#trying the best i can to keep this out of tags

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Hi hi hi

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't own many dresses, and those you do, are more office casual than date night. Still, you have no time to stall, no room for excuses. You pick out the only one you think you can still squeeze into.

A button-up black dress with long sleeves, a white collar, and white trim around the sleeves and ruffled hem. It's something that would look much better on Audrey Hepburn. 

You check yourself in the mirror. You shouldn't care but you have to. If you want to get out the other side of this, if you want Vaughn to, you need to go along with it. You need to keep Steve happy. 

You emerge, as content as you can be with your appearance after a day of work and an unsettling homecoming. You keep your eyes on the floor as you wring your hands. You need heels, something to match. 

Before you can pass him, Steve stomps toward you. He pinches the frill around your skirt. "You look amazing, sweetheart." He lets go and drags his hand up your thigh and hip. "Can't believe it's the real thing, right in front of me." 

"Uh, yeah," you agree weakly. "I need shoes." 

"Sure, sweetheart, take your time. Get dolled up," he moves away with a sultry sigh. 

You feel him watching you as you shift around and search the shoe rack. You bend over to take out the black vinyl kitten heels and he purrs. You wince and stand up, wobbling as you step into them. 

"Hate to be too forward but I was away a while. Pretty lady like you has me all hot under the collar," he snickers. "Gotta say that dress hugs you in all the right places." 

"Thank you," you murmur and untangle the thin strap of a small purse. You shuffle around your work bag and slip your ID and debit card inside, along with a tube of lip balm. 

"You don't gotta be so shy," he nears. "I mean, I should be. Being locked up, I forget the way things are out here." He steps close and spreads his hand across your ass. "Just so nice to touch you...but I'll be a good boy and take you on a date first." 

You shudder and resist the urge to shove him away. You force a smile, "where are we going?" 

"Somewhere close," he answers and peels his hand off of you. "Been a while since I had a date," he snorts. "If you can't guess." 

"Me too," you mutter as you back up toward the door. You grab your keys. 

"Oh yeah? How long?" He asks as he opens the door and gestures you through. 

"How... er..." you think about it.  

You've not been on many. Vaughn always kept the men away. Even if they wanted a second date, it was never many more than that. 

"At least a year, I think," you step into the hall and he comes out after you. 

You lock the door as he stays close. You tuck the keys into your purse and he offers his hand. "Ready, sweetheart?" 

You don't hesitate. No more of that. You can't keep pushing your luck. You put your hand in his. You can feel his strength. 

He takes you down the hallway and patiently assists you down the stairs as your heels make your steps unsure. Or maybe that’s him. He’s especially gallant for someone like him. A criminal. Wait, no, he’s been absolved, hasn’t he? 

He slips his hand along your lower back as you come outside. There’s a hitch in his strut. Victory. 

“Got her out of storage, fresh wax,” he announces as he approaches the white vintage car you noticed before.

It’s strange how you can pick every single thing that’s out of place but you can never put them together. It was the same with Vaughn. 

“It’s very nice,” you say. “I don’t know much about cars, my brother...” 

You trail off. You’d rather not think or talk about him right now. 

Steve opens the passenger door for you. You get in and he lingers at your door. He purrs. 

“You really do look just perfect, sweetheart.” he tickles your jawline then draws back.  

He finally shuts you in. You shiver as you watch him through the windshield. You fix the hem of the skirt as it rides up with the two sizes you’ve put on since you bought it. Or maybe it shrunk? You pinch yourself as you do, hoping you might wake up from this nightmare. 

No, you’re already awake. Painfully so. 

Steve gets in and you peek over for just a second. The seat emphasizes his size. Everything seems to remind you of his power over you. Over your family.  

You’re so stupid. You have no one to blame but yourself. What were you thinking? Thanking a convinct? A criminal? A murderer? Or not a murderer? 

“You’re tired,” he says as he backs out, “seat belt, sweetheart. Last thing I need is an accident.” 

You buckle up. You dab your nose as it tingles. Don’t cry. You have to play this right. Pretend. 

“A little, yeah. Work...” 

“At the clinic, right?” He prompts. 

It’s like the phone calls. That familiarity he puts on. Your head spins as you replay all those nights in your head. It struck you then how presumptuous he could be. How he said ‘we’. His presence then reframes every call, every visit. They were not the same to him as you. 

“Yeah, a lot of phone call,” you swallow as your throat scratches. “People don’t like waiting.” 

“Tell me about it,” he chuckles. “After how long I waited for this...” 

You stare at his hand. Huge, thick, gripping the slender wheel. You put your eyes to your lap and play with the ruffle. 

“We’re gonna have a good night, sweetheart. You and me.” He preens. “A lot of them.” 

You nod and turn your face to the window, “yes, Steve. Thank you.” 

⛓️‍💥

The restaurant is nice. As you’re greeted at the door, Steve snakes his hand down your arm and twines his fingers through yours. As he squeezes, you realise how strange it must be to him. You shouldn’t empathize with him, not with all the threats, with how he’s taken your life over in less than an hour, but you do. 

“Table for two,” he says. 

The hostess smiles, “yes, sir. I can find you something.” 

She grabs two menus and a smaller one from the desk. She turns and leads you into the dining room. You walk just ahead of Steve as he urges you on, though his hand stays on yours. She stops you at a round table framed with a crescent bench. 

“Booth alright?” 

“Sure is,” Steve answers. 

He holds onto you until you sit. You slide around and he follows. The hostess lays out the menus. 

“Drink menu,” she points to the thinner folio, “a server will be by soon.” 

“Thank you,” you gulp out of courtesy, Steve echoing you. 

You clasp your hands in your lap as he takes the wine list and opens it. You’re not very hungry. Or thirsty. You’re scared. 

You glance at him, the around the restaurant. To the other diners, to the staff, he’s just another man. The suit hides his true character. If you passed him on the street, you’d assume he was some refined businessman. 

“Red or white?” He asks. 

You look at him again. The silver strands woven into his blond shine beneath the chandelier lighting above. You drag your hand up your sleeve. 

“You know, I’m not much of a drinker,” you murmur. 

“Well, it’s a special night, isn’t it, baby?” He drawls and closes the folder. 

He sets it down and you shift forward on the seat. He touches your lower back again, tickling you through your dress. Your posture goes rigid as you open the menu and focus on the options. He pulls his menu down, leaning it on the table’s edge as he continues to pet you, his other hand cradling the folder. 

“Steak. Mm. Been a while since I had a good filet,” he growls. 

“Sounds nice,” you nod. 

“What about you?” He wonders and traces his finger up your spine. 

“Hm, the pistachio crusted halibut sounds interesting,” you tap your nails on the page. 

“You don’t gotta peck like a bird around me,” his hand falls right back down, right along the top of your ass. “You really got a nice figure, sweetheart.” 

You fidget and flutter your lashes, “thank you. It’s not that. I was thinking... something light for dinner and the rice pilaf sounds interesting.” 

“Ah,” he trails along the cushion of your rear, “god, you’re so...” 

His voice peters off and a server appears across the table. He sits up and clears his throat. The man in his pressed white shirt and black slacks is amiable as he prompts you for your order. Steve lets you go first. You close the menu and hand it over after you order. 

“Of course, miss,” the server smiles at you. He’s young and handsome. These sort of restaurants only hire a certain type. 

“Bottle of champagne,” Steve begins, “we’re celebrating,” his arm curls around your middle, “and the New York Strip...” He finishes up his order and shoves the menu across the table. What’s that about? 

“Yes, sir, I’ll be back with the bottle and put your order in,” the server nods and glances between the both of you. 

He strides away and Steve growls. His fingertips dig into your side. He leans back and sucks his teeth. 

“Is something... wrong?” You twist to look at him. 

“That... guy. Looking at you like that,” he sneers. “He’s supposed to be taking our order, not ogling you.” 

“No, he wasn’t, Steve,” you assure him. 

“Sure as hell was. You’re just too sweet to notice. His eyes were all over you,” he huffs and his leg sways in agitation. “Judging me. Thinks I’m too old.” 

“Steve, he was perfectly polite,” you say, “please, you said it’s going to be a good night.” 

You bite your tongue as you examine his face. His sudden anger, his paranoia, unsettles you even more. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth. 

“Steve,” you touch his sleeve, “please, I’m not here with the server, am I?” 

His blue eyes flick over to you. They search your face. You force a smile. 

You have to keep from wincing as he reaches for you. He frames your face with his large hand and grins, “you’re right, sweetheart.” He draws you closer. You let him. “All mine.” 

He meets your lips with his and you swallow a gasp. His nose brushes yours as he kisses you, softly, then his tongue glides over your lips. You resist for only a second then let him in. His hand slips behind your head as he locks you in. You brace his chest as he takes your breath away. 

“Ahem,” the server clears his throat. 

You rip away from Steve as he snickers. He wipes his mouth shamelessly as you shrink down in embarrassment. The server uncorks the bottle with a pop, his smile effortlessly hiding all judgment. He’s probably honed against all types of customers. 

He pours the bubbly and leaves the bottle. You watch him go and squirm. Steve sits up and takes his glass, “what’sa matter, sweetheart?” 

“N-nothing, I don’t-- I don’t usually do that... in public,” you sniff. 

He laughs again, “I know, you’re a good girl.” He hovers his glass. You take yours and he clinks his against it, “to us.” 

“To... us.” You echo softly. 

You drink as he does, mirroring him. It’s sweet and bubbly. He sets the glass down and reaches for the bottle. He grips it and drags it closer. 

“Only one for me, since I’m driving, so help yourself,” he says. “You deserve it. A nice night to let go.” 

“Oh, I...” you stare at the dark glass. Why did he order the whole bottle? 

He slaps his hand on your thigh and you squeak. Your hand falls over his instinctively. You look at him and lick the moisture from your lips. He growls and kneads your flesh. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “Aren’t you happy? I’m here.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “yes, I’m happy.” 

He pushes his shoulders back and his cheek dimples, he shifts on the cushion. His other hand tugs at the top of his belt. 

“Not gonna lie, gonna be hard to hold out all night,” he smirks. “Six years...” 

You blink at him. You won’t look down. That’s too much. 

“You gonna be nice to me?” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, tickling the back of your neck so you shiver. “Huh? I’m so pent up, baby, you gotta take it easy on me.” 

You shudder and ball your hand up tightly. Your stomach is roaring but not from hunger. The more you think about what he means, what he expects, the sicker you feel. 

“It’s been... a while for me too,” you assure him. “We can take it slow.” 

“Slow, baby?” He hums. “Oh, I don’t think I can.” 

[lilghostiequinni]

Trying Something New

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Restaurant Owner!female reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy, None

Summary: You are probably the only one that can get Lando to try something new that involves the tiniest hint of fish.

Requested: NO / yes

You own a restaurant, well, a couple restaurants in England, and you are opening one in Monaco because you had moved there with your boyfriend and would rather be able to go to your restaurant in a short walk than a plane ride.

One thing you served in your restaurant was this dish that contained salmon, but there was little to no taste of the salmon in the dish.

You've had people come up to you and say that they normally don't eat fish, but they would eat again.

Then there's Lando, who is perfectly fine with acting like a child when it comes to fish and dishes that involve fish.

You knew that it would have to be some miracle that you were able to sneak fish into a dish and also have Lando be able to eat it without throwing a fit.

You found that if with enough sauce that Lando will eat some of the smaller seafood, like shrimp, and he will only eat scallops the way you make them.

He only ate scallops because you needed a taste tester, and he offered, which surprised you that he offered in the first place.

When he ate them he was amazed that they were actually good, and you were in shock that he actually put it in his mouth.

When he tried and ate the dish with salmon, Lando's nutritionist and trainer, Jon, was sitting right next to him, bringing some meals for while you're in England for a week.

You were going to England to check up on the restaurants there and to see your parents, and Lando had just got back from a race and you didn't want to make him leave on a plane again.

You knew that in the time you were gone, while Lando may eat the food that Jon brought, but you also knew your boyfriend and knew that he would order something in a few times and would most likely leave it in the fridge.

But you knew you would clean out the fridge when you got back because of your boyfriend. You just knew him.

He was the best thing to happen to you, and you were the best thing to happen to him.

Even his parents were shocked that you got their son to eat some fish and even a dish that is mostly fish and he loved and didn't make a face about it.

But you just shrugged whenever people expressed their shock because you were shocked, too.

But you didn't push the matter of him eating any more fish than he already has, and you also knew that he wouldn't eat any more fish than he already was.

Sometimes, you would question if you saw right when he ate fish or if you were dreaming.

Because normally, when you ate and made fish for yourself, he would make you wash your mouth out before you kissed him, which always made you giggle at him.

And he still would make you do it when you ate fish he didn't like but you still just giggled and laughed.

You still got him to try and eat fish, which is more than Carlos ever has done, which you lorded over your boyfriend's friend.

Which would make Carlos roll his eyes and shake his head at you, but you still did it.

Lando also just shakes his head at you with a smile on his face as he watches you.

It's always nice to try something new, especially when you know the person you're with isn't going to care whether or not you like it or what you do after you've tried it.

Whether you like it and eat it, or you don't and spit it out.

A/N: Winner in the 300 Follower Cele This or That poll

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @barcelonaloverf1life @tallrock35 @ellen3101 @llando4norris @mcmuppet @issi-loves-dannyric @1800-love-me @barcelonaloverf1life @scopeiguess @01rrdbull @charli123456789 @smashcrabsblog @hadids-world @amz824 @taetae-armyyyyy @diaryofarandomkid @watermelonslut @gigicisneros @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

[moon-ttokki-x]

oh my god I’m stupid I requested 8, 9, and 39 for the SKZ prompt list but I forgot to ask for which member. Bangchan pretty please 🥺👉👈

hihi this took so long sorry >< . . . this is a lot more angsty than anticipated but i hope it works. i wrote it a little differently that i normally would, but here you go, love~~

stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader)

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan has never noticed how you feel for him, and one fateful evening, you let it all spill.

genre: angsty as hell, idol!au, reader lowkey enters their villain era, mentions of eating and drinking, overexcited maknaes, chan is kinda oblivious in this fic ngl, supportive felix, itzy mentions (yeji, ryujin, chaeryoung if that counts ig), this is super sad tbh

a/n: this took a while tbh . . . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

⛓️ prompts: 8. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." / 9. "You can rest now." / 39. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

"Y/n, do you wanna come to that ramen restaurant with us later?" Jisung tugs at your arm, skipping alongside you. "We've been wanting to go for ages, and we all finally have schedules off tonight."

"Yeah, come with us," Jeongin adds. "It'll be fun."

The maknaes are tagging all around you as you walk down the hallway, trying your best to keep a hold on all the papers you're carrying. It's difficult when they're fluttering around you like overexcited birds.

You'd taken the job at JYPE around four months ago; it was decided after a very long period of doubting and worrying that it wouldn't work out after what happened at your last workplace. But your best friend, Chan, had been super supportive throughout the whole thing, even offering to help you move into your little apartment down the road from the company. He'd brought some of his friends to help with the heavy lifting, and from there, you'd pretty much been adopted into the group he'd formed and was the leader of.

Not like you had a choice in the first place.

But you didn't mind; you'd been worried partly because of the fact that you wouldn't have any friends when you'd moved to this part of Korea; Chan had managed to inadvertently solve that issue without trying. Now, the four excitable boys skipped and bickered around you as you set down the papers on your office desk. Wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you sighed and pried Seungmin away from the trinkets neatly lining your bookshelf.

"Who else is going?" You ask as Jisung whines about you coming to the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

Seungmin shrugs, interrupting his friend. "All of the members, you, and a couple of the girls from our dance crew."

You feel your heart sink just as your brain tells you to agree; it's been ages since you went out with the guys, and you honestly couldn't wait for a break. Work was always stressful around comeback season, but you'd all settled into the rhythm of it soon enough. Spending an evening out with eight of your best friends eating some soul food sounded like a good idea. A better idea than spending the evening on the couch in your apartment, eating ice cream in complete silence. Alone.

You bite your lip, anticipating. "Which of the dance crew girls?"

Jeongin shrugs from the sofa, swinging his legs over a disgusted Seungmin's lap as he lounges back. "The usuals; Yeji, Ryujin, Young-hee, and Chae. Why?"

"No reason," you say, turning back to the bookshelf to unnecessarily reorganise something, fiddling with the solid fabric spine of one of your books. "I'll let you know if I'm coming. Now, clear out."

Your last comment doesn't bother the maknaes at all; they know you don't like your office being messed up, so they call goodbyes, and Jisung sneakily pokes your side as he filters out the door. Felix, however, remains.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and keep a neutral expression as you turn the dark-haired boy. He looks so different from his usual blonde-haired countenance; however, no less beautiful, and not for the first time do you hold yourself back from carding your fingers affectionately through his hair.

You exhale. "Do you need something, Lix?"

He sits down on your chair, swinging it backwards and leaning his forearms across the back. An air of resignation flows around him. "You're not coming tonight, are you?"

You bite your lip. "I'll see."

His voice is quiet. "You've said that since Chae started hanging around us. Is it because of her?"

You scoff, dropping a pen. "No. Why would you think that?"

Felix leans forward on the chair, nosy. "It is because of her, isn't it? Do you not like her? Is it because of Chan-hyung?"

You whip around to face him, exasperated. The explanation bubbles out of you like molten lava from a temperamental volcano. "Okay, fine! I just- I can't stand seeing her around him. They're so close, and they always seem so wrapped up in each other-"

You cut yourself off then, not wanting to say anything you might regret. Chae is nice enough; she's never done anything explicitly hurtful towards you, though you secretly have suspicions that she doesn't like you at all. But you stay quiet, trying to dissipate the rising frustration blooming in your chest.

Felix is quiet.

You know he knows; he's known for ages about your little crush on his leader. You were afraid to tell him, once upon a time; but all you got in response from the affectionate chicken boy was a hushed giggle and a gentle encouragement to tell Chan how you feel. He hasn't told anyone else about your feelings, and you know he would continue to keep his mouth shut. But you wish, even just a little, that someone else would notice and find a way to get Chae away from your best friend.

"No wonder she likes him too," you say quietly to yourself, sinking into your office chair.

And it isn't a wonder, really. Chan is sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so, so, supportive and admirable. There's not a single flaw about him, except perhaps his slight dislike towards himself and his irritation when it comes to those soft, dark curls that frame his perfect face so perfectly-

You shake yourself out of it. Felix is still looking at you quietly, his head tilted in thought.

"You do know," he says carefully, "that you're closer with Chan that Chae is?"

"But still," you groan. "He always seems so much happier around her, and he always only talks to her when you all go out-"

"How would you know?" Felix cries, throwing his hands up. "You're not even there half the time, and Chan only talks to her because you're not there for him to talk to. He has to settle for her because he's fed up of us, and he's not close with Yeji, Ryujin, or Young-hee."

You sigh and hop up onto the desk, swinging your legs over the side. "I just can't stand it, Lix. Seeing them together..."

His expression softens. "I know, Y/n, and I know how frustrated you get when they're all over each other, but you have to at least try. Come with us. If not for him, then for us. We miss you."

"I'm right here."

Felix sighs softly. "That's not what I meant."

You rub two fingers along the bridge of your nose, trying to think straight. You can't get the images out of your mind; Chan and Chae giggling to each other, her touching his arm, him reciprocating the affection... no one said it would hurt this bad when you watch your best friend fall for someone else.

No one said it would hurt this much when you realise that you're in love with said best friend either.

"I can't keep pretending I'm fine," you say, so softly you're not sure Felix hears it. But he does.

"Then don't pretend," he urges gently. "Get him to fall for you. You're halfway there already, I'm pretty sure. But it's not gonna happen if you're always at a distance from him."

He has a point, you think. But, being as stubborn as you are, there's still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that Chan will never feel the same way that you do, whether you're with him or not-

"Y/n," Felix says, a little more firmly.

You know exactly what he's thinking; sighing, and then bending down to pick up the pen you dropped earlier, you slot it back into the holder on the desk.

"Fine," you say quietly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. "I'll come."

Felix lets out a whoop.

.

You pull your jacket a little closer around yourself as you head round the corner, the evening wind whipping your hair into a state of extreme disarray. Sighing and then spluttering as you pull strands of it out of your mouth and eyes, you duck around people and head to the restaurant, its warm, golden light drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You're not late, so to speak; you spot the group sitting at a large corner booth with comfy seats, mingling and chattering, and you notice Felix immediately. His face lights up when he sees you, half with relief and half with something else you can't quite decipher. He makes to get up before you're almost tackled to the floor by Jisung and Jeongin, who are pretty much hollering at the top of their lungs.

Minho shushes them insistently as he tugs them off you, bowing before shoving both maknaes back into their seats.

"Y/n," Jeongin says happily. "We didn't think you'd come."

You chuckle awkwardly and settle into the spot next to Felix, trying not to look around for Chan like you always do. "Yeah, I needed a break. Besides, you two would have come for my throat if I turned the invitation down one more time."

"Damn right," Jisung interjects, all three of you dissolving into giggles.

You look around then; not everyone is here. Hyunjin and Yeji are still missing, both Hwangs late as per usual, and you know Changbin will come by a little later, having decided to work out before treating himself for the evening. You make a mental note to stick to your work ethic as well as he does, but it's interrupted by the familiar tone of someone speaking your name.

"You look nice, Y/n," Chan says from next to Felix, who is sitting in between both of you.

Chae is sitting next to Chan, you notice with some sadness and displeasure; her long, pinky-blonde hair is straight and neat, long acrylic nails coming up to brush strands of it off her perfect porcelain cheeks, flushed with the cold. At least, you hope it's the cold and not the effect of Chan's probably flirting before you arrived.

Despite the indignance rising in your stomach, you can't help but notice how Chan looks tonight; his hair is slightly damp from the chilly weather outside, the adorably messy strands of it curling against his temples and nape. His eyes are crescents as he gazes into yours, and you fight the urge to reach over and wipe the faint remainder of strawberry milk off the curve of his plush bottom lip.

You know exactly where he'd bought the little drink carton of it from; there's a vending machine just down the street, one that the boys always buy drinks from before eating out. It was their tradition, and one that you gladly partook in, that is before you became too shy to be around the boys.

Because of Chan and his stupid perfectness.

You suddenly come back down to earth and realise that Chan is still gazing at you; Chae is laughing obnoxiously loud in the background behind him, no doubt to recapture his attention, but all you can focus on is the fact that you're locking eyes with the most beautiful person on earth. And also the fact that you haven't replied to his little indirect compliment, so you just nod and turn back to the table to fiddle with the menu in front of you.

Felix exhales discreetly and you fight a grin, watching as he unpeels himself from the corner of the table. He'd been bending over it so you could lean back to talk to Chan, and he pokes you affectionately in the side as you thank him quietly, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the flush painting your cheeks.

"Could've warned me about how pretty he looks," you mutter to Felix under your breath. He just chuckles and touches your knee as everyone begins to order.

The food arrives just as Hyunjin, Yeji, and Changbin make their dramatically late entrance; they clatter noisily into their seats, and you bump fists with Yeji just as everyone begins to dig in.

There's brief silence as everyone begins to fill their stomachs with soul food, and then the chatter eventually rises again as the members turn to each other to bicker and laugh. You almost snort a noodle out of your mouth as you watch Hyunjin take a hairclip out of his bag to clip his hair back, before realising it's not there. Seungmin, sitting next to him, runs his hand through the boy's kiwi-like hair before turning back to his ramen.

You almost start to enjoy yourself, but there's still that lingering tension that you feel rests in the air between you and Chan; if anyone else has noticed it, they're not saying anything. Felix, noticing your quietness, tries to fill the space between you with small talk and jokes, but it doesn't seem to help. Once or twice, he even brings Chan into the conversation in a bid to try and get you two to converse, but Chae interjects more and more frequently until you quietly tell Felix to stop.

You feel bad because of it; you know he's just trying to help, but it isn't working. And it's beginning to make you feel worse, the fact that it seems not even the dark-haired sunshine boy can get his leader to try and talk to you. And you realise, all of a sudden, that maybe it's not Chan that's the problem.

There are two possible reasons that Chan doesn't seem to want to talk to you; you thought maybe he would talk more with you tonight, considering it's been so long since you've been out with them, but you're crestfallen as you realise that not more than a few words have been exchanged between the two of you tonight.

And it strangely breaks your heart.

The other reason is that Chae might have been badmouthing you behind your back to Chan, or it could be because of the fact that Chan genuinely likes her. You're not sure, but that belief is confirmed as you look across to see Chan holding out his chopsticks to her, bringing a piece of tempura to her perfect, pink lips.

Watching in horror and completely forgetting about the cooling ramen in front of you, you watch as Chae accepts the tempura with a little giggle, batting her lashes at Chan as he reaches up to wipe a crumb off her lip. The sight is so equally disgusting and upsetting that you immediately stand up, moving out of the booth as tears blur your eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jisung calls after you, Felix looking up from his food.

"Bathroom," you call over your shoulder, your voice surprisingly strong considering the fact that tears and beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Not wanting to make a fuss or arouse suspicion from the group, you do actually head to the bathrooms, locking the cubicle door behind you and sinking down against the door. You couldn't care less if it's dirty right now, the only thought in your head the mental image of your best friend and Chae giggling and flirting all over each other, blissfully unaware of your misery.

It's not fair.

"Maybe it's me," you whisper to yourself, sniffling as you rip off a piece of toilet paper, scrubbing at your face. You feel so pathetic and unworthy; what kind of person hides out in the bathroom crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about them?

Standing up and checking you have your phone and wallet, you sigh as you feel the weight of them in your pockets. Good. You can just leave without having to go back to the table. The last thing you want right now is to talk to anyone, or have to put up a fake cheerful front.

Heading to the back of the restaurant, the once-inviting golden lights now feeling like a spotlight, you emerge out into the street, the cold wind soothing the hot, sticky tear irritation on your cheeks. You head to the parking garage down the street and try to walk as quickly as you can past the opening of the ramen restaurant, lest any of the group notice you walking away.

And they don't, not least until you cross the street and head down the dimly light footpath.

Someone grabs your wrist suddenly and you cry out, whipping your head back so fast to see who it is you think you might have whiplash.

Chan is standing there, his hand solid and warm around your wrist, the wind ruffling his dark hair back from his bare face. You can see the glint of his silver earrings under the streetlights.

"Wait," he pants. "Where are you going?"

You can't fight the hot, wet tear rolling down your cheek and inwardly curse it for escaping. "Home."

"Why?" He asks, concern and worry painting his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

You fight the urge to slap him; it wouldn't be fair, however much you want to do it. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it. And you want nothing more to run into his arms and spill all your thoughts and feelings like you have so many times before, but you can't.

Not this time.

You can't tell Chan that you've loved him since who knows how long; that seeing him makes your heart feel lighter, the way a high schooler might feel seeing their crush in the sunny hallways. You can't tell him how many times you styled your hair to look a little like his, hoping the curls that make him look so handsome might make you a little more attractive too. You can't tell him how many times you ran late for schedules just because you took a detour to his studio to talk with him, even if it was just for a minute.

Even if all of it was a waste in the end. Because he likes someone else, and that someone else isn't you.

So you just shake your head as the tears come streaming down, and rip your wrist out of his grip before turning and walking away. The earth feels like it's shattering around you.

Or maybe that's just your heart.

But Chan doesn't give up; you hear his footsteps continue behind you, hurried and irregular, like he's trying to decide whether to let you go or make you stay.

"Y/n," he pants. "Wait, just- will you stop walking so fast? Please, wait, slow down- What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" You cry out, turning to face him as you throw your hands up. A sob rips through your lungs, face contorting with the force of your tears. "Okay? Everything's wrong."

Chan is silent, one hand out in an unsteady attempt to calm you. "What are you talking about? You're worrying me."

You scoff and kick a stone across the footpath, harshly rubbing a hand across your cheekbone.

"Y/n, please," he pleads, his voice quieter. "Felix noticed you were gone for too long earlier, and I saw you walking out of the restaurant. Please, tell me what's wrong. You look so upset."

"Then stop looking."

He recoils, looking slightly hurt, before it's overtaken by a look of determination. You know that look; it either results in an all-nighter to finish a song track, an attempt to wrangle seven naughty kids, or a hard-to-have conversation. You know it's the last one.

"Please," he says, even quieter. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's you," you say, broken with utter resignation.

He takes a step forward. "What?"

"It's you," you repeat, looking away as another hysterical sob brings the wind inside your body. It's sharp and biting, and it brings back some of your courage. But only some.

You raise your eyes to look at him. Maybe this is the last conversation you'll have with Chan, before he decides he doesn't want to be around someone who's in a one-way love story with him. Even if that person is his best friend.

"You don't realise, do you?" You whisper brokenly. "You never realised I was in love with you, Chan. But that's just who you are. You may be kind and compassionate and intuitive, but you never realised why I do what I do, or why I act the way I act around you."

His face is contorted in utter disbelief; whether it's from shock or disgust, you don't want to know.

"I realised around the time you helped me move in," you continue. Might as well get all of it out now. "I looked at you differently after a while. I didn't see my best friend anymore. I saw someone else, someone stronger and more clever and more dedicated and more perfect and flawless. And it was strange, because I realised that you changed so much. Maybe I changed too, but it was different seeing you walking around at the company and going about your schedules, because I felt different about it all. I felt different about you. And I couldn't let it go, not least when we actually talked. I used to be late for most of my meetings and events because I would take detours to see you. Some days I would think about canceling my schedules just so I could be around you more.

"And I love the boys, I do, Chan. So much. But I have to admit, I wouldn't be around them half as much if you weren't there. I felt so drawn to you, not like the way I did when we were friends. I figured that if I didn't want to lose you, I would have to discipline myself. So I did.

"I threw myself into my work; I gave myself so much to do, partially to distract myself, partially to use work as an excuse whenever I was invited out, like tonight. Just because I knew you would be there, and I didn't want to end up spilling it all to you, because I knew it would ruin everything between us. Forever.

"And when Chae started hanging around us, I didn't mind at first; I sort of liked her. But I started hating her because of how close she would get to you, how much you two would secretly talk between yourselves, and it made me upset. So I ended up spending much more time by myself so that I would be able to forget she existed. So that I could forget that she ever entered the picture, and that it was just me and my secret that I kept from you. For so long, Chan. You have no idea how much I had to hold myself back from you.

"Did you assume that I never wanted to go out with you guys? That I never wanted to buy drinks from that vending machine the members always go to before eating out, or that I didn't want to spend time with you? Because I did, Chan. But I forced myself not to, because I couldn't bear to see you, and most of the time I didn't know if Chae was going to be there. I told myself I wasn't going to sit there and watch you be with her, not while I felt so invisible and unseen around you.

"Let me tell you something, Chan," you choke through sobs at him, pointing a finger at his chest as though it were a gun. "Every time Jisung or Jeongin or one of the boys invited me out, I did actually show up. Even if you never saw me. I would watch from a distance to see if Chae was with you; if she was, I would turn around and leave, and go home. If not, I would smile from around the corner as the maknaes begged you for money to buy drinks from that vending machine. And then I would turn around and go home anyway.

"I know every single one of their preferences; even if you didn't know I was there to observe them bickering and choosing, faces lit by streetlight. I would go around to the vending machines at the company and randomly buy their favourites for them, even if you didn't know how I knew. I would buy them for you too, and debate leaving a little note for you telling you how I felt alongside it, and I never did.

"Because, despite all of that, it was all a waste," you snap at him. You're not sure why you're angry; you suppose it's the result of feeling unheard for so long. "It was a waste, Chan. Because you never even noticed how I felt. So don't come chasing after me in the night like this like you care, because it was Felix who told you to come after me, Felix who noticed I had been gone for too long, not you of your own accord. And don't look worried or concerned either, because I've told you what's wrong, Chan, just as you asked. You can rest now."

You can barely see him through the blur of your tears.

"Y/n," he whispers, broken as you feel. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," you cry out at him, turning and storming in the other direction. And this time, he doesn't follow, still standing under the streetlight with his hand out, though you're not there to take it.

You sob bitterly as you almost flee around the corner, breaking out into a full-on run, like sprinting can fix the problem, fix your heart and your tears. It doesn't, however, and you feel worse as you bolt pass the crossing light, not caring about its colour. Later you will realise that running with blurry vision and a hysterical, heartbroken mindset was not the wisest idea.

You don't see the car speeding towards you until it's too late.

a/n: *laughs in writer*

[greensagephase]

For Better Or Worse - Part Three

Pairings: CEO!Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: After two weeks of no employment, you finally land a job, but it has a catch... Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: use of y/n and y/l/n; family nickname introduced for reader; still no name for your sister (I need to decide on a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; some Spanish, but translations are provided in text; suggestive content, so MDNI; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all? A/N: pls let me know if you'd like to continue to be tagged, or be added to the taglist! Masterlist | Spotify

Two weeks.

It has been two weeks…

Since Gabriel and your sister married.

Since Miguel and you were forced to take pictures together as the groom’s best man and bride’s maid of honor.

Since he found you in the wedding venue’s garden and stood beneath the garden lights alone.

Since Miguel questioned if your bad mood was due to the unsolicited comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard between Miguel and the wedding guest, who encouraged him to continue on with his bachelor life.

Most importantly, it has been two weeks since you nearly kissed and you later drove off into the night, leaving Miguel in the parking lot, irritated and confused.

Miguel takes a swig from a beer bottle, staring at everything except you. He swallows the liquid, his fingers tightly gripping the cold bottle while everyone chit-chats around him, completely unaware of his thoughts.

He scowls to himself as he takes another drink. These damn thoughts.

Damn you.

You drove off without a care.

It was a mistake, you said.

Mistakes do happen when under the influence, that is possible, but if it was a near mistake, then why does Miguel keep thinking about it? Why has the thought plagued his mind every single day since that night?

Miguel doesn’t know and that’s what pisses him off. “Mierda [shit],” Miguel mutters under his breath, his gaze flicking to you unwillingly. He spots you about thirty feet from him, sitting with your sister. Ever since you arrived to the small family gathering both sets of parents arranged for the newly married couple, who are back from their honeymoon, you’ve kept your distance and avoided him, but then again, that’s not new, is it? The thing is, you haven’t even spared him a glance. It’s as if he’s invisible to you alone. Realizing he’s still staring, Miguel finally tears his gaze away from you, upset with himself.

Miguel hasn’t seen you since the wedding night, but he’d be lying if he said that you haven’t crossed his mind over the last two weeks. Maybe a little too much, to his dismay. He’s been busy with work, as always, trying to find an assistant, a task that has proven to be rather a nightmare. You’d think that Nueva York would have a plethora of individuals more than qualified for the job, but it turns out that that task is much harder than he thought. It’s been bad candidate after bad candidate. Despite his busy schedule, Miguel has found himself thinking about you at random times, such as in the small pockets of free time at work and late at night when he should be sleeping.

Your face pops up in his mind, staring back at him with so much defiance. He sees your eyes with your defiance in them, framed by lovely eyelashes. There’s your lips, the type a man could easily lose himself in every night. He’s even recalled your scent, as if it’s printed into his very mind like a memory. Can he be blamed, though? You have the type of scent that will mess with a man’s head.

Miguel wills those thoughts away now, much like he has every time you’ve walked into his mind as if you own the space. You’re a vision; a seed that demands to take root and make a home in his head, but Miguel refuses to give you that satisfaction, even if you’re not aware of what you’ve done.

Taking another drink, Miguel’s cheeks flush when he recalls a specific moment on the wedding night. His grip on the bottle tightens as he remembers your defiant and bratty attitude, how it led to the thought of bending you over his knee and spanking you to tame that fiery attitude. He wondered then, would you continue with your attitude, or would you give another reaction?

Stupid alcohol, Miguel thinks to himself. Maybe he did drink too much that night, and maybe he’s not doing himself a favor by thinking about such things while drinking yet again, and especially not when you’re sitting thirty feet away from him with your respective families in the perimeter.

Unable to stop himself, Miguel gazes at you again. A drink is now in your hand and you’re still talking to your sister quietly, probably catching up.

“Hermano [brother].”

Miguel tears his eyes away from you once more as soon as he hears his younger brother’s voice, not wanting to be caught staring at a person he dislikes. Apparently.

“You seem distracted,” Gabriel comments, taking a seat next to Miguel. “You alright?”

“Yeah… Yeah,” Miguel starts with a sigh, the grip on his beer bottle loosening. “Just work, that’s all.” Miguel reassures his brother, obviously not willing to say anything else. Besides, it’s partly true.

“It’s the weekend, hermano [brother]. Work should be left at work,” Gabriel responds with a grin, placing a hand on his older brother’s broad shoulder. “Try to relax and enjoy your free time — time with family and friends, yes?”

“I’m trying, really.”

“Does this have to do with the fact that you haven’t found a personal assistant yet?”

Miguel nods, using that as an excuse. “Yeah, that’s part of it. It’s been tough,” Miguel replies, leaning back. “Every single candidate that’s been interviewed hasn’t met the requirements. You’d think that in such a big city I would’ve already found someone,” he continues with a roll of his eyes, that being true. HR and himself have interviewed candidate after candidate and yet, he remains without a personal assistant. At this rate, Miguel feels like he’ll be without one for another month, or so until the right person finds the job post. Unwillingly, he lifts his gaze towards you, only allowing himself to stare at you for a second or two before giving his attention to Gabriel again.

“I swear, you and Nena are so alike,” Gabriel says with a grin [translates to baby/babe; feminine noun].

“Nena?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow with confusion.

“Y/N. That’s her family nickname. Her parents and my wife call her that, and well, now that I’m part of their family, she’s allowed me to call her that, too,” Gabriel happily replies, pleased that he’s been given this privilege, and of course, taking the opportunity to state that he has a wife now, something Miguel very much lacks.

“I see. Nena…” Miguel trails off, thinking about your nickname and the fact that his brother is allowed to call you that. He pushes the thought aside, remembering Gabriel’s words. “I doubt we have anything in common, by the way.”

With a snort, Gabriel grins before it slowly fades. “According to my wife, la Nena has been very busy lately and seems stressed out [the baby]. We think it’s about work,” he continues, referring to himself and your sister.

At that, Miguel’s mind turns back to two weeks ago, but unfortunately, he’s briefly distracted by clips of that night at the garden. He recalls perfectly the way you gazed at him with such boldness, the tone of your voice, lips — it’s like a short movie. Slightly shaking his head, Miguel focuses on the conversation.

You’re stressed out and busy. He recalls, successfully pushing past what his mind wishes to focus on so badly, that you were in a bad mood when he joined you at the garden. He initially assumed that you were upset because of your aunts’ comments and the remarks and suggestion that had been made to him about enjoying his bachelor life and having ‘fun’.

Miguel remembers your words; you didn’t care, you weren’t mad for the reasons he was assuming. With this new information, Miguel silently wonders if you were upset because of work. Staring at you, he questions if it’s just work being work, or if there’s a far more delicate situation that has been unresolved even two weeks later. He tries to remember where you work at, but then again, he’s never been interested to know that information. What for? He dislikes you anyway.

Miguel grunts quietly, turning his attention back to his brother. “Perhaps it’s just work. You know how it gets sometimes,” Miguel finally says, deciding that it’s not his business. He silently wishes you luck with whatever is going on at work, though. “How did you like the hotel? Was everything alright?” Miguel asks, changing the subject to the honeymoon accommodations as an attempt to stop talking about you. He’s thought about you plenty, he doesn’t need to be talking about you now, too.

“Oof, nena, you should’ve seen how beautiful the resort was. The ocean…” your sister continues, eagerly sharing details of her honeymoon, and while it may seem like you’re fully paying attention to her, your thoughts are elsewhere.

Specifically, on that man sitting on the other side of the room. You sigh softly, your sister still going on about her honeymoon, bless her, while you’re distracted thinking about her now brother-in-law, who’s now something to you, too, and not in the way people would assume with your respective siblings’ union.

While your sister was off in her honeymoon, you spent every day looking and applying for jobs. It felt like you were in about a hundred interviews and applied for jobs twice the amount, but to no avail. You ran into obstacles, like a job no longer being available, or actually reaching the interview phase, only to be told that you weren’t what the company was looking for. Your prospects began to feel bleak as the days went on and on. Late at night, you laid on your bed thinking of ways to make your resume more appealing and improve your interview skills, wondering if you were simply rusty, or if your former boss’s promise was true.

He made the promise to make it hard for you to get a job, for every door to close in your face and even though you didn’t want to think about it, his promise seemed to hold truth as the days went on.

On the second week of being unemployed and with your former boss’s promise hanging over your head, you finally decided to consider other jobs, just in case.

“And then — oh my goodness — Gabriel and I went to a museum, and we were able to see…” your sister goes on, oblivious to the turmoil in your mind, to the entire situation of you becoming unemployed just before her wedding.

It was your decision to consider other careers on Tuesday night, just a few days ago, that led to your new and current employment status: employed.

After making a list of jobs to consider, you went down a rabbit hole in obnoxious job boards, filled with both real and fake job posts. It was nearly three in the morning when you decided to search for the last job position you had written on your notepad, that being a personal assistant.

Hours later after falling asleep, you reworded your resume so it would be catered to each position you were applying for. Of course, you got a few rejections right off the bat, but you did your best to remain positive.

It was finally on Wednesday evening that you received an email from a recruiter working in one of the largest companies in the country offering you an interview for the next day if possible. Of course, you accepted and the next day showed up for it.

The great news? You got the job, which you’ll start on Monday, as a personal assistant for some department head.

It was after you accepted the job, however, that you got an itch. Something prompted you to do further research about the company; to learn more than what you had already from the job’s post about the company and its background. To say that you experienced one of the biggest shocks in your life when you read the CEO’s name, which wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the three paragraphs of information in the job post, and saw their picture show up within the results, is an understatement.

You didn’t know there was a catch to your new job, but there is.

The man sitting on the other side of the room with your now brother-in-law — the same man you left standing alone in the wedding venue’s parking lot two weeks ago — is the CEO of said company.

Miguel freaking O’Hara.

After reading his name only about a hundred times to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you and playing a sick, diabolical, and twisted joke on you, you laughed in disbelief and at the irony of it all.

Miguel O’Hara is the CEO of Alchemax and in over forty-eight hours, you’ll be stepping foot in his building to work as a personal assistant to one of his department heads.

How wonderful!

You almost laugh again in disbelief in front of your sister as she continues to talk about her honeymoon, but you hold yourself back.

The thought of withdrawing your acceptance letter crossed your mind once Miguel’s eyes met yours through your laptop’s screen. You’d be lying if you said otherwise, but of course, rationality kicked in and you asked yourself if you’re truly that prideful — prideful enough to decline a job when you’re in no position to do so.

The answer was and continues to be no.

Besides, as you pondered the situation later that night, you realized that the probability of Miguel finding out is low. As CEO, you doubt Miguel even leaves his floor to check on other departments. It’s likely that those directing each department within the company go to him to report, like they’re visiting some tyrannical king demanding tithe from the people in his kingdom.

Okay, maybe that was too dramatic, but you were upset at the turn of events — at your luck.

After convincing yourself that Miguel will never discover your employment at Alchemax because you’ll likely won’t run into him, you came up with a game plan: you’ll work as a personal assistant for a few months before you begin applying for other jobs within your own field.

You figure that in a few months, if your boss’s promise is truly real, the whole thing might blow over by then.

At least, you hope so.

In the meantime, you’ll work at Alchemax and keep a low profile to support yourself until everything is back to normal.

Your plan, however, doesn’t include telling your family any time soon about your work changes. There were plenty of opportunities for you to share the situation with your parents over the last two weeks, but you were unable to do so. Even now, staring at your younger sister, you find the idea difficult. Just thinking about sharing the situation with them, or anyone, really, brings you feelings of discomfort and even shame.

You know your family cares for and loves you, but those feelings still come to you and take you to a negative mindset: What if your family has a seed of doubt regarding your actions, thinking you may have given your former boss a reason for his behavior? You know that’s not possible, but still. Your body freezes at the idea of telling them, or anyone for that matter, about what you experienced. So, for now, you’ll keep that information close to your heart until you’re ready to speak about it.

“That all sounds so lovely,” you answer when your sister finishes talking and stares at you expectantly. You realize you’ve been too distracted, so you refocus on your sister and the conversation, trying to push away everything that’s happened since the wedding. “I’m glad Gabriel and you had a great time.”

“Thank you, nena,” your sister responds with a smile, her eyes watching you with careful attention. “Talk to me?” she asks suddenly. “Something is bothering you.”

“I’ve told you. I’m alright. Just… Tired,” you answer with a sigh, which is not a lie. You’re mentally exhausted from this entire ordeal. “I just need to rest,” you assure your sister to maintain the strong image, as always.

You turn towards Gabriel and Miguel, finding them looking at the two of you. Gabriel gives you a cheeky grin, gesturing with his head towards his now wife before you quickly and subtly glance at Miguel. Your gazes lock for several seconds before you look away and back at your sister. “I think your husband is trying to get your attention,” you point out, which makes your sister giggle like a school girl.

“I don’t think I’ll get used to that any time soon. My husband,” your sister says with a sigh of contentment. With Gabriel in mind, she puts her thoughts and worries about you aside. Thankfully. She pats your arm before standing up. “I’ll be back.”

With a nod, you watch her walk away and meet Gabriel halfway to have a moment straight out of a romcom. You look away to give the couple privacy, but you end up locking gazes with Miguel again, which makes you cuss internally.

Miguel feels the same way. All he was trying to do was look away from the telenovela-worthy moment between the couple, but he ended up meeting your gaze. For some damn reason.

You scowl softly, not at Miguel, but at yourself before standing up and exiting the space in need of a moment to yourself, away from the man who’s now your boss.

Meanwhile, Miguel watches you leave, struggling with the fact that his legs moved by instinct, as if they have a mind of their own and wish to follow you. For what? Miguel doesn’t know. It’s not like he’s going to talk to you about what almost happened two weeks ago. You clearly wanted nothing to do with that. So, Miguel supposes… There’s nothing to talk about. It was alcohol. Period.

Miguel should focus on family and work, and not on that moment during the wedding. Or, about you being stressed out. It’s none of his business.

Still… Miguel watches you leave and silently wonders what’s happening in your life. Is what’s causing you problems now, the same thing that was bothering you two weeks ago? Is it the same thing that was affecting your mood that night, when you told him your world didn’t revolved around him.

It’s the truth, but God, did Miguel wish it did that night.

“¿Hermano [brother]?” Gabriel says.

Mierda [shit]. “¿Que paso [what happened?/what’s up?]?” Miguel answers abruptly, feeling as if his thoughts were on displayed somewhere and he’s been caught.

“Uh… You okay?” Gabriel asks with your sister at his side, both staring at him like he’s grown three heads.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all,” Miguel grumbles, standing up. “I’m sorry. I think I need some fresh air. Excuse me.” With that, Miguel walks out. “Fuck,” he mutters once outside, rubbing his eyes. What has gotten into him?

You.

You have defiantly pushed your way into his head and taken residence without his permission. Worst of all… Miguel can’t seem to evict you.

“Focus, Miguel,” he tells himself quietly. “Get a grip, por Dios [for God].” With a heavy sigh, he looks around, still trying to calm himself when his eyes find you in your family’s garden.

Garden.

He swallows, watching you observe the greenery, and wonders why God is testing him by making the two of you run into yet another garden. Yes, he went out the same door you did, but he wasn’t expecting a damn garden out here. Or, rather, he didn’t give himself enough time to think about what would be out here. Miguel steps back, ready to head back inside to avoid any awkwardness and other unwelcome feelings.

Sighing quietly yet again, Miguel shakes his head. He tells himself that now that the wedding is over and that the newlyweds are back from their honeymoon, it’s likely you and him won’t see much of each other. He’ll probably see you in about three months for some dinner, or something of the sorts and by then, Miguel reassures himself, you’ll be out of his mind and he won’t even remember you exist until then.

As the saying goes: out of sight, out of mind.

Right?

With that thought, Miguel quietly steps back inside, unaware of the fact that you’re now working at Alchemax.

_♡_

Typing away at your desk, you glance at the digital clock. It’s nearly lunch time and soon, you’ll be heading out to collect food for your boss.

It’s now Wednesday, meaning you’ve survived at least half of your first week at this new job. You didn’t think it would be too, too hard, but it’s certainly been a bit stressful at times with your boss asking you to bring things to him from establishments and running back. You sigh. At least, Mr. Parker is nice. From what you’ve learned, he’s a happily married man and a father of one, which he showed you photos of on Monday. Tuesday. And earlier, too… When he showed you photos of his daughter’s ‘thinking’ and ‘when she’s about to burp’ faces.

As you gazed at the photos of Mayday, Mr. Parker’s daughter, making the same face, you were reminded of your sister and Gabriel. For some reason, Mr. Parker’s energy for his child seems like something that would match them, too.

The sound of a notification tears your thoughts away from Mr. Parker and his enthusiasm about being a father to a reminder you made earlier. It’s time to go pick up his lunch from a nearby establishment, one of Mr. Parker’s favorites apparently.

You quickly head out without notifying Mr. Parker. He informed you on the first day that you can head out to retrieve what’s needed without notifying him since it’ll simply be a disruption for him. As long as you go to where you need to go and head straight back to the building, you’re good in his eyes.

The walk to the establishment is short, really. It probably takes you longer to reach the building’s lobby from the floor you work on than the walk from the lobby to the restaurant. It’s only your third day, but you’ve already learned that you hate elevator rides in this building, especially during lunch time, when the elevators are stuffed with people heading out to or coming back from lunch, on top of the people who are still clocked in traveling between floors.

It’s not so much the fact that there’s so many people, but more that some people seem to not be aware of the simple concept that is deodorant. That’s when it sucks.

You soon find yourself back in an elevator with Mr. Parker’s food, ready to have your own lunch while he has his. Unlike him, though, you’ve bought your own from home.

You’re not tight on money, but the significant less pay as an assistant means you need to be more careful about your money and besides, you’ve always preferred to bring your own lunch. Less time is wasted walking or driving around to food establishments and of course, in a city this large, there’s always the risk of long waiting times or things of the sort during lunch hour.

As the elevator ascends, you patiently wait, watching other people get on and off every time it stops. It’s all fine until you hear a voice during a stop, but not just any voice.

Miguel’s voice.

Your eyes widen when you take a peek and spot Miguel walking towards the elevator with another man, talking to each other. That’s all you manage to see before you move quickly.

“Sorry — Excuse me,” you awkwardly apologize to a man who’s been on the elevator from God knows what floor before hiding behind him because of his height.

Only a second later, Miguel’s voice reaches your ears, signaling that he’s inside the elevator now.

“The meeting is in an hour,” a man says, who you assume was walking with him just seconds ago.

“I know, I know,” Miguel answers quietly before he sighs, standing in the front. Or, at least you assume so since you’re hiding behind the man. “I truly need an assistant.”

“You still haven’t found one, even after the interviews from yesterday?” the man asks, earning himself a scoff from Miguel.

“No,” Miguel answers. “Still no assistant.”

“No pierdas la esperanza [don’t lose [the] faith]. I’m sure the perfect assistant will soon find their way to you,” the man answers with amusement. “I have a feeling… By the end of the week, there will be a candidate, who’s perfect for the role.”

“Ay, que Dios te escuche [ay, may God hear you],” Miguel replies with a hint of exhaustion. “Porque no puedo continuar así [because I can’t continue like this]. I nearly missed a video conference yesterday. Thankfully, I remembered it, but I definitely need someone to help me with my schedule. Hopefully, someone will occupy the position soon.”

“I’m certain someone will, don’t stress about it,” the man responds.

It’s a bad decision, but you dare take a peek after their short exchange. For a brief second, you gaze at the back of Miguel’s head before he begins to look over his shoulder, as if he senses someone’s gaze.

Of course, you quickly hide again behind the poor man, who’s not even aware of your shenanigans, and barely avoid being caught. With that, you play it safe and stick behind the man, deciding you’ll stay there until you reach your floor, but then…

You look up at the digital screen announcing the floor numbers and remember. Miguel has to be on the top floor of this building, meaning he’ll be the last person to get off the elevator.

The problem is, you need to get off before him and in order to do that, you must walk past him first.

Cursing internally, you look around both subtly and frantically as you try to think of a way to handle this. Here you were, thinking you’d make it through your first week without running into Miguel at all, but you seem to have overlooked the possibility of ending up on the same elevator ride.

The elevator stops, reminding you that you’re halfway to your designated floor and still without a solution. You note some people get off and only two get on. On the next floor, the man in front of you steps forward, making his exit. You immediately move behind a woman, lowering your face as best as possible just in case Miguel decides to glance back again.

The elevator continues to go past floors, heading for yours faster than you’d like. You silently hope that Miguel has business in one of the next few floors and that he’ll get off the elevator, but of course, your luck is not that great because Miguel stays put.

Your nerves increase as the elevator continues to ascend. This is it. You either get off in the next three floors where you’ll meet Mr. Parker with his lunch, or stay on the elevator until it’s just Miguel and you.

Your grip on the lunch bag tightens as the sound of the elevator rings in your ears once more. You straighten your shoulders, ready to walk out when it’s your turn and let whatever needs to happen, happen.

However… Your hope rises again when a delivery man enters the elevator, carrying a large gift basket and bouquet of flowers. He politely states what floor he needs to stop on, that being the next floor and one before yours.

Moving swiftly, you slide next to the delivery man, but on the opposite side of Miguel so you avoid walking directly past him. As soon as the delivery man begins to move when the elevator doors open on his floor, you move in sync with him, using the packages he’s carrying to hide yourself.

As soon as you’re out of the elevator, you dart to the side and walk down a hallway to distance yourself from the elevator. You only stop when you hear the elevator’s doors close and finally glance back, thankfully finding no one else in the lobby.

“Dios [God],” you whisper, sighing in relief. “Too close, too close.” Shaking your head, you head for the stairs to reach your floor, no longer wanting to be in an elevator after that. You silently wonder what’s the probability of that happening again during the few months you plan on working here and realize, it’s too high for your liking.

After successfully delivering lunch to Mr. Parker and having your own lunch, you continue to work. The day continues on with you performing your duties consisting of answering the phone, making and taking coffee to Mr. Parker, replying to emails, and so on.

It's four in the afternoon when you notice Parker step out of his office, adjusting his tie. “Hey, I have a meeting in ten minutes. Can you please make fresh coffee for two?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Of course, I'll have it ready, sir,” you reply, already knowing about the meeting since you have access to the schedule. You just don’t know who it’s with since there’s no such details listed.

“Thank you! I'll be back,” he answers, heading for the restrooms.

You answer one more email before you head to the break room to make the coffee, pondering life as you wait for it to be ready. Once it's done, you pour the coffee into two mugs and gather some napkins, sugar, and cream just in case the other person needs some.

At last, you head to Parker's office, carrying the mugs on a small tray you found laying around the break room. You'll be honest, you didn't expect to be doing this kind of work at this point in your career, but well, here you are. It's not that it's bad or beneath you, but it does bring you some anger. You worked so hard to reach your previous position and all for it to be taken away from you by a disgusting human who can't be faithful to his wife nor keep his hands to himself.

With a sigh, you tell yourself to stop thinking about it, to not let that man ruin your mood. At least, this job seems safe in that you won’t see yourself jobless due to a similar situation. Mr. Parker seems like a good man overall, deeply in love and happy with his family. You also haven’t heard a single negative comment about him from the other employees in this department, unlike your previous job where you had heard negative rumors, so that gives you hope.

When you finally reach Parker's office, you knock quietly to announce yourself before stepping inside. You make yourself as invisible as possible while your boss talks to the other person, who you briefly notice is a man. Still, you maintain your gaze focused on the task at hand, keeping to yourself and not being nosy about who the other person is.

“So, any fun plans for the weekend?” Parker asks the man, whose face is hidden behind some documents.

Once you reach the table, you place the first mug in front of the visitor and proceed to do the same for Mr. Parker. After gathering the thin packets of sugar and little tubs of creamer from the tray, you place them on the desk along with the napkins just as your boss looks up at you to acknowledge you.

“That will be all for now. Thank you, Y/N,” Parker states, politely dismissing you.

“Of course, Mr. Parker,” you answer, picking up the tray to take back with you. As you do so, you lift your gaze unwillingly and feel your heart sink when you meet a pair of all too familiar brown eyes.

Miguel’s.

You stare back, noting a mixture of recognition and bafflement in his eyes before you break out of whatever trance the two of you have fallen into.

“Excuse me,” you state quietly before you hurriedly walk away from the desk, hearing the scrape of a chair behind you.

“Is something wrong, Miguel?” Mr. Parker asks as you exit the office and quickly but quietly closing the door after you.

You lean back on the door, your heart pounding. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself. You didn't make it through the first week without being discovered by Miguel after all. Sighing heavily, you stay there for a few more seconds before pushing yourself off the door and reaching your desk. You attempt to shake off the emotions running through you while checking the digital calendar to see how long this meeting has been scheduled for.

“Thirty minutes,” you mumble, knowing that the meeting can either be cut short or go over by a few minutes. Huffing, you decide to pay extra attention. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to hear their voices grow closer as Parker and Miguel approach the door when the meeting is over. If you do, you can make a quick run for the restroom or the break room and avoid Miguel completely. At least, for today.

So, you keep track of time while doing your job, determined to avoid Miguel for today. As the thirty minutes come close to an end, you decide to go ahead and head to the break room and wait there. About three minutes later, you deem it safe to return to your station, especially when you don’t hear any talking or footsteps. Feeling safe, you walk out of the break room with confidence only to run into something hard, or rather someone.

“Woah! Are you okay?” you hear Parker’s voice, but it’s not him you've ran into.

“I’m sor-” you start, suddenly feeling large and warm hands taking hold of your arms to steady you. Looking up, you continue. ”-rry, I didn’t see you-” you continue, but pause when you realize who you’ve ran into.

Of course. It just had to be him. Miguel. The one person you were trying to avoid.

Meanwhile, Miguel gazes back at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to hold you.

Coming to your senses, you gently pull away and straighten yourself.

“You alright?” Parker asks again.

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” you answer, avoiding looking at the imposing CEO who’s sending daggers your way.

“You almost missed him,” Parker eagerly says when he hears you’re alright, not knowing that that’s precisely what you were trying to do. “This is our CEO. Meet Miguel O’Hara,” he says with a smile.

“We know ea -” Miguel starts at the same time you give him the most fake smile Miguel has ever seen before you offer a handshake.

“Oh! It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara,” you quickly interject with a smile before you introduce yourself — making it seem like you don’t know Miguel at all.

With a subtle frown, Miguel accepts and shakes your hand. He may not show it, but he’s filled with disbelief and something else he can’t pinpoint right now at the fact that you’re pretending not to know him. He can’t help but ask himself if you truly dislike him this much that you’re going so far as to pretend not to know him. “Nice to meet you,” Miguel answers a few seconds later, forcing himself to say those words when in reality, he wants to make it clear that you two are no strangers. He doesn’t, however. Miguel respects your decision, even if it upsets him, for now.

“She’s my new assistant,” Parker announces as Miguel feels you trying to withdraw your hand, which Miguel reluctantly allows. “Only three days on the job and already doing wonderfully!”

“That’s great,” Miguel answers, staring at you with a now blank expression despite everything. He forces himself not to say anything else, or he’ll end up pulling you away with him to his office to get answers. Inhaling sharply, he tears his gaze away from you to face Peter, knowing that if he sticks around for too long, it’ll raise Peter’s suspicions. He already had to make some weird explanation for his reaction from earlier when Miguel realized it was you dropping the coffee off. Peter, rightfully so, questioned once more if everything was alright once you exited the office because it was impossible to miss the way Miguel abruptly stood up, so fast and suddenly his chair scraped the floor.

Miguel ended up composing himself, even though it took everything in him to not follow you, and explained to Peter that he suddenly wondered if he had forgotten about a meeting. Thankfully, his current lack of assistant made his excuse believable and Peter brushed off the incident after that. Now, Miguel clears his throat. “I must get going. I have a call to make. We’ll stay in touch.”

“You got it, boss!” Peter says, totally unaware of the tension between Miguel and you.

Standing silently with your hands clasped in front of you, Miguel turns his gaze to you again. When your eyes meet, you see it clearly. A promise. Miguel will find out what’s happening, one way or another. Today, or tomorrow.

“Good afternoon, miss,” Miguel addresses you, still giving you a blank expression.

“Afternoon, sir,” you answer, causing a muscle in Miguel’s jawline to twitch.

Sir.

You’ve never addressed Miguel as such, and for some damn reason, hearing you call him that stirs something in him, something he quickly pushes aside. He gives you a curt nod before walking away, his steps determined.

“Well, work calls. We still have about half an hour,” Peter says, turning on his heel and heading back to his office.

You follow after Parker, returning to your own desk. However, you dare steal a glance, only to find Miguel at the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. He watches you from a far, a hint of a glare now present on his beautifully sculpted face. Despite your position, you stare back with a blank expression, holding eye contact until the elevator’s doors open.

Almost reluctantly, Miguel enters the surprisingly empty elevator from where he continues to stare at you, standing right in the middle.

Aware of his glare and stance, you’re tempted to wave goodbye out of spite, but quickly remember you can’t afford to be petty or anything of the sort, so you refrain. At last, the doors close with Miguel staring at you until the very last second.

It’s until then, that your figure relaxes and you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

As the elevator ascends to Miguel’s floor, a million thoughts run through his mind.

Mierda [shit].

What the hell is happening? Why are you here?

Miguel runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Several seconds later, his head snaps up when he truly notes the elevator’s noise that announces each floor, suddenly reminded of something.

He leans back on an elevator wall, almost out of breath when he realizes. You were in the elevator when Fernando, his colleague, and him got on the elevator earlier today after they stopped at one of the other floors when they came back from lunch. He knows that because earlier, he thought himself a fool for thinking you were here in the building. Why?

Because as soon as he entered the elevator and the doors closed, Miguel caught whiff of your perfume. He recognized it, for some reason, and immediately thought of you, of that lovely scent. It nearly made his knees buckle to think you were there, but the rational side of him immediately reminded him that that was impossible — for you to be in the building.

Even after telling himself that, Miguel eventually glanced back. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find; you, standing there with a look of indifference towards him, or one of rebellion. Of course, he didn’t find you and chastised himself for being a fool for thinking you’d be there when you had no business in the Alchemax building, or so he believed.

Now, Miguel connects the dots. You were in the elevator at the same time as him, just feet from him. He recalls a tall gentleman behind Fernando and him, tall enough for someone of your height to hide behind.

“You brat,” Miguel mutters, as he realizes you were the woman that rushed out of the elevator with the delivery man. He found it odd earlier when he noticed that, but he dismissed it as an employee simply being in a rush from their lunch break. It’s clear to him now that you saw him and hid throughout the entire elevator ride until you found an escape, using the delivery man to successfully do so.

You had no plans of letting him discover you, that’s for certain, except you didn’t count on him having a meeting with Peter in his office and not Miguel’s.

Stepping out of the elevator and walking to his office, Miguel reflects on the moment he realized it was you who was dropping the coffee of. His attention was fully on the documents in front of him, but that changed as soon as he heard your name uttered by Peter’s mouth. Unwillingly, he lowered the documents to satisfy his curiosity. Miguel huffs as he enters his office. Yes, his curiosity because he needed to know if it was you, even if a part of his brain was telling him that that was impossible yet again. It had to be someone else with the same name. At least, that’s what Miguel told himself as he lowered the documents to satisfy his need to know.

And then, there you were, standing next to Peter’s desk and holding some tray.

It wasn’t in Miguel’s head and he wasn’t a fool after all.

You were actually there, as if you had left his head to manifest yourself in front of him. When you finally lifted your gaze to his and locked eyes, that only made the moment even more real.

In his office, Miguel paces back and forth out of frustration.

Does your family know? Miguel immediately realizes it’s likely that they don’t. If they did, your sister would’ve told Gabriel, and Gabriel would’ve surely mentioned it to him. Running a hand over his face, Miguel remembers Gabriel mentioned you were busy and stressed out because of work. The thing is, Miguel also recalls Peter’s words from earlier.

He mentioned you were only three days into your job and doing well, which means you were in between jobs at some point over the last week, but if Miguel thinks back to the wedding night and your behavior…

“¿Qué paso [what happened]?” Miguel asks himself, staring out from one of his windows now. “What happened that you’re now here?”

He doesn’t voice it out loud, but he also wonders, heavily, why you pretended not to know him.

That moment floods his mind, inciting that strange feeling he felt when you pretended not to know him again. It’s a bad feeling.

Hurt?

Rejection?

Both?

Miguel shakes his mind. It can’t be any of that because if it were, then that would mean that Miguel was bothered by your actions, and that would mean he cares, or something like that, which he doesn’t.

He doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t care about you. It’s whatever.

And yet…

“Focus,” Miguel mumbles, forcing himself to return to his desk to work, however, he can’t do so successfully. He needs to know what’s going on and he plans on finding out sooner than later. With that in mind, he finally finds a shred of concentration to complete his tasks.

At five o’clock, Miguel shuts everything down and heads down to the first floor. He patiently waits in the lobby, his gaze glued to the elevators to avoid missing you. As he waits, he can’t help but wonder about your previous job. Did something happen? He doesn’t know much, but he does know that your previous job wasn’t that of an assistant and while the job is an honest one, it’s still a drastic change of career, at least in his eyes. The fact that your family doesn’t seem to know either, raises alarms in his head.

Miguel’s thoughts come to a halt when he finally spots you exit an elevator, carrying your purse. He wastes no time and approaches, intercepting your path, which earns himself a glare from you.

“You,” you state simply, forgetting in the moment that Miguel is essentially your boss.

“Me,” Miguel grumbles. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Nothing is happening. Goodbye now,” you reply, trying to walk past Miguel, but he has other plans because he takes hold of your arm, firmly yet gently to avoid hurting you. “Hey — let go.”

“Not until you answer my questions,” Miguel continues, holding you. “What are you doing here working at Alchemax, as Peter’s assistant?”

“That’s not your concern,” you answer curtly. “Now, please let go… Sir.”

Sir.

There it is again. That stirring in Miguel. He pushes it away, however, and forces himself to focus on the important fact, which is that you’re working here. He also finds himself unsettled by your tone of respect. It’s not like you’ve ever been blatantly disrespectful towards him, but there’s certainly a shift in your attitude. In seconds, Miguel realizes that you’re aware of your position. You’re holding back with your defiance, keeping yourself respectful because of your positions — his position being one of power and yours of little to none. Miguel swallows at that, his grip loosening. “What happened?” Miguel asks again, less harshly. “Why are you working here?”

“That’s none of your concern,” you answer, giving the same response.

“Please, don’t give me that shit,” Miguel replies, truly trying to get answers.

Staring at him, you sense a far more gentle tone from Miguel, but still, you’re not about to tell him anything. You haven’t even told your family about it. “You’re my employer,” you respond, more collected. “You have no right to ask me those questions. That’s personal.”

Miguel sighs in disappointed when you hit him with that, knowing he can’t push too much. “Personal…”

“Yes, personal. And also, you have no right to mention this to my family,“ you remind him, looking straight at him.

“I see,” Miguel responds, humming. Your statement simply confirms his suspicions; your family doesn’t know.

“Have a great evening… Sir,” you mumble, pulling your arm free from his grip. This time, Miguel releases you.

For the second time, Miguel watches you leave him behind.

_♡_

The next day, you manage your way through the workload. Despite what happened yesterday, you do your best to focus on the duties since you don’t want to lose your job for being distracted. It all goes smoothly until after lunch when Mr. Parker calls you into his office. You walk in, expecting Parker to ask for a coffee or even a tea, however, he shocks you with his words.

“I was just notified that Mr. O’Hara would like to see you,” he says, tapping a finger on his desk.

“I — Yes, sir,” you answer, faltering for a second. With a heavy heart, you return to your desk with a single thought echoing in your head; you’ve been fired.

With that thought in mind, you pick up your purse and grab your few belongings. Certain you’ve been fired, you ride the elevator to Miguel’s floor.

The elevator ride is weird. On one side, it feels like the longest elevator ride and yet, it also feels short because you step out onto the lobby all too soon. With a sigh, you look around to locate Miguel’s office, but you don’t spot it right away since there’s various doors. And to be honest, you’re a bit distracted by the current situation. You’re going to be fired.

A few seconds later, a man comes out of from an office and approaches you with a smile. “Hey, you must be Miss Y/L/N. Mr. O’Hara is waiting for you,” he informs you. “Follow me.”

Following the man, you’re led down a long hallway that screams ‘CEO floor’ before a desk comes into view. It’s placed to the side, just outside a pair of mahogany doors. You note it’s empty, no sign of someone working there, but you quickly clear your thoughts of that. You have far more important things to worry about, like the fact that you’ve been fired and that Miguel has requested you to see you sign some kind of termination paper and rub it on your face.

The man finally opens one of the doors and steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, the door closes and you find yourself in one of the most luxurious offices you’ve ever been in. Natural light seeps into the office from ceiling to floor windows. A comfortable-looking couch sits on one side of the room with a coffee table in front of it. Plants, whether artificial or real, decorate and bring life to the space. Bookcases filled with books and some photographs line one wall. In the middle, there’s a large mahogany desk, long enough for an individual to comfortably lay on. A set of chairs are in front of it, for visitors.

Most importantly, the most powerful man in the building sits behind the desk on his throne.

Watching you, Miguel lowers his hand from his face, looking every bit the part of a powerful CEO. “Take a seat.”

Previous Part ♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡ Next Part

A/N: Hiii... so it's been *checks last chapter and grimaces* five months since the last update. 😬 I was supposed to update this sooner, but ✨life✨ happens and I also have another Miguel fic that takes much of my writing time bc I be writing 12k--20k-ish word chapters for it (🙂‍↕️iykyk), so I kinda left this fic in the back burner. I also, long story short, took a break from social media for the entirety of January because I felt mentally low.

So... We're here now and I'm glad to have updated this fic, even after months! I'm trying to arrange a writing schedule, so I can rotate between fics successfully and that way I don't leave this fic without updates for so long, so we'll see how that goes!

Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it!

So... what did you guys think about Miguel? 🤭What about la Nena working at Alchemax now? lmk! Ok, another thing... Can you guys drop a nickname idea for Nena's sister? It's chapter 3 and I'm still using 'your sister' 'his wife' sjdkfjkdfjd I was going to call her Lily, but then, there's the issue of a reader potentially coming along and their name being exactly that, so it would ruin the experience for said reader(s). It doesn't have to be in Spanish, so drop any recs below, pls.

p.s. my pooks, @lauraolar14 , has drawn fanart from p1 and some sketches inspired by this current chapter from a two paragraph snippet I share a few days ago (she's always feeding us so well fr). Go check them out and show support to my lovely friend!

Thank you again for reading and for supporting my writing!

Alondra❤️

Quick note about reader's nickname: As stated in the in-text translations, 'nena' translates to 'baby' or 'babe' and can be used as an affectionate nickname without any romance involved (this is literally what my family has been calling me since I was born; my real name is used when I'm in trouble). It's like Baby from Dirty Dancing (the movie; and one of my favs; Patrick Swayze 😩) where she's called that by her family. In Spanish, I'll be using 'la Nena' sometimes because the language calls for me to use 'la' (the), which I know doesn't really make sense in English because in English you wouldn't say, "the Baby is in the office", unlike how in Spanish you'd say, "La Nena esta en la oficina". It would be, "Baby is in the office", but languages! So, I hope no one (non-Spanish speakers) is confused by that.

taglist: @scaleniusrm @sukunash0e @seeeuspaceecowboyyy

@smyfmj @prozacgooble @t4naiis @deputy-videogamer

@nina-from-317

[htaesan]

　ᅠ 📩　ᅠ EMAILS BETTER LEFT UNSENT part 2　　────　ᅠ ( park sunghoon )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your crush on your best friend of almost ten years is getting out of hand, and you feel like it’s time to give up𑁋especially after seeing how well your desk mate treats you.

　　　ᅠ 박성훈 & 심재윤 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 32k ⠀ genre fluff a bit of angst childhood best friends to lovers non idol au high school au ⠀ contains mentions of food sickness crying skinship pet names ocs and random characters ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ HELLO your fav fic is back and better!!! (i hope.) saurrrrr i know the word count is crazy and tumblr does not let me put that much words in one post.. so this is the second part ! >< (i am so sorry) enjoy reading my debut enhypen fic on my new blog ^_^

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

To: parksung.h0on812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com Park Sunghoon, Thank you for taking care of me at the hospital. Part of me was weirded out as to why you’re so adamant in making sure you were there to witness me eat all my meals until I was discharged. Even Heeseung oppa was weirded out. He asked me if you had… feelings for me.  I said no. I strongly believe in it, that you harbour no such feelings towards me.  A very small part of me thinks you like me—exactly like the way I like you. That very tiny part of me is giving me hope that feels illegal to have… hope that maybe I’ll be able to call you mine, and that I’ll be able to spend the rest of my life loving you loudly.  Though, I’ll use my rational mind here. There’s no way you like me the way I like you.  It’s impossible.  It’s impossible.  Maybe it’s not, but… It’s impossible.  Sent 23:45 PM, 11th November.

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com Dear Sunghoon,  Thank you for always sending me plenty of food every day, at each meal time. You’re very clever, aren’t you? You’re making me feel bad if I don’t eat the food, so that way I’ll finish everything.  You know me best, Sunghoon, and I sometimes hate you for that. Do you know how dangerous this fact is for my heart? She keeps on falling for you. Again, again, and again.  I’ll come over to your house after I finish this practice exam paper. Wait for me :)  Sent 9:08 AM, 12th November. 

You’re standing in front of the hotteok booth, bundled up in a warm puffer jacket. You had decided to buy some warm street food before going to Sunghoon’s house.

You shove your hands into your pockets, trying to keep warm. You impatiently tap your feet against the concrete floor, wishing that the old lady at the stall is cooking your hotteok a little faster.  

“Aunty, I’ll pay for her hotteok,” you hear a familiar voice say.

“Jake?” you say upon seeing him beside you. He gives you a toothy smile. 

“Hi, good morning.” 

“Good morning,” you reply grumpily, “are you the richest person in the world, or what? You don’t need to pay for my food every single time you see me.”

Jake laughs, and you see wisps of his breath vaporising from his lips. “I’ve never seen someone get mad at me for paying for their food.”

“Have you done this kind of treatment to anyone else?” you ask sharply.

Though, your tone does not intimidate Jake at all. He simply chuckles, and raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No,” you snort, elbowing him. “Why would I be?”

“Here you go,” the hotteok lady says, handing you a paper bag filled with the goodies you asked her for. The scent attacks your nose, and you smile happily at the thought of devouring them as soon as possible. 

“It’s KRW 4500,” the lady reminds, and as swift as the autumn wind, Jake hands her the money. “Thank you,” she says. 

“Aish, seriously,” you grumble. “I can pay for myself, you know.”

Before Jake could say anything in reply, the hotteok lady interrupts with a cheeky smile. “Jaeyun-ah, is she your girlfriend? She’s so pretty.”

Your jaw falls open as your eyes dart rapidly between Jake and the lady. “N-no, I’m not–”

Jake grabs your hand and gives the lady a very generous smile. “Thank you, aunty, I do think she’s very beautiful too.”

You feel heat smothering the entirety of your face and you give the lady a sheepish laugh. Jake then bids farewell to the lady and leads you towards the bus station. 

“You’re crazy, aren’t you?” you hiss, pulling your hand away from his grip. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

Jake raises an amused eyebrow. “Oh? I thought you said yes the other day.”

“To what?”

“You agreed to dating me for a month, as a preview?”

“When…” you take a deep breath, containing your rage. Even though Jake was a very nice and polite person that you enjoy being around a lot, there’s this cocky side of him that often gets on your nerves. “...when did I agree to that?”

Jake looks confused—causing him to break out of his arrogant and confident manner, and it took him a minute to answer. “Oh. I-I took your silence as a yes.”

You laugh defeatedly. “Jake, I don’t think that’s how it works with me.”

Jake nods slowly, removing his gaze from you. While he’s recollecting his thoughts, and possibly coming up with a new tactic to convince you to date him; you’re thinking about it yourself, too. 

Jake’s nice—he’s good looking, athletic, and he’s smart too. From the beginning of your friendship with him in sophomore year, Jake has never been anything but kind and caring to you. You lost count the amount of times he’s bought you food and drinks, helped you in subjects you particularly aren’t too good in—and he doesn’t make you feel less smart at all. 

Honestly, you would classify Jake as one of the guys that girls are dying to get together with. He’s fun to be around—even if he can be overwhelming sometimes—he’s outgoing and adaptable, and he loves hard. 

You’ve seen the loving side of him, exposed to you for almost the entirety of your high school years. It’s just that you chose to ignore it, unable to see Jake as something more than a good friend of yours. 

You lay eyes on him, feeling bad—Jake deserves someone who reciprocates the immense amount of love he gives, not someone who purposefully chooses to friendzone him every single time, even though there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. 

A voice inside your head tells you to try. That voice tells you to choose yourself, instead of pining after Sunghoon who most likely isn’t going to love you the same way you love him. It tells you that, perhaps, by giving Jake a chance, you’d give yourself one too. A chance to finally love and prioritise yourself.

“Fine,” you say, your voice shaky at first. “Let’s do it.”

YOU’RE riding the bus with Jake sitting by your side—and from the corner of your eyes, you can see how greatly his mood improved. He’s swinging his head slightly at the hum of a song he’s murmuring. 

“I’ll see you later,” Jake says when the bus approaches your stop. He gives you the brightest smile you’ve seen on him yet. “Take care, text me when you get there.”

You chortle, “relax, I’m only going to Sunghoon’s house. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Sunghoon?” Jake’s smile slips, and for a split second, you almost catch his eyes darken.

You nod cautiously. “Yeah, I’m going to study there,” you say, adjusting the tote bag on your shoulder. “Most likely I’m just going there to hangout, probably.”

“Why don’t you hang out at my place?” Jake suggests.

You grin. “You’re too clingy for someone who isn’t my boyfriend yet.”

“But–” 

“Shh,” you place a finger on Jake’s lips, sending tingles through. “See you later.”

Jake watches with round eyes as you hop off the bus, waving cheerfully at him. It takes him a minute to process what happened, and it had been a little too late for him to wave back at you. 

To: parksung.h0on812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com Dear Sunghoon,   Thanks for letting me hang out at your house today. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten your mom’s cooking, I miss it.  Hoon, I hope you’ve been doing well. I hope you’ve been eating well, not missing your meals like I do, and that you’re always taking good care of yourself like how you’ve been taking care of me.  Honestly, I envy you.  How do you not develop feelings for someone who you’ve spent years with—who you’ve shared a bed and a blanket with multiple times, who you’ve eaten from the same utensils together a lot of times, whom you have hugged and cried with countless times. How do you not love someone, more than the boundaries of a mere friendship, who’s been there for you through ups and downs; who’s seen you at your best and your worst; who’s always making sure you’re taking care of yourself? How do you not fall in love with someone as kind as you? Sent 23:10 PM, 12th November. 

To: parksung.h0on812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com Sunghoon! We did it! National entrance exams are finally over! I can finally sleep in for a whole day…  I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of us. We’ve been through so many things together, now—kindergarten, elementary, middle school and now we’re more than halfway through high school!  I can’t believe I’ve gone through so much with you by my side. I still remember you cheering me through my first violin recital back in second grade; and since then, you’ve never really missed any of my recitals. I still remember you teaching me how to skate, back in fourth grade, holding my hand tightly through every glide I took. I still remember you pulling me into one of the tightest hugs I’ve ever received from you, back in sixth grade, when you won the gold medal for the figure skating competition—I had never felt so joyful for someone other than you.  I hope with the last bit of the school year left for us to spend together, we’ll make a lot of memories.  Sent 23:46 PM, 14th November.  

Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. 

Your eyes immediately flutter open, alarmed by the noise at your window. Groggily, you force yourself to stand up and rush to the source of the sound—your blurry vision barely making up the figure of Sunghoon outside. 

“Let me in,” he says, voice muffled. “It’s cold.”

“No,” you mumble sleepily. “Who are you…?”

“Princess, it’s me,” he exclaims a little bit louder so you can hear him properly. Nodding idly, you obey and open the window for him to jump in. Sunghoon, noticing your extremely sleepy condition, wraps an arm around your shoulder. He closes the window securely with his free hand before guiding you to your bed. 

“Are you that sleepy?” he asks you as he guides you to sit down in front of him. “It’s only 2 AM.”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I’m so sleepy…” 

Sunghoon softly pushes away a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. You’re not meeting his gaze, your eyes droopy as they fight for their life to stay open. “Do you want to sleep right now?”

You nod, and Sunghoon can’t help but chuckle—you look so unbearably cute. Then, after a minute of debating whether he should leave to let you sleep or not, Sunghoon decides to do something he’s been doing ever since the two of you were nine years old. 

Sunghoon pats his thigh, signalling for you to land your head on it. Sleepy and unaware of your surroundings, you obey and lay on his lap, shifting to make yourself comfortable. Within seconds, you’re already sailing back to dreamland. 

Actually, Sunghoon came to talk about his problems to you. It’s always been like that—you are each other’s safe place. He could tell you about anything and you’d listen, so intently that the problem is already instantly solved. 

In the dead of the night, Sunghoon smiles to himself as he admires a sleeping you. You look so comfortable, at home, in his presence. You look so ethereal, and the moon seems to agree. Its dainty glow highlights the best of your features, glistening upon contact with your beauty. You’re sleeping, breathing gently and possibly dreaming about food and fun memories—but Sunghoon’s cheeks are reddening. His breaths are shaky, and with each exhale, he’s admitting something that he’s been denying for almost a decade. 

Sunghoon likes you. 

More than what friends should. 

Sunghoon loves you—more than what he’d like to admit; more than what childhood friends of almost 10 years are supposed to. 

“I like you, Y/N,” he whispers, and with each word that escapes from his lips, his shoulders release its tension. “I’ve liked you for a long time now. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I like you.”

Sunghoons laughs, shaking his head. “Maybe I’m insane. Maybe I am, ‘cause the way my heart beats for you doesn’t suit what we are. The way I pretend that we’re just friends when every single night, I’ll dream about you–” he bit his lip, in hopes to control his feelings from overflowing, “–that is insane.”

“I didn’t want to fall in love,” Sunghoon whispers, slowly lifting his hand. He begins to trace your facial features, so gentle like he’s going to shatter you into pieces if he’s too harsh. “But you—how can someone look at you and not fall in love, Y/N?”

His finger comes into a halt at your lips. Sunghoon stares intently, his heart urging him painfully to just kiss you. He leans and kisses your nose instead, so tenderly it seemed like barely a touch. 

Sunghoon smiles to himself, content. “One day, I’ll find the courage to tell you everything. I’ll tell you myself, how much I love you, how much I want you to be by my side for the rest of my life.”

THE next morning, you can’t help but laugh at the way Sunghoon’s gawking at you as you rush here and there to get ready. At first, you found it a bit weird how he slept on your floor the entire night, but given that he has been doing that for the past few years, you don’t really mind.

“What?” 

“What do you mean what?” Sunghoon grumbles. “Where are you going?”

You scrunch your nose, giggling. “Guess!” you exclaim, turning away to finish doing your hair. 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “How would I know? I mean, we are not going anywhere, so why are you dolling up?”

“Well,” you chuckle, “I’m going to the aquarium with Jaeyun. he asked—”

“JAKE?” Sunghoon yelps, almost falling off the edge of your bed. 

You pause at the sudden reaction, one that you did not expect from Sunghoon. “What? We’re just friends.”

“Yet it’s a date,” Sunghoon flatly addresses. 

“No it’s not!” you shriek, despite the fact that Sunghoon was in fact, correct. “I mean, yes, it is,” you roll your eyes at Sunghoon’s ‘I knew it’ expression. “But I haven’t said anything to him. Like, we’re not in a relationship or anything.”

You show Sunghoon your messages with Jake, hoping to ease the frown on his face. 

hi y/n

if you’re free today

let’s go to the aquarium? let’s go by train

“See?” you say, “it’s nothing.”

Sunghoon turns off your smartphone, placing it to the side. His eyes pierce straight through you. “You look ugly.”

You gasp, your eyes widening as your smile drops drastically. What could hurt more—getting told by your crush that you look ugly, or being rejected by him? 

“Okay, well, I take it back,” Sunghoon hesitates, “you l-look pretty. But, what I’m tryna say is that you don’t have to put on so much makeup.”

You stare at him, heart pounding so loudly as you await his next words. 

Sunghoon continues, eyes looking away from you, “you don’t have to doll up. He’ll like you just the way you are.”

He gives you an awkward smile—leaning forward to pat your head. “I’ll wait outside. I wanna greet Mrs. Lee and say thanks for letting me sleep here.”

You watch as Sunghoon hops off your bed and walks out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Your eyes linger around at the door, as if you’re waiting for him to come back in and watch you get ready. You sigh, turn back to the mirror, and continue finishing your makeup—doubting if you really are overdoing things with every stroke of the makeup brush. 

MOMENTS later, you’re sitting in the taxi next to Sunghoon, who insisted so much that he accompanied you to the train station to meet Jake. His excuse? It’s so that you won’t get lost due to the heavy crowd at the station, and so that you won’t be too nervous to go on your first date with Jake. Sunghoon even went as far as to call your brother about it—and Heeseung agrees, so you have no choice but to obey.

“Do you like Jake?” Sunghoon asks, five minutes into the ride. 

His question is direct and forward, and it feels like a bomb dropped straight to your face. It challenges you to truly label your feelings, distinguishing it clearly. 

You return his gaze, biting your lower lip as you think of an answer. The answer is blurry between the lines of yes and no. “No? I mean, he’s a nice person.”

“So you like… like him?”

You aggressively shake your head. “No! I like him as a friend.”

“Then, you’re going on dates with him?” Sunghoon questions. 

Your mouth sets on a hard line. “Okay, listen. Jake likes me—not the other way around—and he offered to date me for one month.”

“And you agreed?” Sunghoon jabs, his arms crossing across his chest. 

Your gaze sharpens. “Gosh, Hoon, stop being so difficult! As I said, Jake’s just a friend. You don’t have to worry about anything. I agreed to dating him for a month as a ‘preview’ because he’s nice, and he likes me. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Sunghoon sighs, his jaw clenching. “You think love is a joke?”

Your mouth falls open, and for a few seconds, you struggle to form words. “N-no, I don’t. Love… it’s something serious to me, Hoon, and I know you know that. I’m just giving Jake a chance to prove himself to me.”

“Then if you don’t like him, you’ll reject him?” Sunghoon asks sharply, an eyebrow perched upwards in mockery. 

“Well… yeah,” you admit silently. 

You don’t know what you expect as Sunghoon’s next response, but you’re surprised to find simply nodding and turning away, scrolling through social media on his smartphone. The rest of the taxi ride remains silent, and Sunghoon only opens his mouth when you’ve arrived at the train station. 

“Go on, have fun,” Sunghoon says, urging you to go out before you can offer to pay the fare. “I’ll pay—plus, I have somewhere I need to go to.”

“Are you sure?” you ask as you step out of the vehicle. Sunghoon gives you a strained smile before nodding reassuringly.  

“Yes,” he replies. “Go on, princess, have fun at the aquarium. Don’t annoy Jake too much.”

“Okay,” you say, and you stand there, frozen as you watch the cab drive away. It’s painful, for some reason, to watch him let you go and do nothing about it. 

Though, the universe doesn’t seem to let you dwell onto that guilt for too long. The taxi Sunghoon is in barely goes out of your sight before someone taps your shoulder. You turn around and see Jake—he’s dressed casually in a white tee, a navy blue plaid shirt as a cardigan, and brown jeans. His hair is combed nicely, in a way that some of it falls perfectly on his forehead. 

“Hi,” you say, “you look nice.”

Jake smiles shyly, coughing it away. “Yeah. I-I mean, thanks. You look beautiful.”

You snort, scanning your own outfit—a white babydoll top with plain blue jeans. “Beautiful? I wouldn’t say that.”

Jake pouts. “You give yourself too little credit.”

“Whatever,” you shake your head. 

“So, um, let’s go?” Jake offers you his arm. “I know you might not want to… hold my hand, but if you hold my arm, you won’t get lost in the crowd.”

You give him a slight smile, accepting his offer by grabbing his arm. “Alright, let’s go.”

For the entire train ride to the aquarium, which took about 20 minutes, Jake had been nothing but kind and caring towards you, just how you expected him to be. He made sure to find a seat that was comfortable for you—he even offered his seat to an old lady. Though, he made sure to stand directly in front of you, acting as a shield or a protector. Jake kept a respectful distance from you, but at the same time, he made sure that no creeps or anything of that sort could make you uncomfortable. Of course, you got some comments from people around you that Jake is extremely lucky to have a girlfriend as pretty as you, and vice versa. You tried to deny them at first, clarifying that you and Jake are just friends, but you gave up halfway due to Jake’s speed—you wonder how he managed to reply to them faster than you do. 

When the train arrives at your designated stop, Jake offers you a hand—and you take it, letting him guide you through the ocean of people. At the ticket counter, you didn’t even have a chance to offer to pay—Jake did it all. 

It’s really awkward at first, having everyone look at you with heart eyes, whispering “aww, they’re so cute”, “oh my, they look so good together”, “look at him, so sweet, paying for his girlfriend” as you and Jake pass by. Though, all the awkwardness quickly dissolves away as soon as you set eyes on the aquariums on display. 

The first display hall of the aquarium is decorated with colourful and mystical lights, making the aquatic creatures living inside so much prettier. You pull out your smartphone and take numerous pictures; Jake walking close behind you, observing you intently. He smiles gently as he watches you in awe of the corals and jellyfish, sneaking a few pictures of you. 

Once the two of you reach the highlight of the aquarium, which is the aquarium tunnel, you can’t help but gasp in complete astonishment. Jake watches with amusement, laughing along with you as you spin around, taking in the view around you.

“Jaeyun!” you squeal, the edges of your eyes crinkling as you smile widely. “Look! It’s so pretty!”

To you, the view around you is breathtaking—with every turn, you see sharks swimming around, followed by unknown schools of fishes and aquatic life. But, to Jake, the breathtaking view is you. Features illuminated by hues of blue and purple light, Jake can’t help but smile merrily at the sight of you, happily admiring the scenery in the aquarium. 

“Yeah,” Jake replies, breathless. “It’s pretty,” he says, but he’s looking at you. 

To: parksung.h0on812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com Hi Sunghoon, Today’s date with Jaeyun was really fun! I haven’t been to the aquarium in Busan for quite some time, so it’s nice to be there! He paid for everything, of course, so I had to enjoy it ten times more! Hehe. He also paid for lunch… I kinda feel bad. I tried to refuse and pay for myself, but Jaeyun wouldn’t let me. :(  Hmm. I hope you aren’t upset with me spending time with Jaeyun. Okay, honestly, I don’t know why I’m saying this in the first place, but… I don’t know if I should continue loving you. Sure, I still do love you, but maybe, for the sake of my heart, I’ll keep my love strictly within the limits of friendship.  I don’t know. I still like you. I want to be with you, grow old and create countless memories with you. But I have to take care of my heart, too, don’t I?  It’s been five years, Sunghoon, and I don’t know if my love will ever be reciprocated. I don’t know if you’ll ever love me back the same way. Besides, with school ending in five months, it’s certain that we’ll diverge in our paths—not meeting each other again for years to come. I don’t want to be in pain, Sunghoon, but at the same time, I’m willing to go through even the harshest storms and pits of hell for you.  Sent 19:15 PM, 15th November.

Closing your laptop shut, you hit yoursel lightly. How could you forget? It’s Jake’s birthday! You only realised after seeing Naeun’s text, reminding you if you’d come over to her house to help Fdaniset up for Jennie and Jake’s surprise birthday party . The two of you had gone out together for the day, and you didn’t even wish him a happy birthday. Trying not to trip, you grab your purse, smartphone and a puffer coat, and run out of the house. You rush to a nearby cafe—thankfully there has been a bakery in your neighbourhood—to buy two small lunch box cakes. You whip out your smartphone, dialling Jake’s number. The sun is setting, and you desperately hope he answers, despite only parting ways with you less than 30 minutes ago. 

“Y/N?” his voice came through.

You let out a shaky laugh of relief. “Oh, thank you for answering the phone. Are you free?”

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I-I mean, I’m free. Just chilling at home right now. Why?”

“I… want to drop something off,” you say, carefully choosing your words. You certainly don’t want the cake in your hands to not be a surprise. “I-I mean! I want to give you… something.”

You hear Jake chuckle. “Okay, I’ll meet you—send me your location?”

“Can we just meet at your house?” you inquire, not wanting to give Jake an inconvenience. 

“I don’t prefer having the lady go out of her way to meet me,” Jake replies after some silence, “I prefer going out of my way to meet her.”

Your nose crinkles as you try to hold in your shyness. “O-oh, okay… I’ll send you my location.”

You quickly end the call, and send him the location of the cafe you’re standing in front of. A few minutes later, you see Jake running up to you—his hair messily tousled by the wind, his chest heaving up and down drastically. 

“Did you run here?” you ask.

Jake nods. “Yeah. I wanted to meet you.”

You laugh, soft like the wind. “We literally just met this afternoon, Jaeyun.”

“Anyway,” you say, stretching out your arms to show the lunchbox cake, the one that you had asked the shop employee to say ‘Happy Birthday, Jaeyun!’ on it, to Jake. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier today, I didn’t realise it was your birthday too… I mean, you acted like it was a normal day!”

“My birthday too?” Jake asks, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Did you forget that Jennie’s my twin sister?”

You pout, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry…”

After grabbing the cake from your hands, Jake leans forward and pats your head. “Thank you, Y/N. Means a lot.” 

Then, feeling the buzz of your smartphone in your pocket, you’re reminded of the birthday surprise you need to help Naeun with. You quickly say goodbye, and wish Jake a happy birthday again before running off to catch a taxi. 

Jake watches you go, his eyes lingering a second longer, even after the taxi you’re in leaves his line of sight. He turns his attention to the lunchbox cake in his hands, a smile curving up his lips as he examines its design—a cute puppy, on a plain white cake, saying ‘Happy Birthday, Jaeyun!’. 

Jake turns on his heel and merrily walks home. Deep in his heart, he knows that the girl he likes has her heart set on someone else, yet this little gesture feels like he’s won her over. It’s short and doesn’t last as long as he’d like it to be, but the butterflies it gives him is enough to last him awhile. 

AS you’re desperately wishing for the traffic to die down quickly, due to you needing to be at Naeun’s house as quickly as possible, your thoughts lead your mind elsewhere. You’re back to thinking about your interaction with Jake—how his surprised yet grateful smile seemed to hide a thousand more emotions behind its perfection… it lingers in your mind. His gestures are sweet and really, really thoughtful—he’s willing to go out of his way for you, always managing to crack a smile from you. 

Deep down, you know Jake cares about you. He’s everything you had looked for in a partner—he’s willing to learn more about you, he’s patient and kind, he’s good looking and he’s smart—if only your heart wasn’t tightly bound to someone else. 

Halfway to Naeun’s place, your smartphone buzzes with a text message. This time, it’s from Naeun. You quickly open it, expecting a “hurry up, Y/N!” or some kind of instruction for the surprise—instead, you find a picture of Jake with the lunchbox cake you gave him. He’s smiling, posing in front of his house, holding it up to the camera with that goofy, happy grin that makes your heart do a little flip. 

y/n, did you give this cake to him? 

it’s on his instagram story

You reply, 

yes. but it’s not the one we’re surprising them with

it’s with me rn

You watch Naeun’s reply pop out on the screen. 

oh good

scared me

also, what’s up with the caption? 

“I think I’m in love with her, Y/N. This cake... it’s everything to me. She’s everything.” 

The message halts you in motion. Your fingers hover over the screen, unsure of what to reply. For a moment, you’re sitting there, staring at the screen while the traffic buzzes around the taxi you’re in. 

The message is like a hard slap to the face, but instead of making you cry, it makes you second guess everything.

Is Jake really falling for you? Are his actions purely out of love, and not just some casual ‘I like you’ kind of thing? Is he really waiting for something, some kind of answer, from you? 

You press your lips into a thin line, thinking hard. 

Jake has been nothing but patient, kind and loving towards you. He’s everything that every girl, including you, would ask for. Though, that fact comes with a feeling that you can’t shake off—every time you think of Jake’s smile, his kindness and his warmth; it all drifts back to Sunghoon. How the world seems to revolve around him, his smile that makes you think of bread whenever you see it, the warmth of his hugs, and the comfort of his presence. 

Your heart always seems to find its way back to Sunghoon. 

You swallow thickly, trying to push the guilt down. It’s not fair to Jake. It’s not fair to anyone, especially you, because you’re the one stuck in the middle of two worlds.

Do you pick Jake, or do you stay with Sunghoon?

THE surprise birthday party is a blur. Everyone’s laughing, chatting, eating their hearts away, and there’s a sense of celebration in the air—but you can’t quite ignore the clenching feeling in your stomach. You’ve got two different people to think about now, and you don’t know how to navigate the space between them.

And all the while, Jake’s smile from earlier keeps dancing in your mind. The way he’d looked at you as you handed him the cake, the way he’d thanked you so earnestly. Why did a small, lunch box cake seem to mean so much to him? How do you even respond to that? How do you face him, knowing he’s waiting for something that you might not be able to give?

You glance across the room, catching Jake’s eye as he talks with Jennie. You quickly look away, feeling a small, warm burn in your cheeks. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking, and more importantly, if he knows that your heart is, somehow, still tethered to someone else.

You pull your eyes away, unaware that Jake had quickly excused himself to approach you.

You sit in silence at the dining table, the birthday party bustling around you. It’s a small party, yet you can feel the high excitement and energy in the atmosphere. You sit alone at your seat, sipping on your drink. Sunghoon had left for a while to get some refreshments for everyone, so you’re left sitting by yourself. 

“Y/N,” Jake says, pulling you out of your haze. “May I sit?”

You give him a quick smile as you nod. “Of course.”

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” Jake asks, grabbing a slice of pizza. “You’re quiet.”

You glance at the ceiling, feeling awkward as you don’t know what to say. You laugh sheepishly. “No, of course not! I am enjoying myself! Just… you know… soaking in everything.”

Jake laughs, throwing his head back. “I can tell with one eye closed that you want to go home right now.”

“Yeah, I should probably study,” you reply with a laugh. 

Your conversation with Jake dims down, and the ambiance of the party resurfaces. You’re sitting in front of Jake, stiffly avoiding his gaze as he’s observing you. It’s like he has a million things to say, but can’t seem to find the right words. 

“Y/N,” Jake suddenly says, his voice unsteady. “Thanks for making this surprise party for me and Jennie.”

You smile at him, breaking eye contact as soon as he finishes speaking. Suddenly, Layla chasing around her tail in the corner becomes such an interesting thing to watch. 

“Of course.”

You connect your gaze with Jake, and you instantly are reminded of the conversation you had earlier at the aquarium. 

THE tension between you and Jake is physical as you take in the beauty of the aquarium, elatedly ignorant of Jake’s silent adoration of you. Sure, the aquarium is beautiful—the lights dancing off the walls of the tunnel, creating wavy shadows of mesmerising colours, illuminating the ocean creatures in a magical way—but, for Jake, you are the most captivating sight. 

Jake watches you, his focus unwavering from you, with pure content as you spin with excitement, pointing out every creature you lay your eyes upon. There’s an assured warmth in his eyes, the way he lays his eyes on you with a quiet affection that’s very much impossible to ignore; and for a moment, you wonder if maybe you’ve misjudged his feelings. Maybe there’s something deeper there that you haven’t fully acknowledged yet. Maybe he does really really like you—not the casual high school fling you thought he felt. 

“Y/N,” you turn around and your pupils immediately dilate at the sight of Jake, who’s taking a step closer to you. 

Jake gives you a genuine smile. One that made you see that, indeed, there are raw and vulnerable emotions behind Decelis Academy’s basketball ace’s handsome face. His voice is wobbly. “Thank you, really, for doing this with me. I’m really glad because I’m… I’m having a lot of fun, actually. More than I thought I would.”

You glance at him as you stiffly nod, your lips forming a half-smile. 

“Of course,” you reply, feeling a pang in your chest as you remember Sunghoon’s words earlier in the taxi. Was he right? Could it be that Jake is looking for something more from you, and you’re just breaking his heart by doing this—the one-month dating agreement, where you yourself are uncertain if you’d reciprocate his feelings? “Me too—it’s been nice.”

Jake takes a deep breath, and as he continues, you begin to wonder if he read your mind. “I know you don’t think that this isn’t a real ‘date’ or anything… but I’d like to think of it as a real one—more than just hanging out, more than just a preview.”

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Instead, you direct your focus to the tight schools of fish swimming gracefully in the water, scales shimmering as they catch light.

“Y/N…”

You look directly into his dark brown eyes, the raw emotions swirling dangerously inside. 

“I think you’re really special, Y/N. I-I just wanted to let you know that.”

Your steps come to a halt, and Jake almost bumps into you. You turn completely to face Jake, immediately overwhelmed by how heavy the situation feels. You can feel Jake’s palpable sincerity, and as you try to process his words, the rest of the aquarium fades into the background. The tunnel seems to shrink, your surroundings blurring slightly as your focus zeroes in on Jake’s face—his solemn expression, his vulnerability out in the open for you to see.

“You’re a good person, Jaeyun, you really are,” you start, your throat shaking as you struggle to keep your voice steady. Each word feels heavy for your tongue to pronounce—Jake’s gaze is heavy on you, and a small part of you wants to be brutally honest with him, to say the truth that’s been swimming in your chest all day.

“I’m really grateful to have you as a friend, as a tablemate,” you continue, desperately hoping your emphasis on the word friend delivered the message to Jake. You give him a small, almost apologetic smile.

“But, you know…” you say, your fingers fidgeting with the edges of your top. You take a deep breath before finishing your sentence. 

“Right now, I’m… not sure if I can give you what you’re looking for,” you say, and with each letter you utter, the tension from your shoulders releases one by one. “I thought about it, Jaeyun, I really did. But I cherish you—as a friend—so much that I don’t have the heart to make you go through something one sided.”

Jake slowly nods, and you could almost hear your heart splitting as his face softens—you swear you saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. 

“O-of course, I figured,” he says, the crack in his voice evident. He sighs shakily, and for a second, he looks at his shoes to collect his thoughts. He looks back at you, his eyes sparkling with tears that are threatening to fall. “It’s foolish of me to expect anything from someone who’s heart belongs to another, b-but, I just wanted to… put it out there, you know?”

“I like you, Y/N,” Jake confesses, his hand placed above his heart as if he’s trying to stop it from jumping out of his chest. “I really do. I know I have no chance at all, but there’s no harm in trying, right? I just… hope that you might feel the same.”

Your heart skips a beat, and a wave of guilt washes over you. “Jaeyun… I’m sorry, I really am–”

Jake smiles, though it’s not a full smile. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I wanted to know what it would feel like to be with you like that. I thought maybe if we tried, you’d feel what I feel. But… I respect your feelings, Y/N. You don’t have to feel the same way.”

Silence falls between the two of you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. You stand in your place, watching Jake wipe a hidden tear away from his cheek, taking a deep breath to compose himself. You feel a want to comfort him, to tell him that you’re very grateful to have him as a friend, to tell him that you’re not rejecting him as a person—it’s just that you aren’t ready to give him what he’s looking for in you. 

Though, you stay silent—the moment is too raw, too delicate for you to say anything and ruin it. 

So, instead of talking about it, you grab Jake’s arm, turning your focus back to the aquarium. “Should we go see the penguins next? They must look so cute.”

Jake lets out a heavy breath, and for a second, you think he’s going to pull away or make things awkward between you. But instead, he nods, and his smile returns, albeit a little smaller. “Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s go.”

The rest of your aquarium date goes smoothly without any hiccups, though it flows with a quiet and unspoken understanding. Jake’s demeanour is unchanged—he takes good pictures of you, he smiles and he laughs, though you could feel that his gaze is heavier with a touch of disappointment. You two enjoy the aquarium together, and even though things feel a little unsettled between you and Jake, there’s a comforting familiarity in the way you share small moments of laughter and quiet companionship. 

By the time the sun begins to set, you and Jake are both sitting on a bench outside the aquarium, munching on churros, watching the last few visitors leave. 

Jake turns to you again, his features soft and delicate. “Thanks… thanks for coming, Y/N. I’m glad you agreed to this, I’m glad you came. Even if it’s just as friends.”

You nod, suddenly conscious of the number of chews you made before swallowing a bite of churros. “Me too,” you quietly reply, turning away to look at the soft evening glow of the sky. “Thanks, Jaeyun, for being patient with me—for being my friend, for everything. I know it hasn’t been… easy.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, it isn’t easy, but it’s worth it,” Jake shrugs, looking way too relaxed despite the tension he faced earlier. “Definitely. You are worth it, Y/N.”

The two of you exchange smiles, briefly, as you quickly turn your head away, feeling a little too shy and awkward to look Jake directly in the eye. 

“I just want you to be happy, Y/N,” Jake continues, his voice silent as if he’s talking to himself, yet he wants his words to be heard by you. “Whether that’s with me, or… not with me. I’m okay either way. My happiness is yours.”

You finally turn to Jake, staring deep into his glistening brown eyes. His words are sincere, and in your heart, you feel a swell of gratitude for his maturity. You know that Jake is someone who will always care for you, no matter what the two of you are, no matter where your relationship goes. And as you sit there in comfortable silence, the only thing that’s certain is that, for now, being friends with Jake is the best you can offer him.

To: parksung.h0812@gmail.com From: sincerely/n@gmail.com Sunghoon, You know, I’ve been thinking about us. I mean, me—how did I even fall in love with my own best friend in the first place. After a few moments of thinking, I believe I finally got it.  It was back in second grade. I remember our homeroom teacher asking us to draw a picture of us with our best friend as part of the art class—I remember drawing you and I. we had only just got to know each other for a few months, and I wasn’t even sure if you saw me as a friend too.  I was nervous to present my piece to the class, afraid that my friendship was one-sided.  The shock mixed with happiness that hit me when Naeun had shouted to the whole class, pointing to your piece, saying “teacher, look! He also drew Y/N!” I had never felt so belonged before.  Though, I don’t know if I should continue loving you. I’ve always loved you, but I don’t think I can bear it any longer, waiting for something that’s never going to happen. Thank you, Sunghoon, for being my friend all this time. I owe you my life, and I’d do anything for you. I hope you know that.  And even though I do resent you, just a little bit, for not reciprocating my love—I’ll always cherish you. If not as a lover, if not as someone who’ll stay with me till the end of time… as a friend.  Sunghoon, I’m giving up on you now. I love you, but I can’t wait forever. Sent 23:32 PM, 22nd November. 

JAKE is sitting in his room, completing homework as usual. However, nothing is going right—he’s suddenly getting all of the questions he usually gets right wrong. He pushes himself off of his chair, laying down flat on the heated floor.

Jake sighs. 

His mind is swirling with many things—you. He vividly remembers the way you offer him a guilty smile, endlessly apologising as you friendzoned him. He’s not mad about it, he’s just sad that he can’t get a chance at loving the girl he likes just because she’s stuck up on a guy, for five years, who clearly wants nothing but to be just friends with her.  

You had just left his house, 30 minutes ago, after completing a biology research paper together. You had been assigned as partners with him, and the two of you did your job well. It’s difficult to shrug off the evident awkwardness between you and Jake, but you admit that Jake’s really good at continuing off your friendship from where you left off. 

“Jaeyun,” he remembers you beaming, as he walks you to the door. 

“Yeah?” he breathed, still mesmerised by your smile. 

“Thank you,” you said with a smile, sincere and heartwarming. “Thank you for still being my friend, and thank you for always treating me well, despite the heartbreak I may have caused you.”

Jake remembers grinning, patting your head as a way of saying that it’s all in the past, and he’s okay with it now. “It’s alright, Y/N, I’m thankful that I still get to be around you.”

You nodded, turning on your heel to begin walking home. However, before you could even step out of his driveway, Jake stopped you. 

“Y/N,” he said, “I-I just wanted to say that if you ever decide that you’re… ready to give me what I’m hoping for, know that I’ll be here waiting.”

“Jaeyun… you might wait for quite some time,” you sighed. 

Jake smiled—it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, yet you can see the hope seeping through. “It’s okay. If you can wait for Sunghoon for five years, I can wait for you for more.”

You chuckled, smiling widely at Jake. “Thank you, Jae.”

Jake pressed a swift kiss to your forehead, and you froze—unusually not flinching or retracting at it. He smiled, mirroring your sincerity. “Of course—and if Sunghoon ever decides to break your heart, tell me. I’ll fight him for you.”

You laughed heartily, your heart swelling with joy at the fact that someone is here for you despite the longing and the pain you’re going through. 

Jake takes a deep breath, smiling as he recalls the moment. It hurts, that’s true, yet he’s determined to give you all that he has—one moment Sunghoon is caught slacking, he’ll be there for you, always.

“YO, Sunghoon,” Kangmin says, breaking the silence in the room. The two of them had been working on the biology group assignment together for the past few hours in Sunghoon’s room. Sunghoon turns towards his friend. 

“What?”

Kangmin, who had been sprawled all over the bedroom floor, gets up and sits up straight. He ruffles his hair before saying, “do you have a spare email? Like, one that you don’t use anymore.”

Sunghoon pauses to think. “Yeah, I do. Why?” 

Kangmin smiles sheepishly, scooting closer to Sunghoon, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, papers and books spread out around him. 

“Hey,” he says, mustering up an innocent smile—which is met by a vicious side eye from Sunghoon. “Can I use it?”

“For what?”

“I think my girlfriend isn’t interested in me anymore,” Kangmin replies, pouting. “I’m not entirely sure yet, so I’m going to make a fake instagram profile, using your unused email address, to test my theory out.”

Sunghoon goes poker-faced, obviously unimpressed. “Are you crazy?”

Kangmin insists. “Aww, please, Sunghoon? I really need it.”

“Fine,” Sunghoon grumbles. He opens a new window on his computer to log into an old email account, parksung.h0on812@gmail.com, the one that he hasn’t used ever since middle school ended. He’s surprised to still have the password to it saved on his Google Chrome—and easily logs in. 

Sunghoon’s eyebrows perk up in confusion at the red dot near the inbox icon, the numbers significantly high for an unused email address. 

“I’m sure I didn’t subscribe to any newsletter or anything on here,” he mutters to himself. 

Sunghoon clicks on the inbox tab, eyes widening upon what he’s seeing.

Countless emails, sent from an email address he’s all too familiar with. 

Yours. 

Sunghoon’s eyes scans the inbox, his disbelief growing with every second that passes by. His heart is racing, pumping so harshly he’s afraid it’d pop out of his chest. 

He’s familiar with the name of the sender—Y/N—his best friend, his rock, the person he’s liked for so long. 

There are so many emails—too many to ignore. The subject lines are all over the place: “What’s going on with my heart?”, “Thanks for letting me hang out at your house today…”, “I think I just fell in love with you again.”

Sunghoon’s heart pulses even faster, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He clicks on the most recent one, his heart pounding in his ears as the screen fills with words.

His heart stops for a split moment as he reads: “I’m giving up on you now. I love you, but I can’t wait forever.”

What did you mean by that?

Sunghoon stammers, not knowing how to react. His hand hovers above the mouse, hesitating to click anything. A lump forms in his throat, and tears threaten to form at the corner of his eyes. His thoughts start crashing down, and before he can even stop himself, he’s opening another email. And then another. And another. 

Each one hits him with a sensation more painful than a ton of bricks hitting from above. The emails all have one thing in common: you have been writing to him for months. Writing to him, pouring out your heart, confessing feelings that you pictured as something obvious yet he never knew about, and… he hadn’t noticed. All the smiles, the eye contacts that lasted a second too long, the hugs that made each of you feel like you’re made for one another… he realises that it meant something to you too. 

“I’ve always loved you..” 

“But I don’t think I can bear it any longer, waiting for something that’s never going to happen.”

Sunghoon’s chest tightens. His eyes flickers over the sentence again and again, each word displayed hitting him hard. His fingers freeze, unsure if he should keep scrolling or not. It feels like he’s been hit by a storm of emotions that he isn’t sure how to process.

“Sunghoon?” Kangmin’s voice pulls him out of his haze. 

Sunghoon looks up, startled, but then glances back at the screen, trying to collect his thoughts.

“What the hell?” Kangmin continues. “Park Sunghoon? Are you listening to me?”

Kangmin, who’s been watching Sunghoon for a while, curiously taps his shoulder. “Bro, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Y/N…” Sunghoon mutters, his voice barely audible. He’s still staring at the screen, mind dizzy. “She… she’s been writing to me.”

Kangmin raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. He breathily asks, “what do you mean? Like, she sends you emails?”

Sunghoon swallows hard, clicking on another email. This one was from a few months ago.

“I wish I was better. I don’t know if I’m good enough for you, but if you ever need a girlfriend, or a wife one day… I’m here. Always.”

The weight of the words crushes him.

Kangmin’s teasing grin fades as he notices Sunghoon’s expression shift from confusion to something more profound. “W-wait. What? Are these... from Y/N? Are you telling me she’s been in love with you? For real?”

Sunghoon nods slowly, still unable to look away from the screen. “I… I never knew.”

Kangmin blinks, looking between Sunghoon and the open inbox. “Dude, I thought you two were just friends.”

“We are. Definitely. We are,” Sunghoon’s voice is hoarse, like he’s trying to convince himself. “But these... These are real. She’s been telling me everything, and I—”

Sunghoon inhales sharply, stopping himself from continuing. His mind is flooded with thoughts—how could he have missed the signs? How could he not notice how you felt?

“What are you going to do now?” Kangmin asks after a moment. “Are you going to talk to her about it?”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately. He meets Kangmin’s eyes, like he’s trying to find solutions. His thoughts are still sprawling, and one question lingers around the longest—is he losing you? Have you truly given up on him?

“I’ll talk to her—no, I need to talk to her,” Sunghoon finally says, each word slipping off his tongue quieter than the other. “I have to make things straight—I can’t lose her. I-I… She deserves the truth more than anything.”

Kangmin grows a tiny smug smirk. “The truth? Well, man, don’t leave me hanging like you did with Y/N—what’s the truth?”

Sunghoon stands up, determination filling his veins like never before. “I like her—I’ve liked her for a very long time. I’ve been such a coward all this time. An idiot, all this while.”

Kangmin grins, leaning back on the floor. He sighs with content. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

Sunghoon turns to him with a furrowed brow. “Hey, I’m serious, Kangmin. I don’t know if I have a chance to fix this. But I’m going to try. I can’t just—I can’t just…let her go.”

The thought of losing you completely—of never getting the chance to be honest about his feelings, to be honest and open to you about what he’s been hiding in his heart—hits him harder than anything else. He grabs his smartphone, fingers already dialling your number before he even realises it. 

SUNGHOON stands on top of the hill, surrounded by yellow crimson trees and chilly air. He’s bundled up in a long trench coat, and the autumn wind is blowing through his hair. He called you to meet him here, telling you that he’s got something to discuss with you.

It hasn’t even been five minutes since he’s arrived, and he already sees you getting off the bus, running towards him. You reach him, crouching as you pant heavily to catch your breath. 

“What the hell, Hoon,” you say between heaves of breaths. “Also, are you okay? You’ve been a little off lately, is it hockey practice?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Yeah. I-I’ve been quite tired with school and practice.”

“Okay… so, what’s up? You said you wanted to tell me something,” you ask Sunghoon. 

You look up to Sunghoon, realising how tall he is—you shake your head, wanting to stay resolute on the decision you made to move on. Waiting for Sunghoon to reply, you recall the email you sent him yesterday. It’s hard, and you know that—your heart still skips a beat whenever you see him smile, and your cheeks still turn pink whenever he calls you ‘princess’. 

Though, it’s been five years.

You’ve thought of it long and hard, and ultimately, you decide to slowly let your feelings go. You know that accepting that Sunghoon is never going to reciprocate the love you bear for him will make you feel lighter, little by little, and it will help calm your nerves from all the swirling thoughts of him, Jake, and everything else going on. However, you also know that it’s a challenging process that will take a long time to go through.

“It took me ten years to find the right words to say this,” Sunghoon begins, out of the blue, startling you. 

He pauses, his mouth slightly open, as if he’s hesitating to continue. As if he’s unsure of what to say first. 

“What?” you breathe, uncertain if you should be relieved or scared.

Sunghoon looks at you for a moment, and then his gaze softens. You’ve never seen him look so… vulnerable. There’s something different in the way he’s standing there, next to you against the cold autumn winds, like he's on the edge of a cliff. He closes his mouth, and opens it again, but nothing comes out.

A minute passes in silence, heavy and full of unspoken things. Finally, Sunghoon exhales shakily, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he begins to speak again.

“I read the emails.” 

His voice is barely above a whisper, but the words still land like a punch to the gut, its impact so big it knocks the breath out of you. “I had no idea. You’ve been... carrying this all alone, haven’t you?”

You’re caught off guard. You can’t look at him directly, your eyes flicker here and there, panic filling your nerves. The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sunghoon, I—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice gentle and his gaze is locked on yours, honest and raw. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. I never noticed how much you’ve been giving. How much you’ve been waiting for me.”

You feel the tension tighten between you both, and something vulnerable stirs in your chest.

He saw the emails? 

Your heart begins to race. For a second, your mind is overwhelmed, but the sincerity in his eyes keeps you in place.

“I didn’t want to burden you with this, Hoon,” you finally manage to say, your voice shaky. “I thought it was better if I just… kept it inside. I thought we’re better off as friends. I didn't want to mess up what we had. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But… I can't help how I feel.”

Sunghoon’s gaze softens, his voice slow but determined. “Y/N, I should’ve told you a long time ago. I’ve been so stupid. I was afraid it’d ruin everything. I–oh my gosh,” he ruffles his hair aggressively, pacing here and there before finally stopping in front of you, his stance determined.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, his voice cracking.

A warm tear falls down your cheeks, sending goosebumps throughout your body. You didn’t even realise you had been crying. “Because I was scared,” you quietly answered, your voice hoarse. 

Silence. 

The wind flutters between the two of you, stinging against your skin. 

“I… I feel the same way.” 

His words are almost fragile, like he's unsure whether to say them or not. “I’ve always felt the same. I just… never brought it up… until now. But I’m here now. And I’m finally being honest with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your tongue goes numb. Everything’s hitting you at the same time, crushing you under its pressure. 

Sunghoon watches you intently, waiting for a response. Getting no answer from you, he takes a step forward. 

“Y/N,” he calls softly. “Princess, answer me.”

Tears begin to rapidly fall down your cheeks, your vision blurring, a response to the culmination of years of suppressed emotions. Your shoulders begin to heave up and down as you sob silently. Sunghoon’s frown falters, and he pulls you into a hug. It’s comforting, warm, and feels like home—perfectly where you always wanted to be. 

“I’m sorry, princess, it took me so long to realise,” he mutters, placing his chin on top of your head. 

“I’ve waited for five years, Hoon,” you sob against his chest. Sunghoon smiles softly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here now,” he replies, “I’ll be here for you till the end of time.”

“I’ve always wanted to be the one for you, Y/N,” Sunghoon says, and your heart begins to race in disbelief.

“N-no,” you reply with a suppressed laugh, “I thought I was alone in this.”

“No,” Sunghoon shakes his head, “no, Y/N, you were never alone in this.”

“We don’t have to figure everything out right now.” Sunghoon says quietly, “I just want you to know I’m here. We’ll take it slow, okay?” 

You nod, still in his embrace. 

Like autumn, the wind rustling through the trees and golden leaves falling around them—the atmosphere around you and Sunghoon is changing. The world is moving on, yet the moment is special, as if it’s frozen in time. 

THE scent of roasted chestnuts and warm bungeo-ppang fills the crisp winter air. Around you, the night market is bustling, filled with clouds of steamy breaths and people bundled under thick coats and scarves, lined up just to buy their favourite winter treats. 

You stare at the bungeo-ppang in your hands, then at Sunghoon, who’s standing in front of you. 

“You brought me here, away from the comfort of my warm blanket, just to buy me this?” 

Sunghoon shrugs, biting into his own fish-shaped pastry. “You always wanted the most fresh, warm, and crispiest one, so I made sure to get the best for you.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re bribing me to like you back, aren’t you?”

He smirks. “Maybe. Is it working?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. You bite a piece out of your bungeo-ppang, looking up at Sunghoon. Your heart stutters, catching the way Sunghoon is looking at you—soft, patient, like you’re someone worth waiting even a thousand years for. 

You slowly chew the contents of your mouth, cheeks warm, but you still keep your eye contact. 

Then, almost too casually, Sunghoon says, “I want to be your first and last love.”

Your eyes bulge, and you cough as you try not to choke. Your breath catches in your throat, your fingers freezing mid-motion. The words, sudden yet sincere, hang around you and Sunghoon, light but unbelievably heavy. 

You begin to smile. You stuff a piece of bungeo-ppang into Sunghoon’s mouth. “That was so cheesy.”

Sunghoon laughs, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. He barely manages to chew before he replies, “but you liked it.”

You don’t answer. 

Instead, you tug him down by his scarf and kiss him. 

The bungeo-ppang in your hand, your favourite winter snack, is forgotten the moment the distance between you and Sunghoon, your favourite person, closes, and his warmth melts into your own.

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ check out PART ONE

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[a-hazbin-reader]

Okay so for that part 2...

SO IMAGINE-

You're finally reunited with your husband, albeit not under the circumstances that you imagined... you're in Hell, and he seems to be different from how you remember him...

But he's still your husband and you love him for who he is, not for how you remember him. At least that's what you keep telling yourself the more you find out about him.

Alastor seems indifferent or even entertained by your internal struggle, his eyes always seem to dart towards you whenever he does something particularly monstrous. You can feel his glee at the sight of your realization that your husband definitely belonged down here.

But part of you, a sick part of you, was excited to see Alastor so happy. There was a genuineness to it that you didn't get to see often when you two were alive. You adapted to him and Hell much quicker than he had anticipated.

He had actually thought you would try to go back to Heaven, a small part of him hoping that you would... (only because you're a distraction for him!! Not at all because he worries about you!!)

Whenever he's has some gore left on him that he missed you're there to wipe it off, only grimacing slightly before smiling at him in a way that makes his heart flutter and his own smile become more genuine.

Or you'll recognize signs that he's stressed out or overwhelmed, turning on the radio for him and bringing him something hot to drink while insisting that he relax. Sometimes, you will stroke his hair while marveling at his ears in a way that he finds endearing.

Or you'll cook for him like you used to, doing your best to recreate old recipes and bringing meals to him when he's working in his radio tower. Every bit the wife he remembers you to be...

But it's dangerous to slip back into old mindsets, to allow himself to be the husband you deserve even if the idea is tempting for some odd reason. Even worse if the public found out he had a teeny tiny soft spot for his angelic wife that was now in Hell.

So he does what he can to keep you at a distance until it fails, finding himself drawn towards you like a magnet and thinking of you much too often.

Alastor steps away for just a moment and comes back to find someone flirting with you? Instead of leaving you to deal with it yourself, Alastor ends up intervening and chasing them away because you're HIS wife.

You leave the hotel by yourself for whatever reason? Alastor is spending the entire day roaming the streets looking for you only to find you on your way back to the hotel and happy to see him. The relief he feels curdling is his stomach as he realizes he was worried about you for unselfish reasons.

The tipping point comes when you run into Valentino, the overlord circling you like a predator while cooing about how lovely you are. Trying to tempt you with coming a star then switching to threatening you if you tell him no before going back to trying to charm you.

Alastor steps in just before Valentino's tongue comes out, dripping bright pink saliva on the ground as he suddenly grabs your wrist. It's a tense and close call but Alastor manages to save you and the situation with grace.

Alastor finally decides that he has to do something to get rid of you but can't bring himself to hurt you no matter how easy it would be...

He finds his solution when you meet Lucifer, he immediately recognizes you as not a sinner and you two get to talking. It's a quick friendship for you two and Lucifer seems to worry about you being in Hell. He offers to try and send you back where you belong but you deny is offer.

"I worked too hard to find Alastor just leave him, for me....Heaven is where my husband is! We love each other after all."

The words rattle around in Alastor's head for a while, your unwillingness to leave him and Lucifer's offer to get you out of Hell. The cogs of his mind whirling into action as he realizes what he has to do.

He just needs to work up the courage to let you go.

Tag List:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @aiyalogy @uniquecutie-puffs @evanthelibra @sassy-persona

I WAS GONNA MAKE HIM SAY SOME MEAN SHIT TO MAKE HER WANT TO LEAVE OR HAVE ALASTOR SET SOMETHING UP TO FORCE HER TO LEAVE BEFORE CHANGING HIS MIND ONLY FOR HER TO FIND OUT AND FEEL BETRAYED BUT I COULDN'T DECIDE

[jamiehe4rtsmen]

⁹ can't believe i get to call you mine

୨ৎ

"you see that girl over there?" schlatt leans on the counter, pointing towards you across the deli shop, who was squinting at the menu (you forgot your glasses at home and were suffering the consequences).

the underpaid employee blinks. "yeah."

schlatt lights up, a dumb grin settling on his face as he lets out a giggle. "that's my girl. can you believe that?"

"wow... so, what kind of sandwich do you w—"

"i mean, that's like, the definition of pulling above your league. am i right?" he pushes his elbow into the cashier gently, like they were best buds who were catching up after a long day.

"for sure. what kind—"

"i asked her yesterday, and she actually said yes! can you believe i—"

"give me your fucking sandwich order."

his video had now garnered 9.9 million views, titled "the bit went too far". it started off as an apology video, apologinzg for something vague, until you walked into frame and chirped "hey babe, whatcha doin'?" in the video, schlatt whipped his head around and hissed, "shh! what if they see you? i'll lose like, all my revenue from my woman audience!" your eyes widen and you giggle conspiratorially, walking out of the frame. schlatt turns around, facing the screen, and shrugs awkwardly before the video cuts off. all thirty seconds of it went absolutely viral.

right after this video was posted, unpaid intern came out with its first episode. a specific clip mentioning you went viral.

"so, after everything that's happened today, how are we feeling? like schlatt, we all know you've got a girl back home." ludwig transferred the microphone from himself to schlatt.

he grumbled, "what's it t'ya?"

"well, are the two of you thinkin' about kids?" a grin broke out across ludwig's face.

schlatt's poker face was immaculate as he shrugged. "well, so far the two of us have been trying to keep her tamagotchi alive more than anything, so once we deal with that first... we'll think 'bout it. but i don't mind the idea."

the kids burst out into the classic teasing chant of, "schlatt and his girlfriend kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—"

"alright, alright! cool your little jets, kiddos." he groans, ruffling their hair.

on his new minecraft server, he was talking about you (as always). he killed a few sheep and made you a pink bed, placing it quite literally right next to his. he made a little sign that said "for my girl" and side eyed chat before quickly scrambling to add a little "<3" at the end, but when his chat teased him for it he scoffed, gaslighting to the thousandth degree. "psh.. no, chat. you guys are seein' things."

he'd added a new dono goal (which he reached in under an hour), which read "STREAM W/ THE MISSUS." he begrudgingly kept his word, booting up a just chatting stream titled "q&a with woman."

chat had fed him important questions to ask, like your name and hobbies, but he purposefully picked out the most funny one. straight-faced he looked at you and loudly proclaimed, "would you still love me if i was a blue ford f-150?" to which he got a hesitant, "...yes, but would i be like... carsexual then?"

he had also been caught and clipped glancing at his phone during streams and chuckling to himself, his cheeks flushed. sometimes he would even turn his phone to chat to show that toots 💕 texted him "saw a pineapple can at the grocery store next to a lawnmower and thought of you"

"ah. shakespeare's got nothin' on my girl. bill can suck a cock." he sighed, clearly lovelorn as he chuckled to himself.

sometimes chat would tease him with donos such as "blink twice if you need help" or "dating above your league final boss"

but his favorite thing was when someone on twitter tagged him in a photo of you and a man talking to each other, captioned "@/jschlatt, i'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but i saw your girl at a restaurant with this guy. dm me if you need emotional support 😘 xoxo"

schlatt was sent this tweet on stream, and burst out laughing. he laughed so hard he burst into tears, then he called you in the room with a mock-serious voice. "babe, jschlattsleftsock on twitter—"

"x, the everything app," you jokingly interrupt him.

he rolls his eyes, clearing his throat and grumbling, "not fuckin' calling it that. anyway, she said that you cheated on me with this guy." he burst into laughter as he showed the photo of you and the guy.

you burst into laughter two, but in between laughs you wheezed, "that's— my older brother— oh my gosh! and the xoxo at the end, the girl is shameless!"

chat, when they realized the truth of the situation, calmed down and started laughing too. you and the guy did look eerily similar to anyone with a pair of eyes, and it became a bit between the two of you and chat.

୨ৎ

divider credits @issysh3ll

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ] [ pt. 2 ]

Authors Note: I’m so incredibly glad everyone seemed to enjoy the first part of this series! If anyone has requested to be put onto a tag list for this series, I’ll try to remember to add it in. Also to add: apologies for the shorter update -- this is meant to be a bridge between One and Three, so it fills in some gaps.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART THREE

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x fem!reader x Rhysand / Platonic!Inner Circle x fem!reader

Summary: Feyre and Rhysand find their mating marks that are duplicates to your own — perfect matches — and have a discussion what that means. Amren and Mor make a decision together. Windweaver hides.

Content Warnings: Mating bonds + discussion thereof [ reminder: this is canon in nature, but i take liberties and play around with mating bonds thus deepening the meaning of this AU ], Court politics, mentions of Windweaver’s past trauma that is not directly gone into this chapter, cliffhanger [ sorry ]

Word Count: ~3.7k

You wait in the spacious entry way of the home of Iris — a chirpy blonde High Fae who was incredibly well known for watching children for a fair price while parents worked or tended to other matters.

Mor had been the one to give her a place for you — it was increasingly difficult to get into the daycare and the fact that Mor put in a word for you was a kindness you could never pay back.

You were the last to arrive as you usually were — but Iris never seemed to mind. She understood your position in this new world and was accommodating and it was once more a kindness that you couldn’t afford.

You refused to look at yourself in the large mirror hanging above the entrance to the side. Now that you knew what was engraved into your skin, you would never be able fully hide it. Or escape whatever bond thrummed on the other side.

And yet you felt nothing. Nothing but empty black loneliness when you reached out to where your mother told you mating bonds usually rested in that part of the soul, in that part of the heart, in that part of the mind.

Nothing was there, and that was perhaps the best part of it even when it stung like nettle. It meant that whoever the Cauldron found you worthy to mate with was unaware and uninterested in a bond.

Until they found their own marks, you supposed.

“Here she is!” Iris sang, walking out with Astraea sleeping soundly, drooling on her shoulder.

“Oh, she’s knocked out,” you said with a smile, heart warming soundly at the sight of your daughter. Black hair and pale skin — features of your mother, her eyes belonging to a man long since gone.

“We painted today,” Iris told you as she made the exchange, sliding Astra into your hold. The tiny little thing wrapped arms around your shoulders, snuggling in close and sighing but not waking a second. “Next time you come in I’ll give it to you. Our High Lady will be coming in soon to teach a class.”

“The High Lady?” You didn’t hide your surprise. She hadn’t been seen out since the birth of her son — unless it was to walk through the Rainbow. You knew little around the events of the little one’s birth, other than rumors about wings and pain.

“Oh yes. She decided she’s going to come help out with the children — and bring Nyx, too. He needs socialization with other children his age. But it seems Astra is the closest to it right now.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, a nervous tick unsettling the heart within your chest.

"Oh, that will be wonderful," you say out loud instead of voicing your fears. You had yet to be approached by the High Lord or his Lady about your heritage and Mor and Amren had both been as welcoming as members of the Inner Circle can afford to be to newcomers.

You exchanged a few more pleasantries, your payment is given to Iris, and you are quick to whisk your sleepy daughter off. You are greeted by the chilly air and your scarf does little to keep the bite from your cheeks that comes with the breeze.

The walk to your rented apartment is five minutes from Iris' home and it was nice. You felt like you could easily get everywhere within easy walking distance and not have to use your magic to speed your walking along.

Not that you would have used your magic at all.

You walk up the side stairs on the building, climbing up and up and up until you reach the third floor. Your door was the first on the right and the bulky key was heavy and cold in your jacket's pocket when you pulled it free and pushed it into the key hole, twisting, unlocking, opening.

The apartment was nearly bare. It was furnished with the help of Mor -- thanks to her kindness to you. But it was basic and non-matching. You weren't here all the time -- either you spent time here with your daughter or slept. You preferred to take Astra out to explore the world and enjoy her surroundings while simultaneously exposing her to new things.

Astra's room was the most decorated, the most furnished, and the most cared for. You laid her down in her bed and got her dressed in her pajamas, all the while she hardly woke. She stuffed her thumb in her mouth and sighed as you pulled the covers over her.

You started toward the bathroom, removing earrings and clothes as you went.

That's the mating mark of a High Lord.

You find yourself standing in front of the dingy mirror in the bathroom — which was otherwise beautifully designed. Clean. Better than what you were once used to after Armantha’s takeover.

But when had it appeared? Mating marks were incredibly rare -- to the point that they were often forgotten about in history. They were connected to the more biological parts of Fae -- back when mating was more led by survival and the need to breed. Only those with very old bloodlines had mating marks anymore; bloodlines that predate much of even Old Prythian.

You pushed yourself off the sink, still tracing the outline you found yourself memorizing as you leaned over the tub to get the water started. It felt no different on your skin, had no way of showing itself other than its appearance.

You waited for the water to fill all the way to the top with near boiling heat. You never wanted to touch cold water again — even to drink. You drank it warm or you drank tea. You sank into the tub and shivered as the heat encased your skin and filled all the chilly, empty parts of you.

To have a mark that now only really ran through the lines of High Lords . . . that did not bode well on your end. Mostly because you've seen how angry High Fae males get when females have already been mated once before, but because it would force you to reveal your location to the very people you've been ensuring never find you.

Rhysand was frowning at her, and Feyre did not particularly enjoy it. She was rubbing some cream into her hands and trying to ignore him altogether.

He was all in a fuss lately and as much as she wanted to know what was getting to him this time, she figured he'd tell her if he really wanted to.

She settled under the covers with her book half-opened, getting comfortable against her lower back. After Nyx even with Nesta's wish, she still retained an ache from her pregnancy. It was manageable but not entirely easy to get rid of.

"Feyre, darling," her husband starts, "when did you get that?"

Feyre turns the page of her book before she humors him, tilting her face up. He's sat on the edge of the bed eyeing her, purple eyes twinkling with shock.

"The book?" she asked slyly, shutting it. "Nesta lent it to me. She said--"

Rhysand rolled his eyes. "I do not need to know what sort of filth your sister has you read when I'm not there to chaperone. I can't begin to think."

"It's a female on female romance, with sex."

Rhysand paused, blinked as if shocked, then rubbed his face with his hand. "We will address that at a later time. I have questions I think I will want answers too." He then pointed slightly to her left. "I meant that, just under your ear, of course."

Feyre reached her fingers up to trace under her ear as Rhysand had pointed out to her. She felt nothing but her studded earrings, done sometime after Nyx’s birth. “I don’t feel anything,” she said slowly, raising one of her brows at her mate.

He got to his feet and walked around the side of the bed and held out his palm. “Come with me, darling.”

Feyre hated to get out of bed now that she had gotten comfortable, but she put her book aside anyway and took his hand. He gently tugged her to the mirror on the far corner of the room, twirling her in a circle.

Feyre laughed at him, a bright smile lighting up hear features as he swung her to his front, arms wrapped around her just under her chest. He pressed a warm kiss to her cheek as they locked eyes in the mirror.

“My beautiful Feyre darling,” he said. His gaze was so soft, a rare sight that not many in the lands got to see. He reached up and began moving her hair away from the side of her head he had previously pointed out to her.

“Mm.” She watched him lazily, fingers tracing designs into his arm. She stopped her playing when she noticed what he had initially wanted her to see.

“That’s new,” she said, pulling herself out of his arms so she could lean forward and peer at the twirls and markings that cornered themselves behind her pointed ear. “I don’t think I’ve had that before. Did I?”

He shook his head, rubbing his jawline. “It’s . . . No. It’s an old magic, attached usually to a Fae with an old bloodline when they become mated.”

Feyre stared at him. “Okay,” she said slowly. “But I didn’t get it when we first mated.”

“You wouldn’t have, no,” Rhysand agreed, staring at the mark nervously. “I think . . . Well, I have an idea already on what it could mean and why you have it.”

Feyre turned around and bit her lip, peering at him with just as much nervousness. “I’d love to hear your idea, because if it’s connected to bloodlines that means it’s connected to yours somehow.”

“It connects very old bloodlines, I should say,” he told her, scratching his head as he thought over his words, “From a very old time when we still ran on pure instinct rather than reason. A time where magic was more alive, and it helped us. It would connect bloodlines that were stronger, more resilient.”

Feyre blinked at him. “Are you saying that you’re from one of those lines?”

“All High Lord families are. Many high society families are, actually. It’s how we got as far as we did. The marking wouldn’t have appeared on you initially because you were a human, once, and the old magic that runs in bloodlines like mine is thought by scholars to be being bred out over time.”

Feyre crosses her arms, resisting the urge to reach up and scratch the skin there. It suddenly itched now that she knew she had a shiny new marking there. “That makes sense. So it’s genetic. But it still makes no sense why I have it now.”

“Because I do believe there’s another factor at play.” He folded his hands, rubbing them together and not meeting her eyes.

“Rhys.” She reached her own hand out, hoping her touch soothed him. “Together. We can face whatever this is together — and you can tell me anything.”

“I think we have a third mate out there, somewhere,” he admitted quietly. “This is not a desire I have but a theory. If this potential mate has come into close contact at some point, their scent would have activated the other’s genetic magic in their bloodstream.”

Feyre breathed out through her nostrils, taking in this information carefully. “Old magic that has a play in with genetics. I’m your true mate, but there’s also another one out there for us that shares a bond? Wouldn’t we have known?”

“It’s . . . different with the old magic. It lies dormant,” Rhysand explained as he led his wife back to bed and sat next to her on the mattress. “It only activates when a suitable mate has been scented. Like I said, it ties back to when we were living on baser instincts and our mating bonds were less decided by fate and the Cauldron.”

“So my mating bond to you is different than the mating bond we have with this person?” Feyre clarified, not angry, simply confused.

“In how it is formed carnally only, it will never change my bond with you nor will it make me desire you any less,” Rhysand assured her firmly, cupping her cheek and rubbing the jutted bone, beautiful and perfect in his eyes. “All I know is that we have a third, but because we’ve been out of the public for months . . .”

“It could have been anyone our friends’ scents dragged in,” Feyre finished, understanding. She felt comforted by Rhysand’s words but . . . But now that she allowed the words to fixate in her mind, she couldn’t help but lack anxiety in regard to her stability with Rhysand, only . . . Curiosity. Perhaps a need to understand.

Rhysand smiled sadly. “Yes. And whoever lies on the other end of the bond won’t be able to form a connection to us like we have to one another until we can . . . Consummate the bond, not unless we want to use our Daementi powers on them.”

“Is that more old magic at work?”

Rhysand nodded at her, and Feyre bit her lip. She thought over the entire binder of information Rhysand just threw on top of her. But honestly — thinking it over, it didn’t create an ugly animal of jealousy to think of their unnamed mate with Rhys. Or with her. Or with her and Rhys.

It was a lot, and maybe they needed to sleep a bit over it. To digest what this will mean for them as a couple, and for their dynamic, and for their family.

But Feyre’s gut told her nothing terrible could come from this — not if her mating with Rhysand was anything to go on.

Amren and Mor stared at each other three hours after Windweaver had made a hasty escape from the tavern, leaving them in her dust.

Rita had pretty much closed up around the two of them. She lived upstairs and Mor was someone who was trusted with a key if they stayed longer than Rita stayed open.

It was just them at their table, still sitting in complete silence as though afraid to speak aloud what they had experienced hours ago. What Windweaver had experienced.

“We should tell them,” Amren said for the fifth time as Mor brought the entire bottle of wine to her lips and drank.

“Why? I mean, I agree. Nothing comes from keeping information from our High Lord and Lady,” Mor said, head tilting back over the chair, “But do we want to put this stress on them? They were just discussing coming back out in the world. Feyre wants to take Nyx to meet other kids.”

“She has a mating mark of status. Old status, but status,” Amren ground out, and Mor could almost hear her canines gnashing against her other teeth.

“Yes, this is true.” Mor takes her feet off the table and leans close to Amren. “But do you know what bringing attention to this might mean? What it could do to her?”

Amren spun a ring — one of many and of little value to her, likely from Rhysand back when she was still a darker force much more dangerous than this one — on her index finger, long nail unbreaking against the metal.

“There are consequences to whatever actions we plan to take,” the darker haired female acknowledged begrudgingly. “But I dislike the ones that come with keeping this from Rhysand and Feyre.”

Mor hated to agree, but she couldn’t find it in her to disagree. She wanted Windweaver’s safety put at the top of their to-do list, but they’ll have to find a way to ensure that without keeping their High Lord and Lady in the dark about this.

“Fine,” Mor said, “we’ll bring it up. Tonight?”

Amren stole the bottle from her blonde friend, taking a swig from it. “If the girl’s still awake. She seems to go to bed early these days after the prince was born.”

Mor tapped her fingers along the tabletop. “Fine, tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” Amren agreed.

They stayed to finish the bottle, falling into a silence of two respected comrades and friends.

You wake with a gasp as sweat soaked your forehead and dripped down your temples like raindrops.

You clutched your chest where the weight you felt in your nightmare had struck you and glanced around you rapidly as the heartbeat in your ears timed with the feeling in your chest.

Enclosed walls, four. A wood flooring with a soft rug in the middle of the room. A soft thick quilt, patched, that you gave birth in and carried your daughter around in for two long years before carting her here in it.

Not in the Spring Court. Away from the sickly smell of fresh flowers in bloom all year around and constant lukewarm weather that was too little for you to feel alive.

It was still dark outside, but you could see the hints of dawn beginning to reveal itself over the horizon. No sun.

Your favorite time of day.

You pushed the sheets and quilt off, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes and sighing shakily as you gazed out the window for a moment to just take in the view.

You eventually got out of bed entirely; if you didn't you were at risk for not getting out at all for the rest of the day. That was not a type of day you could afford to have.

You went to the kitchen and started preparing breakfast for Astra, and while the eggs cooked you got her up. "S'ello Mama," she garbled.

"Hi, baby," you greeted, kissing her forehead and smiling warmly as she stretched her little arms out. She blinked sleepily at you. "Eggs?"

"Eggs," you agreed, holding out your hand in offer. She looked at it with hesitation as she normally did when it came to touch; she was not a child who welcomed it on a normal scale and the first two and a half years of her life play a large role in that.

She finally deemed it acceptable to place her tiny hand in yours and you smile at her, guiding her into the kitchen where smoke was now rising in the pan. "Oh no," Astra dolled.

"Shit." You set her in her chair and race toward the burnt crisps that were once eggs sizzling in the pan. You looked forlornly at the charred bits and dumped them in the sink, and instead turned to your daughter.

"Do you want to go to Caspian's for breakfast, Astra?"

Immediately the little girl's eyes lit up and she attempted to stand in her chair, "Cassie! Cassie," she garbled as you quickly went over to grab her and set her down like she wanted.

"Okay," you laughed quietly. "Lets' get you and myself dressed and we'll go see Cassie."

One hour, a toddler trying not to crawl away from every outfit you picked out, and a faceful of makeup later, you found yourself walking down the street with a babbling Astra in your arms. She was fired up now that you were well and truly on your way to her favorite place to eat.

"Oh, really?" you asked her as you passed the glass displays in the large windows. She then stuck her finger at the particular pastry that was always displayed and remained her tried and true favorite.

You opened the door and pushed your way in, causing the bell above the entrance to ring out your arrival. It was a busier morning than usual -- you tend to come before the rush so that Astra doesn't get overwhelmed, but for some reason today you weren't able to beat such a rush.

You were behind two people; both of them were huddled together and had a small babe between them. A male and female, whispering to the giggling, pudgy faced youngling.

"Windweaver!" Cassie called as she came at a brisk drift out of the kitchen, covered in sugar and flour, "Welcome! And little Astra, too!"

Just as you made to greet her back, you were cut short by the couple turning around and looking you in the eyes.

"Windweaver?" The High Lord of the Night Court repeated softly, tilting his head in interest while his wife narrowed her gaze at you.

TAG LIST: @motorsp0rt , @lifetobeareader , @hjgdhghoe , @mystirica-blog , @skyler129

PART THREE

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

No thoughts. Just the idea of affectionately annoying Nathan. Like just sauntering into his office while he's doing work and jut kinda being in his bubble a bit. Like just standing behind his chair and gently wrapping your arms around his shoulders and watching him code until he asks what you want and you just go "Nothing, I just like bugging you <3"

He acts like he hates it but he likes it. He likes it and he does back. You affectionately annoy each other and light heartedly push each other's buttons.

I love this!

Make Me Worse

Nathan Bateman x gn!Reader • Rating: mature pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You and Nathan love to annoy each other.

Warnings: Kisses, fluff, pet names, playfully annoying each other, calling each other names, overuse of italics, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1007

“You’ve been staring at the wall for the last seven minutes.” Nathan huffs.

“You been timing me?” The smile in your voice is undeniable.

“Why are you in here?” 

“I like this painting.” 

“You do not.”

“Yes, I do.” You keep your back to him. 

“You don’t. You said it looked like vomit.” 

“It does.” You nod lightly, pretending to admire it some more. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.” 

Nathan sighs dramatically and the rhythmic sound of his typing stops. He turns around in his chair, away from his desk and you grin. Pleased that you have won your imaginary game of ‘can I make Nathan turn around before I do.’

“Why are you in here?” His voice is grumpy, a slightly pout colouring in his words. With a huff, he crosses his arms, annoyed that he lost his pretend game of ‘can I make them turn around before I do.’ 

You look over your shoulder at him and smile sweetly. “Am I not allowed to be in here?” 

“No.” He grumbles, and then rolls his eyes instantly after as he recognises he’s said the wrong thing.

You practically beam. “Oh, and why is that?” You tease and step closer to him, putting your hands on his armrests. 

He tuts again. 

“Could it be that I’m annoying you?” The glee in your voice is undeniable. 

“No.” He glares, trying to give you a stern look from over the top of his glasses. 

You wait a beat, and just about manage to resist the urge to tap the tip of his nose. “Good.” 

“Good.” He repeats, still staring you down. 

“Then you won’t mind me saying in here then.” 

He clenches his jaw and breathes in deeply. “Of course not.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You give him another brilliantly insincere smile and step to the side to investigate his desk. 

He turns his chair, and at first, you think he’s going to go back to at least pretending to work, but instead, he just watches you.

You wait for a moment, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet and trying your best to hide how you’re watching him out of the corner of your eyes. Ever so slowly you reach out and just tease the edge of his pen pot with the tip of your finger. 

“Don’t.” He growls. 

And you burst out laughing.

Nathan bites back a smile. “Stop.” 

“I can’t believe that is what got you.” 

“I thought you were going to knock it onto the floor.” He loses the internal battle with himself and grins. 

“Why would I do that?” You giggle.

“I don’t know, why do you do anything?” He pauses. “Like a cat?” 

“Like a cat?” 

He nods. “My little kitty cat.” And hold out his arms to you. 

You snort. “Do not call me that.” You sit on his lap and let him hug you tightly and settle you against him how he likes. 

“Kitty cat.” He whispers. 

“I’ll bite you.” 

“I’ll muzzle you.” He kisses your forehead.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you sick fuck?” 

His chest shakes as he laughs. “I would. I’d like it if you bit me too.” 

You tut and pretend to be outraged for a moment. “Maybe later.” 

“Ooooo, later. Why not know?” 

“Aren’t you meant to be working?” You take hold of his hand, linking your fingers with his.

“You didn’t care about that a second ago.” 

“Longer than a second ago, dumbass.”

“It’s a figure of speech, smartass.”

You sit up a little straighter and Nathan’s hold on you tightens when he thinks you’re going to go away. “I’m the smartass now? Excellent, let me get on this coding then.” You push the chair around to face the desk and dramatically go to hit the keyboard with both hands, still holding Nathan’s in one.

“Stop,” he laughs, wrapping his arm around your biceps and squeezing your hand. He pushes the chair back and away from his computer with his legs. 

“No, no, I need to show everyone how much of a massive brain I have and do this boring coding.” You pretended to try to get back to the keyboard and Nathan giggles. The sound fills your chest instantly, making you light and content. 

“Stop.” He kisses the back of your neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your head and put on your best Nathan impression. “I’ve got this important coding to do, nothing can stop me, not even your kisses.” 

“That’s a lie.” He pulls you closer, pressing your back against his chest and trying to tickle your side. “I always stop for your kisses.” 

You yelp and laugh as he tickles you, manically grabbing at his hand to stop him. “You don’t!”

“Name one time, one time I haven’t?” 

“Right now!”

“You haven’t tried to kiss me right now.”

You manage to capture his wrist, halting his actions and turn your head again to look him in the eyes. “I haven’t?” You nudge his nose with yours. 

“No.” He smiles, his eyes bright and shining.k

“Ah, I knew I’d forgotten a trick or two.” 

Nathan kisses you quickly, a small peck. Once, then twice. His lips are warm, his cheeks lightly flushed from his playful struggles with you. He moans when you kiss him again, slower this time. 

You risk letting go of his hand to stroke his cheek and beard, he moves his fingers to your side but doesn’t tickle. Instead, he helps you to turn on his lap and sighs happily as you lick into his mouth. 

As you pull back he rests his forehead against yours and breathes in a shaky breath. “Come and sit with me please?” 

“I am sitting with you.” 

“Smartass.” He repeats, smiling. 

“I learnt it from you.” You kiss him again, and wrap your arms around him.

“I think I learned it from you, you’re the master, I’m just a lowly student.”

You snort. “You were like this before we met.” 

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning, “But you’ve made me worse.” 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist 1:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

Note: It's an addiction now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'I never thought I'd be writing to someone like you, but you've shown me a different side of things. I hope that my emails give you comfort and can help you through. Even on the other side, they get me through my day. I'm always excited to read when there's a ding in my inbox.

I hope you also enjoy the little bit I could put in your commissary. If I lived closer, maybe I could bring you something homemade. At the moment, bus fare is a bit too much for my pockets.

Anyway, signing off.

Yours,

Diamond'

You add a whole line of heart emojis to the email then hit send. You giggle and click on the next. You don't have the heart to copy and paste so you add a bit of variety to the next.

This one is... Thor? That's his name. He's a funny one. Considering he's in the pen, you're surprised by that. The others are so dire; pushy too.

You hit reply on his last email. Something about a fight and apologising for not replying earlier. He says he was in solitary for a whole week. That sounds miserable. The thought is enough to scare you straight. It's why you've never done anything wrong in your whole life. Until now.

It's not really wrong. It's allowed. It's legal. You're just sending messages. If anything, it's a community service. These men don't have much more contact than each other and that's a recipe for chaos.

You won't admit that other reason aloud. That tickly feeling in your stomach. When they compliment you, when they say they missed you. You can't help but smile, even giggle sometimes. It's nice to be appreciated, even if it's all a fantasy.

You'll never meet these men. That's the fun part. You don't have to worry about any of this. Maybe that helps. Maybe you think too much when you're face-to-face. That explains why every cute guy you talk to sees past you.

'I forgive you, sweetie. It must have been so hard in there. The important thing is you replied. I got so worried! I hope that after all that, my email can bring a bit of comfort. I have to be honest, I never thought I'd be chatting with someone like you. That I could find this type of connection. Please, take care and email soon.'

Another parade of emojis follows and you send it off happily. Now you just have to wait and see who gets back to you first. If it's Ernie, you're not sure you'll respond. He's been fixated on his cell mate and his emails are getting a bit scary. That's the other great part. You can always just delete and block.

The response comes an hour later. You're sleepy and ready to pass out. You read it anyway.

'You are so kind, my queen.' You giggle. Yeah, he calls you that sometimes. If only he knew you were sitting in bed with an ice cream sandwich wrapper and your cell phone. Definitely not queenly behaviour. 'I got through it by thinking of you, of dreaming of the day when we can talk face-to-face. Wouldn't that be lovely? For all my mistakes, I think they will mean something if you and me can be together.'

You make a face. He's so cheesy. You can't help but laugh again. You're not trying to be cruel, you do empathise with his situation, you can't imagine being in prison, but like anyone else, he earned his time. There's one last light.

'If it isn't too much trouble, would you kindly send a picture so I have a face to admire in my lonelier moments? I've attached my own. Forgive me as it dates a few years back.'

You're not smiling anymore. You haven't sent any of the men pictures. They haven't offered theirs but you can look up their mug shots easily. You hate to ruin the fantasy but curiosity has you tapping the attachment.

Oh. You're surprised. He's older than you in this picture and by his own confession, is more so now. But he isn't repugnant. Anything but. Tall, blond, thick! You don't know if you've ever seen a man that size.

Even in a suit, it's obvious that his arms are bulging and his chest is ripe to burst out as the jacket button clings for dear life. The photo is cropped so that whoever he took it with is out of frame. His blue eyes sparkle above a defined smile. Has prison worn down all that?

You squirm. Guilt needles in your chest. You could close out and worry about it in the morning. You shouldn't be that sympathetic. He's still a criminal. You can say no. Easily. What's he going to do about it?

What could it hurt? If he saw your face. It's not like anyone would know. That anyone would recognise you or that he could find you anywhere else. You keep your social media anonymous. You aren't like the influencers who get attention just for being pretty.

It's that that gives you pause. You aren't anything but average. It's easier to pretend you're some pretty thing as you message these faceless men. Well, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe once he sees you, you won't have to worry about all that other stuff. He'll cut you off at the pass.

The thrill of it overwhelms your reluctance. It's like gambling, it could go either way.

You start a new message. More meaningly rewording of previous sentiments. Nothing new. Then you scroll through your photo roll. You take a breath and press down on a photo you think isn't half bad. It's from market day you went to with your aunt. Not exactly cutting edge but fun. She snuck in the shot as you smiled down at your gooey cinnamon roll. The impromptu snap is better than most of your posed ones.

You send and quickly lock the phone. You shove it under your pillow and swipe up the wrapper beside you. You leave it on your night stand and sink down, your insides swimming with anxiety. You're going to regret this in the morning.

🎀

'Will you call me?'

The question makes you sweat. You don't know why you feel bad. You've said no before. To him. To all of them. You draw a thick line between your secret little hobby and your real life. You shouldn't have ever sent that photo.

Despite your regret, you smile. His response was more than you could expect. The praise! You don't know that anyone ever even called you cute but he as good as wrote you a poem about your beauty. You have to remind yourself, given his circumstance, he's starved. He'd probably think your nan is sexy.

Still, you're having a hard time typing those two letter; N-O. Thor is so nice. And he asked so sweetly. But you can't do that. What if someone found out?

This whole thing is starting to feel like a big mistake, but it's so much fun. When in your life will men ever be this into you? When have they ever?

'I could call' you type without thinking. What are you doing? 'Let me know how to do that and we can set a time maybe.'

Don't hit send. Don't hit send.

Email sent.

Shit. Oh gosh. Why did you do that?

You close your laptop and leave it on your desk. You need to get ready for work. You can't be worrying about a man you'll never meet. It's all virtual, it's not real. You'll be okay.

You get yourself together and brace yourself for work. You don't really like your job. You work the counter at a tech repair shop. Independent so it's small and slow. Your boss is a bit strange too.

The only benefit is it's close and it pays a few bucks more than the alternative. You're even allowed to work on your online courses at the service desk. Really, it's perfect. You guess you're just not happy with things being boring.

You blow over the lid of your Sailor Moon travel mug and knock on the door. Jensen lets you in with a grin and stifles a yawn in his elbow. You step past him with a sheepish smile.

"If it isn't the champion of justice," he greets smugly and locks the door. You won't open for another half hour.

"Huh?" You go to the counter and slide your bag onto the shelf underneath.

"Your cup," he crosses the shop. “I am Sailor Moon, the champion of justice. In the name of the moon, I will right wrong and triumph over evil… and that means you!”

"Oh, right," you snort at his cheesiness. "You have espresso or something?"

"Red bull," he admits guiltily.

"This early?"

"Early? I never went to sleep," he comes around and goes back to typing on his glowing gaming computer. "Couldn't let my crew down."

You could roll your eyes. All he does is play Fortnite or Halo. He looks like he does too. Yet, he's in here moping after every rare stunner that walks through the door. That's why you'er there. He gets all tongue-tied with women. Well, all of them but you.

"You should join the party," he suggests.

"Well, I don't really play anymore," you shrug. "It was only for fun. My siblings... like it."

"Oh yeah, how's the family?"

"Good, I guess. They don't really call."

Your mom's too busy rebuilding her life with your step-dad. Rather, building the perfect life she never had. You sigh and open up your laptop. You grab your coffee and sip. You're tired of being forgotten.

"Jake," you say, he winces at the use of his first name, "Jensen," you glance at him, "you're a dude."

"Yeah, I am" he answers uncertainly.

"Well, you might know more than I do. You know anyone in prison? Any guys?"

"What?" He exclaims. "Where did that come from?"

"Mm... I was watching a documentary last night," you lie. "About prison or whatever."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and about you know," you sway and look at your laptop. You're terrible at lying. "The women who like write to them or whatever."

"Ew, like the Ted Bundy weirdos?" He scoffs.

"Not exactly. I mean, none of them were murderers. I think," you shrug. "But... like, if you were in prison, you'd need that, right? I mean, it's just to get you through."

"I don't know. It'd be lonely, yeah, but like... what about after?" He scratches his neck. "I got a buddy who was in for a while but he's a good dude. He was only selling... stuff."

"Really?" You perk up, "he went to prison?"

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about it," Jensen says. "Why are you talking about this?"

"Making conversation. I was just thinking about the show," you sign into your laptop. "Just thinking... I mean, how do you even end up there?"

"Bad things. I learned my lesson when I was sixteen. I broke into the high school on a dare and the cops put me in cuffs for two hours. They let me go once I cried... I mean, I was a kid so..."

You nod and try not to show any judgment. That sounds about right. A notification pops up in the corner as Jensen goes back to the fluttering over his keyboard. You click on the email.

'I've been granted call-time at noon. You can call the number below and request by my inmate number...'

You quickly minimize and hide behind your cup as you slurp. Shoot. You didn't think he'd be so fast. A call at noon? You can't say no. Not now that he got approved.

Well, this is the only time it's happening.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Okay, so, I see a lot of people talk about “stats” on fics. Here, Reddit, other social media…often in a way that suggests one can gauge quality of a fanwork based on those metrics. Writers using them to try and determine if their work is “good.” Readers using them to filter fics for just the “best” ones. So let’s talk about stats.

And yeah, this is going to be long, so let’s have a cut, but TL;DR:

AO3 stats numbers can, in the aggregate, tell us some things but they cannot tell us the quality of a piece. Authors, stats don’t mean that your writing isn’t good, no matter what the “ratios” are. Readers, stats are poor indicators of fic quality, but you should know that writers are using those numbers as indicators of engagement with and enjoyment of their work; engagement is the encouragement writers use to keep writing.

I’ve read so many posts — on Tumblr, on the AO3 subreddit, fanfiction and writing subreddits, in other social media arenas — by both authors and readers talking about the stats on fics. Wondering if they’re good, or if they aren’t. Lamenting or judging a writer’s skill based purely on those numbers. Using those numbers as a way to filter fics to find the “best” ones. Wondering if writing is even worth doing in the writer’s fandom.

Usually, because of where I hang out, they’re talking about AO3 stats, but I occasionally see stuff about Wattpad in a similar vein. I don’t know Wattpad; I’ve never used it. So I’ll just focus on AO3 here.

So, first things first, I’m not going to tell a fanfic author that they should just not care about their stats. Not because I think stats matter, really, but because I know that’s an impossible ask. If we didn’t want people to read and enjoy our stuff, we wouldn’t post it. I can read my own writing with way less work and effort if I don’t post it, honestly. I post it to share it. So I get that saying “who cares what the stats are” is actively not helpful advice for a demoralized writer and doesn’t encourage participation for readers. So here’s what I’ll say instead about what we can, and more importantly can’t glean, from AO3’s stats as writers, and try to put those AO3 stats in perspective for writers and readers of fanfic alike:

AS A WRITER:

1) Comparison is the thief of joy. If you’re getting engagement with your fic and it makes you happy, try not to dwell on whether other authors are getting more engagement. I know this is a tough one to implement.

2) If you’re going to compare, it needs to be apples to apples, and I see a lot of folks comparing apples to oranges and then feeling let down by that comparison.

2A) Someone writing for the most popular ship in your fandom while you write a rare pair is probably going to get more engagement; not because it’s better, but because more people are going to see it. They will get more hits because more people are filtering for that pairing. That doesn’t mean what you wrote isn’t good or compelling.

2B) This goes even more granular: someone who is in the Neve/Rook tag on AO3 and either excludes M/F or filters for F/F isn’t going to see my fic. And that’s okay; they’re looking for something specific and I’m not writing it. I’m writing M/F Neve/Rook at the moment. The longer a fic is up, the more engagement it’s likely to have gotten, so I need to look at dates. If I were going to compare - and I don’t and shouldn’t for my own sake - M/F Neve/Rook posted within a few days of my post would be what I should compare myself to.

And even then, given that different fics tackle different subjects, have different OCs, etc., it’s still not likely to be truly 1:1.

2C) Multi-chapter fics and long fics get different numbers and ratios of hits/kudos/comments than one-shots. The engagement pattern is different.

2D) Smut/NSFW/Archive Warning fics also tend to get different engagement patterns than fics that don’t have those markers. Some people are concerned about their usernames being linked to those themes/plots/topics. Some readers are smut fiends (and we love that for them). Both these things can skew numbers here.

3) A registered user who is logged in can only kudo once, even if the fic has multiple chapters. Someone can read an entire 27-chapter 200k word novel and love it and only be able to leave a single kudo. Guest users are tracked by IP address, so if their IP address hasn’t changed they too can only kudo a fic one time.

4) The above means that re-readers are often not getting seen in kudo numbers even if they’re your biggest fans.

5) “Hits” counts individual views, but only if outside certain timeframes. If someone reads your fic 5 times in 24 hours it won’t count as 5 hits. However, outside that time box it will register as multiple hits, which may mean you’re getting more hits and no kudos because of re-reads.

6) Engagement from readers is lower across the board. There’s been entire articles about it. It’s not just you, I promise.

7) There is no “hits to kudos” or “kudos to comments” or “hits to comments” ratio that can reliably tell if something is good or not for all the reasons above.

AS A READER:

1) Writers want engagement. Crave it. If an author didn’t want engagement, they wouldn’t post their fanfic. It’s not like they’re getting paid. And it can be incredibly discouraging not to receive any. Writers use those stats numbers - hits, kudos - and those comments to determine if people are looking at and, more importantly, enjoying their work. It’s a way of gauging engagement.

Does that mean a writer is entitled to engagement? No. But if you want an author to keep posting fic, engagement is the way to encourage that. Like I said, I can read my own stuff with much less work if I don’t post.

2) As I said above, a registered user that is logged in (or a guest still on the same IP address) can only kudo a fic once, no matter how many chapters it has or how many times they’ve read it. If you want to show you like a new chapter after you’ve dropped that initial kudo, or show a re-read, you’ll need to comment. Even if it’s just a “❤️” or “have another kudo!”

3) You aren’t bothering writers by commenting on something; really, you’re not. I see so many readers worried that they’ll come across as weird by engaging.

Friend, we’re all weird here. Go for it.

I love when people send me a multi-paragraph comment or kudo 7 of my fics in a single night. (I also love all comments, to be clear. An “OMG” or keysmash is also great. So’s a random one-off kudo.) Don’t worry you’ll annoy the writer. We can turn comments off if we don’t want them.

4) Writing and posting fic is time consuming. There’s the writing itself (already a major labor of love) and, even if there’s no editing or beta-reading, formatting and summarizing and rating and all that. Bare minimum. If there’s editing or beta-reading, now there’s an additional (and often lengthy) part of the process that has very likely meant a time investment not only from the authors but the folks that helped them. Engagement is the only pay they get.

5) To put a finer point on topic 1: Yes, lack of engagement has absolutely ended fics people loved or led writers to stop writing/sharing fanfic at all. I don’t say that to insinuate you owe a writer your engagement, but no one wants to shout into an empty room; if fanfic doesn’t involve participation from both sides, the system does eventually break down.

If you read a fic and don’t kudo or comment, the author has no way to know if you liked it or if you accidentally clicked the wrong link and immediately fled. Writers aren’t mind readers.

If you’re someone who reads a rare pair, this is doubly true. Authors of rare pairs can face a lonely existence in fandom spaces if the readers that read rare pairs don’t engage.

6) Please read the writer’s list to understand why kudos/hits/comments numbers are poor indicators of fic quality.

In Conclusion:

I don’t say all of this to suggest that someone’s feelings about fic stats and engagement levels aren’t valid. Writers, you’re allowed to be frustrated or let down by engagement levels; I’ve been there, and I see you. Readers, I have absolutely been the person that read an author’s entire catalogue of fics and didn’t comment because I didn’t know what to say or if I should (though I’m working on that). Like many people, my earliest days in fandom were spent lurking with the lurkiest among us. I’m not judging. But I think some of this stuff is helpful to remember.

You all make fandom better by your presence. No matter what the numbers are. Be kind to yourselves. And, if you’re ready, maybe throw your writers a kudo or comment. It’ll make their day.

[suzukiblu]

First, pls know I am screaming in delight at you writing think pink all month. It is my birthday month. Best gift.

Second, I got all caught up on "you're a real Katch" (I think I got that tag right?) and I need to ask (though obv you don't need to answer!) but I keep doing the reading version of peeking through my hands every time Match reminds me that Kara and Clark don't KNOW. So I need to know: do they realize? And if/when they do, do they treat Match kindly and accept him despite his deception? I'm a wimp when it comes to angst >_>

Ps. Thank you for the assurance about non-infidelity in the tim/kon xeno fic. I will happily keep following along and waiting for a wild boyfriend to appear.

well that is appropriate and amusing timing, lol.

In regards to Timkon xeno: yeah I just REALLY hate infidelity as, like . . . a thing in general, it just is SO unpleasant/unpalatable to me, so I figured I'd include that assurance to reassure anyone similarly-minded. Like, I might have written some stuff that edges into gray area "situationship unclear", but straight-up cheating on your committed partner in any situation that does not involve either amnesia, an abusive partner, being completely off your rock on sex pollen, or "presumed dead"? Please miss me with that, emotional betrayal on that level is just not a thing I can get into. Tim sober-mindedly cheating on Bernard is just not a thing I personally enjoy. And like, the only person who IS currently sex-pollen-esque compromised in that WIP is Kon, who just has a lot of complicated feelings about reality rewriting itself without him and is trying REAL HARD not to fuck shit up while also not thinking very clearly and having impulse-control issues.

Annnnnd in regards to "you're a real Katch": vague but still spoiler-ish response behind the cut.

Ninety percent of the angst that is/is going to occur in this fic is internal and based off Match having eight hundred billion shitty past experiences that were sometimes trauma-informed responses from a person who did not understand they were enough of a person to be traumatized and were sometimes inadvertently self-inflicted due to maladaptive coping mechanisms and were sometimes just the Agenda being fucking shitty, and the remaining ten percent is entirely accidental triggering of said trauma and not deliberate, like, CRUELTY on anyone else's part or anything. There is not at any point gonna be anyone being deliberately cruel, except MAYBE an upset/freaked-out Match lashing out at some point thanks to those maladaptive coping mechanisms, depending on how it writes.

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 25- Tomorrow

Masterlist AO3 Previous

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: THE END! This series gave me burnout lowkey but it's okay. Can't believe it's already over. Feels like just yesterday I was plotting down the chapters in a little notebook. I'm a little sad it's over

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

You throw yourself to the ground as bullets begin raining down. Landing roughly beside Valeria. The bodies of your team fall heavily as they're struck. You're too disoriented and it's too dark to see who's making it and who isn't. There's an old car a few feet away. Gathering up every atom of strength in you, you grab ahold of a now unconscious and heavily bleeding Valeria and try to drag her. Cold claws of fear grip your heart tightly. How much blood has she lost? You can't tell, the amount is skewed by how much has soaked up into the dirt. Something wizzes by and burns your leg. you gasp and drop Valeria. Looking down. Your pants are torn by the knee and blood starts wetting the material.

Gritting your teeth you grab Valeria and use up the last of your strength the pull her behind the car. Breathing heavily and shaking so bad that you can barely pull of your rifle, you drop it to the ground and check over Valeria. Lifting up her shirt. In her side is a clean enter wound. Profusely bleeding. The smell is overwhelmingly metallic and your head swims. Don't pass out, don't throw up. Valeria will die if you can't do this. Fighting back the queasiness, you reach down and use your knife to rip apart the legs of your pants. You struggle to wrap the fabric around her. The sounds of gunfire feels deafening.

You tie the strip fabric tightly and feel helpless as it darkens with blood in seconds. Is that tight enough? You peek your head over the car and see Doug half crouching half running to the gate. Furious and panicked, you grab Valeria's handgun and aim. You miss the first shot, not even seeing where the bullet lands, but you hit him the second shot. Landing a shot right in his back. He stumbles and crashes down. You duck back down, narrowly avoiding getting shot yourself as a bullet pings off the front of the car. You check back on Valeria, checking her pulse and feeling disturbed by how faint it is. You should've stayed back at the house. Hot tears blur your vision and you don't fight them. Instead letting them fall as you press down on her wound. Keeping pressure on it and pleading with her not to die. You're not mad at her anymore.

Valeria has never looked more human covered in dirt and her own blood. It's a startling cold reminder that no matter how smart or strong a person is, that they all fall eventually. You count down the seconds. Just trying to keep Valeria's blood inside of her body where it belongs. Scared out of your mind and trying not to pass out. It finally goes quiet. You wait a few more minutes before peeking around the car again. Seeing the compound littered with hole-ridden bodies both familiar and unfamiliar. Your blood roars in your ears as silhouettes begin moving out from cover. Fear gives way to relief at the familiar faces.

You wave some of them over.

"Valeria's hurt!" You say, voice cracking with nerves. Alain and another man rush over. You back away and let the more experienced and collected individuals take over. Dawn begins to break by the time Valeria is carefully lifted from the ground and into the truck. You're sat in the back with her, instructed with keeping pressure on her wounds. A couple of the group stays behind for cleanup duty, erasing any evidence of their presence. Valeria's head lays in your lap and you brush her hair from her face. Damp with sweat. She looks so pale. You're exhausted, and cold, and need a shower. The ride back to the house feels like it takes days. Many times, you bite back the urge to demand that they take her to the hospital. That would raise too many questions and Valeria wouldn't want questions. She had the foresight to bring medics.

You follow behind the men uselessly while they carry Valeria down into the basement. The medics kick everyone out of the basement while they work on her, everyone including you. You pace around by the basement door. Feeling like you're losing your mind.

"What happened?" You hear Mark ask. "Is she going to die?"

You sure hope not. Valeria, strong, opinioned, powerful Valeria, reduced to an empty corpse and memory. Your chest tightens painfully. She's a liar, murderer, evil drug lord, but she's also your friend. Hired you when no one else did.

What will become of the cartel? Of you? Fear and uncertainty threaten to overwhelm you. The following days you don't leave her side. Setting up a nest of blankets and pillows in the basement, uncaring of the bugs and rats. You look down at her on the hard little table. She looks so still. You can't help but feel at fault for this. You knew something didn't feel right. You told her it was clear and now she's unconscious and dying on a table in some guy's basement. Maybe if you were just better at cooking meth she never would have felt the need to find and kill Doug. Though deep down you know how competitive she was. Is. She's not dead yet. The thin blanket covering her shifts and you look up hopefully. She lifts her arm and covers her face, groaning in pain.

You feel sick with relief and rush to her side, grabbing her hand.

"Valeria." You say. Valeria looks at you, brows furrowed.

"Why am I in a basement?" She growls, trying to sit up only to gasp and fall back.

"Relax." You murmur. "You... do you remember what happened?" You ask anxiously.

"Yeah, we raided the compound and then I was fucking shot. Now why am I in the basement?" She says, sounding annoyed. You squeeze her hand.

"The medics treated you here, it was out of the way." You tell her.

You let yourself indulge in her for a few more moments.

"I'm sorry, Val." You say. "I should've checked harder, Alain should've checked harder."

Valeria looks away. "It's... things don't always go perfectly, and even the most experienced of people make mistakes. How many casualties?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Seven. On our side. And Doug is dead too." You tell her quietly. Valeria grimaces.

"We shouldn't have come here. Waste of time and men." She says gruffly. You reach out a hand and brush it through her hair gently. Valeria subtly leans into it.

You sigh wearily.

"We got rid of the competition." You remind her. "We'll go back to being the best in the business."

Valeria looks at you. "Will you still cook for me?" She asks. "If this scared you off, I'd understand." You're surprised by the lack of bite to her words. Like she means what she says.

"Of course I'll still cook for you." You murmur. "Besides, I don't think I'll be able to work a normal job after this. I was the one who killed Doug." The realization hits you hard. A pit opening up in your stomach. It makes you feel dirty. Bad. wrong. You shake it off for now, there's a time and a place to think about it.

Valeria stares at you. Looking wholly vulnerable. 

"I know you want a genuine apology." She says. "But I can't give you one. But I can give you honesty. I'm not sorry for lying about Corra, but I am sorry that it hurt you. I was acting in my own best interest. And yours by extension. I don't expect you to forgive me but I want you to know that no matter what I do care about you, even it it's from arm's length."

You frown at her. Considering her words.

"What you did wasn't okay. You don't get to decide things for me even if you think they aren't good for me. That's up for me to decide." You tell her. "I'm willing to forgive you eventually though. But you have to be willing to change some of your ways." You caress her face. "If you can't do that, then I cannot be with you. I need someone who sees me as my own person. I appreciate your protection, but protect me a little less." You lean down and gently press your lips to hers.

Valeria kisses back without urgency or fire. The kiss is simple and sweet and doesn't overstay it's welcome. You pull away and look at her with affection and concern.

"I'll go tell the others that you're awake. Then we can finally go home." You give her a fleeting smile before leaving her on the table. Rick and Corra are together again. You wish you could apologize to them but you're too caught up in how relieved you are that you didn't lose Valeria. You don't know if she'll be able to change but you know you'll always love her, as a friend, as a boss, maybe as more.

[zae-heeyyy]

Evanesce Deleted Scene

I wrote this scene between reader and Hosea waayyyy back in November before when the story was mostly me just daydreaming. It's not so flowery/ figurative because it never made it to the real editing stage. This was me just getting the idea out. Short scene below. Tagged with Reader X Arthur, but not a lot of Arthur here. I have so many deleted scenes from all of my fics. Let me know if you're interested in more of these!

You heard Hosea before you saw him— heard his wheeze as he climbed the stairs. He didn't bother knocking; he only shoved his handkerchief in your hand and sat beside you silently while you cried. He wasn't supposed to be the one comforting you; your fiance was.

"He proposed to me back in Blackwater," you squeaked out. The old man lifted his head, trying and failing to hide his surprise. You dabbed at your eyes as you went on, "Said we'd do it, officially, after the ferry job."

Hosea placed a hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles but still not saying anything. "That went the way it did and now...."

You could barely get your words out over the sobs, "And now, I don't know if it'll ever happen. And I'm angry, Hosea. I'm angry because he promised. He promised he'd get me out of here and that we could live a normal life, and I love you all, I do, but I—"

The silver-haired man only nodded and then looked off.

"You don't have to explain yourself; I know that all too well. Bessie and I got out once. She wasn't happy when I couldn't stay away, but she never left my side."

You didn't know how to respond, so you just listened.

"I made promises I didn't keep too. A man can only hope his children don't make the same mistakes as he did."

He stared off forlornly, "I'd give this all up if I could have her back. Wouldn't think about it for a second. That boy Arthur, he's stubborn and angry, and as sharp as wool on his best days." You managed to choke out a laugh through your tears as he went on, "but he loves you. I know that for certain."

He looked down at the ground beneath his feet, then caught your tear-blurred gaze.

"I worry about him, with everything he's lost. Don't let him lose you too, I'm not sure if any of us could handle it."

Full story here: Evanesce

[deeranon]

This is honestly such a cute concept, and cool, too! Reader clearly has issues from Playtime, and maybe their voice is mangled from the transformation or they have to learn all over because of their new mouth. It’s heartbreaking hearing a garbled little kid’s voice trying their best to communicate with their new family that is only half their size. I watched a play through and I’m pretty sure Yarnaby is near-sighted?(it’s been a minute) so the Batfam (normal, bcuz I am uncomfortable with most yan things) helping reader adjust and accepting them would be so cute!

I wonder how they’d react if reader had a fear of fire, like they were observing one of their brothers in the kitchen when the smell of smoke hit them and they started freaking out, thinking they might catch on fire. The Batfam comes rushing to calm them, and whoever is cooking is immediately trying to get rid of the smoke while they’re just sobbing and pressing their giant yarn body against a corner because they know how easy it would be to catch fire. Maybe Sawyer threatened them with it when they wouldn’t agree to do something. Heartbreak #2.

Or what if they want to go out on patrol, they want to spend time together with their family, or the Batfam takes them with because they have a fear of being left alone because of Playtime experiments(heartbreak #3)? There’s just this giant yarn lion trailing after Gotham’s most terrifying vigilantes and they’re just???okay with it?? Reader is just happy to spend time with their family, giggling (this terrifies normal people) at their brother’s antics and playing “tag” with bad guys when Jason or Damian steals them for bonding time.

Batfam definitely gets mad if the press or just people on the street start calling reader their pet. Jason will absolutely go guns ablazing if it’s a villain and yell “that’s my little sibling you sack of potatoes!” Because 1. Reader is a child and very susceptible to language 2. Will absolutely mimick him if he says a bad word and has gotten in trouble for it before.

The whole Batfam fusses over reader’s yarn mane. The streets are dirty! Who knows what those odd green puddles are carrying! They all take turns helping reader remove random junk like empty cans and burrs from their mane and going through the process to keep their yarn intact and healthy.

So much to do with this crossover!

Now you’ve got me thinking 💭

Batfamily with a Yarnaby Reader

Quick Author’s note: This little idea of mine applies to both yandere batfamily and regular bat family.

Reader is basically the product of their mother and Bruce from a one night stand. Mom wanted to keep the baby and you two had a good life together before she died into a car accident. Since she was a loyal, friendly, and honest loading worker at Playtime Co. factory, they took you in as an orphan. You intrigued them with your skills in each game so they used you as the next experiment, Experiment 1166 they called you. You were whipped and forced to obey Dr. Harley Sawyer’s orders until one day everything was stopped and shut down when the Batfamily was involved. Bruce found out that you were his kid by your files he found at the company and investigated, the news in Gotham spreaded like wildfire with all of this, especially this news. Despite your animal like state, he took you in. You were still innocent as the other toys; you were just like the other toys. Scared, hungry, and angry. Just trying to survive. Damien absolutely LOVED you and admired your soft yarniness and strength. Taking you to cuddle and watch him train. Cuddling is a big thing in this family when it came to you. Looking at you with love as you looked back with your sweet, big dark eyes. It was you and them against the world kiddo.

They love you so much.

[moltensmusings]

So, speaking from the perspective of a Catradora fan, I don't think Catradora was well handled either. Leagues better than Bumbleby, but there's still major issues with how the ship was handled in canon.

I think Catra's reconciliation with Adora was far too rushed. Between the events of seasons 3 and 4, there was a lot between them that should have been addressed in the final season, and it just wasn't. Catra spent 4 seasons being incredibly toxic, but barely showed any growth from it. I think they needed one more season between 4 and the final season to really show Catra and Adora's reconnection and Catra's growth. As it is now, even as a fan, it almost feels like Catradora came out of nowhere at times.

There's also the promotional material and children's books that once listed Adora and Catra as adopted sisters which is complicated in and of itself, especially since they were the only two to be given this distinction in the Horde.

Not only that, but everything with Catra being mind controlled by Horde Prime also has a lot of racist undertones (Catra is apparently supposed to be Latina and possibly Native American and there's a long history of both Latina and Native American women having their hair forcibly cut by oppressors which....is a major yikes factor).

I think my main thing about Catr^dora is specifically that the writer was queer/it was intended to be canon from the beginning! I've yet to fully watch the show through but ND Stevenson consistently makes queer content for kids. How much someone does or doesn't like what he writes is fully a preference and I don't want to act like Ca1tvi or catr^Dora are completely perfect though I do acknowledge my post may have come off that way. Both of them have their flaws for sure!

But regardless of what the creators of rw//by try to say, it was very obvious from the beginning that queer characters weren't in their mind. Initially the set up was for Sun as a love interest, and I won't sit here and say he was a better option because I don't ship them anymore and I do in fact like rw/by have a canon wlw couple in the main cast. It's fantastic. But I won't let fans or the writers gaslight me into believing the intention for it to exist was always there when actual queer characters in history/myth got turned straight by the writers and the first few seasons focused mainly on straight romances (everything with Jaune, Weiss and Neptune, Blake and sun, yang almost only having men flirt with her/her flirting with them).

I don't think the bees should never have happened, I'm simply critical of the lack of proper writing for them in the early seasons and how side characters get shafted as the show goes on to make them a better couple by comparison.

While I can't go as in depth as Shera as I wish I could things like this type of criticism are super important! We need to be critical of the media we consume. We can still love and enjoy it (LoK is my favorite show but I'm fully aware of the writing flaws.)

I definitely think catr^Dora suffered from the same thing as most queer content in children's media where the studio fights the creators. It's why a lot of times we dont get true confirmations of love until the final seasons/seeing wlw/mlm ships kiss is such a massive thing even still. When ND Stevenson has more freedom he always makes his queer content much more clear from pretty early on. Anytime queer children's media struggles with it that's often what I think to. It doesn't mean Shera is free of criticism, more that I give it leniency at times when I wouldn't for other shows. Same for LoK. Steven Universe was able to push a lot more than you'd expect thanks to Rebecca Sugar and the team working to get approval, and even owl house shows us how far we've come.

Rw/by was made by an independent company, Monty Oum had creative freedom to make his series we were told that from the beginning. The lack of queer representation/erasure of queer characters was a choice. And I wish fans would accept that rather than just eating up claims that bees was always planned.