

But then your reply blinks onto the screen. Were we anything to begin with?

It knocks the breath out of him. If whatever the two of you were is already broken, what's left to protect?

What's left to lose?

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan @hoolabalooba @hisparentsgallerryy @txmhxllqnd @harringtonhundreds @freddyselmstreet @caynonmoondreams @matildasatellite @ilovezaynmalik08 @looney-goose @call1800coochie @nostalgiainmybones @billweasleyswife

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc

...

[jjwolves]

Hello, you know how ENA has the opportunity to pet most if not all the animal like entities in Dream BBQ? Could I get a writing of her petting the Human Reader because:

1. They can.

2. It’s in her personality to do that.

3. Cuteness Aggression.

And notice how it’s Meanie’s hand that’s always petting the babies, make of that as you will.

TURN OFF YOUR TV •• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••

What: 5 Headcanons of ENA the Worker X Reader

Who: ENA the Worker, from ENA Dream BBQ (by Joel G)

How Much: ~800 words, ~3 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G, Divider -> @cafekitsune

Warnings: None, Besides Slight Angst

You’ve been hanging out with ENA for a while, and while you adore her, and she you, you realized after your fourth time needing saved that you weren’t cut out for the unpredictable, intense journeys brought on by her employment. At the time, ENA was on a mission that required two people: One would be the lookout and the other would need to blow on a lever which looked like a pinwheel to open the door to an ice temple in the sky. At least, that was the plan on paper. What actually happened was more like this: you were captivated watching ENA at work and an irate wind farmer found you perched in your crow’s nest, trapping you in a giant popsicle as punishment. ENA had a job to do, but she dropped it to help you escape. After that, the temple was on high alert for 'rude bipedal entities' and the mission was impossible.

Ever since then, you’ve decided to stop coming on adventures, much to ENA’s surprising displeasure. “WHAT! You’re my partner in business, you lazy worm! What do you mean you’re ‘sitting this one out’?!” You were just so tired of letting her down, you explained. She did far better on her own, and you didn’t want her to get in trouble with her job or anything. ENA wasn’t hearing it, and Meanie wasn’t getting the job done. It was time to sell. “OK. Yes, the mission didn’t go as expected. But there’s no need to be a solo practitioner over getting distracted.” You gulped nervously, to which ENA gave a blank (knowing?) smile and looked thoughtful for a moment. “We’ll have your finances straightened out soon enough.” You had no idea what that meant. Little did you know, she was already setting a plan in motion.

ENA began inviting you on miniature adventures where the stakes were lower, although she was doing her best to be subtle about her intentions. “There’s an errand I want you to go on with me. Dual investment!” “Here’s an offer you can’t refuse: An upstanding angler wants us to help him find the Devil’s Toybox, and the only thing we need to do is help steer the boat!” “There’s a water factory which has run out of water, it seems. They need a tough customer to run on a wheel so they can keep the sky open long enough to get ice. Sounds like it should be easy to help them with their recession.” They’re all pretty simple jobs, meaning that you don’t screw them up as much as you do the big ones. ENA notices, though, that these smaller jobs still aren’t perking you up the way she thought they would. So, she starts giving you little rewards to help put some pep back in your step.

You help ENA keep a ladder still so that she can grab a high-up library book which has a stickman trapped inside. You are rewarded with a self-eating apple. You hold the angler to make sure she doesn’t fall into the inky lake, and you all crack open the Devil’s Toybox to find creepy little puppet versions of everyone on the boat. ENA gifts you a snowglobe with a rooster inside which points to anything that looks like a sun. You and ENA take turns running on the wheel, and after the factory is running again, she gives you a metal hat with oni faces on it. While you appreciate the gifts, you know that ENA is trying to recondition you to make you feel better about going on missions with her again. And ENA realizes fairly quickly that the gifts aren’t lifting your spirits the way they ought to. Salesman couldn’t get the job done, so maybe it should be Meanie’s turn.

ENA continues on her quest to resurrect your moxie. Gifts don’t work as she expected, so she switches to a new form of reinforcement. After another little job is finished, instead of her Salesman side trading you something, she lets her pale side take over and do whatever feels right. No more calculations, just feeling. Before you even know what’s happening, ENA is sitting next to you, her pale claw stroking your head, taking time to comb through it and occasionally circle it around her finger. Her voice is gruff but caring. “That stupid mission… You have a thick skull, but even you should know that I don’t take you on missions because I want you to do something for me. I want you to do something with me.” Hazily, you open your eyes and see that she’s looking straight into yours. You tell her that she doesn’t need to bribe you anymore. “But don’t think you’re not getting off the hook that easy! We’re adding this to the routine. Get used to it!” You don’t argue. You just focus on the rare Meanie smile presented to you.

[sourle]

Upsidedown Au

World upside.. down.

WARNINGS: BLOOD, GORE, ETC.

Note: new au, new content

You hissed from the searing pain on your arm, the inside of the flesh slowly ripples and it rips apart the muscle.

Your chest throb from the feelings, your lungs threaten to break. You wheeze for air as your trachea slowly closes itself. The tears welled up in your tear line, a lake of sorrow and guilt.

What did you do? What have you done?

You can't recall, you can't remember. WHY CAN'T YOU REMEMBER!?

You hold your breath as the familiar tune starts to get louder and louder, seemingly approaching your hiding space. Please no, please no—

A hand rips out from the ground, grabbing your ankle. You let out a gasp as it pulled your leg down into the ground trapping you.

You sob, desperately trying to pull out from the ground.

STEP. STEP.

Your ears perked at the footsteps, getting more and more agitated to get free. Come on! Come on! Let go you—

Your vision started to fade in and out into darkness, you saw the sword in between your eyes from the vague display. The stinging turns into a gnawing pain, clawing, as it seems to rip out from your head. Your head hurts so badly.

You spewed out the blood from your throat, watching as it splat onto the ground before you. You scream as the sword is being pulled out from your head.

“Oh? How amusing that you are not dead yet.” You wish you did. You wish you would drop dead but it seems the spectre had other plans.

A hand gripped at the top of your head, turning it to face them. The old admin who's fallen from grace. The true holder of the hatred.

“What a pretty face..” you stare at his face, that red eyes of theirs is fixated on the scars between your eyes.

“Prettier with that..” he chuckled in amusement.

You gasped, your head started to throb from pressure as it was slowly squeezed, “Nighty night.”

You shoot up from the wooden floor of the cabin, breathing heavily and clawing at your chest and head. You can still feel the throbbing pain from the scars even as there's nothing anymore there.

“Pfeu.. Welcome back” a deep gruff voice greets from the couch. A man turns his body from facing the fireplace to you, “Shedletsky is really hard to avoid nowadays huh..” they look at your panicked state with sympathy.

Their red eyes seem to pierce through you even as it only held nothing but pity and amusement. No ill intent. His floating horns follow his head movement. His hair reflects the fireplace’s light due to it looking like a crystal.

“Not ever since he merged with his own creation.” a figure walked into the living room from the kitchen, Their movements are sturdy and it seems calculated, their eyes scan the room going from the one's on the couch to you. “Best to try and avoid his sight next time.”

The man on the couch chuckles, turning to gaze at the new face. “Sup, Bouncer! Who's his creation again? Right 1x1x1x1… geez what a mouthful to say.” the man on the couch mused to himself, their left hand playing with their floating horns on the side of their head. “Anyway, Imma nap, see you guys next match.” you watch as they plop themselves back to lay across the couch and quickly fall asleep. You think so, judging by how quickly that soft snores come.

You blinked, appalled by how easy that man rested without worries in this hell of a place. You let out a shaky sigh, rubbing your temple to ease yourself from the adrenaline.

“Ignore Blast, they do that to cope.” the new person kneels next to you, “Here.” He handed you a pill, “it'll help.” you nod, quickly placing the pill in your mouth and swallowing it dry. You hope that's not drugs meant to hurt you, but knowing Bouncer, they would never do such a thing.

“.. You.. Shouldn't have swallowed it dry..” you look away from Bouncer's gaze from embarrassment. They let out an amusing chuckle from that, they tilt their head and their ushanka’s ears followed the movements.

You slowly get up and glance at the clock, there's still some time until the rest of the survivors are back, maybe you should go back to your cabin.

“Sorry.. Anyway, I'm gonna rest back in my cabin.” “Alright, rest well.”

You depart with Bouncer, walking out the main cabin and into the dirt path leading to the survivors cabins. You follow the one leading to your own cabin. You turn to the right and make a Beeline to your cabin's door. You stopped to observe the badly made nameplate on the door with neat handwriting, ‘Elliot’ was written on it with red paint.

One of the killers' name. you wonder if the killers were also once survivors before they were turned into monsters to torture you and your survivor friends. Bouncer and Jane did make a theory on that, they both discussed it each time they found a new clue to support the theory or observing the killers.

You brushed off the thought and opened the door, walking inside the cabin before closing the door. You yawn and trudge towards your bed before flopping down. As your eyes become heavier the darked your visions become. You blinked and you saw his face. Shedletsky.

You groaned and buried your face into your pillow, descending into sleep while trying to empty your thoughts.

EXTRA

[universefcb]

since you asked for Max Verstappen you shall receive xD

so first idea is divorced!dad!Max x only parent!reader and basically their daughters are in the same grade and are close friends so there are many playdates so the two meet quite often and it starts to develop

TOGETHER AND GLUED, MAX VERSTAPPEN.

→ Summary: You are single parents and develop feelings.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff/angsty. Romance.

→ Author's note: Thank you for your order, dear! I was very happy.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The sound of children’s laughter filled the house. The living room carpet was covered with dolls, pillows, little pots of Play-Doh, and two half-empty glasses of grape juice. Clara, her daughter, was sitting on the floor next to Sophie, her new best friend at school. The two had only known each other for a few months, but from the first day they seemed inseparable.

Sitting on the sofa, with a bottle of water in his hand and a light expression, Max Verstappen watched the scene with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. He didn't usually smile so much, not anymore, but there... there was something in that house, in that calm energy, that made his chest slow down.

You appeared in the living room shortly after, wiping your hands on a dish towel while trying to fix your loose hair. Max looked at you with almost no attempt to hide it. There was something comforting about the way you walked around the house, as if every movement had intention and calm. Unlike his world, where everything was rushed and controlled.

“They’re having fun,” he said, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt and adjusting it at his elbow. “This is the third Saturday in a row that Sophie wants to come here. I think you’ve become part of the routine.”

You smiled, that kind, real smile, like you understood exactly what this meant to him. “Clara too. Since she made friends with your daughter, she’s been sleeping better. She’s happier, more confident. So… I think we’re in the black.”

“I should be grateful, actually. Sophie was pretty closed off for a while after the divorce. I didn’t think she’d smile like that again.”

There was a pause, and their eyes met. For a moment, the children's sounds in the background seemed distant.

“I think... we both know how lonely this role can be,” you said, your voice a little lower, but still firm.

Max nodded. His blue eyes lost focus for a moment, returning to his daughters on the floor. It was true. He knew.

The girls' friendship became routine. Over time, the get-togethers stopped being just about them. When Max arrived, you had already left the coffee brewed, knowing that he liked it strong. Sometimes, he would bring croissants or cakes from the bakery he discovered near his house. The conversations would go on and on. They would start laughing together at their daughters' stories, then at school situations, after everything. And, little by little, they started laughing at each other.

One rainy afternoon, while Clara was crying after being teased by a boy at school, Max showed up uninvited. He was holding Sophie by the hand, a tub of ice cream, two Disney movies and had that protective and affectionate demeanor that few people knew.

“If he messes with you again, I can send an official email from Red Bull Racing. We have lawyers,” he said seriously, before winking at Clara and laughing through his tears.

You watched him the whole time. It was amazing how he could be both firm and sweet at the same time. How he brought comfort without making any effort. That night, after the girls had fallen asleep side by side on the couch, you sat on the floor with Max, your backs against the couch, and you just sat there, side by side, talking about everything and nothing.

“Do you miss it?” he asked suddenly.

“Of what?”

“To just be... you. Without having to split yourself into a thousand pieces all the time.”

You looked at him, feeling your heart skip a beat.

“I do. But I also feel like I found myself in this. I wouldn’t trade it. I just... sometimes I wish I had someone to hold my hand when everything was too much.”

Max said nothing. But he reached out, slowly, and let his fingers find hers in the silence of the room.

The invitation to go out came weeks later. Natural, unpretentious, but full of intention.

“There’s a new restaurant near the marina. I thought I’d take you. Just you. No school bags, no dolls on the floor, no fighting over vegetables. Just us.”

You laughed, surprised by his courage. 'A date?'

“If you want to call it that. I call it breathing.”

You accepted.

That night, she saw a Max the world didn't know. No pressure, no fame, no armor. He laughed easily, listened to her every word with attention, and touched her hand with a tenderness that said more than any conversation.

On the way back, he hesitated at the door of your house. You did too. It wasn't haste, it was respect. A rare kind of care.

“Is this going too fast?” he asked, as if afraid of breaking something fragile.

“No. It’s going the right way,” you replied, approaching him.

The kiss was calm, full of tenderness and security. And yet, it carried all the intensity of something that had been growing day after day, amidst scattered toys and small gestures.

You separated, both with silly smiles on your lips, foreheads touching.

“I hope I’m the best for you, dear.” He said.

“You already are”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[windcarvedlyre]

While I'm at it, have a compilation of depictions of Barbatos. We know Mondstadt's are inaccurate:

but it really takes the piss.

For reference, here's his canon stripper archon outfit as seen in the webtoon and a TCG card:

I'll assume the missing ring things in the last image are an error. And that the TCG looks different for actual Teyvat residents; it would leak sensitive information about gods otherwise. The only difference I can see in the TCG depiction is the wings look more like... actual wings, but gold-rimmed fabric is still either fused with or draped over them.

With that in mind:

Statues of the Seven

Robes cover everything but his arms and face

No adornments on his wings or chest

No fusion of wings and fabric; instead they float a small distance from his back, attached to nothing

No cecilia

'Gateway to Celestia' statue

Outfit shows his figure more, especially his legs

Drapey sash thing over one arm and spiraling around him

Chest adornment but no wing adornments

Wings attached to back; unclear if they're meant to be attached to the fabric there or go through it

No cecilia

Wind, Courage and Wings depiction 1

(aka the fairytale Amber gives us in the prologue)

Outfit halfway between the above statue's and the stripper one

Chest adornment (simplified), no wing adornments

Gold-trimmed fabric over his shoulders extends into points instead of fusing into his wings

Simplified version of right leg sock thing

Left leg bare, no teal marking

May also have the booty shorts

Right arm bare, left maybe sleeved all the way to torso

Body wrapped in sash, maybe more loosely than the main statue

Lower part of sash maybe draped around both wrists

Something (maybe the sash) trails off, green/teal and semi-transparent

Wings have teal tint

Cecilia with green leaves

Wind, Courage and Wings depiction 2

You know. The same book.

Sash gone

Almost his stripper outfit except:

Wings still teal and unadorned, now also transparent

Other inaccuracies from depiction 1 present (no gold trims or teal lights on most of the outfit, though the crop top thing has one now)

No 'tail'

Cecilia leaves still green

Dvalin's story

This is a visual accompanying an account from Venti himself; unsurprisingly it's much more accurate. Some of the discrepancies could be intentional simplifications for the cutscene, but maybe the fact the finer details still don't match has implications about the story's accuracy.

Still lacks many gold trims and teal lights

Teal markings not present

Wings look like inorganic extensions of his outfit's fabric again, albeit with a subtle teal gradient and strange zigzags

Wing adornments finally there but lack spikes for some reason

Bonus: 2021 birthday art

From the official twitter. Faithful to the webtoon design except:

Thin gold trims along borders that previously lacked them

Pattern inside hood

New notches in crop top thing

I'm unsure if this is an overly detailed version of him for fun or if we should consider this his true canon design. The TCG card doesn't really clarify except the neck might have a gold trim:

So maybe?

In conclusion, Mondstadt doesn't know what Barbatos looks like and we might not either. At best some sort of transition from dressing more like his previous form, which happens to have detached 'wings' like his Statues of the Seven:

to the way he dresses now could explain some but not all of the discrepancies. But it's very possible (and maybe aligns better with his character story) that he's been using his current outfit for god business the entire time and all of his depictions are wrong.

Maybe the real archon outfit was the friends we made along the way.

The one constant is they always look like Nameless Bard.

[mike-wheel]

heart to heart

this scene is meant to be hopeful for Will but mainly the audience.

The flirting and overall closeness of mike and wills relationship are very apparent in this scene but it literally is supposed to tell the audience "Guys theyre flirting!!!" "Guys there is hope for this ship!!!"

The show has established that Will believes hes not going to fall in love and acts as an active force in trying to fix Mike and El's relationship:

Season 3: "I'm not gonna fall in love" - Will

Season 4: Jonathons bedroom scene, the van scene, cartop scene, mikes confession scene.

Yet, the show continues to give the audience hope, especially with the heart to heart scene. This scene is AFTER the Jonathons bedroom scene, where we actively see Will showing support for Mike and El and reassuring Mike he can fix things with El

So it's been established that a) Will does not have hope Mike will love him back, and b) With that belief, he will instead support his best friend's relationship

So its strange to me to include these two details in the heart to heart scene if not for byler endgame:

Will literally getting flustered.

His reaction is fully shown and emphasized with him turning away from words MIKE said.

It could be argued this is just to show Will's feelings for Mike, however, this would be such a contrast to how we've normally seen Wills feelings for Mike exhibited, which to put it simply is just sadness. This is directed to be much more lighter, playful, HOPEFUL !

these are shots of Will's feelings about Mike clearly established prior to the heart to heart scene. They feel lonely, the music in Rink O Mania is somber, and he even crumbles the painting that symbolizes his love for mike because he feels hopeless.

Compared to this?

They're both smiling until Will gets nervous and looks away. The lighting is warmer, the music starts ONCE will gets nervous, an indication the scene is beginning to become more intimate. And hes not alone; it doesnt feel lonely because its just him and mike.

If the intention was to never have mike love will back, why not just continue with the sad shots for Wills "unrequited" feelings? Why show a scene that plays like requited love? Why show Will interacting with his crush like it is a building romance story? Because it is and is purposefully there to give both Will and the audience hope!

Which moves me to the second detail! -> Will grabbing the painting and taking it with him.

As i said earlier, the painting is a symbol of Wills love for mike and its use constantly changes as Wills emotions do.

When Wills apart from Mike pre-visit, he spends all his time painting and pouring his heart into this piece -> a physical representation of the longing, importance, and time that Will pours into loving Mike

When Mike ignores him and his painting at the airport, he crumbles it -> symbolizes his frustration and confusion and him losing hope not only for his love but their friendship

Its then this detail of Will grabbing the painting that symbolizes his hope being regained.

The cameras focus shifts from Will watching MIKE leave the room -> onto the painting -> moves with the painting as it goes into the bag -> back onto Will

It intentionally focuses on the painting because yes it is important in moving the story forward for Will, Mikes and as an extension Els growth. But its also to say "Look, Will has hope and you should too." If they just wanted to emphasize the painting's importance in the story, they could have only focused the camera on the painting but instead it starts with Will and ends with Will to emphasize how the painting is an extension of Wills feelings.

Will went from crumbling up this painting the previous day to making the split second decision to bring the embodiment of his love after a 1 minute conversation with Mike. Not only emphasizing that Mike is the heart, but also that there is something different between Mike and Will. And Will can feel that, and so should the audience.

+ when Will decides to instead be selfless because his love for Mike, Mikes well being, and cause of happiness (which he believes to be Milkvan), so he decides to use his feelings in place of El's to help Mike instead → symbolized by Will LITERALLY giving away his painting showing his selflessness but also him letting go of Mike and the hope of anything happening between them.

In so many other scenes Will's love for Mike although beautiful, is shown to be tragic and something he views and acts as if unrequited. And if byler wasnt endgame, the most logical sense would to be continue showing Will's perspective as such. But instead we get a vital scene of Will gaining enough hope to bring the painting and when the party has hope, the audience should have hope too.

i have a lot more thoughts but thats it for now!

[pit-stop-princess]

Click Click - Chapter Four

Ollie Bearman x Photographer!Fem!Reader

Kimi Antonelli & Antonelli!Sister!Reader

Summary: I came to F1 with my little brother Kimi to photograph his rookie season, not to fall for his best friend and Haas's golden boy. Somehow, Ollie Bearman keeps ending up in my shots!

Warnings: light swearing, barely suggestive, fluff, Ollie content (finally)

Word Count: 1826

Notes: remember how the reader is 5 feet tall? yeah 👍. enjoy!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Miami Grand Prix – Friday Practice – Pit Lane Access

The heat in Miami was unreal. Unlike Melbourne’s dry sun, it was sticky and wet, like walking through a hot towel. My shirt clung to my back, and my lens fogged every five minutes. I’d cleaned it so many times it squeaked.

I wasn’t even supposed to be on the pit lane right now. I was technically supposed to be grabbing soft shots of fans and hospitality setups for the pre-race media package. But the Haas garage had good lighting, I had a pass, and I was thirsty for a dramatic shot.

Kimi waved at me as he disappeared into the Mercedes garage. I gave a small wave back and started adjusting the ISO.

Click. I snapped a quick pit crew prep shot, then shifted half a meter to the left for a better angle.

Click.

And there he was.

Ollie Bearman, helmet in hand, leaning against the barrier just outside the garage, eyes half-lidded behind his visor. Not posing. Not even aware. Just there.

Clickclick.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath and pulled the camera away.I hadn’t meant to take his picture. Again.

It was like he had some kind of gravitational pull. Not dramatic, not showy. He just looked good through a lens, even when he was doing absolutely nothing. Especially then.

I took another, from a wider angle this time. He was talking to his engineer, nodding, jaw sharp in profile, one hand gesturing slightly like he was explaining something about the setup.

Click.

“You know,” a voice said beside me, “I’m starting to think you have a favorite.”

I looked up. It was the same Canon guy from Melbourne, wearing a bucket hat this time and sipping a Red Bull like fine wine.

“I do not,” I said, frowning slightly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Just happens to be twenty photos of Bearman in your last upload folder.”

“Maybe he’s just photogenic,” I muttered.

“You’re the one taking the pictures.”

Okay. Fair.

“What’s your name?”

“Dwight. Yours?”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” I said, shaking his hand.

He started walking away. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

I crouched down and started scrolling through my previews. Kimi, check. Kimi in motion, check. Kimi fist-bumping George, check.

Ollie Bearman, standing next to a tire rack like it was a Calvin Klein ad, also check.

I sighed. He hadn’t even texted me back from a few weeks ago.

This was fine. It wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t even intentional. It was just… good subject matter. And if my camera happened to find him again in the paddock later, or during cooldown, or maybe in parc fermé with his race suit peeled halfway down and his fluffy hair damp with sweat-

Okay. Problem.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

I spent the next few hours photographing the other garages and the race. I sat back from my last picture of Alex’s car flying past, scrolling through the previous dozen.

A picture of Lewis Hamilton, smiling over his shoulder, one last look back before putting his headgear on.

A candid of Yuki Tsunoda, Red Bull cap in one hand, the other running through his jet-black hair.

A shot of Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend, her hands on his cheeks, squishing his face slightly as he smiled at her.

Anyone who wasn’t Ollie Bearman.

I scrolled again.

There he was, Helmet off. Suit half-zipped. Laughing again, always laughing.

“Hey Y/N, you okay?”

I looked up. It was Dwight again with his bucket hat, sunglasses, and lanyard full of media passes. He leaned against the concrete barrier like he’d been watching me scroll.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just sipped his coffee, then glanced toward the track like he was checking the clouds for rain.

“I’ve been photographing motorsport since the 70s,” he said. “Back when pit stops were chaos and car liveries actually looked good.”

I smiled a little. “Wow. Vintage.”

“Careful,” he said, but he grinned too. “Anyway, there was this girl. Used to come to every race. If she could, she sat as close to the McLaren pit as the seats would allow her. Always on the right side.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Stalker vibes.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. But no matter where I stood, no matter what I was shooting- drivers, cars, podiums- somehow she always ended up in frame. Just this blur of red lipstick and curls, smiling at something off-camera. Every. Damn. Time.”

He paused, looking at me over the rim of his sunglasses. “Took me a year to realize I was aiming for her without even meaning to.”

I blinked. “What happened?”

“I introduced myself,” he said simply. “Married forty-nine years last spring.”

Something in my chest went soft and weird. “Congratulations.”

He tapped the side of his lens. “Sometimes the camera knows before you do.”

I looked down at mine, heavy in my lap, and said nothing. Did it know anything about how much the pictures I took with it meant to me?

He didn’t push. He nodded, tipped his bucket hat like he was a cowboy in a Western, and started walking towards the McLaren garage.

But as he passed, he added, almost offhand: “The trick, kid, is knowing when to stop taking the picture, and start being in it.”

And then he was gone. I watched him leave, his head turning to the right, like he was looking for someone. Then I saw her.

Red lipstick and curls.

Dwight smiled at her like she was his whole world, and she smiled back. They both watched the cars fly by, laughing and cheering when Oscar Piastri was in first. Dwight held her like he’d just won P1. Like somehow, without meaning to, he’d ended up at the finish line with everything he never knew he was racing toward.

Maybe she was the victory.

I focused my camera and took a picture of the two of them, then looked around. I stood by the barriers alone. Just me, my camera, and twenty-four high-res JPEGs of Ollie Bearman.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Miami Grand Prix – Post-Race

Everything was loud.

The kind of loud that came from team radios crackling, pit crews cheering, fans screaming through fences, and engines hissing as they shut off under the Florida sun. The kind of loud that didn't matter because I had one eye pressed to my camera and the other on him.

I’d been snapping Kimi, obviously. He’d finished P6, grinning like a maniac, sweat already drying on his fireproofs.

But next to him?

Ollie.

Helmet off, suit unzipped to the waist, curls damp and messy, face flushed red and golden from the heat. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. The DNF had frustrated him. He was leaning back slightly, hand on his chest like he couldn’t breathe through it.

And there it was.

Clickclickclick.

I adjusted focus, caught the edge of the grin, the shape of his collarbone, the exact moment he-

Looked right at me.

Dead center through the viewfinder.

I froze.

His brows lifted slightly, like 'huh, caught you,' and the grin widened. Not smug. Not mocking. Just surprised.

I lowered the camera slowly, like I could reverse time if I moved gently enough.Across the metal fencing, Ollie tilted his head and mouthed, "Did you get my good side?"

I blinked. What?

Then he pantomimed a pose- shoulder out, chin tilt, pout.

I nearly dropped my lens.

He jogged over, half-drenched, peeling the top half of his fireproofs lower and dragging a water bottle across his jaw. “So,” he said, eyes dancing, “am I just that ridiculously photogenic, or are you secretly obsessed with me?”

“Oh my god,” I groaned.

He grinned. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be concerned.”

“Why?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Afraid you’ll make me look too hot?”

“You sweat like an athlete in a 2004 Gatorade commercial.”

“Wow. I'm stealing that for my bio.”

I started to lift my camera again- instinct.

Ollie tilted his head. “Do you ever get in front of the camera?”

I blinked again. “No.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, mock-serious. “You’ve got great symmetry.”

I snorted. “You just made that weird.”

“Good. That’s what I was going for.”

I shook my head, but the smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.

Then, quieter, he added, “But seriously, do you ever take any just for you? Not for media. Not for work. Just something you want to keep?”

That surprised me.

I hesitated, thumb resting on the zoom. “Sometimes. Sometimes I print them and frame them.”

“Then maybe take one of this,” he said, a little softer now, spreading his arms slightly. Like he was trying to say, ‘this being the moment, the sun, the mess, the frustration still on my face.’

“You don’t have to send it. Just if it’s a good one.”

I adjusted the focus slowly.

Click.

I looked down at the preview. That wasn’t going to work. I put my camera strap back around my neck.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, shifting uncomfortably, his hands falling to his sides like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“Nothing, I have an idea. Are you okay if I pose you?”

“Uh, sure?”

I moved into his personal space, and the difference in height hit me full force. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, but he didn’t seem to notice. I reached up, resting my fingertips lightly on his shoulders. “Can you relax for me?”

He dropped his shoulders, slouching just a little. His eyes softened, watching me with a quiet focus.

I stepped closer on tiptoes, adjusting the angle of his head with soft nudges, but as I shifted, the ground beneath my feet shifted, too, an uneven patch of floor beneath me, a slight imbalance. I felt myself stumble, heart in my throat.

Before I could regain my footing, his arms caught me, pulling me to his chest. I pressed my palm against it, bracing myself.

He didn’t flinch, just held still, his body steady under my hand.I didn’t move right away. I let my palm linger, just for a beat, grounding myself. His breath was slow, steady, and I caught myself lingering in the space between us a moment too long, but I couldn’t help it.

I finally pulled back, giving him a small, sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.” He said, his voice almost soft, like it was wrapped in something else. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I took a step back, checking my camera. “Alright. Don’t smile.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Click.

He looked softer now. Tired. Real. I didn’t say anything, just nodded once, the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth as I studied the image.

“Lovely.”

He nodded, then turned to go. “Still think I’m your favorite subject,” he called over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes.

But I didn’t deny it.

[rainverry]

pretty boy.

PAIRING  ☆  nakamoto yuta x afab!reader

GENRES  ☆  smut, fluff, angst, a bit of crack?, enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au

WARNINGS  ☆  18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. profanity, substances (alcohol consumption, one mention of weed), light smut (oral [f receiving], praise kink), use of nicknames (baby, babe, princess, my girl, gorgeous), mentions of throwing up, one mention of blood, the characters are in their mid 20s in this fic, reader wears glasses and has a pet cat, yuta’s hair is red in this because that’s his best hair colour i don’t make the rules

SUMMARY  ☆  college life is full of uncertainties, but there is one thing you know for sure: nakamoto yuta hates your guts, and the feeling is mutual. so when he goes to you and asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend, you start to realise that maybe you were wrong about him too.

WORD COUNT  ☆  24.2k (im so sorry)

PLAYLIST  ☆  click!

AUTHOR'S NOTE  ☆  heya lovelies !! this is my first ever full-length one shot, as well as my first time ever sharing my smut with anyone so i’m kinda nervous lol if u think u’ve read any other of my full-length one shots before, no u haven’t <3 i also got carried away because i truly did not expect it to be this long 😭 big thanks to my friends lou for the feedback and carol for beta reading and encouraging me to continue writing when i kept having second thoughts 🥺 enjoy reading and feedback is always welcome !!

THE END OF YOUR MID-TERM BREAK always meant going to the nearest coffee shop with your two best friends, with the intention of catching up on all the things that happened on your short-lived holiday. It also functioned as the last time for you to have some fun before you knuckle down and keep your focus on studying for the final exams, merely six weeks away from now.

“Anyway, that’s how we managed to pull off the biggest cookie heist in the Im household,” Nayeon finishes, leaning down to take a sip of her chai latte.

“Must be fun, having younger cousins,” Jennie sighs in envy. She cradles her chin in one hand, toying with the ends of her hair with the other. “Meanwhile, all my cousins have grown up to be obnoxious jerks!”

You raise your eyebrows. “But not Taeyong, right?”

Jennie crinkles her nose in disdain. “The cousins on my mom’s side like to pretend I don’t exist. It’s a low bar, but Taeyong is the only nice one,” she throws her hair over her shoulder. “Speaking of, he should be here soon. You don’t mind him interrupting our girls’ day out, would you?”

You don’t mind at all. Despite your friend’s pretend indifference towards him, Lee Taeyong was the resident sweetheart, known and liked by everyone on campus. The music production major is the captain of the dance club, frequently volunteers to tutor his peers and on top of that, always makes sure to bring treats and small toys for your cat whenever he drops by your place.

What you did mind, however, is if he happens to bring along a friend of his with him. Although Taeyong could integrate himself into virtually all of the social circles around campus, there is one group he sticks with more than the others – the group filled with fuckboys, notorious for flirting with anyone who was available and throwing wild parties. How the sweet Taeyong manages to get along with people so different from him is beyond you, but you figure men will always be men.

As if sensing your thoughts, Nayeon remarks, “I don’t think he’ll be with anyone today. I’m sure they’re too busy unpacking.”

You push your glasses up your nose and shrug, only hoping that was true. Even though not all the men in Taeyong’s friend group are bad apples, you’ve had more than enough awkward encounters with them to last you a lifetime. Plus, there is also one person in that group that you dislike more than the others, and you know Taeyong wouldn’t consider bringing that person within a ten feet radius of you.

The doorbell of the cafe rings, followed by two sets of footsteps and familiar laughter. You tense.

Today is not your lucky day.

You look up to see Taeyong heading towards your table. And behind him, wearing his signature smirk, is the bane of your existence – Nakamoto Yuta.

Many people have asked you why you hate Nakamoto Yuta, and your answer has always been: where do you even begin? His annoyingly vibrant red hair, the fact that he coined the nickname “Glasses” for you because of your poor eyesight, the way he’s able to get along with everyone except you and the fact that he’s been your rival for the top spot of the class ever since you could remember were only a few reasons the mere sight of him can make your blood boil.

Before you can even process your thoughts, Nayeon hisses, “Behave.”

You resist the urge to let out a groan at her command, and when you meet Taeyong’s eyes he directs a sheepish smile at you. You glare at him and look down at your phone, deciding to scroll through whatever that would make you feel less irritated at that moment.

“Hey, guys,” Taeyong greets when he reaches your table. “Enjoyed your break?”

You mumble out, “Hi, Taeyong.”

Taeyong nods at you and Jennie, and begins to listen to Nayeon as she animatedly recounts the story of how she and her younger cousins managed to steal the five batches of chocolate chip cookies her aunts had baked. You also want to listen to her story even though you had just heard about it three minutes ago, but someone slides into the seat across from yours. Despite yourself, the action captures your attention.

“Just going to ignore me, Glasses?” Yuta grins at you, completely disregarding your friends and the fact that this was supposed to be your private time with them. “Or have you already forgotten about me after such a long time?”

“Yeah, I was too busy having fun to think about things that don’t matter,” you snap back. “Anyway, two weeks was long for you? Did your friends not want to hang out with you or something?”

“Here we go,” Jennie mumbles under her breath. You pretend not to notice.

Yuta slaps a hand over his heart. “Ouch, right in the feels,” he pouts. “My break was fine, thank you. Kinda missed seeing your annoying butt around, though.”

“I’m flattered, but the feeling is not mutual,” you retort, and before you can say more, Jennie clears her throat.

“Anyway, that’s the end of the story!” Jennie says abruptly, even though you’re sure from Nayeon’s expression that she had more to tell. Subtle. From Yuta’s face, you can tell he thinks the same thing. 

The both of you normally try to avoid seeing each other as much as possible, knowing it would only lead to endless arguments, but right now you’re blaming Taeyong for even daring to bring Yuta into your presence when he knew you were going to be here.

Jennie claps her hands and looks up at her cousin. “Yongie, you wanted to give me something, right?” 

“Oh yes,” he holds up the bag that he’s carrying and sets it on the table, a look of amusement on his face. “A little present from my mom – to remind you that you should have come to visit her during the break, and she’s mad that you didn’t.”

“Oh, it’s because–” Jennie starts, but Taeyong is quick to cut her off.

“Oh, and I’m mad too.”

The two start bickering in their mother tongue, and you and Nayeon share a smile at their antics. Yuta is still sitting across from you, but you’re trying your best to ignore the fact that, for whatever reason, he’s looking at you. You look down at your phone again, desperately wanting for the guys to be gone already so you can finally get back to your precious dishing time with your best friends.

“Take a picture, Nakamoto. It’ll last longer,” you comment sarcastically, unable to handle Yuta’s gaze on you any longer.

He seems undeterred by your sudden jab at him. “It’s cute that you’re trying so hard to ignore me, Glasses,” he sighs. “I’d like to see you ignore me when I beat you for valedictorian next year.”

“Okay, enough,” Taeyong cuts in, sparing his friend a warning glance when he sees the look on your face. “Jennie, you’re going to visit me and my parents during the next break and that’s a promise, okay?��

“For ahjumma and ahjussi, maybe, not you,” Jennie teases, then her face softens. “But thank you for the food.”

Taeyong nods, then pats Yuta on the shoulder. “Anyway, we should get going or we’re going to be late.”

Yuta hums in agreement and is about to get up when Nayeon clicks her tongue. “Wait, pretty boy, you still owe me ten bucks.”

Pretty boy is the nickname Nayeon coined for Yuta in high school – a moniker that you would agree suits him to some degree.

(Not that you would ever admit it in a million years.) 

Yuta groans, head falling back in annoyance. “I haven’t forgotten. Hold up, I think I have some cash on me.” He reaches into his jacket pocket when a handful of paper scraps fall out and scatter all over his lap. With a mutter of annoyance, he reaches down to pick them up, and you’re expecting him to put them back inside his pocket when he suddenly crumples them up in his hands. 

You raise your eyebrow in surprise. “Hoarding trash in your pocket, huh? Is finding a trash can too difficult for you?”

Yuta glares for a split second before the maddening smirk is back on his face. “Thanks for your concern, Glasses. It’s actually all the phone numbers I got working at the bar last night. Not that I need them, I already have enough women wanting me.” 

You roll your eyes as the others laugh and let out dog whistles at his incredibly distasteful comment. Only Yuta could make your friends think such a repulsive statement is hilarious.

“No shortage of girls chasing you everywhere, huh, pretty boy?” Nayeon asks playfully.

“None, unfortunately,” Yuta shakes his head, producing a ten dollar note from his wallet and handing it to Nayeon. Seeing Taeyong already heading for the door, he shoots them a smile. “Bye, girls.”

He turns and winks at you. “See you around, Glasses.”

You’re left glowering at Yuta’s backside, your scowl only fading when you hear the sound of the door closing behind them.

“God, I can’t stand him,” you murmur.

Jennie lets out a practised sigh. “Yeah, we know.”

During your first year of college, you accidentally found a secret corner in the campus library while searching for a textbook for your major. The corner was cosy and out of sight from the rest of the library, perfect for when you need some peace and quiet. Ever since, it’s been your place of solace.

It’s usually the place you go to to be completely alone, and this time you needed a few hours of reading by yourself. It’s been a week since your mid-term break ended, and after nights staying up studying, you suppose right now is a good time to have a short rest from cramming information into your brain, and just enjoy a romcom book instead.

You are one hour deep in your romance novel when you hear footsteps in the library getting louder. You figure it’s Nayeon, the only other person who you’ve told about the secret corner, coming to find you as she’s chided you many times on how you tend to lose track of time when you’re in here.

The footsteps end in front of you, but you don’t look up from your book. “I’m at a good part, Nayeon, give me a few minutes.”

“Are the characters making out or something?”

The unexpected voice makes you snap your book shut and when you push your glasses up your nose to see clearly, you could only stare up in shock. Nakamoto Yuta stands in front of you, an unusually shy smile on his face. At first you’re speechless – he is the last person you would want to see anywhere, let alone in what was supposed to be your safe haven from the rest of the world.

“What are you doing here?!” you hiss, and then you look back down at the novel in your hands. “Great, you made me lose my page, you idiot!”

Suddenly, Yuta’s voice is devoid of his usual humour. “Can we talk?”

“Can you go be annoying somewhere else?” you flip through the pages rapidly, barely noticing his serious tone. You smile in relief only when you find the page you’re looking for, and you prepare to resume reading. 

Yuta lets out an exasperated sigh at your attempt of scaring him off and kneels down to your level, and to your surprise, he takes your book, secures the page you're on with your bookmark and then puts it aside.

“Seriously, I need your help,” Yuta murmurs, his big brown eyes staring deeply into yours. His face is so close to you, his voice so gentle that for a moment, you’re unable to stop and think about the sheer absurdity of his words. 

“I–” you start, before shaking your head and letting out a snort. “You need my help? Couldn’t you have asked, I don’t know… anyone else?”

“You’re my last resort,” Yuta responds immediately, as if he’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. You think he’s about to drop the serious act and start teasing you again, but his lips are still tucked into a thin line. “And believe me, you’re the only one who can help me.”

“I seriously doubt that,” you scoff, getting ready to leave. Your secret corner isn’t even safe anymore. The only place you can go back to would be your dorm room, a place you know would be empty of any fuckboys or sworn enemies who would only ruin your mood. You know your roommate Jisoo would probably have someone over for the night, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid seeing Yuta again.

Yuta watches silently as you gather your things. You think he’s given up on whatever he was going to ask you and let you leave when he speaks up again.

“I need you to fake date me.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“What?” you stutter out. “You’re kidding, right?”

You know he’s not kidding, not when he’s staring at you so intently – not when you had heard his voice as clear as day, and with no trace of irony in his words.

“Y/-”

You burst out laughing. You laugh and laugh until your sides hurt, all the while Yuta is still kneeling in front of you, and you’re clutching your stomach at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“You want me to fake date you? Seriously? That’s what you need my help for?” you manage to finally say after your laughter dies down, wiping tears of mirth off your cheeks. “Oh, Nakamoto. That’s funny. Like that’s ever going to happen. I mean, what would I even get out of it?”

You can see Yuta’s cheeks are lightly shaded pink after seeing your reaction to his statement, but he replies without a hitch, “You can show off your hot-ass boyfriend to everyone else.”

“Yuta!” you smack him with your novel, and he grunts at the impact. “I’m serious. How would that benefit you? More importantly, how the hell would that benefit me?”

“I don’t know!” Yuta grumbled, softly rubbing the spot on his arm where you had smacked him. He finally gets up from his kneeling position and starts pacing around. “Listen, so many girls have been–”

“Oh my God, I know, there’s no shortage of girls that want you–”

“Let me finish!” Yuta snaps, his hands balled in fists when he glares at you. His face and voice softens after a beat, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “Girls have been messaging me left and right asking me to go out with them. And–” he runs a hand over his face. “–I’m tired of it, okay? I’m not interested. And they’re not getting the message. I thought that maybe, if I get someone to act as my girlfriend, they will back off for a bit.”

You scoff. “Then get an actual girlfriend, you dick! Why get a fake one?”

“Because like I said, I’m not interested,” Yuta repeats slowly. “I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now. And, like… I came to you because I know for a fact that you won’t want an actual relationship from me. I don’t know…” he sighs again, staying silent for a moment. “Just… think about it, okay?”

You stare at him silently, still in disbelief at the words he had just said. You’re almost convinced that you had fallen asleep while reading your book a while ago and this is just some strange hyperrealistic dream. Yuta honestly, genuinely believed that there was a chance that you would help him and go along with his crazy request. You don’t know how you feel about that. 

What you do know, though, is that you don’t want to be tangled up in Nakamoto Yuta’s business in any way.

After a long pause, you shake your head.

“I’ll give you my answer now, Yuta. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and stand up from your seat, romance novel in hand. You can’t resist the temptation of looking over your shoulder and commenting one last time.

“Rejection doesn’t feel so good now, does it?”

You relish at the sight of his red cheeks before leaving the library.

You had been studying in your room when Nayeon and Jisoo had burst through the door, begging for you to try on a few outfits they had put together. You agreed, thinking it was only going to be a brief try-on and then you’d shove the outfits back in your closet, but somehow they’d convince you to keep the clothes on and crash a nearby party with them. To top it all off, they had also asked you to ditch your glasses so you could finally use the coloured contacts that you very much disliked wearing.

That’s how you find yourself in the corner of some random stranger’s house, nursing a red solo cup in one hand. The dress your friends had put on you showed off your legs a lot more than you would have liked, so now you’re trying your best to keep yourself warm with the crappy booze they were serving.

As you survey the small crowd surrounding you, you’re hit with the realisation that you don’t really know anyone here. You know the point of your friends dragging you to this party was for you to mingle a little more with other people, but somehow you’re unable to think of any interesting opening lines to a conversation that could last longer than two minutes. You’d rather have a friend beside you, but Nayeon is chatting it up with someone from her major and you don’t want to interrupt them. Just a while ago you also caught a glimpse of Jisoo heading upstairs with a stranger you hadn’t seen before, and you definitely don’t want to disturb her fun time. 

You hadn’t even bothered telling your friends about Nakamoto Yuta’s offer he had given a few hours ago. That man was not worth wasting your breath for.

And yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Yuta actually had the balls to ask you, his sworn enemy, for help in becoming his fake girlfriend. Out of all the things! You still remember the stony expression he had on when the words I need you to fake date me had left his mouth, signifying that yes, he was being one hundred percent serious. You know he’s known for his unpredictable and somewhat wild streak, but to ask you to do such a bizarre thing…

You don't know what to think.

“Hey, cutie. Can I get you a drink?”

Your head snaps up to see a tall stranger smirking at you, his eyes red from him smoking what you can only assume is some offhand weed that you know are usually at these types of parties.

“I already have one, thanks,” you smile politely, raising your cup to show him. Now, you desperately wish there’s a friend by your side – you’re not in the mood to be hit on at the moment.

But the stranger doesn’t get the hint. He steps close enough to you that you can instantly smell the repulsive mixture of substances in his breath. “That shitty beer they’re serving? Don’t be stupid. I’ll get you a real drink,” he leans in, dropping his voice so he could whisper in your ear, “Unless there’s something else you want me to do for you?”

Your stomach churns at the implication of his words.

“Um, no, thank you, I… have a boyfriend,” is all you manage to say before slipping away from his presence.

You sprint outside of the house, trashing your cup in the process, relieved to be free from the smell of booze and flirty men who wouldn’t take no for an answer. You pull out your phone from your purse.

you: gonna bail, will u and jisoo be okay?

nayeon: yeah i didn’t drink anything so ill be driving us back

nayeon: u okay tho? 

you: just need to do sumn real quick. dont worry ill find my way home

As soon as you know your friends will be fine, you immediately call for an Uber. You have one destination in mind.

You're surprised how quick the ride to Yuta’s place is. Amazingly, you know what you’re going to say to him now. Maybe it’s the alcohol running through your veins that’s making you do such an illogical thing, really.

When you knock on the door, Johnny is the one who opens it. “Oh, hey.”

When you see his look of surprise, you’re now realising how crazy you must look. Johnny must have not recognised you at first, especially now that your usual glasses are gone and your eyes are a shade of grey. You do suppose you can’t be the first person to show up at the guys’ dorm at midnight in a little dress and heels, but the thought of you being compared to those other girls doesn’t really comfort you.

You make a feeble attempt at covering yourself up, giving him a bashful smile. “Um, hey Johnny. Is Yuta home?”

Johnny’s eyes widen even further, causing your embarrassment to grow tenfold. You can only imagine what Johnny could be thinking right now.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t think he’s asleep yet. Want me to get him?”

When you nod and Johnny’s gone, you rub your hands that you didn’t realise were sweaty against the back of your dress. You can already think of all the things he would say when he sees you. Hearing a nauseating Aww, did you get dressed up all for me, Glasses? from Yuta may as well happen. The insanity of what you’re about to do finally hits you, but there’s no turning back now.

“Y/N?” Yuta says, standing in front of you in nothing but a pair of sweats, with his red hair looking exceptionally vibrant in the night. He’s clearly too shocked to come up with his usual cocky opener, and for that you are grateful. “What are you doing here?”

You can’t see where Johnny went and you know he’s not the type of person to listen in to his friends’ private conversations, but you’re not willing to take the risk. “We need to talk,” you assert, brushing past Yuta and heading straight towards his bedroom. His jaw drops, and you’re equally surprised at how different you’re behaving. The alcohol really is making you act more brazen than usual.

“Well, come in, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Yuta grumbles, his bewildered expression now changing into one of annoyance as he closes the bedroom door behind him. “What do you want? You here to reject me again?”

You lean against the wall and take in your surroundings, in awe of how immaculately his bedroom is decorated, with accents of space blue and striking reds all over. You spot an electric guitar in the corner. You didn’t know he played any instruments.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Yuta,” you tell him, and you see his eyebrows raise in amazement. “But I want you to know that I’m also doing it for my own gain.”

Yuta immediately scoffs, but there’s a hint of amusement on his face. “Okay. What’s in it for you?”

“To get my friends to stop dragging me to parties I don’t want to go to. But also, if they do manage to get me to go to a party somehow and there are annoying dudes there trying to flirt with me, I can say I have a boyfriend and I wouldn’t be lying.”

“Sort of,” Yuta comments drily. He crosses his arms against his chest, and it’s difficult not to notice his perfectly sculpted biceps. There’s a chain tattoo wrapped around his left arm that you’ve never seen before. “Well, I didn’t expect this. I guess I should say thanks.”

You shrug, looking down at the floor. “It’s whatever. I love those girls, but they can’t get off my ass about joining them at parties, when sometimes all I want to do is study at home,” you admit reluctantly, before looking back up at him. “Anyway. How are we going to do this?”

Yuta shoots you a grin, and for once it’s not the usual one that would make you roll your eyes. “I’m so glad you asked. To do this, we have to fool everyone, and that includes our own friends. Because if our friends don’t believe us, Glasses, then no one will.”

You’re irked by his use of the nickname (like, you’re not even wearing glasses at that moment!), but you tilt your head in curiosity. “What are you getting at?”

“Before we just tell everyone that we’re dating, we have to hang out with each other. One on one.” 

Your mouth runs dry at what he just said –  but Yuta’s not done talking. “You and I both know that everyone knows that we can’t get along, Y/N. How the hell are we going to convince them we’re dating when you keep insulting me?”

“You always insult me too,” you retort, and he nods solemnly.

“Yes, I have, and that’s why we have to stop doing that as soon as possible. Tomorrow I have an early morning class, but I’ll be free after. We can figure out all the details then,” he looks at you, reaching in his pocket for his phone. “Give me your phone.”

Your hands feel sweaty again at the thought of Yuta being able to contact you any time he wants, and you hope he doesn’t notice how jittery you are as you hand him your phone.

As he types his number in and calls his phone from yours, you let out a dry laugh. “So it’s a date, huh?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Yuta gives your phone back to you but is unable to meet your eyes. Is he feeling embarrassed at the thought of going on a date with you? 

Your heart drops when you think about it. You think you’re sobering up now, because now you’re wondering if you've just made a huge mistake.

“Um… I should go,” you breathe, clutching your purse close to your chest.

“Wait,” he says, looking into your eyes again, and there’s a small smile on his face. 

Any second thoughts you have vanish instantly. 

Yuta extends his hand out, his grin growing wider. “We should shake on it.”

“Shake on it? You’re such a dweeb.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just do it.”

So you do.

You wake up with a light headache, but you’re surprised to find a painkiller and a glass of water on your nightstand, a small note sitting right beside it.

take this, I know you need it -N

You sigh in awe, thanking the heavens for you having such a godsend for a best friend. You don’t know what time it is, but the rest of the apartment is quiet, so you assume your roommates are at their mid-morning classes. After taking the pill, you check your phone for the time. As you suspected, it’s almost 11. You also have two unread texts that were sent to you half an hour ago.

Unknown: this is yuta. i’m free now

Unknown: unless ur still sleeping lol

You roll your eyes, swiftly typing a response.

you: dickhead

you: u would sleep in too if u had my bed

You don’t know how long it will take for him to reply, so you put some music on and take a shower. Your pet cat Pumpkin isn’t scratching at your door like he usually does, so you reckon one of your roommates had already fed him for the morning. 

As you’re getting ready, you recall the events of the night before with a shudder. It feels like a fever dream that you actually showed up at Yuta’s house in the middle of the night so you could tell him that you would pretend to be his girlfriend, but that crappy beer you had must have given you a boost in confidence.

You’re in the middle of having breakfast when you hear your phone buzz.

yuta: oh good morning sleeping beauty

yuta: come find me at the library ;)

Fifteen minutes later, you find Yuta sitting at a lone table right in the center of the library. He’s dressed in a grey hoodie and blue jeans, his red hair tied up into a mini ponytail.

“Took you long enough, Glasses,” Yuta remarks when he sees you, a smirk on his face.

You ignore his comment, pulling up the chair across from him and sitting down. The library is empty besides two people sitting at different corners, so you don’t bother keeping your voice hushed. “Let’s talk terms,” you start counting off your fingers. “First, no more calling me Glasses.”

Yuta pouts at that. “Aww, come on. Not even as a – what do you call it – term of endearment?”

“No,” you narrow your eyes at him. “Fake boyfriend or not, that’s a stupid thing to call your significant other. No more Glasses,” though he still looks put out by it, you take his silence as a sign to continue. “You can call me by other nicknames. The usual, like baby and stuff.”

“Okay, stuff,” he grins.

You glare at him.

“Fine, baby it is,” Yuta relents, crossing his arms over his chest. “Damn. You’re no fun in the morning, huh?”

You really aren’t. You once gave Jisoo the silent treatment for one whole week because she had the audacity to prank you by setting an early alarm on a day you were supposed to peacefully sleep in, but that’s not a story you are going to tell him. 

“Second, this relationship shouldn’t last longer than a month.”

“Don’t I get a say in that?” Yuta protests, raising an eyebrow at you. “What if girls start hitting on me the second we break up?”

“That’s your problem,” you smile smugly. “Remember, Nakamoto. I’m only doing this fake relationship for my own gain, and I only need it until the end of finals week.”

He stares at you for a moment with narrowed eyes, and you expect him to say something biting back to you, but suddenly the smirk is back on his face.

“Fine. My turn to list my own terms.”

“I’m not finished y-”

He clicks his tongue, interrupting you. “You talk too much, baby. Are you forgetting who came up with this whole fake relationship idea in the first place?” 

You could only glare as you keep your mouth shut, and nod at him as a way to tell him to begin.

“We need to go on fake dates. All the time,” he says so solemnly that you almost laugh. “To fake it for the gram, of course. And whenever we’re around our friends, we have to hold hands or something. Just so they don’t get suspicious.”

You blink. The thought of holding hands with Yuta in front of all your friends made your stomach do a flip.

Yuta grins at you, relaxed as ever. “Why don’t you take a story of me now? The sooner the better.”

It’s difficult to argue with his logic, so you pull out your phone and quickly snap a picture of him looking to the side, his tiny ponytail on display. As you prepare to post it on your story, you can already hear all the things your friends will say the second they view it, but you push that thought down. You’ll just have to worry about that later.

“Anything else?” you say as you put your phone back in your pocket. 

“You need to call me baby too,” he adds, and you groan out loud.

“Come on!” you cry out, looking at him in exasperation. “Isn’t that the guys’ thing to do?”

“Incorrect. And very sexist of you,” Yuta deadpans. “Call me baby, and I’ll stop calling you Glasses for the rest of time. Deal?”

It’s a very tempting offer, and even though you’re still inwardly cringing at how you’re supposed to call him baby, you sigh in surrender. “Fine, whatever. But I have one last condition.”

“Shoot.”

“After the time is up, if we go back to being enemies or not, you can never tell anyone that this relationship was fake. That will be too embarrassing for either of us.” 

Yuta smirks. “Whatever you need, baby,” he replies and you roll your eyes. That nickname will take a while to get used to. Before you can say anything, he looks at you and says, “By the way, we can’t tell anyone right away, or they’ll never believe it.”

You nod. “That’s fair.”

Although you would prefer to get this done with as soon as possible, you agree with Yuta. You know that Nayeon (and perhaps Jennie and Jisoo to a lesser extent) knows more than anyone just how deep your hatred for Yuta ran in your bones, so telling her that you’re suddenly dating him won’t fool her at all. You suppose that Instagram story that you posted of him was a good start to your deception.

“Okay,” you clap once, flashing him a saccharine smile. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’m done talking. Go away,” you tell him, pulling out textbooks and a few notebooks from your bag, readying yourself for a long day of studying ahead. 

Yuta doesn't move, still looking at you with those big eyes of his. 

“Or…” he trails off, and you look up at him, waiting for him to finish. “...we could study together, and after you're done, we could get to know each other a little better. How does that sound?”

You rub your temples and sigh. “Just as long as you don't piss me off too much.”

He grins, signing an X over his heart. “I'll be the best study buddy, I promise.”

Yuta then pulls out his own textbooks and supplies and you gasp in surprise at the amount of pens in his large pencil case – two large bundles of them are tied together with rubber bands, plus a few loose ones that are scattered at the bottom.  

“Do you really need that many pens?” you ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I tend to go through them a lot because I make a lot of notes in class. You can take some off my hands if you want to.”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach for a blue pen. “Well, now I know who to go to when I need another pen,” you joke, fiddling with the clicker and doodling with it at the corner of your notebook. You start writing out some notes with it. “Wow, this is a really good one. Never thought you’d be the one to write down your notes, Nakamoto. I just assumed you typed them all into your laptop or something.”

Yuta sends you a wink. “I’m traditional like that.”

“Are you sure I can take this?” you question, eyeing the pen in your hand. You can’t deny that you’re already fond of how easy and comfortable it is to use, but you’re hesitant about taking something from Yuta.

“Of course. I mean, I literally have 50 more.”

“Thanks,” you reply quietly, feeling a surge of gratitude. A week ago, if someone told you that Yuta will offer something to you and you’ll willingly accept it, you would have laughed straight in their face. You're aware that it’s just a pen, but the sweet gesture tugs at something in your heart.

Maybe Yuta doesn’t really hate you as much as you think he does.

You sneak a glance at him and a small crease has appeared between his eyebrows and his lips has formed into a pout as he’s carefully highlighting a passage in his textbook. It’s strangely cute, especially since he’s using a neon pink highlighter. He inclines his head down, and you see that the hair band holding up his ponytail is also a light shade of pink. 

Your heart skips a beat.

You clear your throat as if he suddenly caught you staring, even though you’re sure he’s still focused on taking notes. Fighting the sudden wave of awkwardness in your gut, you try to focus on your own books.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fish it out to see you’ve gotten a few notifications.

nayeonyny replied to your story: ur hanging out with the DEVIL himself????

jennierubyjane replied to your story: is this real lol

You resist the urge to immediately reply to your friends’ messages, and ignore it for now. As you look at Yuta, his head bent down as he studies his notes, it sinks in that this will be your life for the next few weeks.

What have you gotten yourself into?

The rest of your study session went by without a hitch, save for a couple of snarky remarks from Yuta. He had been a really good study buddy, much to your surprise. You really admire his commitment to taking down all of his notes – and now you understand why, seeing as how his handwriting is the neatest and the most beautiful of anyone you’ve ever seen. 

(But you did not voice your praises to him because he really doesn’t need another reason for his head to get any bigger.)

After an hour of studying, you made good on your promise to get to know each other better. Yuta had listened intently as you explained the reason why you chose your major, and in turn, he told you that he had a few dozen cousins in Japan that he has never met. It was only when the sun had dipped low outside the library windows that you decided that you'd learned enough about him and called your study session to a close.

The rest of the week consisted of the two of you playing the part on social media, with him posting several cryptic shots of you on his stories – which was met with much pestering from both your friend groups – and you informing your friends how you would be too occupied to join them partying or going out at night. While you didn’t exactly disclose what you were going to be doing during those times, you were leaving that up to their imaginations. 

In truth, though, you mostly went to the nearest cafe to study in peace. The other times were reserved for your fake dates with Yuta.

You’re not oblivious as to how Nayeon has been suspicious of your behaviour, but you’ve been able to dodge her questions for most of the time. You think you're positively dying from the weight of keeping a secret from your best friend, but as for now, your only confidant is Pumpkin.

You’re getting ready in your bedroom when you let out an apprehensive sigh.

“It’s happening today,” you tell your cat, staring into the vanity mirror. 

Pumpkin is lying on his back on the edge of your bed with his furry stomach exposed for you to see, and you're sure he’s asleep until he lets out a trilling sound at your comment.

Usually you’d coo at every little noise and action done by the cat and the sight of his white tummy would be too adorable for you to resist, but you’re too preoccupied by your thoughts to even notice.

Today is the day. 

Yuta will be arriving at your place at any moment, and you could practically hear the quiet beating of the clock in the living room ticking down the seconds until you hear the doorbell ring. 

Both Nayeon and Jisoo are still lazing around at home, because unlike you, they don’t have classes until later in the day. There’s a soft rumbling sound of the television that carries through the thin walls. Someone’s in the living room – right next to where the front door is.

You can taste the dread in your mouth as your brain comes up with all the possible scenarios of how your roommates would react when Yuta walks through that door. 

Once you’re done putting the finishing touches of your outfit, you gather your things and stop by your bed to stroke Pumpkin’s ears. “Well, wish me luck.” 

You’ve opened the door when Pumpkin gets down from the bed and stretches, suddenly deciding that he’s not in the mood for a nap anymore. He follows you into the kitchen and takes his usual spot on the kitchen island. You smile for a second at how cute he is, but your mind clouds again once you spot who’s in the living room.

Jisoo’s hogging the couch, which is in plain view from where you’re standing in the kitchen. The TV is playing a rerun of Stranger Things, but you don’t really think she’s paying any attention. Jisoo turns around when she hears the rattling of the fridge door when you open it.

“Oh, hey,” Jisoo greets, stifling a yawn. “Got a lot of classes today, huh?”

“Yeah,” you return timidly, taking a bottle of root beer from the side rack and unscrewing the cap with more force than necessary. You chug down the drink hastily, silently wishing it was a magic potion that could give you the confidence to go through with what you’ve planned for the day.

Jisoo doesn’t seem to notice the tremor in your voice. She runs a hand through her hair then studies her nails. “Sucks. Well, I have nothing to do for a while. Do you want me to drop you off?”

A nervous laugh escapes you. “Thanks, but I kind of already have a ride.”

The ringing of the doorbell makes you jump.

Jisoo gets up without a word, and before you can say anything, your roommate has opened the door to reveal a smirking Yuta, clad in all black.

There’s no mistaking the confusion in Jisoo’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

Yuta’s sporting a lazy smile, and doesn’t seem to notice how bewildered your friend looks. “I’m Y/N’s ride for today,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural words to ever come out of his mouth.

You’re mortified when you witness how wide Jisoo’s eyes have become, and you’re convinced that they just might pop right out of her sockets if you don’t intervene. 

You set down your root beer on the kitchen island and walk towards the door. “I got it from here,” you say breezily despite feeling the opposite. You reach for Yuta’s hand, to which he immediately clasps yours in his, and then shoot your roommate the sweetest smile you could muster. “See you at lunch, Jisoo.”

Jisoo’s still agape when you close the door behind you, and you wait until you’ve gone down a floor before speaking up. “Couldn’t you have been a bit more subtle? You almost gave her a heart attack!” you hiss, glaring at Yuta.

But Yuta is unfazed by your outburst. “You’re the one who held my hand first,” he responds without hesitation.

You look down and realise that your hand is, in fact, still intertwined with his even though you’re now in the lobby and are walking out towards Yuta’s car. You quickly pull away, feeling your cheeks warm. 

“Whatever,” you retort. You're unable to find a proper comeback, too focused on the fact that you were holding onto his hand for way too long.

Embarrassing.

You let out a deep breath and cross your arms against your chest. “Anyway, just remember – I don’t want to flaunt whatever this is in everyone’s faces. That’ll just make us look desperate!”

Yuta opens the passenger seat door for you. “Can’t be a new thing for you,” he deadpans, leaving you speechless.

He stares at you before his expression breaks into a rueful smile. “Okay, I take that back. I said no more insults, right?” he affirms, playfully leaning against the door. “Come on, get in the car. Don’t want to be late, now, do we princess?”

It’s only because he reminds you that the both of you will be late that you’re willing to dismiss his incredibly half-assed apology. You slide into the passenger seat with a huff.

You wait until he gets in the car before you look at him pointedly. “I don’t want to hear another word from you until we reach campus.”

“No promises.”

Aside from the soft rock music blasting from the car speakers, the short ride to the campus is actually rather quiet, in contradiction to Yuta's attempt to tell you otherwise. You suppose he knows that you’re on your last straw – especially after the whole hand-holding incident – and the two of you have to be on good terms on the day you’re supposed to quietly debut your fake relationship to everyone.

You’re glad he knows that, because one more remark from him would have just infuriated you further.

Before leaving for his own lecture, Yuta drops you off in front of the lecture hall, a smirk on his face. “See you later, baby,” he whispers right next to your ear just for you to hear, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that form on your skin.

During the class, your thoughts keep veering to what Yuta told you when you went on a fake date just three nights ago.

“We do it on a random afternoon, when everyone’s eating in the cafeteria,” Yuta says conspiratorially, fiddling with his thumbs. You notice that’s a peculiar little habit he does whenever he’s excited. His half-eaten burger has been pushed aside, too caught up in telling you about his plan.

You stare at him blankly. “Do what?”

“We walk in together, holding hands,” he announces, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “What do you think? Not too over-the-top, but still enough to get people talking.”

It’s undeniably clever, and you don’t really have your own idea on how to go about it, so you reply: “Let’s do it.”

But looking back now, your stomach does flips when you think about what you're about to do very soon. Holding hands with Yuta in front of Jisoo in the safety of your own apartment is one thing, but walking into the cafeteria hand-in-hand with him where practically the entire college population could see it is another.

Uncharacteristically of you, you’re unable to focus much during your classes. You only have two before the inevitable lunch break, and before you know it, you’re at the place where the two you agreed to meet. 

As promised, Yuta is already there waiting for you, his bag slung over one shoulder. Instead of his usual smirk, he shoots you an easy smile that strangely eases the knot in your stomach.

“Are you ready?” he questions, hand outstretched for you. You take it.

“Now or never, I guess,” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. You’re sure he could see right through your demeanour, seeing as your hand is unusually sweaty. You’re awaiting a snide comment from him about it, but he doesn’t say a word.

When the two of you walk through the cafeteria doors, you can immediately feel eyes on you. You spot Nayeon, Jennie and Jisoo at your usual table, and if it was any other day, you’d head straight to them.

Today, you have a different plan.

Hand still clasped in his, Yuta leads you to where Johnny, Jaehyun and Taeyong are sitting. It’s Taeyong that notices you first, and you almost burst out laughing at how wide his eyes go when his gaze lands on your intertwined hands. The other two crane their necks to catch a glimpse at what he’s looking at – and when they see you, Johnny falls silent and Jaehyun’s jaw drops.

You send Yuta a sweet smile when he pulls out a chair for you to sit on. 

“Thanks,” you say appreciatively as you take your seat, secretly loving how your little audience is making zero attempts to hide their stares. Yuta takes the seat across from you, and you can tell he’s also trying his best not to laugh.

Johnny clears his throat, so quick to fix his composure. “Y/N, I didn’t know you’d be joining us today.”

“Yeah, Yuta invited me at the last minute. I hope you don’t mind?” you say in a light-hearted tone, studying their faces intently.

Taeyong and Johnny immediately shake their heads at your words. Jaehyun, though, is still staring at you for an impolite amount of time at this point, so Johnny not-so-subtly slaps him in the back. 

“Fuck!” Jaehyun coughs heartily, before choking out, “Um, no, we don’t mind at all!”

Before you can respond, Yuta murmurs, “Heads up, we’ve got company.”

You want to look up and see who Yuta’s talking about, but you can already tell who it is by the familiar sound of stilettos clicking, getting louder as she heads towards your direction. Only one person you know would bother wearing six-inch heels and outfits that were way too elegant for a Thursday afternoon lecture.

Jennie slams a hand down in front of you the moment she reaches the table, making everyone jump at the sudden intrusion.

“Hey, Y/N! What’s going on?” she asks you, her tone a tad more enthusiastic then what it probably should be. She has a grin on her face, though it screams confusion more than anything, and you almost giggle.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just gonna have lunch with Yuta today,” you reply with a cheeky smile.

“You and your friends are welcome to join us if you’d like,” Yuta adds smoothly, and before the words are completely out of his mouth, Jennie is already rushing back to tell the others. Two minutes later, Nayeon, Jennie and Jisoo have squished themselves into the seats beside you, even though there’s really not enough space for all eight of you on that table.

Ignoring the awkwardness in the air, Yuta reaches into his bag and lays out a few packed pastries onto the table. “I’ve got some for everyone,” he says. Then, he sends you a wink as he hands you a package. “And your favourite, baby.”

Gasps are heard around the table and your face heats up when the nickname falls from his lips.

Well, there’s the final nail in the coffin.

Jisoo turns to you with a puzzled look. “Okay – what? What’s going on? Why are you sitting at the guys’ table? And why is calling you baby?”

Yuta directly stares at Jisoo, a solemn look on his face. “I would think that that’s a normal thing to call your girlfriend.”

Ah, so much for not flaunting your fake relationship in everyone's faces.

“Girlfriend? What? You’re dating?!” Jennie shrieks, attracting attention from the surrounding tables. As if the sheer amount of people sat at this table wasn’t conspicuous enough. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“Is that why he dropped by this morning saying he’ll be your ride?” Jisoo asks you, her eyes still wide in amazement. 

“He dropped by this morning?” Nayeon’s eyes quickly turn to Jisoo, scandalised. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“Hey, listen, I was kind of too shocked to tell you–”

“Uhh, don’t you two hate each other?” Jaehyun asks, a bewildered look on his face.

“Maybe they finally realised they had to get rid of the sexual tension between them and just fucked it out,” Johnny mumbles in amusement.

Your head snaps up to look at Johnny. “What sexual tension?”

Seeing the look on your face, Yuta waves his hand dismissively. “Alright. alright, relax,” he says coolly, his signature smirk back on his face. You haven’t seen it on him for so long that you almost forgot how the sight of it used to infuriate you. He crosses his arms against his chest. “We did a study session together last week and have been hanging out ever since. No crime against that, is there?”

“And – let me get this straight,” Taeyong cuts in, putting up a hand to interrupt Yuta, before looking at you. “You didn’t attempt to strangle him even once?”

You shake your head and laugh. “Oh, believe me, I wanted to – at first,” you begin, surprising yourself at how truthful you're being. You glance at Yuta to see what he’s thinking, and he’s staring back at you. “But he’s actually not so bad once you get to know him.”

Yuta grins. “Thanks, babe. Right back at you.”

“This is crazy,” Nayeon deadpans, her gaze landing at the package in front of you. “I mean – two weeks ago you were saying you hated his guts. And now he’s getting you your favourite pastry? That’s crazy.”

In the commotion, you had forgotten that Yuta had given you something until Nayeon pointed it out. You look down at the package and raise your eyebrows in surprise when you realise it’s a chocolate croissant – your favourite ever since you could remember. 

Did you ever mention that to him? 

From what you can recall, the only information you told him was about your family, your education and your career goals, so you’re not sure how he could have known that. You decide to brush it aside for now, seeing as how Jennie is furtively nudging you at that moment. You turn to her with a questioning look. 

She leans in to whisper in your ear. “Ignore Nayeon. I’m really happy for you, babe. I mean, look at the way he’s looking at you.”

Yuta’s gaze is indeed on you, and there’s a mysterious smile on his face. Right away, you know the others would interpret it as a smile of adoration or something like that, but you know exactly why he’s smiling.

The plan is working.

“I don’t buy it.”

You look up from your textbook, seeing Nayeon leaning against your doorway. As if understanding her words, Pumpkin, curled up by the wheels of your chair, lets a meow of agreement.

You don’t even have to ask what she’s talking about.

“Why not?” you raise an eyebrow in fake confusion, masking the nervousness you feel inside.

Nayeon stares at you for a beat, before coming in and sitting at the edge of your bed. You spin around in your chair to face her. “Because you hate that man, Y/N. With every inch of you.”

“Things change, Nayeon,” you offer your already-rehearsed explanation, even though you could already feel your walls crumbling. It’s physically impossible to keep anything from her – your best friend knows you like the back of her hand.

And just like you expect, Nayeon gives you a knowing look.

You let out a sigh, getting up to close the door. If Nayeon is going to know about your deception, you’re not going to take the risk of Jisoo possibly overhearing you confirming it to her.

Once the door is securely shut and locked, you turn around and cross your arms with a huff. “Okay, fine,” you confess quietly. “It’s not real. But I have a good reason behind it.”

Nayeon’s face is a blend of amusement and curiosity. “And what’s that?”

You run a hand down your face. “To get all of you to stop pressuring me to go out all the time!” the second those words leave your lips, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You didn’t realise how much this secret has been dragging you down all week. “Look, I love you, but you know how much my studies mean to me too.”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent.

“Okay, uh…” Nayeon starts but trails off quickly, suddenly staring at the floor in front of her. You tilt your head to look at her, and even though her face is angled away from you, the guilt on her face is crystal clear. “You, uh… we’re that annoying that you really had to get a fake boyfriend to get rid of us? I… I’m so sorry, babe.”

Your heart sinks. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” you sigh. You rush to sit next to her, and start patting her back assuringly. “It’s not just that. I mean, it’s also my fault for not learning how to say no. I know you mean well, really, wanting me to find someone for myself and all – but I don’t think I can really say no since Jisoo’s not as understanding as you, you get me?”

Amidst your speech, Nayeon lets out a muffled laugh.

“Also, when I went to that party with you two last week – even though all I really wanted was to just study at home – an icky guy tried to hit on me. I just thought that was the last straw.”

Your friend nods, the uncertainty on her face clearing a little. “Okay, I guess I get that. But, um, why pretty boy, of all people?”

“He approached me first. At my library corner. Said something about wanting all the girls to stop chasing him,” you explain in irritation, before smiling smugly. “Of course I said no first, but I changed my mind and agreed to do it because I’m a better person than him.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes at your words. “Very big of you,” she replies drily.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still hate his guts,” you tell her in defiance, then falling back into your sheets. “It won’t last long. Latest probably until finals are over.”

Nayeon doesn’t turn to face you, instead she’s staring at something on the floor of the bedroom. Perhaps she’s looking at Pumpkin – as the room goes quiet, you can hear him grooming his fur.

Your best friend finally speaks up again, but this time her voice is guarded. “I wonder why he came to you though.”

“The poor guy must have been desperate,” your attempt to snub, but the promise you made to Yuta about not insulting him anymore lingers at the back of your mind, and your tone falls flat. Of course he’s not here to hear it, but the guilt eats at you anyway.

“And yet you agreed,” Nayeon turns around to face you, a teasing smile on her face. “Maybe you’re the desperate one.”

“Hey!” you grab your pillow and smack her with it. “Not cool!”

Nayeon giggles at your reaction. “Well, it makes sense now. I guess I can see why you didn’t tell me about this.” 

You look directly into her eyes, shaking your head. “You’re the only one who knows. And you can’t tell anyone.”

Not even Jisoo, the words are at the tip of your tongue, but you know you don’t have to voice it to Nayeon. The both of you know that if Jisoo learns about your fake relationship, soon the entire school would know because she can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Nayeon promises.

You’re currently scouring through your wardrobe, looking for a decent outfit you could put together. It’s Friday night – a time that you would usually reserve for staying in and curling up in your room with a novel, Pumpkin sleeping soundly by your side. 

Earlier when you were having lunch with your friends, though, Yuta had dropped by your table to ask you something.

“You wanna go out tonight?” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, but his voice is loud enough that everyone at the table has already heard it. Nayeon cocks up an eyebrow, while Jennie lets out a low whistle and Jisoo grins.

“Um, what?” you reply blankly, wiping the side of your mouth where a bit of your latte had dribbled out.

“A date, just the two of us. I figured since it’s a Friday…” Yuta shrugs, tilting his head in curiosity. “Unless you don’t want to?”

You’re well aware of the pairs of eyes on you, awaiting your answer, and you wish Yuta had told you he was going to do this beforehand so you could’ve prepared a proper response – because you don’t know how to react.

It takes you a few beats to realise that you’re taking too long, so you just nod. “Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?”

“Ah-ah, that’s going to be a surprise,” he winks, before readying to leave. “I’ll pick you up tonight, babe.”

You swear you could’ve strangled him for pulling that stunt without any prior warning, and now you’re cursing him for keeping the location of the date a secret – because what the hell are you supposed to wear?

The door of your bedroom opens and Jennie walks in, heading towards your wardrobe at once.

You let out a cry of relief. “Oh, thank God you’re finally here!” you sigh, collapsing onto your bed. You’re sitting on top of a few pieces of clothing you had thrown on your bedsheets while searching your wardrobe, tossed aside because none of them really felt right. “I have nothing to wear.”

“Nonsense! I know exactly what you should wear,” Jennie assures you as she sifts through your clothes.

You’re not sure what she’s referring to, but since she’s the fashion design major, you suppose you should trust her judgement. When Jennie pulls out your favourite sleeveless dress, you look at her skeptically. 

“It’s going to be cold outside,” you attempt to oppose.

“Then wear it with this jacket,” Jennie responds, holding up a black leather jacket that you only wear on special occasions. The outfit matches perfectly, you admit, but it’s also much nicer than what you thought it would be.

On your previous meetups with Yuta, you just threw on whatever was most comfortable for you at that moment and called it a day – but that was also when you weren’t trying to convince anyone that you were actually dating him. 

Seeing the look on your face, Jennie shakes her head. “Come on, you’re going on a date! You should look your best!”

You can’t really argue with her without making her suspicious, so you agree. Jennie leaves the room so you can finish getting ready. Yuta had texted you earlier saying that he’ll arrive at your dorm around 7, so you still have about ten minutes.

You’re looking in the mirror and fixing your hair when you hear the doorbell ring. When you leave the bedroom and enter the living area, Yuta’s hovering by the doorway, chatting quietly with Jennie. You spot Pumpkin curled up on your sofa.

“Well, don’t you two look like two peas in a pod?” Jennie coos, a grin on her face. Yuta’s also wearing a leather jacket similar to yours, and now you’re wondering if she had chosen this outfit for you on purpose. 

“Hey,” Yuta greets you with a smile, his hand extended out for you. “Shall we go?”

You nod, taking his hand. An inexplicable warmth spreads through your body when he intertwines his fingers with yours. You turn to your friend. “Um, I’ll see you later, Jen.”

“Have fun, you two!” Jennie shouts as the door closes behind you.

The second you know there’s no longer an audience, you pull your hand away from his. The hallway is slightly chilly, so you pull your jacket close to your body.

“Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope.”

You huff. “Fine, but the least you could do is pass me the aux.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Yuta sporting a wide grin. “Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

You can’t really tell if he’s mocking you with the use of the nickname, but when you reach his car, he indeed lets you take control of the music. You put on a chill playlist and lean back against the seat with a sigh.

“You should’ve told me that you were going to ask me out today. I almost blew our cover in front of our friends!”

You can tell he wants to look at you, but Yuta is never one to take his eyes off the road when he’s driving. Instead, he replies evenly, “Dates are a part of our deal, are they not?”

“Yes, but like I said, you should’ve at least warned me first,” you retaliate.

Yuta shrugs, his hands still on the steering wheel. “Just wanted to surprise you like a normal boyfriend does.”

“Fake boyfriend, that is – or have you already forgotten that?” you reply sarcastically. You glance at him, continuing, “And another thing – you should really cool it with all the nicknames! Like, what’s the point of calling me babe when there’s no one around?”

You hear him scoff. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re the one who should start calling me babe or baby! I’ve never heard you call me that even once,” he grates, his tone brusque even though his gaze is still fixed on the road ahead. “I told you, it’s either that or I will call you Gl-”

“Okay, okay!” you grumble, already flinching before the first syllable of his former nickname for you had even left his mouth. Your glasses are on your face tonight, only serving as a sick reminder of what he used to call you. “I’ll call you baby or whatever. Just don’t ever call me that stupid word ever again, please.”

Yuta snickers and you groan inwardly, resenting how easily you had let him have that victory. It’s silent for a moment before you turn to face him again.

“Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!”

Despite your constant prodding, Yuta held his ground and had kept his lips sealed for the entire car ride. You admire his determination to keep your destination a secret – because the second he pulls up into the parking lot of the newest arcade center in the city, it all becomes worth it.

“No way,” you mutter in awe, unable to hide your grin as you survey the impressive size of the building. The word FUNSCAPE is emblazoned across the front, flashing in bright neon colours. You pull out your phone to take a photo of it.

Yuta maneuvers the car into a parking spot close to the entrance and once the engine is off, he turns to you and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hope you like it.”

You’re already scrambling to get out of the car. “Are you kidding? I love it!” you squeal in excitement, slamming his car door shut behind you. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you at every game.”

He grunts. “We’ll see about that.”

Walking through the front doors together, Yuta heads to the front counter to exchange money for some tokens, while you stride across to a row of air hockey tables. Immediately you’re reminded of the times you played it with your best friends in the arcade at the local mall back in your hometown. That arcade was much smaller and nowhere near as grand as this one, but the familiarity of the sport and the memory still warms your heart.

When Yuta approaches you, a handful of tokens in his grasp, you shoot him a deceptively sweet smile. “You’re going down, buddy.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

Choosing the nearest table, Yuta sets his phone next to the scoreboard and opens the camera. He changes it into a selfie video mode, and you can just barely see the two of you at each end of the frame. You look at him curiously. “What’s that for?”

“Officially, for the gram,” he tells you seriously, before his face breaks into a cocky smirk. “Unofficially, visual evidence of how easily I can beat you.”

It’s laughable how he really believes he has a chance at winning over you, a former air hockey champion amongst your friends. You don't want him to know how confident you are in your skills, so you mirror his smirk. “Keep dreaming, Nakamoto.”

Yuta inserts two tokens into the slot and presses the record button on his phone, and the game begins. You grip the disc in your hand, swinging a puck at an angle, which then bounces off the wall and goes straight into Yuta’s goal.

Yuta’s nostrils flare at your immediate success, and you snicker. The tricks to winning are already coming back to you, even though you haven’t played in a while. As the game continues, Yuta is able to sneak one or two pucks into your goal, but his points still pale in comparison to yours. Before long, the scoreboard has declared you the winner. Yuta groans in defeat and you laugh.

You bring the disc to your mouth and blow on it, as if blowing smoke off the barrel of a gun. “Still got it,” you smile smugly.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Please, you got lucky. I’ll beat you in the next round.”

He inserts another two tokens and the game starts again. Now, he’s able to block some of your shots towards his goal, but your blocking technique for your own goal remains unbeatable. Two minutes later, the scoreboard shows that you’ve trumped him again, and Yuta is left glaring at the numbers on the screen.

“Still feeling good about that visual evidence, Nakamoto?” you let out a small giggle. 

Yuta shakes his head loftily and snatches up his phone, ending the video recording. “You win this time, babe. But I know for a fact that I’ll beat your ass at any other game here.”

Taking his words as a challenge, the two of you head towards the basketball machine to insert a few tokens. Even though you’re quite sure that he’s not into any sports, Yuta is surprisingly good at aiming for the net – and you aren’t even mad when he eventually wins. 

“Can we call it even now?”

Yuta grins, nudging you with his elbow. “Are you too scared to play anything else now just because I beat you at this?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I can beat you at billiards with my eyes closed,” you shake your head indignantly. “You up for that?”

“You bet your ass.”

Walking towards the billiards table, you two agree for a best two out of three game. Yuta wins the first round, much to your chagrin.

“What were you saying about beating me with your eyes closed?” Yuta asks you as he places the cue stick behind his neck and rests his hands on each end. There’s a smirk on his face, but his head is tilted at an angle that you find somewhat endearing. 

Immediately, you feel the urge to take a picture of him in that specific pose, so you pull out your phone and aim your camera at him. Yuta barely has any time to react but he’s able to put on a surprised little smile before you take the photo.

As you pocket your phone, you reply snarkily, “Don’t celebrate anything just yet. It’ll just be embarrassing for you when I win.”

True to your word, you manage to pull through and win the other two rounds. As soon as the final ball falls into the hole, you slam the cue stick against your hand and grin triumphantly. “And that, Nakamoto, is how you do it.”

Yuta lets out a groan. “Fine, you win. But I must say, you’ve got one hell of a game in you,” he says while rolling his eyes, but you can see hints of a smile on his face. “Respect.”

You were expecting him to accept his defeat with much less grace, so your grin only widens at his comment. You look at your surroundings, dozens of machines and plenty other games occupying the massive space. “Well, what do you want to play next?” 

Yuta glances down at his watch, and then sets his cue stick down on the table. “Actually, I was thinking we could grab a bite. There’s a hot dog place just near here – sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Five minutes later, you and Yuta are walking side by side to the hot dog restaurant. Yuta had insisted on driving, but you didn’t see the point of it when all you needed to do to get to your destination was just to walk to the other side of the parking lot.

The air is quiet as you stroll past the abundance of cars. It’s also slightly cold just as you predicted earlier, which wouldn’t be a problem since you’re wearing your jacket, but your bare legs definitely feel the chill.

You sneak a glance at Yuta, whose hands are buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The wind has swept his fringe away from his face, leaving a red tuft comically sticking up in the opposite direction from the rest of his hair. You giggle.

“What?” Yuta asks, his head turning to you.

You look away quickly. “Um, nothing. It’s just – I can’t believe you wanted to take the car when the restaurant is literally two minutes away.”

“It would’ve been less than a minute if we drove,” Yuta grumbles quietly, then looks back at you with a smirk on his face. “Besides, the car’s heater would have saved you from shivering like you’re doing right now.”

You glare at him, quietly wondering how he could have possibly known that when he hasn't spared you a glance since leaving the arcade. “I would’ve worn something more appropriate if you had just told me where we were going!”

Yuta chuckles, removing a hand from his pocket and reaching for yours. “Fine, that’s my bad,” he apologises, squeezing your hand. “Feel better now, baby?”

The nickname and the warmth of his touch immediately makes you feel less cold, but you’re not going to tell him that. “Whatever,” you mumble quietly.

Thankfully, you reach the restaurant half a minute later, and it’s significantly less chilly. Yuta leads you to a seat next to the window, and as he momentarily leaves to order your meals, you decide to scroll through Instagram.

The story you’ve posted of Yuta has gotten a few likes, with Jisoo replying with “👀”. Nayeon still hasn’t viewed it, but you can’t help but wonder what she would say once she does. 

The two of you haven’t had a moment alone together ever since you told her the truth yesterday – and so, you had no one to privately complain to after Yuta had dropped the bombshell during lunchtime. While your other two friends had gushed over how smoothly Yuta had asked you out, Nayeon only gave you a quiet gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Yuta returns a minute later, setting down a large tray in front of you. “Eat up, princess,” he says even though you’re already reaching inside the paper bag. The smell of fried goods immediately hits your senses and your stomach growls.

“You got my order right,” you remark as you survey the hot dog in front of you. “I thought you’d order it wrong on purpose just to piss me off or something.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because that’s just the thing you’d do,” you roll your eyes as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world.

Yuta chuckles. “Nonsense. You know what they say – happy fake girlfriend, happy life.”

“I think the phrase you’re talking about is actually happy wife, happy life.”

He shrugs, beginning to munch on his fries. “Well, potato, tomato.”

You don’t have a response to that, so you start digging into your hot dog. For a while, the only sounds that can be heard are the quiet chewing from the both of you as you enjoy the food, and the rustling of the paper bag as Yuta reaches for a handful of fries every now and then.  

You sigh happily as you lean back in your chair, content with finally having some food in your belly. The games at the arcade had taken up a lot more of your energy than you thought.

You shoot a curious look at Yuta, who's finishing up the last of his fries.

“So…” you begin. “Are you getting fewer numbers from girls compared to before?”

“Not really,” he mutters almost incoherently, tossing the empty fries carton aside. He picks up the tissues laid on the tray to rub the grease off his fingers. “My DMs are still full with people who just can’t take the hint.”

“Maybe they’re not buying it,” you hum thoughtfully. “I mean, we did hate each other's guts like a week ago.”

Yuta tilts his head, a grin spreading across his face that’s so blinding that you’re caught off guard by the sight. “Does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

You hesitate, before narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t get it twisted, Nakamoto. You’re still pretty damn annoying, but… I guess you’re more tolerable now.”

Yuta’s grin grows even wider, even though you aren’t sure that was even possible. “I’ll take it,” he falls silent again, fiddling with the tissue in front of him before he clears his throat. “I might have an idea of how to sell our relationship even more.”

“How?”

“We should take a selfie together and post it on Instagram. On our actual feed – not just the stories. And not just a normal selfie either, we should be posing like one of those nauseating Instagram couples.”

Oh hell no.

“Absolutely not!” you say, looking at him incredulously. “I don’t want your face anywhere near my feed.”

“Then we’ll just post it on mine,” Yuta challenges immediately, but you aren’t too keen on that either.

“Yuta–” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“Listen – just one pic. The most lovey-dovey, cringiest couple photo to end all lovey-dovey cringey couple photos. Once finals are over and we break up, I’ll delete it and it’ll be like it never happened!” Yuta tries to persuade you, his expression pleading. You give him a questioning look, though you’re silently weighing the pros and cons of what he’s proposing in your head. He sends you a sweet smile. “It’s for your own benefit too, you know?”

You suppose that’s true.

“Fine. We can do that,” you sigh in defeat. “But… later. I don't think I'm ready for that yet.”

Yuta brings his cup of Coke to his lips to hide his smirk. “No pressure, princess.”

Jisoo is absolutely hammered. 

To be fair, so are you. The ceiling seems to be spinning and the neon club lights are a little too bright that you have to squint your eyes every time you look up, but you’re not stumbling over your own feet like your friend on the dancefloor is doing right now.

“How does she do it?” Jennie sighs as she twirls the glass in her hand around mindlessly. Her other hand is cupping her face, elbow on the bar as the three of you take in the sight of Jisoo grinding on the dancefloor with a stranger.

Nayeon’s beside you, nursing her own drink in her hand. “You want to be like her? Really?” your best friend asks with a tilt of her head.

“Why not?” Jennie argues, waving a hand to punctuate her point. “That girl attracts practically everyone she sees. Me? I’m lucky if I find one decent guy on Tinder.”

“I told you nothing good comes from that app,” Nayeon shakes her head in disapproval, bringing her drink to her lips.

“Oh, give me a break!” Jennie sighs, leaning back in her seat in exasperation. “I know it’s not easy, but everyone deserves to find the Yuta to their Y/N, alright?”

“What?” you squeak, half-dazed.

Jennie sends you a smug smile. “I gotta admit, I’m jealous. You managed to bag one of the very, very few good guys on campus.”

You blink, opening your mouth to reply but Nayeon cuts in drily.

“Oh, that’s attractive.”

You follow her line of vision to where Jisoo is on the dancefloor, doing what you can only assume is her weird version of twerking.

You start snickering uncontrollably. 

You reach out to take a sip from Nayeon’s drink, but almost fall on your face when you do so – thankfully, she steadies you just before you could embarrass yourself.

“Alright, babe,” Nayeon chides, gripping your arm firmly. “That’s enough drinks for tonight.”

You groan. “Come on! I had, like, half the amount of what Jennie had. Can’t I have a bit mo–” A wave of nausea washes over you, and you hang your head down before you can finish your sentence.

Jennie appears beside you. She shakes her head, taking your other arm that’s free. “Bullshit. You’ve definitely had more than me,” she informs. You try to search for the usual telltale signs of her being drunk, but the dizzying array of light above stops you from really looking at her properly.

Nayeon hums in agreement. “Besides, Jennie can hold her alcohol well. You, my dear? Not so much.”

Another surge of sickness comes over your body, and you hang your head down in an attempt to let it pass. The pounding in your forehead grows as Nayeon and Jennie begin discussing something.

Nayeon taps your shoulder, her voice sounding far away even though she’s just next to you. “Where’s your phone?”

“Front pocket,” you mumble.

You don’t pay attention to Nayeon as she fumbles around in your purse, too focused on fighting off your nausea. Suddenly, a water bottle is placed in your hands and you’re not sure how, but you're grateful for it nonetheless as you greedily down its contents. Nayeon pats your back as you gulp down the water, and you could hear Jennie murmuring quietly into a call.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jennie finishes, and you look up to see tapping away at your phone, then she hands it back to you. You accept it with shaky hands. “Yuta will be here soon.”

You nod aimlessly, her words not really registering in your head. Nayeon clears her throat. “Yuta?”

“Your place is too far away, and Miss Lightweight here–” Jennie shoots you a sideways glance, “–will definitely throw up in the Uber if the drive takes too long.”

“Okay, yeah, but isn’t your place just nearby?” Nayeon replies, and there's something significant in her tone, but you can’t really tell what it is in your drunken haze.

“There won’t be space for all four of us,” Jennie shrugs, patting you on the shoulder and grinning widely. “Besides, I don’t think pretty boy would mind, would he, Y/N?”

You moan. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Nayeon guides the water bottle in your hands back towards your mouth. You don’t know how much time passes as your friends try to sober you up, but Yuta suddenly appears in front of you.

He’s looking very much out-of-place amongst the sea of stylishly-dressed people in the nightclub, seeing that he’s only clad in grey sweatpants and a black slogan tee that says I have no idea why I’m out of bed. 

Your headache a little cleared now, you’re able to manage a smile. “My knight-in-funny pajamas is here.”

The look of concern on Yuta’s face immediately melts away at your words. He rolls his eyes at you and turns to your friends. “Will you ladies be okay?”

Jennie nods. “Oh yeah, we’ll be fine. We were just worried about this messy drunk here,” she says and pats your shoulder affectionately.

You pull away indignantly, crossing your arms. “I’m not messy!” you protest, sliding off your seat. “Look, I can still dance a bit. Which move do you want to see–”

Yuta wraps an arm around your shoulders, shutting you up. “You’re a funny little thing, babe. Time to say bye.”

You wave defeatedly to your friends as Yuta leads you past the crowd of dancing people and out to his car parked outside. The ride to his place is surprisingly quick and quiet – he doesn’t turn on the radio, but you suppose you should be thankful because the rock music he would normally play would only make your headache worse.

“How much did you even drink tonight?” Yuta chides as he follows you into his apartment.

You shrug. “Um, not that much–”

“Bullshit.”

A smile tugs at your lips. ”Okay, fine. I don’t know – just, seven vodka shots,” you admit, but he keeps his gaze on you. “Ugh – and a few martinis, okay?”

Yuta shakes his head and turns to lock the door behind him. “The bartenders should have cut you off – all of you. I definitely would’ve.”

“That’s because you’re no fun!” you retort as you collapse onto the sofa – but the sudden swift motion makes you feel nauseous again, and you lay a hand over your face.

You hear a sigh, and suddenly Yuta’s hand is stretched out in front of you. “Hey, come on. Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

You toe off your heels and gratefully take his hand. The familiar warmth returns, and you relish in the feeling as Yuta helps sit you down on his bed. You pay him no attention as he shuffles around the room and opens a few drawers. A minute later, you’re still fighting off your headache when he hands you a T-shirt, shorts and a towel. 

“I thought you should take a shower or something… it could help,” Yuta hesitates. His eyes flicker all over the room, and you wonder what he’s thinking of. “Um, there’s also a spare toothbrush in the cabinet. I’m going to see if we have any painkillers left.”

You reach for his arm. “Wait, do you have–”

“Saline solution? Yeah, it’s by the sink. I also have a case here somewhere,” Yuta releases himself from your grip. He heads towards his drawer and rummages around in it. “Ah, here you go.”

You take it gratefully. You’re about to open your mouth to speak, but Yuta leaves the room without another word, leaving you staring at the door in disappointment.

Sighing, you peel off your dress and enter his bathroom. The hot temperature feels absolutely heavenly and you’re not sure how long you were in there but when you step out, there’s a large glass of water and a painkiller on Yuta’s bedside table.

After putting on Yuta’s clothes and swallowing the pill, you’re about to leave the room to look for him when there’s a knock on the door. 

“You doing okay in there?” Yuta asks. “Can I come in?”

You open the door and he steps in.

“Just here to take a few things and I’ll leave you be,” he mumbles. You swear there’s a faint spray of pink on his cheeks when he lays his eyes on you – but since you’re not wearing glasses, you decide it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Standing by the door, you could smell the sweet aroma of fresh coffee waft in.

“Did you make coffee? May I have some?” you ask hopefully. 

Yuta hums and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Don’t want you any more dehydrated than you already are right now, darling,” he meets your eye. “Just finish that big glass of water I gave you.”

“You really are no fun,” you sigh in defeat, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “You’re forcing me to sober up so I can drive myself home or something?”

You’re half-joking, but Yuta knits his eyebrows together. “Y/N, it’s almost 2 in the morning. You’re not going anywhere. Just crash here and I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

You rise and brush your fingers against his. “Wait, Yuta. You really don’t mind that? I didn’t know what to tell my friends… I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” you apologise timidly.

In the quiet of the night, you’re suddenly aware of how close his face is to yours – and you look at him. Really look at him.  His face is bare, and there’s a cute little mole next to his nose that you’ve never seen before. His brown eyes, warm as ever, stare into yours, and your heart starts hammering in your chest.

Yuta squeezes your hand, and the sensation sends a jolt up your arm. The sudden grin on his face does little to help the flutter in your belly. “It’s all good, babe. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of my fake girlfriend?”

Something in you recoils at the word fake. It must be because you’re drunk – that’s the only explanation you can come up with at the moment. 

His eyes scan the walls of his bedroom, and his voice drops to a whisper when he looks back at you. “You should sleep here. I’ll take the couch,” he says as he reaches for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Yuta shuts the door behind him, leaving you with nothing but silence. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding.

A feeling tugs at you, and something about it lets you know that it won’t go away all that easily.

But it’s a problem for tomorrow. Shrugging it off for now, you reach for the glass of water on the bedside table and down it in three big gulps. You lay back against Yuta’s pillows. They smell like him, clean and incredibly comforting. The exhaustion of everything that’s happened that night finally weighs down on you, and you find yourself falling asleep soon after.

You’re feeling under the weather – or at least that’s the excuse you’re giving for skipping classes today.

You’re back in your own apartment, cuddling with Pumpkin on the couch. You’d informed your roommates earlier that you won’t be attending classes, and now there’s no one else in the apartment.

You’re scrolling through Instagram, trying to get your mind off the situation you found yourself in earlier this morning. Without your glasses, everything had quite literally been a blur when you woke up in an unfamiliar room, but it all hit you once you could make out the unmistakable shape of a guitar in the corner. 

Yuta wasn’t awake yet when you entered the living room – and you thanked your lucky stars for that. If he had caught a glimpse of you and your puffy, makeup-smudged face along with the dress from the night before that you could barely zip yourself into, it would've been absolutely mortifying. You don’t know how you managed to slip out the front door without stirring him, but as soon as you left his apartment you called Nayeon for a ride home.

Your best friend didn’t say a word when you’d slid into the passenger seat in your disheveled state, assuming you were too hungover to explain – and you were grateful Jisoo had already gone to campus when you’d arrived back home, for you were not in the mood to answer any awkward questions.

The doorbell rings.

“Pumpkin, could you get that for me?” you say idly, still scrolling on your phone. 

The orange cat doesn’t move a muscle, so you sigh and roll off the couch. When you open the door, the last person you expect to see is your fake boyfriend.

He’s dressed in a basic black T-shirt and skinny blue jeans, his red hair falling by his eyes and framing his face. You almost scream at how good he looks.

Before you can say anything, Yuta flashes you a blinding smile.

“Hey! Just wanted to check up on you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. The action is strangely out of character for him, but you can’t deny how cute it is. His expression softens. “Um, you left without saying anything and then I heard from Jennie that you’re skipping classes today. Is everything alright?”

Despite everything, you manage out a smile. “Oh, I’m… fine! I mean, still a little hungover… but fine.”

You stand there in the doorway, mind going blank. Yuta’s still smiling at you, waiting for you to continue, but when you stay quiet his gaze drops to the floor. You curse yourself because now the silence is much too deafening in your ears, but you have no idea if there’s anything more to say.

Yuta clears his throat. “Well, okay, I’ll get out of your h-”

“Hey, wait, um–” you grab his hand before he can turn away. “–thank you… for last night. And for checking up on me. You seriously didn’t have to do that. Like, you could’ve sent me a message or something.”

Yuta’s looking down at your intertwined hands, and when he looks back up at you, there's a smirk on his face. “Just making sure you didn’t get lost or fall on your face on the way home. Your friends would have my head on a platter if anything happened to you on my watch.”

You scoff, immediately letting his arm drop from your grasp. “I take my thanks back.”

Yuta grins. “It’s all good, babe. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

By the tone of his words, he sounds like he’s gearing up for a goodbye, and your thoughts are confirmed when he angles his body away, about to turn and leave.

But you don’t want that to happen. Not just yet. 

“Wait – do you wanna come in?” 

He pauses, then nods. You turn and lead him to the living room. Yuta sits himself in the seat adjacent to where your orange fur ball is still curled up, and surprisingly, he doesn’t growl. 

Pumpkin did not like him when they’d first met, the cat hissing at Yuta when he’d tried to pet him. 

“He doesn’t like the smell of fuckboys,” you had joked, to which Yuta gave you a glare. The cat made a point to growl whenever Yuta dared to come close again –  and again, the next few times he swung by your place, but that never deterred Yuta. 

“He’ll grow to like me, just like his mama did,” Yuta had declared with a wink, and you had rolled your eyes then. Yuta was never humble whenever it came to how well-liked he was by everyone. But his cocky remark seems to be proven now, when Yuta had given him a pat on the head and Pumpkin acknowledged him with a meow.

You fiddle with your thumbs. Now that you’ve invited him in, you’re not really sure what to do. Your idea for the day was to hide from the rest of the world (though if you were being honest, it was actually to hide from the very man that’s in front of you right now), but that was thrown out the window the second he showed up at your door.

“So, um… did you have any plans for today?”

You hope it’s a good conversation starter, because it’s all you can come up with at the moment. 

Yuta leans back in the seat, folding his arms and placing them behind his head. “I was going to go to a cafe and study there,” he shrugs. “And I was going to ask if you could come with me, if you’re up to it.”

“Come with you? What for?”

The smirk is back on his face. “So we can make good on our deal and finally take that selfie.”

You’re left speechless, and you must’ve taken too long to respond because Yuta frowns.

“If you’re not up to it, it’s fine. It was just a suggestion. Are you still sick? I should c–”

“No!” you interrupt his flurry of words, but the word sounded much sharper than you intended. You try to lighten the atmosphere with a laugh. “No, sorry, that sounds great. I just–” you look down at your worn out shirt and shorts, “–need to get dressed. Could you give me a minute?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re waiting for Yuta to come back with your drinks, sitting in a small booth in your favourite coffee shop. You hadn’t paid much attention to anything when you’d left your dorm, because on the ride over, your mind was on one thing and one thing only. 

The selfie.

You haven’t forgotten about it – in fact, it hasn’t left your mind, as the mere idea of posting a picture with Yuta on Instagram makes your brain short circuit. Especially when he insists that the two of you should pose like an affectionate couple. Plus, you were definitely against it when he first suggested it, but now the idea doesn’t sound so bad after all.

“Here you go,” Yuta flashes you a smile as he sets down your latte on the table. He’s holding a coffee of his own, and you raise an eyebrow skeptically when he slides into the booth next to you. 

“Didn’t you have coffee last night as well? Who even drinks coffee at that hour?” you ask him teasingly.

Yuta lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand finding the back of his neck. “Actually, coffee at night makes me sleepy. It’s weird, I know.”

You shrug and take a sip of your latte and sigh in contentment, shoulders relaxing as the sweetness of the drink warms something in your chest. You turn to Yuta with a smile.

“Y’know, I’ve been craving this ever since I got a whiff of what you made last night,” you confess. “Next time I drop by, you should show me your mix and brew me some.”

Yuta hums in agreement, then his eyes widen in recollection. “Oh actually, before I forget,” he reaches in his pocket before holding out the contact lens case you had used the night before. “You left this behind.”

“Oh… thanks,” you say sheepishly as you take it and put it in your purse. 

In your rush to leave this morning, you know you must have forgotten something as trivial as that. But the whole fiasco of sleeping over at Yuta's is really something you’d rather not remember right now. Or ever.

There’s something else you're curious about, so you shoot him a glance. “By the way, why do you have a lens case and saline solution? You don't wear contacts, do you?”

Yuta’s expression remains neutral, but for some reason he’s avoiding your gaze. “Well, actually… they belong to Johnny. I don’t know how his stuff got in my room.”

That would explain it – though you weren't aware that Johnny wore contacts. In high school, all you remember about him was that he was the star basketball player that the girls fawned over, not someone who would ever read enough books that he'd eventually need glasses to help with his vision – but you suppose after years of late night studying, any college student’s eyesight will get worse.

Before you can question him about it further, Yuta clears his throat and grins. “So, can we finally take that selfie, baby?”

“Yes, um…” you say hesitantly, your eyes dropping to the table. “So, how exactly are we going to do this?”

It’s not that you aren’t ready for it – in fact, you’ve decided that the selfie is a great idea – but your mind is still racking for poses the two of you could do. 

Yuta lays his hand over yours. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, let me know and we don’t have to do it,” he tells you before breaking out into a grin. “But I do have the perfect pose.”

You look at him questioningly. “What is it?”

With your glasses back on your face, you can clearly see a faint blush on his cheeks when he announces, “I smile at the camera while you kiss me,” he angles his face away and taps his cheek. “Here.”

You stare at him for a few beats, letting the words sink in. “Can’t it be the other way around?” you eventually reply, laughing nervously.

“Do you want it to be?” he asks you, tilting his head and he takes a sip of his coffee. “Because I don’t mind either way.”

You bite your lip in contemplation, Yuta still looking at you in curiosity. You let out a breath. “Um, why don’t we try both poses and you decide which one is best?”

“Sounds good to me,” Yuta replies, the grin easily making its way back to his face. He slides out his phone from his pocket and opens up the camera app.

“You ready?” he asks, putting the camera in selfie mode, and you nod. Yuta’s still sporting his big grin as he stares into the camera, and you pucker up your lips to kiss him.

You close your eyes and lean in. His skin is unbelievably soft when your lips touch his cheek, and you’re taken aback by his cologne hitting your senses. You hear the camera go off a few times, but it barely registers. When you pull away, you find that your breath is unsteady. 

“Perfect,” Yuta chuckles as he readies himself for the other pose. “You good for the next one?”

“Just–” you suck in a breath and shake your head. “Give me a second.”

You’re dizzy. The air feels thick, and you’re unable to think about anything except for his cologne. You clear your throat and manage to meet his gaze.

His smile falters into a look of concern, and something about it makes your heart flutter. “Y/N, if you’re not comf–”

“No,” you cut him off gently, taking his hand in yours and squeezing reassuringly. Your grip is steady, despite the thundering behind your ribcage. “I’m okay, honestly.”

Relief washes over his face, and Yuta hands you his phone with a smile. “Alright babe, your call.”

You put the camera in front of your face, ready to smile. 

You’re expecting a quick kiss – something sweet and brief, but what you don’t expect is Yuta’s hand finding the back of your neck. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the sudden contact, and your breath catches.

Then he leans in.

Yuta’s lips touch your cheek, the tips of his hair tickling the side of your face, and your heart’s beating so loud in your ears that you’re convinced Yuta could feel it with his grip on your skin. You close your eyes and melt into him. For a moment, it’s just you and him against the world.

“Um, Y/N, the camera…” Yuta’s breath is hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, uh–” your voice comes out breathless and you almost scream at how embarrassing you sound. “–right.” 

Somehow, you’re able to move your hands and the shutter clicks a few more times. Yuta’s kissing you again, and you smile, his touch and his cologne enveloping your senses.

When Yuta finally pulls away, you brush your fingers to where his lips had been on your cheek. Your face is embarrassingly hot at this point, and you silently hope that Yuta wouldn’t notice. You run your hands down your arms in an attempt to steady your heartbeat – but it’s useless. Your heart is still beating erratically.

Yuta flashes you a smile as you give his phone back, your hands all jittery. But if he does notice it, he doesn’t let on. “Awesome,” he breathes as he swipes through the photos. “Do you want to take more pics with different poses or do you think this is enough?”

“I think that’s enough,” you blurt out a little too quickly. You curse under your breath before clearing your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you could go through with taking more couple photos with Yuta without possibly passing out. You force yourself to speak again, though it comes out tighter than intended. “Um, so which one do you think is the best?”

Yuta sets his phone down and shakes a finger. “Ah-ah, you’ll just have to see it with everyone else when I post it later tonight,” he smiles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Gotta surprise you a little bit, or else where’s the fun in that?”

You want to argue with him. Usually, you would – but your mind is still clouded by what happened moments earlier. 

All you can manage out is a quiet, “Just… make sure I look good.”

Yuta’s about to take a sip of his coffee when he smiles at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Darling, you always look good.”

There’s something wrong with you.

You’re lying on your bed, eyes directed at the ceiling. Everything is quiet – the whirring of the fan overhead, Pumpkin purring beside you, the low rumble of voices coming from the other side of the wall – but it all pales in comparison to the persistent pounding in your chest.

It’s been hours since you left the cafe and Yuta had dropped you home, but since then, your mind hasn’t stopped replaying everything that’s happened.

You let out a groan, breaking the silence that blanketed the room. Pumpkin stirs from his sleepy posture, so you absentmindedly stroke his fur in apology. You roll to lay on your side and reach for your phone.

There’s nothing yet, so you set it back down.

You’ve been checking Instagram every few minutes – not obsessively, exactly (though if you were being honest, this might be the tenth time you’ve refreshed your feed) – but enough times that you’ve been disappointed with the lack of any new posts from a certain someone.

Between the regular Instagram checks, you’ve been huddled on your bed surrounded by pillows, staring at nothing in particular. You know your roommates have been home for quite some time now, but you had no energy to speak to them from the moment you got home.

When your phone pings, you hate how your heart jumps at the sound. You sit up, unlock your phone and see that you have a new notification.

yuu_taa_1026 tagged you in a post.

When you click on the post and the photo finally loads, you gasp.

He had chosen the second one – the one where he’s kissing you.

Your eyes are closed in the picture, an open-mouthed smile gracing your lips. He’s also smiling into the kiss, a real, genuine smile that’s a stark contrast to his usual cocky smirk. His caption is only two words, but it sends a flush of warmth throughout your body.

yuu_taa_1026: My gorgeous 🖤

A bittersweet feeling tugs at your chest and you bury your head in your hands. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way – and you sure as hell know that you shouldn’t be feeling anything.

Not over fucking Nakamoto Yuta, of all people. 

You still remember the words he had uttered when he proposed this fake relationship to you a few weeks ago. It replays over and over in your head – like some sick mantra.

I’m not looking for an actual relationship right now.

You throw your phone across the bed.

It means nothing to him. You know that, he knows that. It’s the exact reason why he came to you – so that nothing would be complicated.

But the way he looked at you after taking the photos didn’t feel fake – and the way your pulse still races just thinking about it doesn’t feel like pretend. You can still feel the way he touched you – the sensation of his hand searing into the back of your neck, the ghost of his lips still lingering on your skin, as if it had just happened just moments ago.

It’s still imprinted in your mind, the way the word darling had fallen from his lips, as if he’d called you that nickname for all of his life. And you can’t deny how the mere sight of his smile made you feel as though the sun shone from right inside you.

You let out another groan. This can’t be happening.

There’s a knock on your door, and you mumble out, “Come in.”

Both of your roommates stride in at your response. Jisoo doesn’t spare you a glance and heads straight for your closet like she usually does. Nayeon, however, sends you a look and takes a seat next to you.

“Are you okay?” your best friend asks as she looks down at you, her face threaded in concern.

“No,” you groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jisoo muses, sorting through your clothes. She phrases it more like a sentence than a question, but you decide to answer anyway.

“Nothing,” you murmur, laying a hand over your face. You rack your brain for an appropriate excuse. “I think I’m just stressed about finals.”

Nayeon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word. Jisoo clicks her tongue, and you get a sense of what she’s about to suggest.

“Then let’s go out. Our senior Seulgi is throwing a party at her house tonight.”

Ah, like clockwork.

Nayeon opens her mouth to respond, but you beat her to it. “I’m not in the mood to fraternise right now,” you say icily.

Jisoo gasps, finally turning to face you and you see she’s got a hand over her heart. “Y/N! You know me better than that,” she scolds, and there’s no mistaking the irony in her voice. “Come on – no frat boys tonight. Just us girls, and lots and lots of booze.”

You shudder to think about drinking again as you’re still recovering from the sheer amount of alcohol you had consumed just last night, and you also wonder how Jisoo could suggest such a thing – considering the night before, she had as many drinks as you did, if not more.

Nayeon seems to read your thoughts, and she pats your arm gently. “I think we should go. To blow off some steam before the exams,” she whispers to you. “Take your mind off… everything.”

You suppose the buzz would be a welcome distraction from what you’re feeling right now – plus, Jisoo’s already holding up the perfect outfit for you to wear.

You smile.

“When do we leave?”

You fully believe that the universe hates you, because the second you step into Seulgi’s house, you spot an unmistakable mop of bright red hair amidst the small crowd in the lounge area.

You swallow your groan and duck into the kitchen, where Nayeon and Jisoo are greeting your seniors. After exchanging hellos with Seulgi and her friends, they give you the cups in their hands, mumbling something about how the punch may have already been spiked with something strong and they wanted the three of you to taste the punch in its purest form.

(Though you definitely wouldn’t have minded if the drinks did contain alcohol, as that is exactly what you want right now – but you don’t tell them that.)

You find yourself perched on the kitchen island minutes later, drink in hand as Nayeon sits across from you. Boxes are scattered around the kitchen, and you can see in an already-opened box that there are bottles of whiskey inside them. 

“Are you feeling better?” your best friend questions, eyeing you up and down.

The skirt you’re wearing is a little short and the breeze from outside causes goosebumps to travel down your legs, but you let out a nonchalant shrug.

“Yes,” you affirm, taking another sip of your drink. “Told you, I’m just stressed about finals.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.“You sure? It’s not because you’re stressed about someone…” she tilts her head, “someone who just happens to be in the next room?”

You freeze.

“You saw him too?” is all you can say, unable to meet her eyes.

“He’s kinda hard to miss,” Nayeon grins. And it’s true. You could spot Yuta’s red hair from a mile away.

You don’t say anything, not even when Nayeon sets her drink down and shuffles to get closer to you. You keep silent when she takes your hands, and she squeezes them comfortingly.

“Listen. I don’t fully know what’s going on,” Nayeon admits. “But whatever it is, you have to talk to him about it. Nothing good ever comes from keeping your feelings hidden.”

The second the words fall from her lips, the weight on your chest that hasn’t disappeared since this morning suddenly feels like it’s been lifted. Somehow, your best friend always knows the exact thing to say.

You squeeze her hands back and smile at her – a genuine, real smile. “I know. Thanks, Yeon.”

You sit there in silence for a few moments, hands still clasped together – that is until a couple of loud shouts echo from the hallway. A minute later, a disheveled senior pokes her head around the corner, a look of irritation on her face.  

“Can one of you come and help me? Jisoo’s locked herself in the bathroom and she’s crying or something, and she said she will only talk to one of you.”

“Oh God, that girl – I’ll take care of it,” Nayeon lets out a practiced sigh. She sends you a skeptical glance. “Will you–”

“Just go, I’m fine,” you wave a hand dismissively, and when Nayeon disappears with the senior, you take up one of the bottles of whiskey from the opened box. Unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips, you relish the strange sense of relief when the liquor runs down your throat.

You don’t know how long you sit there as the thud of music booms through the kitchen wall, but after you’ve finished downing two bottles, you decide to head towards the lounge. 

You’re definitely drunk now – you feel the buzz as you move your hips sway to the beat, and your mind is no longer focusing on things that you don’t want to think about right now. 

“Hey cutie, mind if I dance with you?”

You turn at the unfamiliar voice and find a stranger smirking at you. There’s a hungry look in his eyes that immediately makes you feel uneasy. Right on instinct, you take a step back and open your mouth to decline, but before you can say anything, a voice cuts in. “She has a boyfriend.”

Yuta’s standing beside you, a cold look on his face as he stares down the stranger. His normally warm eyes are now steely and sharp, and it sends a reckless thrill through you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, to which you grab his hand in gratitude. 

The stranger lets out a scoff and spares you a glance. “When you get bored of him, gorgeous, come find me.”

He retreats into the crowd, though Yuta doesn’t stop glaring daggers at him until he’s fully out of sight. Once it’s just the two of you, Yuta lets out a sigh and shoots you a worried glance. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. You take both his hands and place them on your waist, while you wrap your hands around his neck, fingers brushing his nape.

You don’t reply, instead you say, “Let’s dance.”

At your request, Yuta smiles and starts swaying you back and forth to the rhythm. You take the opportunity to check him out. He’s wearing a plain white tee, dark ripped jeans and your favourite leather jacket, a silver chain necklace dangling from his neck. His red hair is left unstyled, just the way you like it – and when you gaze into his eyes, you realise he’s put on dark eyeliner.

He looks effortless, yet so fucking attractive.

You let out a sigh. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Yuta shrugs. “Neither did I, but… Johnny convinced me to let loose one last time before finals.” 

The smell of alcohol is strong from his breath, and because of the proximity, you wonder if he could smell the whiskey in your breath too.

“Johnny knows Seulgi?” 

“Johnny knows everyone.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye and he’s giving you such a toothy smile that you can’t help but look at him curiously.

“What?”

Yuta’s eyes scan your face and then your outfit, and for a moment you’re not sure if he’s going to answer you – but then he lets out a chuckle. “Nothing, it’s just… what I said earlier. I was right.”

“About what?”

Yuta bites his lip. “About how you always look good.”

Your pulse starts racing.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the music or the dark lighting of the room that makes Yuta look so dangerously tempting.

All you know is that you really want to kiss him.

He’s still looking at you, something unreadable in his eyes. Your eyes drop to his mouth, and when you lick your lips in anticipation, you could see his face falter. 

Yuta looks away, clearing his throat. 

“Yuta,” you call, your voice finding its vitality. He looks at you again, but now you recognise what’s in his eyes. Doubt.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

You lean in towards him, slowly – and to your satisfaction, his breath shudders against your neck. 

“I think you looked insanely hot when you got jealous just now,” you admit quietly, and he lets out a groan that makes you weak in the knees. “So hot – that I really wanted you to kiss me.”

“Really?” Yuta’s voice is dangerously low now, igniting a fire in your belly. He squeezes your waist and his touch only makes you want him more – but he’s still hesitating. There's a question in his eyes, as if he’s silently asking you if he should hold back. 

You don’t want him to hold back. Not anymore.

You grab his collar in desperation. “Just kiss me, please,” you almost moan, and he crashes his lips against yours.

It’s electrifying how fervently Yuta kisses you, his hands finding your jaw and his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as your mouths move in sync. The kiss is messy, desperate – and when you tug at the roots of his hair, the moan that he emits into your mouth leaves you aching in desire. The crowd blurs around you and everything fades.

Until the catcalls and wolf whistles are too loud to ignore – and then Yuta finally pulls away from you.

“Upstairs?” he mumbles breathlessly, foreheads pressed together as you both are panting heavily. Your heartbeat’s thundering and you can’t come up with any words, so you just nod, trailing behind him as he laces your fingers together and pulls you through the crowd and up the stairs.

Yuta pushes open the first door he finds and the two of you are barely inside the room when he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming your body with urgency. You pull away to take the jacket of his body and toss it onto the floor, before he leads you to the bed.

“You have no idea how fucking bad I want you,” he hisses, leaning down so he can kiss you again. It’s more intense than before, and when Yuta palms your clothed breast and you let out your first moan, he growls.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he mutters, lips leaving yours to kiss your jaw, and then your neck, and then his kisses trail lower and lower until his hands find the waistband of your panties. It’s there that his motions stop – and Yuta looks up at you, eyes dark and lips parted.

“Do you want this, baby?” he asks softly, his chest puffing up and down from shallow breaths.

“Stop talking,” you groan, pushing his head down to where you need him most. It’s all the permission he needs, so he swiftly pulls down your panties and tosses them aside. Yuta pushes your skirt up and you gasp at cold air hitting your core, but it’s immediately replaced by the warmth of his touch.

Yuta places his hands on your knees for leverage, and then he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches with each kiss from him – all of them slow and teasing that you’re left squirming and whining under his grip. 

You let out a soft cry when he finally puts his mouth on you, and the first stroke of his tongue sends you to heaven. You need something to ground you down, so your hands find his hair, and when Yuta hears the sounds that you’re no longer holding back, he lets out another growl and squeezes your thighs.

“You taste so sweet,” Yuta grunts, and the vibrations of his voice send sparks up your spine.

You moan in response, unable to form a coherent sentence. Yuta is reaching all the right places that you swear that you’re seeing stars. His mouth is hot, sucking gently and then changing rhythms until your legs are trembling with every flick on his tongue. Your moans grow even louder when he adds his fingers into you, scissoring you open.

Yuta’s grip has you paralysed, and you’re unable to move – but you feel your high coming on any moment, so you whine and pull at his hair as a warning.

“Mm, gonna come for me, baby?” he groans appreciatively, one hand reaching up to fondle your breast and the other now rubbing circles on your clit in just the right way. “Come like the good fucking girl you are.”

The overwhelming new sensations combined with Yuta’s encouraging praise send you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you like a wave. You can only moan in pleasure as you tug at Yuta’s hair for your dear life, all while he continues the motions against your core.

You’re still breathing heavily as the last remnants of your orgasm leaves your body. After getting up from his kneeling position, Yuta moves up the bed to be face to face with you, supporting his body weight by putting his arms by each side of your head and seizing all of your attention.

“Good?” he mumbles, his voice so impossibly deep that goosebumps rise on your skin. He leans down to kiss you and you taste your essence on his lips. You moan, gripping his arm with desire.

“Good,” you whisper, and you feel him smile into the kiss. His mouth then leaves yours to move further down, now leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“Can my girl take a little more?” 

Though you’re still trying to catch your breath and your legs are still trembling, you can’t deny how fucking tempting Yuta looks on top of you. His red hair is all mussed courtesy of your fingers, his eyes darkened with lust and his plump lips glossy from giving you the best head you’ve ever had in your life. God, he is absolutely ethereal.

And you need him. 

All of him.

You grip the chain of his necklace and pull him close to you again.

“I need you, Yuta.”

Satisfied with your answer, he pulls you in for another messy kiss. While he nips at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, you guide his hands to the hem of your shirt. You could sense his hard-on pressing against your tummy, the sheer weight of it against your body making you shudder in anticipation. You tug at his sleeves, desperately wanting to feel his skin on yours now.

But Yuta’s not done teasing you yet. His hands stay on your waist, gripping firmly. He pulls away from the kiss and before you can complain, he ruts his clothed knee against your still-sensitive cunt. You gasp at the unexpected friction.

“Fuck, Yuta,” you moan shamelessly, curling a hand over his bicep. “Just fuck me, please!”

His fingers rest at the hem of your shirt when his eyes meet yours. You’re expecting him to rip all your clothes away now and finally give you what you’ve been craving from the moment he had kissed you in the dim light of that lounge room.

Without warning, he abruptly removes himself from you, muttering under his breath, “Shit.”

He scrambles to back away from you, getting off the bed and running a hand through his hair as he starts pacing around the room.

You look at Yuta in alarm. Your body is immediately exposed to the chilly air at the loss of contact, so you use the pillow next to you in an attempt to warm yourself up. The atmosphere of the room has changed so quickly in just a split second that you don't know what to think.

“Wh–what’s wrong?” you question anxiously. You can’t deny that your mind is still fuzzy from his touch, but any feelings of arousal you had fades away when you see the worried look on his face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Yuta groans lowly, burying his hands in his hair. You’re not really sure what he’s sorry for, but you’re also too afraid to ask. He stands rigid in the middle of the room for a few seconds before heaving a sigh and moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Listen, uh, I’m sorry,” he starts, though he’s unable to look at you properly. He tugs at the roots of his already messy hair. “It’s just – we’re both kind of fucked up right now. We… we shouldn’t be doing this, Y/N.”

Your heart shatters.

“Are you alright?” he’s looking at you now, eyes wide with concern. His lips are swollen from how intensely he had kissed you, the bulge in his pants still apparent. You would’ve laughed at how comical he looked if you didn't feel as though someone just punched you in the stomach.

Yuta lets out a breath. “I just th-”

“No, I get it,” you interrupt.

It takes you a moment to get up from the bed, and you pick up your underwear that was carelessly tossed onto the floor by Yuta moments earlier. You quickly put them on, ignoring how uncomfortable you feel with your arousal still dripping from you, before turning to him. 

“It’s okay, Yuta.”

Yuta’s expression shifts. “Really?”

You’re well aware of the amount of drinks you had consumed earlier in the night, but you feel more sober than you have ever been before. The alcohol in your system may have clouded your judgement and actions before this, but now you can see it. 

You can see it all, clear as day – like a revelation that’s been in front of you all along.

“It’s my fault,” you start, and despite the lump in your throat, your voice comes out steady. Tears are threatening to spill from your eyes, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he made you cry. 

You would die before letting him know how much pain he’s caused you. 

You give a dismissive shrug. “I don’t know why I thought that you could… ever look at me like that. Then and now.”

You should have seen this coming. It stings, how you let yourself believe that there was a real chance that Yuta had genuine feelings for you.

How naïve you’ve been.

Yuta’s eyes widen when your words sink in. “No, Y/N, I-”

“I get it now. Things never change, do they?”

There’s dismay written all over his face, but you’re sure whatever he’s feeling pales in comparison to the knife in your chest. You knew this, you predicted this – nothing good ever comes from being tangled in Nakamoto Yuta's business. Yet here you are, standing in front of him with the last shreds of your dignity, body trembling from the sobs that threaten to spill. The room is suddenly spinning, and you wish that the floor would just crumble from underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Listen, Y/N-”

“Have a good night, Yuta.”

You ignore his protests as you close the door behind you. You wait until you’ve rushed down the stairs, past through the sweaty bodies in the living room and out of Seulgi’s house before you finally let your sobs tear through the night.

You can’t believe you let it happen again.

You were thirteen years old when Nakamoto Yuta first broke your heart.

He had been your first crush, and though every other girl seemed to fawn over the drop-dead gorgeous Taeyong and the confident Johnny, you had always been attracted to the studious and quiet Yuta.

His hair had been jet black then, and was a little longer than what the school rules probably allowed it to be. It curled a little over his ears and his fringe almost reached into his eyes every time you stole glances of him poring over his notes in class. Despite how he was the model student, always obedient to the teachers and focusing intently during lessons, you liked that there was still a small part of him that allowed himself to rebel.

“That guy? Really? He looks so grumpy and he doesn’t even talk to anyone,” your friends had said, affirming your suspicions that they thought it was just a silly infatuation.

And perhaps it was true – anyone would think that Yuta was aloof given how he never spared anyone much of a glance during lessons, or how he mostly spent lunchtime alone in the cafeteria.

But what your friends weren’t aware of was that Yuta had, in fact, spoken to you before.

One evening, you had gone cycling a few blocks away from home when you accidentally crashed onto the mailbox of one of the houses. You let out a cry of pain first – and then the anxiety kicked in, because your own house suddenly seemed so far away and you weren’t sure if you could walk all the way home.

As if the heavens heard your prayers, a boy of your age walked out of the house, immediately running to you in concern and asking if you were alright. 

You recognised him. He was the strange boy at school that never seemed to do anything outside of his studies. Despite the fact that your knee was scratched and blood was running down your leg, all you could focus on was how freaking cute he really was when you looked at him closely.

He helped you get off the ground, supporting you all the way into the house where he asked his mother to help you clean up the injury. The second you were bandaged up and told him you were completely fine, his worry melted away – and then he flashed you a smile and held out his hand, introducing himself as Yuta.

You ignore the fact that you already knew his name, too mesmerised by how blinding his smile was. Somehow, you were able to shake his hand and you introduced yourself – and the next few hours were spent watching reruns of Mr Bean while finishing cans of Dr Pepper. As the sun dipped low and you mounted your bike, you thanked him for the evening and promised that you now owe him one.

You tucked that memory down deep in your heart, a precious little secret that’s just known to you. You didn’t care that everyone else thought he was unapproachable because of the serious face he put on during class – all you knew now was that he could smile, and his smile was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

You were quite content to admire Yuta from afar and only speaking to him on occasion, fully knowing how important his studies were to him – because they were just as important to you too. But the stories of your peers asking their fellow classmates kept coming – and you couldn’t deny that the concept of going on a date intrigued you.

Months passed, and there was still no sign of Yuta going out with anyone. He was a little different now – he’d gotten a haircut, his social circle was growing and he started hanging out with more of the guys – but your crush on him was still going strong. 

It was on a Friday afternoon that you gathered the courage to finally ask him to go out with you. 

“Hey Yuta,” you greeted, smiling shyly. The locker area was crowded with your schoolmates and two of his friends were by his side, but you were determined to not let that bother you.

Yuta spared you a glance and closed his locker, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Oh, hey.”

“Um…” you started, suddenly aware of the number of eyes on you. Whatever. You can do this. “I was wondering if you wanna… go out with me this weekend? We could go to the cinema, and… I don’t know, you can pick the movie.”

The boys flanking Yuta let out snickers and gasps were heard from all around you, to which you begrudgingly ignored.

But you took one look at Yuta and everything else faded away.

There was a frown on his face.

“Go out with you?” Yuta asked incredulously, like he was wondering why you would ever dare to ask him such a question. He eyed you up and down, and suddenly you felt very small under his gaze. “I don’t even know you.”

Your heart dropped to your feet and everything went silent.

You’re never been rejected before, but the stories you heard from your friends felt extremely tangible to you now. Yuta, a boy you thought was an absolute sweetheart, just rejected and humiliated you in public.

There was laughter. The rest of the world became clear again, and you heard it now, loud and distinct – everyone around you was laughing.

At you.

Tears stung your eyes but you blinked them back. You didn’t know how you found your voice, but you were somehow able to squeak out, “Oh! That’s okay, um, see you around then.”

You turned on your heel and ran out, but the sound of everyone laughing at your mortification, the sneers of his friends, the words of Yuta’s rejection still echoed in your head.

It echoed until you reached home and curled under your blanket, crying silently until you were all dried out.

It echoed for days, even when you decided to skip school for the next week because you knew everyone would just stare and whisper.

And that’s when you vowed to yourself: you would never, ever let Nakamoto Yuta hurt you again.

Nayeon hovers in the doorway, a pensive look on her face. “There’s someone here for you.”

You’re bent over a textbook, pretending to read a paragraph even though your brain hasn’t been processing any of the words on the page. The coffee you’d consumed earlier hasn’t helped much either.

You get up from your seat without a word, brushing past Nayeon and making your way into the living room. You feel her trailing behind you, and when you’re in the living room and reaching for the doorknob, Nayeon grabs your arm.

You turn to face her. There’s no mistaking the worry on her face, so you send her a tired smile and say, “It’s okay – I got it from here. Thanks.”

Nayeon squeezes your arm as a silent assurance. With that, she heads into her own room.

You push open the door and Yuta’s leaning against the wall, hands buried deep in his pockets. He doesn’t look good – though to be fair, you’re certain that you don’t look any better than he does. The cocky expression he usually wears is gone, aggravated by the heavy bags under his eyes. His red hair is even messier than normal.

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

If you were being honest, you’d thought that some sick, twisted part of you would find a little satisfaction of seeing him all tired and hollow – but the sight of him like this only tightened the ache in your chest.

“Hey,” Yuta greets quietly, eyes devoid of its usual flare or humour. “I didn’t know if I should come, but… I didn’t want to leave things like that.”

You don’t say anything, still gripping the edge of the door. 

You knew it was coming. You were expecting Yuta to show up at your door. 

But the events of last night are still fresh in your mind. The pain and the rejection felt all too familiar – and all the heartache Yuta has caused you came crashing down into you once more, like a thousand knives in your chest. 

You knew for a fact that Yuta would come to you eventually, but what you don’t know if you’re ready to accept what he’s going to say. You almost feel like slamming the door in his face and telling him to get lost, and that you never want to see him again.

Despite it all, Nayeon’s words echo in your head.

Nothing good ever comes from keeping your feelings hidden.

So you stay put.

But Yuta doesn’t meet your gaze. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he lets out a breath. “Not for stopping us last night. I – I think I was right to do that. I mean, we were drunk, and we weren’t in the right place… especially because… of our history.”

Your throat runs dry. 

He finally meets your eyes, and you know that emotion blazing in his eyes all too well.

Longing. 

“It’s not an excuse, but… I was a stupid kid,” his nostrils are flared, and he runs a hand through his hair. “I felt like the odd one out back then, so I did it because I thought it would make me look cool.” 

You could see it now – the quiet, nerdy little Yuta earning validation from his friends for breaking a girl’s heart. And you almost laugh at the thought.

“I wanted to apologise to you, I swear. But you had already written me off by then, and – I couldn’t blame you for that,” Yuta shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a bitterness in his tone. “And it’s so, so stupid, but after that I couldn't stop thinking about you.” 

Yuta takes a step towards you, and your heart begins hammering in your chest. 

“I saw you. Everywhere. Every time I turned on the TV, there was a rerun of Mr Bean. Whenever someone was riding their bike in front of my house, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Fuck, I couldn’t even drink sodas without remembering the Dr Pepper we had! And when my vision started to get worse, all I could think of was how you must’ve felt every time I made fun of you for wearing glasses.”

Yuta’s face is just inches away from yours. 

You can’t breathe. You don’t know if you ever knew how to.

Your heart nearly stops when he takes your hands, but you let him intertwine your fingers with his.

“Y/N, I – I’m not expecting you to forgive me or anything. I hurt you. I know I did. But I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry,” Yuta sighs, his eyes finally landing on your face – and when it does, his voice cracks a little. “And if you let me have another chance, I’ll show you just how much you mean to me – for real this time.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been holding your breath, but you finally let it out. You keep your gaze on him – his eyes are full of pain and anguish, but you feel something.

It's a small part of you, beginning to heal.

Neither of you speak for a while, only letting Yuta’s apology soak in the silence. 

Until finally, you lean in, resting your forehead against his – and even after everything, there’s still the familiar warmth in Yuta’s touch, ever present and comforting.

“Yuta, I really appreciate you saying that,” you breathe out, and when Yuta’s eyes light up, you almost don’t want to go on with what you’re about to say next. You know you have to push through – even if it means that it’ll disappoint him. “But… it’s still too early. I – finals are coming up and I can't think about this right now and – and I just need some time.”

“All the time you need,” Yuta whispers, his breath hot against your face. He squeezes your hands – and it feels like a promise. “Whenever you’re ready, just know I’ll be waiting for you.”

When he pulls away, he’s wearing a smile – it’s a little weary, but you could see the light slowly returning to his eyes.

“See you around, Y/N.”

You watch his figure retreat down the hallway and disappear.

And for the first time since last night, you have a tiny inkling that everything will be alright.

Your life’s been quiet ever since finals ended.

Even though it’s now common knowledge between your friends that you don’t really have anyone to occupy your time, you’re still surprised that none of them have been pestering you to go out as they usually would.

Campus has quieted too – the frantic energy of everyone facing the pressure of their studies is long gone. With the early days of summer rolling in, the atmosphere feels warm and comfortable. 

Besides a text that you never sent and a couple of shared glances at the library, you haven’t spoken to Yuta since that day outside of your dorm – but his apology still lingers at the back of your mind, along with his promise to wait for you.

When Johnny told you earlier that he had been hanging out with Taeyong (read: around the music building), you had a vague idea of where he would be. There’s a little bench next to the building overlooking the campus gardens, perfect for a little peace and quiet – and that’s exactly where you find Yuta.

He doesn’t notice you approach at first, too focused on the view before him. There’s a guitar case by his feet, and you silently remind yourself to ask him to play a song for you one day.

“Yuta,” you call out gently.

At the sound of your voice, Yuta looks up at you, a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, well, look who survived the academic tornado.”

His tone is teasing, light-hearted, and you feel your knot in your stomach melt away already. You take the seat next to him. “Just barely, but yeah. I’m officially free now,” you declare. “And I’ve been thinking.”

He doesn’t say a word, staring at you intently. Your tone wasn’t hostile at all, but there’s still the uncertainty of what you’re about to say – and you can see it weighing on him, the caution in his eyes and the carefulness of his actions.

You take a deep breath and exhale. “That day – you were right. You did hurt me. And I hated you for it. I promised myself that I would never let you do it again – so I completely cut you off. I convinced myself that you were the monster that I wanted you to be,” you admit, sparing a glance at him. Before you realise, mirth seeps into your words. “God, it was frustrating, because I still had to see you all throughout middle school and high school – and when we graduated and I thought I was finally free of you, somehow we still ended up at the same college.”

Yuta chuckles, light and slow, and the sound sparks something in your chest.

But you're not done speaking yet.

“Maybe I did hate you at first. But I think over the years, it just turned into annoyance – especially when we started fighting for the top spot in class and you started calling me Glasses.”

You fiddle with your thumbs. You’re grateful that Yuta hasn’t interrupted to say anything yet, because you’re still untangling the thoughts in your head.

“Still, after all those years of convincing myself and everyone else that I hated you, I don’t know if I can just take that all away so quickly,” you confess, and take his hand. Slowly, but surely – a smile starts to form on his face. “But I’m ready to give you a chance, Yuta. I’m willing to try, if you are.”

Yuta's fully grinning now, and he brings your hand up to his face to plant a kiss. The brush of his lips against your skin sends butterflies through your stomach. “I am,” he vows. “More than anything.”

And your heart soars. 

You really want to kiss him again.

So you lean in – and Yuta’s face is flushed in pink when you place a kiss on his cheek. Your hand is still clasped in his, but you don’t let go. You don’t want to.

“So…” Yuta begins, tilting his head. His eyes are alight now, and it sends a warm flush through you. “Will you go on a date with me tonight? A real one this time?”

“Yes… on one condition.”

“Anything,” he says, squeezing your hand.

“No fancy dinners or anything like that, please,” you assert, and when you see the curiosity in his face, you let out a laugh. “Let’s just… take it slow.”

“Slow,” Yuta repeats, then slowly raises an eyebrow. “Unless I tell you that I’m willing to take my shirt off right now?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the shoulder. “Don’t push it, Nakamoto.”

He grins at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. You sigh in contentment and pull him close, wrapping your arms around him as he melts into your embrace.

You don't know what the future holds, but you’re certain that in this moment, you're content to sit and enjoy the pretty view, holding hands with the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

TAGLIST  ☆  @greenyweirdo @dontlethismagicdie

© rainverry, 2025

[wispitty]

mihawk x reader | “venus & mars” {ch.2}

summary: you're a member of the cross guild. one night, in search of a quiet place to fall apart, you slip into the garden—only to end up in the arms of a certain swordsman... however, despite the way your heart aches for him, you refuse to fall in love with dracule mihawk. you know it could never work. you're venus, and he's mars. you were never meant to be what the other needs.

...right? tag list: mihawk/you, slow burn, mutual pining, soft angst, made from mihawk brainrot, cosmic metaphors, enemies to lovers (kinda) chapter list:

chapter one

chapter two

Chapter 2: Too Cold. No Fire.

The main hall of the Cross Guild was alive with noise again—mercenaries clanking weapons, Buggy yelling about something inconsequential, and papers fluttering like feathers in the aftermath of chaos. And you—dressed, poised, and in control—moved through it all like the eye of the storm.

On the outside, you looked fine.

Hair brushed (mostly). Voice clear. Shoulders back.

But Mihawk noticed things others didn’t.

The faint tension in your fingers when you flipped through a report. The way your smile lingered half a second too long when addressing a subordinate. How your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes when Buggy made some absurd declaration of dominance.

He said nothing.

He stood off to the side, reading a bounty sheet with one hand, a half-filled goblet in the other. Calm. Observant.

But he never took his eyes off you.

Not since you walked into the room.

Not since you looked right past him with that carefully rebuilt mask stretched over your face.

Eventually, he spoke—without looking up.

“You missed a signature.”

He didn’t say where. He didn’t need to.

His voice wasn’t condescending. Just… still. A ripple across glass.

And beneath it—a weight only you would feel.

“Did I? My apologies, sir. I’ll have it fixed right away.”

At that, Mihawk finally looked up.

Not sharply. Not smugly. Just… fully.

Eyes catching yours like a blade catches light—without force, but impossible to ignore.

“‘Sir,’ now?”

A brow lifted, faintly amused. Faintly disapproving. Not at your work—but at the distance you’d just put between you.

He let the word hang there, testing the weight of it in the space between you.

Sir.

You’d never called him that before. Not like that. Not with that glassy, brittle politeness that tasted like poison in his mouth.

He took a slow sip from his glass, then set it down with precision. Still watching you.

“You’re efficient today.”

Another pause. Intentional.

“Too efficient.”

And though he didn’t say it aloud, the unspoken part of that sentence lingered like incense in the air.

You're hiding again.

His tone remained perfectly even. But his gaze didn’t waver for a second.

“I’m... doing my best to be.”

He tilted his head slightly at your slight frown—like he could see the threads holding it together. Not in judgment. Just... in quiet knowing.

“Yes. I can see that.”

He stepped forward—not far, just enough to close the kind of space people didn’t usually notice. But you did.

You always noticed him.

He folded his arms, posture relaxed, voice low enough that no one else in the room could hear—just you.

“You held the line last night. Then picked up the pieces before morning.”

A beat.

“But you forgot one.”

He reached into his coat, pulled something small from his inner pocket, and held it out to you: a neatly folded handkerchief, faintly wrinkled.

Yours.

Left behind.

Tearstained.

“Next time,” His voice softened ever so slightly. “Don’t forget what you’re not allowed to leave with me.”

“Hmph! Stealing a lady’s handkerchiefs now, are we? How crude.”

He didn’t so much as blink at your accusation—or even the way you pouted and snatched your handkerchief back, stuffing it into your pocket.

Though the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, like a man secretly pleased to be scolded.

“I was under the impression I was returning missing property.” Deadpan.

A glance toward your pocket. Then to your face.

“But I suppose if it flusters you this much, I should’ve kept it.”

There it was again—that infuriating calm, laced now with the faintest undercurrent of something playful. Barely there. But there.

He let his arms rest loosely at his sides, gaze never straying.

“You’re pouting again.”

Beat.

“…I see the pieces are still there.”

His voice dipped lower—quieter, warmer. Enough to reach only you.

“But so is the woman strong enough to carry them.”

“Yes, which reminds me.”

You turn over to your bag and pull out a bottle of wine wrapped in a delicate bow.

“I asked Mr. 1 and Crocodile for some advice, and they recommended this brand. Frankly, I don't drink, so I haven't the faintest idea what it tastes like."

A pause, followed by a sharp inhale.

“If it doesn't suit you, feel free to spit it out and dump it in the sea. Regardless, it's a gift. For you. For… yesterday.”

A soft sigh.

“...For a debt I wanted to repay.”

He watched you in silence as you presented the bottle—wrapped, bowed, deliberate. And though Mihawk was many things—refined, unshakable, precise—he was not immune to grace. Especially not when it was offered like this: awkward, honest, earnest.

He accepted the gift with the same careful hands he’d hold a sword with—never casual, never careless. His fingers brushed yours only for a breath, but it lingered all the same.

He looked down at the bottle in his grasp, then back at you. Something unreadable passed through his eyes—like he'd just been handed a piece of something fragile. Something rare.

“A debt.” He repeated, quietly.

He turned the bottle in his hand once, then lowered it, holding it respectfully at his side.

“There was no debt.”

And yet, he didn’t refuse it. Didn’t diminish the gesture.

He simply met your eyes with that same, maddening steadiness. Like he saw something in you now that he hadn’t quite allowed himself to admit before.

Then—almost imperceptibly—his expression softened.

“...Thank you.”

Two words, simple and unadorned.

But from him? They carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

He paused, as if debating something further, then finally added:

“Next time you fall to pieces, I’ll bring the wine.”

A beat.

“…You bring yourself.”

A scoff leaves you at that.

“I'll be fine on my own, thank you very much! My pieces will not be falling for anyone's eyes to see anymore."

A beat. A narrowed sneer.

"In fact, if I recall, you just happened to take a midnight stroll through the garden with… very unfortunate timing. But rest assured, it won't happen again."

His brow arched, just barely—but the silence that followed wasn’t surprise.

It was amusement. The kind he never let fully reach his lips. The kind that lived behind his eyes like a storm held at bay.

“Unfortunate timing, was it?” he repeats, coolly.

He stepped just close enough to remind you he was taller. Calmer. Unfazed by your little declarations of independence.

“Then I suppose I should be more considerate with my midnight strolls.”

A pause. His voice dipped.

“Though if I recall correctly... it wasn’t the timing that made you fall into my arms.”

He watched the heat creep up your cheeks, slowly, deliberately—as though he’d already predicted it down to the second.

“But don’t worry.”

A slight tilt of the head.

“If you truly never intend to fall again…”

He stepped back, the faintest smirk ghosting his lips now, elegant and infuriating.

“I’ll simply be there to catch someone else.”

A sharp glare follows, only offset by another scoff from you. Louder, more offended.

However, the red in your cheeks and the annoyance in your eyes betray you. As does the slight crack in your voice.

“F-Fine then! Be my guest!” you flail dramatically.

“Go find yourself a Mercury or a Jupiter. Maybe even a Neptune, I'm sure a fastidious planet like you could use some cooling!”

Another sneer. Followed by a turn and a brisk walk past him.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back to work.”

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t block your path. Didn’t reach for your wrist or call your name.

But oh—he smirked.

Just faintly.

Just enough.

“I never liked Neptune.” Low, near your ear as you pass.

A pause.

“Too cold. No fire.”

He let you walk off with that. With the weight of that quiet jab tucked into your already-flustered chest, where your heartbeat was already misbehaving. He didn’t follow.

But his gaze?

Still on you.

Tracking every flounce. Every stubborn step.

And if you’d turned back, you’d swear for just a moment—you saw it.

That rarest flicker of something not composed.

Something wild. Unspoken.

And it was all for you.

[npookie0]

This is kinda a funny crack thing that has been rotting in my brain. Can you write aita(am i the asshole) of Misaki stealing their target's partner(reader)? Please and thank you, keep up the great work!!

aita if i accidentally rizzed up my target's partner?

An aita post made by Misaki what more can I say...

I'm not using interpunction or capital letters in the "post" because Misaki hardly uses them, I'm sorry for y'all </3 also mistakes if they are there in the post (like "iw as" are intentional <3)

[hitmeuppp] via <https://r/aita_for_killers.com>

um hi??? okay so i nb20 (that's how people do it????) am an assassin or a killer for hire (don't judge me okay!!!!) and the other day i got a job y'know the usual stuff - kill someone and i'll pay you the big bucks

if you're REALLY curious i will tell you

it was some older lady who was PISSED cause a guy didn't want to sell her the company he owns so OBV as any normal person would she decided to get him killed and since i'm the best assassin on the globe *smirks* she hired me at first i didn't want to accept it cause WDYM THAT GUY HAS SOME SECURITY THAN THE FUCKING PRESIDENT???? anyway! so i tell her that i refuse and she sends me a pic of the money transfer and OH BOY it was def worth it

so yeah i get all the info on the guy and start digging on my own but in the mean time there's a new person joining a serial killer server i'm in and they're so cool????? like omg *giggles and kicks feet* like they're so mysterious and sweet?? i just want to talk to them for HOURS (im so not gay i swear!!!) and i talk with the person but it turns out that they have a partner??? i was really sad </3 like omg i thought we were meant to me and ur dating someone???

but we talk more and more and i also get more info on that target i saw him once on a date with someone very familiar (but i couldn't recognise them so i ignored it pretty much) that target is pretty boring so i will focus on the server-heartbreak-crush thing

ok so i talk to the new killer more and i'm just rahhhhhh there because they're so kissable but also taken so i can't kiss em :( BUT THEY BREAK UP WITH THE PARTNER AND SAID THAT THEY HAVE FEELINGS TOWARDS ME!!!! IW AS SO HAPPY OMG LIKE YALL DONT KNOW HOW GREAT I FELT

so yeah um the big day of the kill comes by and im on the phone with my partnerrrr *twirls hair* and i kill that guy and then i see message FROM THE LOVE OF MY LIFE SAYING THAT THEIR EX JUST GOT KILLED??????

so um...

yeah i rizzed up my target's partner????

lol imagine i make it into the tik tok videos with making slime in the back i bet ppls would think that it's fake

yeah so um that all !!!

share your thoughts or somethinggg idkkkk

[slaughterhouse_losers.mango_v.4.4.4]

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> [13:33] [sends url] omg @/[mc.username] dude u have to see it

<[mc.username]> [13:34] I'm scared???

<goreboy> [13:34] fuck it's So funny thanks misaki For the Content never Laughed So loud

<hitmeuppp> [13:35] LUCA EXCUSE ME??? I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY COMRADE???

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> [13:36] sorry dude it's too good

meow

yes

someone should make those tik tok videos with it WITHOUT AI VOICES.

have fun pookies, i'm writing a Luce x Ronin thing now <3

Love u all

Nate <3

[whatever1728]

"Amor, let me take care of you"

part 1

a/n: unexpected part 2 of “Love, I’m not loving you any less because of it”

summary: reader carries out with her promise and takes Pau out on a date, treating him to dinner and loving him fully

warnings: I said I wouldn't write smut but here we are... 18+, p in v (wrap it before you tap it), unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), loss of v-card

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

It was a whole week later that you managed to organize and carry through the date you had set in mind for you and your boyfriend. You had managed to secure reservations for one of the best restaurants on Barceloneta. It wasn't overly formal, but it had such great food that, for most people the wait list for a dinner appointment was two months. Even VIP members straggled to get a reservation there. You, however, enjoyed the privilages that came with your family's political power. Everyone would call you filthy rich, while you and your family would say you were comfortable and that came from your upbringing.

So the next Friday night you found yourself sitting inside your sleek black Maserati, a gift from your parents for your 18th birthday and for acing your university entry exams. You got out of the car and went to La Masia's reception. You had to inform them that Pau was most likely staying that night at yours and if that didn't happen you would be the one to bring him back to the dorms.

The women who worked there knew you. You came with Pau's parents so they could add you to the family members that had permission to keep him out of the dorms at night. It was a move of their's that made you feel extremely lucky. Most parents would be distrustfull if their son dated a girl older than him. Pau's parents though were the opposite.

When they met you they sat you down without Pau for a bit and explained everything. How they understood that their son was always more mature than boys his age and how they knew he was likely to bring an older woman home for them to meet. They asked you about your intentions and you told them the truth. How you could easily imagine a life with their son, how he makes you feel whole without even trying and how serious you are about him. That was enough to convince them that Pau was in good hands. They always made you feel welcome.

Irene became like a sister to you. You always checked up one another and had coffee and shopping days. You attended Pau's matches together all the time. Neither of you wanted to ever miss him play a game.

That made Pau even more sure that you were the one for him. Barely 18 and yet he knew that if soulmates existed you were his, meant for him only, in a romantic and poetic way. And that's how you felt too. Around him you felt the rest of the world melt away. He was your heaven, your safe place, your home. So many emotions for just 6 months in a relationship and yet it felt right. Oh so right. Like two pieces of a puzzle, fitting perfectly.

Back to the present, you signed the permission slip to get him out of the dorms for the night and called him to tell him that you were in the lobby. When the doors of the elevator opened, there he stood, wearing jeans and a lilac shirt that you bought him from Ralph Loren, knowing how much the colour suits him. His fingertips twiched nervously. He always was that way when you took him out on a date. Blushing, handsome and well... shy. He immediately enveloped you in a hug.

"Amor, I missed you" he said after he kissed you hair.

"Handsome, you didn't see me for a day, not that I didn't miss you too" you teased

"Shall we?" he asked, nodding towards the doors.

"We shall, mon amour" the french you had learned as a kid slipping out

"Goodnight Mrs. Maria" he bid the woman sitting behind the desk.

"Goodnight kids, have fun" she said and watched you walk out of the doors. Young love, she thought and she was so right.

You led Pau to your car.

"How come we never ride your bike together?" he asked curious as he sat down in the passenger seat.

"Riding a motorcycle is more dangerous than driving a car. You are way more exposed and even though I've never crashed with either of the two, I'm not risking your career by riding a bike with you. When we are older and you have retired from football I'll take you." you told him seriously as you start the engine.

"I like how you always say when" he said, giving you no further explanation.

"Come again?" you asked

"I like how you say when, not if, when you talk about our future you always use when and not if, it makes me feel butterflies all the time, helps me feel just how serious you are about us and reassures me that you feel the same way I feel, like we are inevitable" he admitted

"That's because we are hermoso" you replied truthfully.

By now, you almost reached the restaurant.Pau was immediately amazed by how you got reservations.

"We wanted to schedule a team dinner here last year and they said they didn't have an opening for three months. How did you find a reservation in a week's notice??" Pau questioned lightly.

"I guess I'm convincing enough to make it happen. What can I say, I do have my moments" you laughed and he smiled, not just because of your joking manner but also because he heard that melodic sound that was your laugh.

You went to the reception and said your name for the reservation. The guy there escorted the two of you to your table. A nice booth, private as you both liked, for the two of you were public but private. It was a table tucked away from the rest, a seperate balcony overlooking the catalonian coast.

"You like it my love?" you asked him as you placed you bag on the chair by you.

"I-I love it, thank you for this..." Pau trailed, astonished by how you knew him so well.

He always picked the table further away, just as you had asked from the personel to arrange for your date night and he loved the sea. He once told you that it was another reason for falling in love with you, that you shared his passion about the sea.

You sat there for quite a while, the evening passing by. You ate the courses suggested by the chef and let me tell you, that chef knew just what the two of you liked. The desserts were just as wonderfull.

When it was time for the two of you to leave and go for that walk you had suggested by the sea, you insisted on paying. Pau argued with you lightly, with no heat behind it, saying that he should be the one paying since you took the time to plan everything but you wouldn't badge. So he went with whatever pleased you.

Down by the sea, you took his hand in yours and caressed his knuckles gently. The sound of metal on metal being heard every once in a while, since the both of you wore rings.

"I feel so calm when you are around me. I feel whole, like you are the missing piece, like you suddenly appear and everything is right again... I never thought someone could make me feel so much yet here you are, proving me wrong." he admitted.

"Amor, it's mutual, what you just described is how I also feel when I'm close to you, I love you guapo" you said pouring emotion into every word and speaking softly. Right there and then you kissed him, full of raw emotion and intensity. He responded with equal force, deepening the kiss.

You walked for a bit more, enjoying each others presence and the sunset.

"Amor, let's go home si?" you asked with a glint in your eyes

"Si..." he responded a bit nervously, twisting one of the rings that adorned his hands.

"Hey, love none of that. We will do whatever feels right to you okay? Nothing else. Tonight it's about you. To be honest, for me, it's always about you.."you said looking into his deep turquoise eyes, blue and green moving like the waves of the sea you stood by not long ago.

You drove the two of you home. Music from the playlist the two of you made for your car rides being heard from the speakers of your car. Your hand never leaving his own. Your fingers tied together above the car console.

After a bit you reached your place. A beautiful house just outside of the city centre. You enjoyed the privileges that came with it. The nice garden, the pool, tha parking space. However, right now, your whole focus was on Pau.

The two of you got out of the car and you opened the door. When you got inside, the two of you got rid of your shoes and you set your bag down by the rest of your everyday bags in the hall closet. You once again took his hand in yours, your other hand on hs cheek. You kissed him passionately, pouring every emotion you had for him into it and hoping that he could convey it and undesrtand just how deeply you felt for him. He responded to it immediately and stack to you like a magnet. You seperated for a split second before you drew him in again and pushed him against the door.

At that you stopped. Wanting to make sure that he was still okay with all of this, that you weren't moving too fast.

"If, at any point, you feel uncomfortable you will tell me okay? Immediately, no hesitation" you told him in earnest, needing him to understand

"Yes"

"Promise me amor"

"I promise" he replied

You went up to your bedroom, dragging him by the hand, stopping to kiss him more than a couple of times. When you got to your room you had him sit on the edge of your bed as you knelt down between his legs.

"Love look at me, I need you to reassure me that you feel okay with whatever it is I'm doing, okay? I won’t continue if I don't have your explicit permission, alright?" you asked, wanting to make sure this would be as great of an experience for him as possible.

"Can I touch you, amor?" you questioned, his positive answer immediate.

First, you took the hoodie off. Then you started opening the fly of his jeans, his back arching, a shiver running through his spine. You moved slowly wanting to give him time to say no. That answer never came. After you opened the zip you tore his jeans away from his body. Instead of going were he needed you most, you started kissing his thighs, softly, like he was made of glass or like he was a precious stone that you had to be careful with and marvel at.

You sucked a bit on a spot close to his erection.

"Don't tease me more guapa, I won’t last if you keep going like this..." he said, his voice hoarse.

With that prompting you, you tore his boxers of. Let's just say he was more than gifted down there. His cock standing proud against his lower stomach, his v-line in sight, his abs glistening with sweat.

You looked up at him, your lashes broadcasting your eyes like a piece of art and he was mesmerized. He nodded, telling you to move on, shyness written all over his face.

You gave the tip a light kiss before going further. You took the tip in your mouth and he moaned. You used your tongue to please him to the best of your abilities, while you used your hands for the part of his dick that didn't fit inside your mouth.

To say Pau felt like he was in heaven would be light, he had never felt so good, not only physically speaking. You took your time with him, touching his thighs, his abs, tracing his v-line and with all that stimulation he came inside your mouth.

"How do you feel baby?" you asked after you shallowed his load.

"I could do with a bit more of you to be honest, you're like a drug and I'm the addict" he admitted

"You sure you want another round baby? It could get intense..." you asked him concerned.

"Please... don't stop, I need you..." he said with such desperation painting his voice, puppy eyes on his face, how could you possibly say no and deny him? You simply couldn't so you went with his flow.

"Okay baby, whatever you need and want, I'm all yours" you replied.

You had him sit against the headboard and sat on his lap. You started making out with him, making him ease against you. You took of the dress shirt you were wearing and by instinct he helped you take of your suit pants. His palms on your waist sending a shiver down your spine. And just like that you were left in you underwear.

Pau continued kissing you. After a bit you started kissing his jawline, then his neck, leaving hickeys everywhere. He took of your bra, feeling bold for a split second. Then you raised your hips and while looking in his eyes, you took of your panties.

You began kissing him again as you trailed down. You covered his whole body with kisses, trying to show him just how much he meant to you and then you found yourself looking back up to meet his eyes. You were met with a sight that would never leave your brain. His eyes half closed, his mouth a bit open, taking deep breaths very time he felt your own breath against his skin.

You guided his hand to your heat. Wanting to show him how to please you. He was a fast learner, stimulating you just right. Not that you actaully needed it, you were wet from the beginning of these endeavors.

You had him lie down, his head on the pillows now, as you hovered above him.

"You okay baby?" you asked calmly

"Yeahh...hmmm... need you though love, bad.."

"Shhh amorcito, I'm here, I'll take care of you yes?"

"Si..."

Your thighs encasing his hip bones. You took his erection in one hand and guided him inside you. You took just the tip at first, nevertheless you moaned loudly and Pau had a pleased look panted on his face, knowing you made a sound just from the tip. “Amor…” he said slowly

You took it slow. Your hips moving slowly, giving you both time to adjust. For you the adjustment was just how huge he was, for him the intensity of all these new sensations. You both felt like you were on cloud nine.

He bottomed out and you took your time before you moved again. With all this groaning and moaning of his, you were sure his voice come tomorrow would be hoarse and you had to admit that you loved how you made him feel. Not that you were any better really.

You started moving again, rolling your hips against his. Not with extreme velocity. Yes you were building up a pace, but your prime concern was Pau, always. This... this right here wasn't sex, this was you making love to the love of your life, to your one and only, to your soulmate. Climaxing didn't come much later for either of you. Between the physical pleasure you gifted each other and the raw emotion that you transmitted to one another it came easily. Him still buried deep inside of you. You didn't want him to pull out of you yet, feeling the need to keep him close.

"That was something else guapa..." he trailed off, happiness emitting from him. He glowed under the low lights of the bedroom.

"That was intense baby... you sure you're feeling alright??" you asked concerned once again.

"Si.. just a bit sore amor.." he admitted.

"That's normal my love"

"Did you..did you enjoy it? Like at all? 'Cause I feel like you were so concerned about me that I kept you behind..." he trailed off again, shyness blending with insecurity , wanting reassurance that he did well, even if it was his first time.

"Love look at me please" you asked him nicely

"That was easily the most mindblowing sex experience I've ever had love" you admitted.

"How so though? You are far more experienced than me hermosa..."

"Feelings, amor, go a long way and what I feel for you and when I am with you cannot even be described..." you stated truthfully.

After a bit, you detached yourself from him to run the two of you a bath. With both of you cleaned up and relaxed, you dried your bodies with a fluffy towel.

You lied down first, getting him to put his head in the valley between you breasts. The two of you just sat there for a while. Unmoving. Basking in each other's warmth, skin on skin. You waited till Pau was asleep to close your own eyes, wanting to make sure he was okay. When you looked down to check on him you realized just how peacefull he looked like this, asleep on you, his head on your chest. You playing with his hair had him out in minutes. With those thoughts in mind you let Morpheus claim you too.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

a/n: thoughts?

@moonlight-176

[gordonengineswifenirmal]

Soooo here’s how the babysitting went….

The kid knows me, but not well. I’ve come with the housemate shopping, to do laundry, n on walks, so the kid has seen me, but I’m not a constant in her life. Sooooo we go, I pick her up, no pram. Great. They hand her off to me, she starts screaming.

Let me tell u - I do NOT have mothering instincts. I grew up in a family where me grandmum didn’t really want kids, but that’s kinda what u did in her era. So she had one. Mum loved kids n wanted me, but god help her was a kid herself n really wasn’t meant to have children. There r soooo many folks who need to either admit they shouldn’t, or wait until they can mature enough, because yikes. The kid kept screaming. I had to fight me own instincts, because kids screaming is a big trigger for me. The reaction I have is to get away from them or smack them if I can’t. Luckily so far, it’s been run away or drown out the sound the best I can.

I know -

Did I hit the kid?

No. I did the best I could to remain calm. I pep talked meself into remaining calm. I kept trying to reassure her (and maybe both of us for that matter) we were going home, I wasn’t going to hurt her. I figured the best way to go about it was how I do when I calm cats. Minus the cute teasing. I kept thinking “I’m not going to be workds best mum, but god I’m better than the mess she had going on. N I will try to be. I can act. I got this.”

We get home, n had to wait for the landlady to come open the door. She finally does, n is happy to see the kid. I thought “great! This will help!” Ok, so she gives her attention for a bit, calms her down, but was all “I’m busy I can’t stay.”

I do not do kids. I babysat a group for short time with a friend who needed help in a bowling alley 2 decades ago. That was it. The landlady doesn’t understand that I’ve spent me life trying to avoid holding babies, and changing baby diapers. I do NOT do baby diapers. I didn’t even like having to change adult disowns as a home aide. Other people’s wee n poo are another trigger. So r genitals. (I used to mentally panic then, n would have to effectively dissociate to get the job done.) I don’t even like when I have accidents! I try to avoid them whenever I can! (Luckily I didn’t have to change her. Yet.)

She finally calmed down enough, n I was able to distract her with stuff. She’d b ready to cry, n I was able to get her to watch some kids shows n play with the bubble popping and fireworks apps on the phone. I was nervous to be around her alone, NOT BECAUSE OF ANY BAD INTENTIONS, this is just soooo out of me wheelhouse, n im used to being unfairly judged. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

She wouldn’t watch Thomas. Yet. Will auntie Nirmal b trying to work on that? Yes. Or at least, I can put it on once she goes to sleep. Whatever works.

I will still never want kids (well ok to adopt, I cannot have me one biologically anymore - yayyyyy!), but maybe I’ll learn to b more tolerant of them. A little at least. Don’t expect fecking miracles lol

The roommate was grateful tho. So I guess I managed to ace it.

I was fecking thrilled to come back downstairs to me own wee home. And cat. And me trains.

[blitzwhore]

Sleepover Saturday ❤️

I am literally working on my first fanfic ever right now and I’m so excited. It’s so self-indulgent and I’m positive only 3 people will ever read it 🤣 but it’s been fun to actually write something instead of just thinking about it non-stop.

I wanted to ask: do you have any tips for planning a fic out? Do you organize your ideas in a formal way, or do you just write and see where it goes?

I just kind of started writing and I’m worried that I’m going all over the place.

First fanfic ever!!! Omg that's so exciting! Congratulations on taking this step 😍 Do you have an AO3 account set up? One I can perhaps subscribe to? 👀

Oh gosh, I am not the best person to ask for story planning tips. I am soooooo all over the place it's not even funny. Usually, when I write short one-shots or drabbles, I just start writing without any previous planning (other than vague ideas floating in my mind) and see where the story takes me.

For longer fics, I... okay, it's hard to explain. I do plan, but it's vague and chaotic. What I usually do is create a separate Google doc and dump every single thought I have about the fic in there, unfiltered. Streams of consciousness I have, dialogue exchanges that suddenly pop up in my mind, backstory for the characters, events I'd like to write, ways in which I'd like them to touch or look at each other, songs they'd listen to... And anything else I'd like to include in my story at some point.

Then, I start writing. And as the story progresses, both in the doc and inside my head, I frequently go back to those notes and ideas, moving them around and changing them up to fit the characterisation and tone as those slowly come together. Some of those ideas become milestones I want to get to. Everything I write, I write steering them towards that moment, that scene that I've planned out. But I have no idea how they'll actually get from A to B; that all comes to life while I write. And sometimes, while writing, the characters go "actually, B is stupid and we're gonna do W instead, thanks." And I'm just sitting there like... God fucking dammit you guys 🤣

For example, in my tattoo fic, I knew while writing chapter 1 that I wanted their first date to be at the park, and I had many ideas for how their first kiss would be. I knew I wanted Stolas to ask Blitz to kiss him, and then get nervous when Blitz laughed in response, and I knew I wanted Blitz to take charge and start slow, kissing Stolas' neck until Stolas was so desperate he dragged Blitz into a proper kiss himself. And I knew I wanted it to happen on a park bench, with Blitz in Stolas' lap. But while planning for, and writing, chapter 2, I had no intention of making them talk about circus stuff, or to have Stolas having seen Blitz perform as a teen; that came out of nowhere. And I also didn't plan on them hearing water or finding a creek or taking selfies together, that was all them!

And don't even get me started on chapter 3. That was meant to be the club chapter. They were just meant to have a quick meeting so Stolas could give back the jacket and they could make out a bit. The tacos, and Blitz lending him a shirt, and Stolas getting nervous and prompting Blitz to be more careful about dragging Stolas into things he doesn't actually want to do... That was all them. I had no part in it! 🤣

So yeah, whatever you're doing, I'm sure it can't get much worse than what I'm doing 😂 I'm now writing chapter 6 and I have a lot of specific moments I want to get to in the chapter, but how they'll get to each of them and what will happen between A and B and C is beyond me. And I have plans for what's going to happen in future chapters, many plans. But as to how and when we'll get to each of those moments in the fic? Yeah, I have no clue!

And this is coming from someone who's been writing fanfic for over a decade (and writing in general since I was 8), so... Whatever it is you're doing, if it's working, then keep going! That's all the wisdom I can offer 🤡😂

[thevibraniumveterans]

You’re not the only one who noticed this.

I mean, given how much Sentry was holding back when the rest of our ragtag group of misfits confronted him (honestly he could have done far far worse, but he didn’t, he was using like 0.1% of his full power but it was still enough to be terrifying), he seemed to hold back more for Yelena.

Which leads me to my next point… Bob, as Sentry, does say that neither Bucky, Walker, Ava, Yelena, nor Alexei pose a threat to him, and thus he has no intention to kill them despite an order to. This means he, on the higher end of his high days, still remembers who they are (with the exception of Alexei and Bucky). It is unfortunate, I think, that Bob as his usual self has no recollection of this. But it’s also a good thing that none of them hold this against him.

For a young man who had discovered earlier that he is in fact bulletproof, it should have come to no surprise that not even Yelena’s Widow Bites could shock him. I’d wager he didn’t even feel that, perhaps it was a faint tickle to him at best. Did Bob as Sentry show more restraint when dealing with Yelena because he remembered that she meant him no harm? 🤔

ok, but why aren't we talking about how sentry was clearly gentler with yelena than with the others?

when she jumped on him and for a moment he was considering how to handle her and then when he flew up to get her off his back but then caught her before she hit the floor and tossed her away with obvious restraint???

[randomnerd737]

I was thinking about the 5 year anniversary video and

it is interesting to me how Patton kind of decided for Logan what his role in the "family" would be. all the other sides chose it themselves, but he didn't get to.

even when he actively objects it's played for laughs and never addressed. this happened too when Patton revealed his name for him, and I just think it's interesting to note that after all these years, Logan still never gets to decide anything when it comes to Thomas, or even himself, to an extent. it's just kind of decided for him and he is expected to just go along with it, similar to how it was when Thomas dyed his hair.

ik it's mainly a "haha wine mom" moment, but that doesn't take away from how angsty it gets when you think about it.