#if you speak another language and have thoughts on this PLEASE share

[sky-kenobye]

I vaguely talked about this in some tags earlier but now it's stuck in my head:

In french darth vader is called dark vador, probably because it's easier to pronounce for french people (but could also be very random, in ANH there's a bunch of wild translations, some of them stuck, some were switched back to the original in the other films 🤷) but now that I'm used to the English version it sounds kinda stupid ngl, except that I thought about how we (french people) would pronounce darth vader if they had kept it that way and omg this is even worse.

First: "darth". We pronounce sith as 'sit', so logically I'd say 'dart' but that sounds way too ridiculous, so probably 'darss'?

And Vader: most likely 'vahd-air'. Which. Yikes. But could be worse: vad-é ? Vad-er (like, Earl without the L)? Could be closer to vay-der if the movies were recent but in the 70s-80s there's no way.

But anyway:

Dart Vad-air

Lmao I'm crying help. Now I'm thinking about how people from different planets must have different accents, so there has to be some politician or something who only ever saw his name written so they pronounce it with their accent and call him Dart Vad-air to his face. How do you even react to that. How high is the risk of getting choked?

[willaminareads]

too busy

PARING: exhusband!drew x reader

SUMMARY: you and drew had been divorced for a little under a year now. while drew had your two kids this weekend, zach unfortunately let it slip, that mommy had a new "friend". drew was anything but thrilled.

WORD COUNT: 667

WARNINGS: possesive drew, angst, fluff, cursing, kids.

WILLA SPEAKS: hey! this is my first fic, on this blog, and i'm so excited!! please note that english is not my first language, so if any mistakes occur, i'm so sorry! enjoy<3

you stand outside his door, waiting for him to open it. you were a little nervous. you didn't exactly have a reason to be, but you were.

"y/n," drew says as he opens the door. "hi, baby, come in. the kids are in their playroom." he ushers you inside, hoping you didn't notice he let the nickname slip. old habits die hard.

you smile softly at the nickname but quickly stop once you notice. this is your ex. hell, not even just your ex—your ex-husband.

you follow him inside his new house. you liked it, though it did remind you of the house the two of you once shared.

"can i get you anything?" drew breaks the silence.

"you have tea?" you ask softly.

"the kettle is already on, sweetheart," he responds in the same soft tone. god, he knows me so well, you thought.

he finds a cup for you and starts preparing the tea. silence falls between you. it wasn't awkward per se, but not exactly pleasant either.

drew is the first to break the silence, still keeping all his attention on your tea. "zach says you've got a new friend." his tone is sharp, not at all soft like the one you'd heard just a couple of minutes ago.

a quiet "oh," was all you could muster up. you didn't know what to say. i mean, what could you say?

he turns his attention to you, handing you the cup of tea. "yeah, that was my reaction as well," he says bitterly.

you sigh. "come on, drew, don't do this." guilt written all over your face.

he lets out a dry laugh. "i didn't do shit, y/n."

"i'm allowed to move on, drew," you say softly, catching his gaze.

"the fuck you are," he sneers, placing his hands on the countertop. "i can't, so you don't get to either." his statement hangs in the air as you stare at each other.

you scoff. "no, you don't get to do this, drew. you fucked up. you didn't have time for us," you say, knowing how to hit him where it hurts.

"don't say that." he looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

"why not, drew? it's true," you state. "you were too busy with your big dreams, and, i mean, it worked out for you," you say, waving your arms slightly. "you have everything a man could want," you taunt.

"you know that's not true," he glares at you.

you shrug. "you can't have your cake and eat it too."

he scoffs at your comment. "right, okay. you're getting on my nerves, y/n," he bites. "you know how much i wanted to make this work. you know how much i love you—"

you cut him off. "loved."

"no, fuck that, and fuck you for saying it," he raises his voice at you. he doesn't do that often. "i'm sorry..." he takes a deep breath. "you know that i still love you. i just want another chance, y/n. let me show you that we can make this work," he says softly, reaching for your hand.

you shake your head at him. "we can't put the kids through another divorce, drew," you say softly.

"we won't," he says. "come on, y/n. we can make this work."

you sigh. "drew..."

"please," he says, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek.

"there's no new guy." drew stares at you, a little confused, waiting for you to continue. "that friend zach says he saw me with?" drew nods along. "it was chase."

"chase? as in my co-star chase?" drew asks, utterly confused.

"yeah... he and maddie came by to help me build a dresser." you bite your lip, your nerves taking over your body.

"oh," he falls silent.

"drew?" you ask.

"so, no new guy?" he asks with a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

"no new guy." you confirm.

"so... do you wanna marry me again..?" he asks.

"drew!" you exclaim with laughter as you smack his arm.

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Your sexual appeal 18+

Hey friends! Welcome to another PAC. I was feeling generous to do another on top of my busy week :) enjoy! Don’t be afraid to like comment and reblog to share the love! Lol ya’ll are being fed.

Pile 1: Hey pile 1! Kicking off strong, Wild thoughts by Rihanna is playing in my head. So you guys already have such a powerful energy—I feel it does permeate the room that you enter. Instead of everyone else’s energy affecting you, you are the one influencing the energy and it is felt strong! That’s part of your sexual appeal. Your legs can be very sexually appealing, like I’m seeing people would imagine you wearing garters, knee length boots, stockings, ripped tights. Or skirts that show off your legs! Maybe it’s toned and your skin is really smooth, and I heard it gives off an airbrushed appearance so people find that very alluring. I would imagine you guys walk with a powerful stride too, you’re always looking to where you’re going and not necessarily at people which makes them feel intimidated. Definitely not your fault you’re confident! Some of you may also walk delicately and quietly and you may scare people lol. But it’s also part of your allure because you scare people when they least expect it ;) you have them standing on their toes! I feel also you may be surrounded by a lot of people. Everywhere you go, people notice you’re remembered. So that’s hot, seeing other people look up to you and walk up to you shows your confidence! People trust you, right? And I also feel you may be foreign. Your eyes may be different from the rest, your hair color can stand out in a friend group, and your voice as well. Maybe you can speak multiple languages which is sexy to others, they love your cadence and tone. And people may think your cultural background is appealing. I feel as though you guys stand out a lot which is sexually attractive to others—even if you don’t necessarily mean to. Because I’m getting two piles here where one is confident, assertive. And the other appears soft and angelic yes, but also carries an undertone of seduction. Or maybe you play both. Maybe you pull both personas out when it serves you :) super intelligent! I heard their beauty and brains—so your intelligence and when you show off what you know is considered sexy. Thank you for being here pile 1 <3 please like comment and reblog!

Pile 2: Hello there pile 2! Immediately I saw someone countering someones idea, opinion or argument. I feel you know how to argue, and not through yelling or cursing necessarily. But by fact checking people and it puts them in their place. People feel intimidated by your knowledge, and are especially drawn in by the banter you provide. I feel like you’re a diva, and you know this! You know beauty also comes from intelligence as well and maybe you’re an air sign! Libra aquarius and gemini. Or have an air venus. You can earth too, taurus virgo and Capricorn. Ya’ll are sarcastic, and have a dry humor other people find themselves reeling towards. I think people also give off strong reactions around you, whether it be from love bombing to rejecting you, and it’s not because you did anything wrong or you’re “different.” Your ability to alchemize is felt very strong, so maybe you have pluto strong in your chart—but your energy is felt leaking into peoples subconscious. Especially those who haven’t healed from past wounds its enlightened even more when they’re with you, which makes people feel the need to deflect, hide and project onto you. Because your knowledge scares them. And it also turns people on around you, with what you know. I also feel you may prefer to dress modest, simple and it leaves more to the imagination. People may wonder what you look like under neath. When you go to the gym, people may wonder what your progress looks like under that hoodie or sweatpants. They’re enamored by what they can’t see and they love it. Someone here could be muslim, I’m also getting that message. If you wear a hijab, people love your eyes and your features that pop out beautifully. They find your eyes to be striking and this goes for those who wear a hijab or not! Your eyes are deep and piercing. I heard Elena Gilbert from the TVD, so maybe ya’ll like her, or dress like her at times. You guys come across as detached, yet grounded and rooted in. It reminds me of earth & air energy which I already mentioned. You guys keep up with the trends and I think you try to not follow it necessarily, but you adjust it to your advantage. So if you see clothes that are trending you’ll adjust it so it isnt a direct copy, but a mixture of what you like and its sexy. Sexy because it works for you. I feel as though people want to peek into your mind to know what you’re thinking and feeling. How does your mind work? It’s mysterious and hidden which leaves people guessing which adds to your appeal. People also may fantasize about being “chosen” by you. Having your time, energy, attention, smile, jokes, etc. they can feel jealous when you’re giving that to someone else. Thank you pile 2 for being here, I sincerely appreciate it <3 please reblog like and comment for more!

Pile 3: Hey pile 3, I don’t know why but I saw Mariah Carey singing “its time,” for Christmas 😭 so maybe y’all like that meme a lot, or you love winter and you’re excited to celebrate. Or your energy is super fun! My ear is ringing so—someone has a strong presence of spirit guides and angels here! Or a loved one that passed away is what I heard which I know isn’t a focus of the reading, just needed to say it. Moving on, I feel as though people fantasize about being in your arms. Like, your gaze might be very soft and loving and people fantasize about being held that way when they look at you. You may have a doe eye gaze, so they fantasize about you being below whilst giving them that look. Or holding them and cuddling </3 but also, I feel your sexual appeal is driven by this soft nature. This soft feminine energy which we all have regardless of our gender. So maybe you’ve been working on pampering yourself, going with the flow emotionally, allowing not forcing, etc. all this is very sexually appealing to those around you, and people feel “at home” with you. They feel like it’s a lovely night and it’s sensual with you. I keep getting Christmas memes and concepts 😭 someone here is super excited lol. Its cute. I also feel that people may view you as a present like they need you. They feel like a hopeless romantic around you, because your energy is incredibly nurturing and touches their heart. I also feel that you guys can be witty, sharp with your words which also makes people sexually attracted. It goes straight to their core, so maybe you speak softly, or have an accent that people love. You might prefer to wear light loose fabrics, lots of bright colors, ribbons, or material that is slinky or silky. People feel as though it’s sexy, because it’s soft and feminine like, which adds to your allure. They may imagine you being tied up in ribbons like a present literally. People feel they can escape in your arms—you’re like a drug. People can’t get enough. I feel you already know this, and you come across as sweet as those cute heart candies. Sweethearts. I think thats what you call it! Lol. I think people like when you ask for help even when you know you’ve got it—and when you do the arm brushing thingy, you hold it, people swoon. Your touch is so gentle and yet grounding and they find themselves falling heard over heels <3 People may also think you’re intelligent or skilled in an area of your life which—adds contrast to your softness. And they love it. They’re surprised and turned on by what you know. You may go on rants about your interests and they love to listen! So the more you share your passions it’s such a turn on! Because you’re so deeply involved with your emotions and what makes you feel good internally, that others feel this. They feel your authenticity! I also heard babydoll aesthetic so I have no idea if that is someones theme, blog, way of dressing, etc. thats cool. Thanks pile 3 for being here <3 dont forget to like comment and reblog!

Extra

Paid readings 🤍

[simp-ly-writes]

How Could You Refuse?

─────── · ·

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Assistant!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: When assigned as the lab assistant to Jayce, you were first intimidated to work under someone of such genius inventions but the longer you work alongside one another, the more comfortable you feel and the more you feel for Jayce.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, light angst, fluff, touch as a love language, jealous! and protective!Jayce, reader is mentioned to have hair.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,662

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: The way in which I hated Jayce so incredibly much to being in love with him in season 2 deserves to be studied. Let me know if you like this!

─────── · ·

─ · · You had been working under Jayce for as long as recent memory could remember. As soon as he got started working his brilliant mind within the Academy, you were assigned to help the genius (and to keep him alive as well)

─ · · At first you were intimidated and worried to work with the man, often staying in your own corner of the room, running over with tools before taking a few too many steps back- allowing him space or not speaking as to not disturb him but the longer you worked together, the more comfortable you felt. Sitting beside him, sharing meals and ideas together, hands brushing against one another when passing tools and diagrams. The jokes you two shared when your minds were foggy and not quite running right as you laughed at anything at all before the cleaners kicked you both out for the night

─ · · Working for Jayce as you both grew and aged meant getting woken up at odd hours of the night and early morning to be a comforting presence and to ensure he remember to drink liquids other than coffee and the caffeinated tea he unsuccessfully tried to "out-smart" you with

─ · · If Jayce was the brain, you were practically an extension of his body, moving around with him, always knowing what tool or paper he would be next. And if he was ranting or trying to summarize his key points before presenting in front of the Professor, you would be standing in front of him, notebook and pen in arms capturing his every thought. And when you would run out of paper, you would simply start writing up and around your arm

─ · · It would be an uncommon sight not to see you covered in Jayce's diagrams, equations, or quotes as you two walked down the halls together arm in arm. At first, you insisted upon walking slightly apart yet Jayce was having none of that, grabbing your arm and parading you down the hall with a large goofy smile as you did your best to hide your face from the on-coming stares as you glared at his shoes. But now you embraced the mutual comfort you both found in your friendship

─ · · One time Viktor decided to come into the laboratory early and was surprised to see you both asleep at the desk, your head resting on Jayce's shoulder as his arm wrapped around your side, cuddling you both together. Opening a window to let the cool morning breeze, out of the corner of his eye Viktor watched as you both came back to your senses. Stumbling away from one another as you patted down your hair and Jayce stretched himself out as your eyes darted all the way around the room, doing your best to not look and met Viktor's curious stare before he too turned around and began working. "coffee, anyone?"

"please," Jayce replies, grabbing your hand gently as you nod, dropping it and turning out of the hall, only catching the start of his next sentence to Viktor.

"I think I haven't been the most truthful..."

─────── · ·

─ · · As Jayce's diagrams became more complex, his position within the Academy rose and with his growing partnership with Viktor as well, all eyes were on these two men you had the pleasure of working alongside and you couldn't help but receive a few curious glances your way as well.

─ · · It was no shocker to anyone seeing your beauty under your ink filled arms and messy hair that you tugged at endlessly while trying to crunch numbers after numbers with a sleepy Jayce leaning on your shoulder, overlooking your work. He would often press a kiss to your hand, forehead, or cheek, praising you as your cheeks heated up before you squeezed his hand in thanks and returned back to your work

─ · · Now that you think about it, you both had been way more physically affectionate to one another in recent moments yet that was only a testimony to your long-term partnership, nothing more, nothing less.

─ · · You had actually received many offers from other brilliant minds and even sponsors asking you to work for them, and you denied every time knowing that your place was working with your boys but that didn't mean Jayce didn't get annoyed to your surprise.

─ · · His eyebrow furrowed as yet another person came forward, trying to charm your pants off and get you to work for them. He trusted in you, trusted in your working friendship but there was always that smaller, inner voice within him that thought otherwise. That you would leave him for something "bigger" and "greater" that pushed him to do his best- to impress you- to get you to stay

─ · · You were worried about just how far Jayce was pushing himself, striving for greatness as you spent an equal time sitting at the desk, often falling asleep at his side no matter how many times he asked you to go to bed. And more often than not, when you would reawaken in the morning, you would fine a simple note from Jayce as he had carried you back to your room.

─ · · When Jayce became a councillor, you were immensely proud, crying the entire duration when one of your collegue's told you before heading back to the lab where Viktor was already tinkering away. Might as well get closer to Viktor now that it'll just be us two from now on, you tell yourself. Sitting near Viktor as you pass him tool after tool, write down his notes, and provide him coffee

─ · · Work carries on as it usually does, the only difference is not seeing Jayce in the last couple of days yet that was to be expected with his promotion. You were happy to work alongside Viktor but more so than you had been in the past. You both shared a love of blunt and dry humour.

─ · · Jayce was confused as to why he hadn't see you yet, you were his assistant, were you not? He thought to himself near the tail end of a council meeting before heading to the laboratory to find you and Viktor asleep at the same desk, ankles intertwined, heads on a blanket of blueprints and sketches.

─ · · In a feeling of deja vu, Jayce opens the window, allowing the cool morning breeze to drift through the room as you both stir away. You blink, eyes and mind hazy as you stare at the broad man standing in front of you, hand resting on the back of your head. "I've missed you," the voice calls out as you hum, you shake Viktor awake as he groans, pushing your hand away before rubbing his eyes. "Jayce... is that you?"

"yes, it is, and this is where you've been the whole time?" Jayce asks, arms crossed like his eyebrows as he stares you down, his stare making you feel small.

"uh, yes. I've been helping Viktor continue his plans for the new gauntlets for the miners..." you trail off, looking over to find the chair beside you empty, your frown noticeable as Jayce gently turns your head back to face him.

"I need you by my side." And how could you refuse? with the puppy dog eyes you received.

─────── · ·

─ · · That very same day, you apologized to Viktor who only shrugged his shoulders, hand shooing you away and back to Jayce as you followed him in his shadow between meetings with the usual notes in your arm and tray of coffee in the other. Jayce huffed, stopping as you walked into his back, "nothing has changed, you still are my dearest friend, you know that?" Jayce looks down at you, expression serious as you nod your head firmly and take a step beside him, feeling as he takes the tray from out of your hand and wraps his arm under your own. "Much better."

─ · · You felt very out of place, standing to his side during council meetings as he would ask for your opinion as if you were back in the lab, except this time, a dozen eyes were watching your every move as you leaned in to whisper into Jayce's ear your answers.

─ · · The same feeling could also be said for the various events you accompanied him to as well. His arm always a staple around your waist or arm as he guided and introduced you to socialite after politician and you were becoming seriously overwhelmed, this was not a part of the original job description, you thought to yourself while freshening up in the washroom, another councillor Mel, joined you soon afterwards

"You and Jayce appear... close" you flush underneath her curious gaze, eyes darting around the mirror to anywhere but her gaze. "Yes... we have... worked together for quite some time now," you explain, picking at the skin near your fingertips.

"Just working partners though?" Mel presses forward, the hint of a smile appearing on her lips as your mind races at a mile a minute, you think of his mouth whispering into your ear, his large hands gripping your waist, his groggy morning voice as you wake him up with a hand on his shoulder as he smiles lazily at you before pressing a kiss to your temple. Your heart races as you shake your head of these thoughts, "we are nothing more than that," you clarify.

"So that means you wouldn't be mad if I tried something?" Mel asks, extending her hand in an equal silent ask as you stare at the gold jewellery running up her arm doing nothing but already compliment her immense beauty, they would look good together. "No, go ahead."

─────── · ·

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

[just-nc-tea]

the truth untold pt. 2 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

READ PART ONE HERE --⟢ PART 1

⭑.ᐟ Fake Dating - Sim Jaeyun Falling for Jake was never part of the plan. The wedding was supposed to be the end, but somewhere between your getting-to-know-each-other-to-seem-convincing-dates and the fake dating in front of your friends, this all stopped feeling like an act. But loving him means stepping into a world where you don’t belong, risking heartbreak at the hands of another rich boy . So you make the only choice you can. Even if it feels so wrong.

ᝰ genre. Hockeyplayer! Jake, college sports , a LOT of angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, fluff, suggestive, fake dating, miscommunication.ᐟ₊ ⊹ �� warnings. Swearing, partying, consumption of weed, alcohol and nicotine, suggestive language & actions( I tried writing smut and I was unsuccessful) , shitty exes, strained family relations, mention of death, desciption of murder (Y/N is a anthropology student and works with dead bodies, but it's nothing detailed) , they are also kinda dumb and should just speak to each other PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 35.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ GET ADDED MY TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT 🏒 ᝰ an. part two is in here and the story is done!! Thank you for all the feedbak on pt. 1! This is my baby and I hope you all love it just as much and give it just as much love! In theory I think you could even read this as a stand alone if you’re not up to read pt.1?! ₊ ⊹  

A few days later, you and Jake stood in Incheon Airport, weaving through the crowds toward your gate while sharing a roll of gimbap you bought from GS25 after security. Well, technically, he bought it. You were just stealing it.

Jake had known you would be hungry. You had spent the entire day in class, rushed straight to the subway to meet him at his dorm and barely had time to breathe before heading to the airport. He asked if you wanted anything before the flight, but you waved him off, saying you weren’t hungry. He didn’t believe you for a second. So he bought two rolls. Just in case. Now, as you strolled beside him, you had successfully stolen one piece, then another, then almost half of his first roll. He narrowed his eyes at you, holding the last piece protectively between his fingers.

“You said you weren’t hungry,” he accused, pulling the gimbap just out of your reach. “I’m not,” you replied, very much reaching for it. Jake scoffed. “Then what the hell have you been doing for the last five minutes?” You grinned, still making a grab for the food. “Making sure you don’t eat too much before the flight.” “Oh, how generous,” he said dryly, shoving the last piece into his mouth before you could steal it. He smirked when you let out an annoyed huff, chewing with satisfaction. “You’re lucky I bought two.” Your eyes lit up instantly, and you stretched your hand out expectantly.

Jake gave you a blank stare. “What?” “The other roll,” you said, wiggling your fingers. He snorted. “Oh, this one?” He pulled it from his bag, shaking it slightly in your direction before tucking it right back inside. “I thought you weren’t hungry?” “Jake,” you said, tone dropping into something serious. “Give me the gimbap.” “Or what?” he teased, holding the plastic container closer to his chest.

“Or I’ll make sure to tell Jay we did actually light the kitchen on fire.” Jake let out an actual laugh. “That’s the threat you’re going with? You think he’ll believe that?” “Oh, I’ll really sell it,” you continued, smirking. “You know I am good actress, baby.” You blinked up at him.  Jake felt heat creep up his neck and immediately shoved the second roll into your hands. “Take it.” You grinned in victory, opening the package and popping a piece into your mouth. “See? I knew you’d come around.” Jake shook his head but didn’t argue. You were impossible. And yet, somehow, he didn’t mind.

Jake had expected to dread stepping onto the plane more than he actually did. The night before, he had talked to his dad. An exhausting conversation where he’d reassured him, yet again, that he was coming home for the wedding. That yes, you were still coming too. His dad had barely reacted, just humming in acknowledgment before launching into a lecture about who Jake needed to speak with at the reception. It has been three months since he blurted your name to his dad, three months since he roped you into this fake relationship just because he didn’t want to face his father alone. He still wasn’t sure if it was the worst decision he had ever made or the smartest. At least there were some things to look forward to. He was going to see his uncle and aunt again, catch up with a few old friends, and most importantly, spend the week with his dog and you, if you let him. He glanced down at you, nestled against his shoulder, your face relaxed in sleep.

For someone who spent their days surrounded by death, handling bones and studying the remnants of people who would never breathe again, you looked peaceful. Jake hated that your job required you to witness the absolute worst parts of life. Hated the fact that just days ago, he had held you while you cried over a boy who would never grow up. Hated that you wanted to carry all of it alone. Hated that you disliked telling him, or anyone, what's worrying you. No matter how often he told you that he would worry more if you don’t.  He sighed, letting his head rest back against the seat, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket draped over both of you.

After this week, it would all be over. The fake dating, the stolen moments, the way you fit so easily into his life. Three months of inside jokes, of late-night texts, of you showing up at his games. Three months of watching Bones together, of him getting too invested in a show he only started because he wanted to understand why you loved it so much. He hated that thought as well. Maybe you would be okay with just being friends again after this whole thing ended.  He could live with that. He had to live with that. Losing you entirely wasn’t an option he wanted to consider. The idea of going back to the way things were before, before the jokes, before the late-night talks, before he knew what it felt like to have you pressed into his side felt impossible.

He could do friends. He was hoping you could too. But first, you had to survive this week. Jake knew his father wouldn’t make it easy. He already felt sorry for whatever was about to happen, for the things his dad would say. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t even be going. He would have skipped this wedding, avoided the whole damn thing. You stirred a little. When he looked down again, he found himself softening at the way your fingers had curled into the fabric of his hoodie.  Jake carefully adjusted the blanket draped over you both. The cabin was cool, and the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up shivering.  Finally satisfied, he shifted slightly in his seat, resting his head gently against yours.

For a moment, he just stayed there, listening to the quiet hum of the plane, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. He should also try to sleep, but all he could think about was how easy this felt. How natural the two of you fell into this rhythm of going on ‘platonic’ dates to get to know each other, how your friends thought you were a couple, how this didn’t feel fake for him. It somehow never did. And he was pretty sure you felt the same. When the flight attendant stopped by your seats, her voice was soft, polite, trying not to disturb the peaceful quiet of the first-class cabin. God bless his uncle for upgrading the two of you, claiming that he just wanted to spoil his favourite nephew and his girlfriend. Jake and you ran into your uncle a few other times on campus where you impressed his uncle so much he actually told Jake to be careful to not lose you, since he really liked you. Which didn’t make him feel particularly better about his own situation but pride swelled up in his chest when he heard his uncle say that.  "Would you like anything to drink?" Jake glanced down at you, still tucked against his side, warm and soft and barely awake. He nudged you lightly. "Hey, do you want anything?"

You made a small noise in response, barely lifting your head, eyes still heavy with sleep. "No," you mumbled, voice quiet and pouty, before burrowing yourself further into his chest. Jake froze for a second, his breath catching in his throat. His arms tightened around you instinctively. God, you were so cute when you were sleepy. He had only seen you like this maybe three times before but he wished he had seen it more. You were always so sharp, so quick-witted, always moving, always thinking. But here, now, with your face pressed against his chest, your breathing slow and even, you looked peaceful and relaxed  His heart ached in a way he didn’t know how to describe.

He swallowed, blinking at the flight attendant, who was watching with a little smile, before clearing his throat. "Uh, just water, please." She nodded and walked off. You stirred slightly, shifting closer to him, your fingers absentmindedly curling into the fabric of his hoodie. Jake barely resisted the urge to press a kiss to the top of your head.

Jake stifled a yawn as you stepped off the plane and into the arrivals hall at Brisbane Airport. The fluorescent lights were way too bright for six in the morning, and he was running on maybe two hours of sleep. You, on the other hand, looked like you had been hit by sleep deprivation. You were barely functioning, groggy as hell, moving through the terminal like a half-conscious zombie, even though you slept through almost all ten hours of your flight. He didn’t know you were like this after waking up, it was honestly a bit fun and adorable at the same time.  He had already taken charge of grabbing both your suitcases, slinging his duffle over his shoulder while maneuvering both of your roller bags through the crowd “C’mon, sleeping beauty,” he muttered, reaching for your hand. His fingers slipped between yours, warm and steady as he tugged you along. You made a noise in response, somewhere between a hum and a whine, but didn’t pull away.

Jake really should’ve just gotten a taxi. That was the first thought that crossed his mind when he spotted his brother standing near the exit, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, smiling at him. He didn’t expect Joshua to pick him up, he really didn’t want him to pick him up. His dad said he would arrange for someone to pick him up and Jake assumed it would be a chauffeur or something. Not Josh.  Before he could dwell on that, you nudged him lightly, pointing toward a man standing a few feet away. “That’s my dad,” you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep. Jake barely had time to process the information before you turned to him, stepping a little closer, tilting your chin to press a kiss to his cheek. Your lips were soft and warm.  And then, just as quickly, you pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips before you grabbed your suitcase and strode toward your father.

Jake stood there, his brain catching up about five seconds too late. Then, with a quiet sigh, he finally turned toward his brother. “Jake.” “Joshua.” “It’s good to see you,” Joshua said, smiling genuinely at him as he gestured toward the exit. “Figured I’d pick you up since we’re both staying at home for the next few days.” Jake just nodded, not quite able to match the same level of effort his brother was putting in. Joshua was trying. Jake knew that, he also knew that the resentment he felt for his big brother came from the wrong place. Joshua did nothing wrong for Jake to dislike him. It was their father who made it so obvious whom he deemed as the favourite child. 

But that was the thing. Joshua had always been the golden son, their dad’s favorite, the one who could do no wrong. It was easy for him to try, easy for him to act like things weren’t as bad as they actually were. Meanwhile, Jake had spent years resenting the way things had played out. The way Joshua had always been held to a different standard, a better one. He nodded at his brother, forcing a tired smile. “Thank you.” Joshua cleared his throat as they walked toward his fathers car. “So… was that Y/N?” Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah." Joshua hummed, nodding. “She is pretty. Dad mentioned she was coming with you.”

“She’s staying with her family,” Jake muttered, shifting his duffel bag onto his shoulder. “Right.” Joshua paused for a second before glancing over. “How long have you been together?” Jake hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Almost half a year now.” he answered, keeping his voice even. Joshua hummed again, like he was turning the answer over in his head, trying to figure something out. It made Jake’s skin itch. “So since before Christmas?”

Jake shot him a look. “Why do you sound so surprised?” Joshua shrugged, unlocking the car. “I don’t know, man. You never really brought anyone home after Sophia. But I am glad you found someone else that makes you happy. From what I’ve heard from Uncle Jungjaes stories she is a nice girl.” Jake didn’t have a response to that, mostly because it was true. You were a nice girl. He exhaled through his nose, throwing his bag into the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. “She is a nice girl. She makes me happy.” Joshua didn’t say anything right away. The car rumbled to life, the early morning silence settling between them like a weighted blanket. It wasn’t tense, not really but it wasn’t comfortable either. And then, just as they pulled onto the road, Joshua spoke again, softer this time. “She seems good for you.” Jake hummed and stared out the window, watching the city blur past, his own thoughts a mess of contradictions.

Jake spent most of the day sleeping, the exhaustion from the flight finally catching up to him. When he woke up around midday, his stomach was grumbling. He dragged himself downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked into the dining area. The massive oak table was set for one, his usual seat already prepared. A small Post-it was stuck just above the plate, his mom’s familiar handwriting scribbled across the paper. I made galbitang for you, just reheat it. – Love, Mom. Just the thought of his mom’s cooking had his stomach twisting in hunger. He let out a small sigh, grabbing the bowl and moving to the kitchen.

As he was reheating the soup, the sound of nails clicking against the hardwood made him glance down. Layla trotted into the room, ears perked, tail wagging wildly. Jake barely had time to react before she shoved her head against his leg, whining softly. “Hey, Layla.” He bent down, scratching behind her ears. She licked at his hand, practically vibrating with excitement. The moment he stepped into the house this morning, she had nearly tackled him, her whole body wiggling with joy. She hadn’t left his side since, curling up against him on his bed, pressing herself into his chest as if afraid he’d disappear. “You’re so clingy,” he muttered, but his voice was soft and full of adoration.

Layla huffed in response, flopping onto the floor next to his feet as he stirred his soup. He ate in silence, save for the occasional sound of Layla shifting beside him. The house was empty, just like it always was.  His parents were out, probably busy with the company. That was fine with him. It was like it has always been. But the silence left too much room to think. His mind drifted as he ate, thoughts circling the same place they always seemed to end up these days.

You.

Jake groaned, dropping his spoon with a clatter. He was going crazy. He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair and decided he had to go for a run. 

The moment Jake stepped outside with Layla, he exhaled, finally feeling like he could breathe again.  He took the long route to the park, his grip occasionally tightening around Layla’s leash when she got too excited. She was just as happy to be outside as he was.

He found his usual bench, the one tucked beneath the big jacaranda tree, and sat down with a sigh. Layla plopped down beside him, resting her head on his knee, tail still wagging lazily. Jake scratched behind her ears absentmindedly. He should be dreading the rest of the day, thinking about dinner, about his father, about this whole damn week.

But instead, he thought about you. 

Again.

About how much easier the flight had been because you were there. About how you had curled into him, barely even awake when you kissed him goodbye at the airport. About how much he wished you were sitting next to him right now.

He scoffed at himself, shaking his head. “I’m losing it, Layla.”

Layla huffed in response, like she agreed. Jake leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. It was funny. He spent so long dreading coming home, and now that he was here, the only thing he could think about was how soon he could see you again.

You were standing next to your father in front of the massive outdoor wedding location Sophia and Marcus had chosen for their obnoxiously expensive and over the top wedding, greeting and smiling at whoever greeted your parents while you waited for Jake to arrive. He texted you almost half an hour ago that his family was on their way, but there was still no sign of him.  “You know. Even if you keep staring at the parking lot it won’t make him arrive faster.”, your father nudged your shoulder, when he caught you frowning.  You huffed. “I know dad.” The only people who knew the truth about your so-called relationship with Jake were your parents. When you had first told your mom that Jake asked you to be his fake-date, she had simply laughed and told you to go with it. Why not? she had said. 

Your parents weren’t particularly fond of Jake’s parents, and they had been genuinely surprised when you told them you were actually attending the wedding. Your father had asked more than once if you were joking. But when they realized Jake would be in a similar position and would be dealing with his father the whole time, they took it upon themselves to look out for him, offering him some level of refuge from whatever unpleasantness awaited. The thought of meeting his parents made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You and Jake had the whole hopelessly in love and annoyingly sweet couple act down, but still, based on what Jake had told you about his father, this whole thing was bound to be even more unpleasant than you it already was, considering this was your ex best friend and ex boyfriend's wedding. You cringed at the thought.  In the ten minutes your parents and you had been waiting you had seen so many of Marcus’s friends you felt like kicking someone. You never truly liked any of them. They were spoiled, entitled, privileged assholes that believed they were untouchable thanks to daddys money.  But you had gone along with it back then, hadn’t you? The endless parties, the expensive clubs, the after-hours gatherings in someone’s penthouse. You had been so desperate to fit in, to be the kind of girlfriend Marcus wanted. Even when you hated the music, even when you hated the people. Even when you hated yourself for pretending to enjoy it.

You started smoking back then. Not because you really wanted to, but because everyone else did. Because Marcus would pull you onto his lap at some rich kid’s house party, press a cigarette between your fingers, and smirk when you took a drag. And somehow that stuck. You had spent nearly two years with Marcus, yet you never truly belonged in his world. His friends tolerated you because you were his girlfriend but treated you like shit. The more you thought about it, the less sense your relationship with Marcus made. You couldn't even remember why you had fallen in love with him in the first place. A call of your name snapped you out of your thoughts and you noticed Jake's Uncle approaching you. He was walking hand in hand with a very elegant woman, grinning and waving at you.

You tilted your head in confusion for a second before offering him the same enthusiastic smile. You hadn't expected him to be here, but now that you thought about it, it made sense. He and Jake’s father were business partners after all. "Y/N!" he greeted warmly, pulling you into a hug the moment he reached you. "It’s so nice to see you. You look gorgeous." You flushed at the compliment, momentarily caught off guard. "Thank you, sir. It’s nice to see you as well." Jungjae chuckled, stepping back but keeping a hand on your shoulder as he turned to your parents. "I am Sim Jungjae. Jakes uncle.", he said smoothly, shaking your father’s hand. “This is my wife Angelica. I had the chance to meet your gorgeous daughter on campus a few times."

Your parents exchanged polite smiles, your father nodding. "It’s nice to meet you Jungjae. I am Woojin and this is Nayeon." Jungjae’s grin widened as he shook your father’s hand, his charm effortlessly filling the space. "Woojin, Nayeon, it’s a pleasure. Your daughter is an absolute delight. Jake is lucky to have her." You forced a smile, suppressing the urge to squirm under his words. If only he knew. Angelica, his wife, gave you a kind smile. "It’s nice to finally meet you as well, Y/N. My husband wouldn’t stop talking about how lovely you were after he met you."

Your mother beamed, clearly pleased, while you felt your stomach twist. You had definitely not told your parents about your occasional run-ins with Jake’s uncle, mostly because you hadn’t expected it to be relevant.  Before you could say anything, your name was called again.  “Y/N? No way, is that really you?” You turned, momentarily startled, only to find Julia, beaming at you. She was flanked by Lillian and Clara, all three of them looking just as polished and effortlessly elegant as you remembered. You, Sophia and the three girls were kind of close back in highschool until Sophia did the unthinkable and your group fell apart. Clara and Julia being on your side and Lillian claiming you had to forgive Sophia. You hesitated for only a moment before turning to your mother. “I’ll be right back.”

She gave you a knowing look but nodded. You walked over, but before you could say anything else, Julia pulled you into a quick hug, her perfume still the same as you remembered. When she pulled back, she gave you a once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look amazing.” “You do too,” you said, glancing at Lillian and Melanie, who both nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think we’d see you here.”, Lililan mused, tilting her head.  You forced a polite smile. “Well, why wouldn’t I be?” Lillian let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “I mean, considering everything…” She trailed off.

Clara gave her a pointed look and rolled her eyes, but smiled at you. “I am glad you are here. We haven’t seen each other in years! How is Korea? I love watching you instagram stories, everything looks so amazing!” Your chest warmed at that. Things had been complicated after the whole mess with Marcus and Sophia, but you hadn’t exactly fallen out with all of your old friends—life had just pulled you in different directions. Julia nodded eagerly. “Same! We should’ve kept in touch better, but you kind of disappeared on us.” You smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah… moving cities and everything kind of made it hard. But Korea is amazing. I love it. How is Europe? You went to Portugal, right?”

Clara nodded enthusiastically. “Omg I love it. The men there? Girl ugh. Also the food? Really. You should come visit me, I have a great apartment with an ocean view and a lot of space!” Ah yes. You forgot. It wasn’t just Sophia that was ridiculously rich, but her friends as well. You were able to go to their expensive private schools, since your parents boss, Sophia's father, was sponsoring one of their best employees' kids to attend the school every year.  Before you could respond, an arm slid around your waist, a familiar warmth pressing against your back. Jake. His fingers brushed along your side, and when he leaned in, his voice was low. “There you are,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to your temple before turning his attention to the three women in front of you. “Hey, ladies. Sorry to interrupt,” he said smoothly, flashing them that signature grin, “but I had to steal my girlfriend back for a second.” The three women blinked in unison. Clara was the first to react. “Wait… Jake Sim?” She looked between the two of you, eyes widening. “Holy shit, you two are together?”

Julia let out a delighted gasp. “Oh my God! Y/N, why didn’t you tell us?!” Jake chuckled, and you could feel the smug amusement radiating off of him. “Why does that sound so hard to believe?” She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process this new information. “It’s just... unexpected. I mean, you two never really ran in the same circles, right?” You shrugged, leaning slightly into Jake just to sell it further. “Things change.” A beat of silence passed before Lillian scoffed under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “Guess some things never do. Always finding a way to cling to people above your league.”

Oh how you just loved that girl. Before you could say something you would regret, Jake’s grip on you tightened slightly, his thumb pressing against your side in reassurance. He turned his head just enough to give Lillian a slow, unimpressed once-over. “Funny,” he mused, voice pleasant but dripping with something sharper underneath. “Last I checked, I’m the one clinging to her.” The comment landed exactly the way he intended: Melanie's lips parted slightly, clearly caught off guard, while Julia and Lillian exchanged quick glances and suppressed their amused smiles. Before Lillian could recover, Jake tugged you gently in the opposite direction. “Come on, baby, let’s go find our parents.” Clara shook her head with a laugh. “How did this even happen?” You chuckled, exchanging a look with Jake before answering. “It’s kind of a long story.” Julia nudged your arm playfully. “Well, I will demand details later.”

Jake’s fingers brushed against your waist. “You’ll have to get in line for that,” he teased. “My parents are waiting on us.” Clara sighed dramatically. “Ugh, fine, fine. But we are catching up later.” You smiled, nodding. “Of course.” Julia gave you a knowing look. “And you better spill everything.” With that, Jake gently guided you away, his fingers lacing through yours. You let him lead you away, his hand never leaving your waist, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. You glanced at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Nice save.” He smirked. “I aim to please.”

Jakes family was standing a few meters away from your parents. A truly uncomfortable feeling was spreading in your stomach, when you accidentally made eye contact with his father. His facial expression was neutral, almost bored before he realized who you were. His eyes narrowed a bit, but he started smiling. In a way you could only describe in a mean disney villain way. Thinking about it, Mufasa and Scar would fit pretty well. Jungjae was standing next to him beaming at you and opened his mouth but was interrupted by Scar 2.0. “Jake. I see you found Y/N.” Jake tensed up next to you. “Yeah. I did.” Mr. Sim’s smile didn’t waver as he took a slow step forward, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Jake. "Well," he said, voice smooth but edged with something unreadable, "you certainly took your time." Jake’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. "Didn’t realize I was on a schedule," he replied evenly.

He then cleared his throat. “Mom. Dad. Josh. This is Y/N. My girlfriend.” You didn’t know if you were supposed to bow or shake his fathers hands. Jake addressed him in Korean and so you opted to bow as low as your dress let you and continued in Korean as well. “Hello Mr. Sim, Mrs. Sim, Josh. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And with that you held out your hand to shake it.  His father took your outstretched and gripped it so tightly you clenched your teeth to not stop smiling. "Y/N," his father said, his voice clipped, as if testing the air, "What a surprise to actually see you here.” His tone was so clipped that it felt like an accusation rather than a greeting. Jake's hand gripped your waist a bit tighter.  You did your best to mask your discomfort, smiling politely in return. "Oh, well...I sure wanted to congratulate the happy couple.”

Instead of replying directly, Mr. Sim simply nodded, his eyes still scanning you. You couldn’t help but feel like a specimen under the microscope. “Right,” he finally said, his lips curling ever so slightly as if amused by his own thoughts. He didn’t release your hand immediately, and when he did, it was almost as if he was dismissing you altogether. The look in his eyes sent a wave of unease through you, but you didn’t have the time to dwell on it before his attention shifted to Jake. “She’s polite,” he said at last, his tone neutral. “At least there’s that.” Jake didn’t seem phased by his dad’s cold reception, but you could tell by the tightness in his jaw that it bothered him more than he was letting on. His father had a way of controlling the room without even trying, and Jake had been on the receiving end of that for as long as he could think. 

Jake’s mother interrupted your tail of thoughts and before you could react, she took your hands gently in hers, her touch light but firm. "It’s nice to finally meet you," she said with a warm and welcoming voice. "Jake’s told us a lot about you." "Oh, has he?" you asked, raising a brow and glancing up at Jake, who only smiled slightly. “I did interrogate him a little bit, after he told his father about you.” Jake made an embarrassed sound next to you. “Mom, please!” She just laughed at his demise. “I’ll look forward to get to know you Y/N.”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Mom, leave the poor girl alone.”, Jake’s brother laughed and slightly nudged his mother.  “Y/N. I am Josuha and this is my wife Mina. It’s nice to meet you.”, he held up his hand and you grasped it, shaking it slightly.  “Nice to meet you Joshua.”, you smiled at him and moved on to Mina, “Mina.”

Mina was a gorgeous woman. She and Joshua made a stunning couple, confidence radiating off them. It was a bit intimidating to be honest.  Mr. Sim hummed, clearly unimpressed by the whole situation. His gaze flickered over you again before he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "I suppose we’ll see if she can handle being part of this family," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. You felt your stomach drop, heat creeping up your neck, not the warmth from Jake’s lingering touch, but the mortifying burn of being picked apart in front of his entire family. You shouldn't care about what his family thought of you, this was faker and you would probably never see them again, but still. This whole situation was stressing you out more than you thought it would. Jake stiffened beside you, his body language shifting from tense to outright rigid. His grip on your waist tightened, like he was physically restraining himself from snapping back. Before he could, however, his mom turned sharply toward her husband, eyes flashing with irritation. "Seungho," she said, her voice firm but calm. "Enough."

Mr. Sim’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing more, his expression unreadable as he looked away. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep a neutral expression even as the mortification clawed at your chest.  Hana, seeming to sense your discomfort, turned back to you with a softer smile, squeezing your hands reassuringly. "Don’t mind him, dear," she said smoothly. "He has a habit of speaking before thinking." Jake let out a humorless chuckle. "That’s one way to put it." Joshua cleared his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. "So, should we go inside?” The whole group slowly moved towards the entrance and you waved to your mother signaling her that you were going in. She shot you a questioning look, but you just smiled and nodded your head, signaling her that you were okay.  Jakes mother was walking next to you and smiled warmly at you. "Well," she said, "I, for one, think you’re lovely. And I am really looking to spend some time with you." You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "Thank you, Mrs. Sim," you said, your voice quieter than before. She turned to Jake, arching a delicate brow. "She’s much prettier than the last one, sweetheart." Jake coughed, his ears going red. "Mom—"

Joshua and Jungjae chuckled, and even Mina had to press her lips together to stifle a laugh. You, on the other hand, were fighting very hard to keep a straight face.

“I think she’s lovely,” Jake's uncle said firmly, offering you another warm smile before turning to Jake. “You chose well.” Jake exhaled slowly, his body relaxing beside you. He glanced down at you, his gaze softer than before. “I know.” And for some reason, the way he said it sent a different kind of warmth through you. One that had nothing to do with the summer air and scared you more than anything.

Inside the procession area Jake saw a few of his old hockey team mates so did the undoable and excused the two of you from his family. 

“Dude what the fuck.”, you hissed at Jake when you were out of earshot from his dad, still spotting a sweet smile. “How can someone as rude as your father have such a nice brother and create such a nice kid. I swear that man cannot be your creator.”

Jake chuckled next to you and planted his warm hand against the naked skin of your back, guiding you toward where his friends were waiting. “I swear I don't know either. But I am glad you think I am not such an ass as him.”

You huffed and shook your head, pulling Jake into a rather abrupt halt. “Jake.”, you said, your voice as stable as it could be with him being so close that you could smell his perfume, “You are nothing like your dad. You’re warm and nice and kind. You actually care for people and their feelings. You don’t see relationships as transactions.” Jake's eyes searched your face while you continued. “You’re intelligent and funny. You wanted to adopt a penguin because you thought it would have a cold ass, Jake. I don’t think an asshat like your dad would ever think about anyone else but himself. You’re so passionate about things you love and you love passionately. Even if that passion is ramyun and if I have to ever eat Shin Ramyun again I will vomit.”

You exhaled slowly, reaching forward to flatten over his collar. “I’m just saying that you’re nothing like him. You’re not cold and calculating. You actually give a shit about people. They matter to you. And that’s more than I can say about your dad.”

Jake stood still for a moment, his thumb brushing over the bare skin of your back, his expression softening. His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a split second, you thought he might kiss you. 

A small part of you wanted him to kiss you again. 

You gave your heart this week. 

One week to be soft and vulnerable around Jake. 

One week to, like he said, feel all those feelings people feel when they are in love.

But instead of kissing you, he exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering back up to meet yours, and a small smile tugged at his lips. 

He cleared his throat softly, breaking the moment and pulling his hand from your back. "I..." he began, his voice quieter than usual, softer, almost uncertain. "Thank you, Y/N. You don’t know how much that means to me.I really don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad I have you here. I’m glad you’re here with me."

A warmth settled in your chest at his words.

You gave him a teasing nudge, "Well, someone has to save you from your dad."

Jake laughed, but the humor didn’t quite mask the edge of gratitude in his voice. “Just don’t leave me alone with my dad for too long, okay?"

You laughed, nodding. "I’ll make sure of that."

His fingers brushed up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, and you felt it everywhere.

You knew it was for show. You knew that. You talked about how you had to step up your acting game while you were here, so you knew he was going to touch you more than usual.

But that knowledge didn’t stop the panic from curling in your chest.

Because this was exactly how it had started with Marcus.

The stolen glances, the gentle touches, the way he made you feel like you were the most important person in the world, the way he was the most important person in your world. It had been so easy to fall back then, to believe that it was real, that you were special. That he loved you.

And then it all came crashing down.

You had let yourself believe in a fantasy, and it had left you miserable.

You didn’t want to do that again. Ever. 

You exhaled shakily, pushing those thoughts away. Jake isn’t Marcus. He never was. He never will be.

But as Jake looked at you again, something unbearably soft in his expression, you couldn’t help but feel scared. 

Of what you were feeling.

Of what you were faking.

Of what would come in the end.

You continued your way over to Jake’s friends, who looked up in unison as you approached.  “Jake!” one of the boys stood up and pulled Jake into a bear hug. “Dude, what the fuck? It’s so good to see you! Damn, bro, you got buff as hell.” Jake really did look amazing in his suit. You have seen him in suits plenty of times after and before games but this one was different. The dark blue three-piece suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the color complimented your dress so effortlessly. He was effortlessly handsome, devastatingly put together, and somehow still had that easy, boyish charm that made you weak in the knees against your will.

Jake laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made you smile, and playfully boxed his friend’s shoulder. “Shut up, Tobi,” he said, though his grin betrayed how much he enjoyed the reunion. He turned to you, his arm sliding around your waist as he pulled you gently against his side. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is Tobi, my old captain. Tobi, Y/N.” Tobi’s eyes widened as he looked you up and down, then let out a low whistle. “Damn, Jake,” he said, his tone equal parts impressed and teasing. “You really pulled this gorgeous woman?” Before you could respond, Tobi took your hand in a dramatic gesture, bowing deeply and pressing an exaggerated kiss to the back of it. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up as Jake groaned beside you. “Y/N,” Tobi said, straightening up but still holding your hand, “did you know that in 10th grade, Jake–” “Tobi, don’t–” Jake tried to cut him off, lunging forward to clamp a hand over his friend’s mouth, but Tobi dodged, laughing as he continued.

“–Jake tried to do a backflip off the bleachers during gym class and completely ate it in front of the entire school? Like, full-on faceplant. It was legendary.” You burst into laughter, clutching Jake’s arm for support as Tobi mimed the fall, complete with sound effects. Jake groaned again, his ears turning pink, but he was smiling. “I hate you,” he muttered, though there was no real malice in it. The group erupted into laughter again, and Jake pulled you closer, his chest shaking with silent laughter. “Alright, alright,” he said, steering you toward the entrance of the row where Tobi and two other guys were sitting.  The buzz-cut friend sitting next to Tobi, whose name you learned was Ryan, suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait, Y/N… you went to our school, right? You were in the year below us?” You nodded, and Ryan’s eyes widened. “No way. You’re Marcus’s Y/N? Like, the Y/N?”

It went silent for a moment, and you could feel Jake tense beside you. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light but firm. “That’s me.” “Damn. Didn’t they cheat on both of you?”, he asked and leaned back in his seat. Tobi’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You were together with that ass? And they invited both of you? That’s so fucked up.” “You tell me.”, you rolled your eyes. “I mean I am here to congratulate them on their downfall. I give them 3 years tops.” Ryan shook his head, grinning. “Man, I know Marcus is nasty, but nasty enough to invite both exes?” Before  you could answer, the sound of a microphone clicking on echoed through the venue, and the officiant’s voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all take your seats, the ceremony is about to begin.” The group quieted down, though Tobi was still shaking his head in disbelief. As the ceremony started, you leaned into Jake, your voice low so only he could hear. “You okay?” He glanced at you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said, his hand finding yours. “I’m good. What about you. You squeezed his hand, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m also good.”

The reception was in full swing, but you were bored out of your mind. Your parents were deep in conversation with some of your fathers colleagues. Technically the topics they were talking about were indeed interesting, after all you were also in the medical field but you really weren’t in the mood to participate in any kind of conversation. When the official part of the wedding finally ended and the crowd slowly moved onto the dancefloor or towards the bar your eyes immediately found Jake’s table. He was on the groom's side of the hall while you were on the bride's side, since your parents were more or less still close acquaintances and colleagues to Sophie's parents. 

Jake was talking to his uncle who was sitting next to him, looking as bored as you felt. As if he felt you staring, his head shot up and your eyes met. He perked up slightly and he gave you a smile. His uncle waved his hand, gesturing to you to come over. 

That was all the encouragement you needed. You excused yourself from your parents with a quick, “I’ll be right back,” and made your way over to Jake’s table. 

But as you reached the table, your stomach dropped. Sitting directly across from Jake was Marcus’s dad, and next to him was Jake’s dad. Both men turned to look at you as you approached, their expressions unreadable but distinctly unwelcoming.

“Y/N,” Jake’s dad said, his voice cool and measured. “What a surprise. I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”

You forced a polite smile, sliding into the empty seat next to Jake, where his brother was sitting before. “I thought I’d keep Jake company,” you said, your tone light but firm.

Jake shot you a grateful look and grabbed your hand. 

Marcus’s dad leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. “So, Y/N,” he began, his tone dripping with faux curiosity, “we haven’t seen each other in a while. How are your studies going? Still pursuing that… what was it again? Forensic anthropology?”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes, that’s right. I’m in my second year now.”

“Hmm,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Interesting choice. Not exactly the most… lucrative field, is it? I always thought you had so much potential. Shame to see it wasted on something so… niche.”

You clenched your fist under the table but kept your voice steady. Marcus' father was never really a fan of you. Apparently you had a really appalling charm to rich old men. “It’s not about the money for me. I find the work meaningful.”

Jake’s dad chimed in, his tone equally condescending. “Meaningful, yes, but surely you’ve considered the practicalities. It’s a gruesome line of work, isn’t it? Handling… remains and such.”

You could feel Jake tense beside you, but you didn’t look at him. Instead, you met Jake’s dad’s gaze head-on. “It’s not for everyone,” you said evenly. “But I believe in giving a voice to those who can’t speak for themselves. It’s important work.”

Marcus’s dad smirked, clearly unimpressed. “Noble, I suppose. But tell me, do you really see yourself doing that long-term? It’s not exactly a career that lends itself to stability.”

Before you could respond, he added, almost as an afterthought, “Though I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not with Marcus anymore. He needs someone who can match his ambition. Someone who understands the value of a real career.”

The words hit like a slap, and you felt your cheeks burn. Jake’s hand tightened around yours under the table. You forced a tight smile and said, “Well, I’m glad Marcus found someone who meets your standards.”

The table fell silent for a moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Marcus’s dad raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your response, while Jake’s dad gave you a look that could only be described as disapproving.

“Well,” Marcus’s dad said after a moment, “I suppose time will tell if this little… experiment of yours pays off.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Jake beat you to it. “Y/N’s one of the smartest people I know,” he said, his voice firm. “She’s going to be amazing at whatever she chooses to do. And for the record, Marcus is the one who missed out.”

The table fell silent again. Marcus’s dad looked momentarily taken aback, but he quickly recovered, his smirk returning. “We’ll see,” he said, his tone dismissive.

Jake’s dad cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure Y/N will… figure things out in due time.”

You forced another smile, though it took every ounce of self-control not to roll your eyes. “Thank you,” you said, your tone clipped. “I’m sure I will.”

Jake’s grip on your hand tightened even further, his thumb running soothing circles against your palm. His jaw was clenched, and you could practically feel the effort it took for him to keep from snapping back.

Marcus’s father hummed in amusement, sipping his wine before tilting his head towards Jake. “And you, Jake? Still chasing that little hockey dream of yours?” His voice was laced with mockery.

Jake’s smile was polite, but you could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes. “It’s going well, actually.”

Marcus’s father let out an unimpressed hum, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Hockey,” he mused, as if it were some fleeting hobby rather than something Jake had poured his heart and soul into. “It’s a shame, really. You have all the resources at your disposal, and you choose this?”

Jake’s father exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a faint clink. “I agree,” he said, eyes sharp as they settled on his son. “You can’t keep pretending this is a long-term career. At some point, you need to accept reality. The company isn’t going to wait forever, Jake.”

Jake barely reacted. At least, outwardly. But you felt it in the way his fingers twitched against your palm, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed.

Jake’s voice was quiet but firm. “I never said I was going to take over.”

His father’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air around him did. It was an almost imperceptible shift, a flicker of disapproval so cold it made your skin prickle. How, in which universe was Jake closely related to this man? 

Marcus’s father let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Honestly, Minjae, I don’t know how you put up with this. He has everything right in front of him, yet he’s throwing it away for what? A sport that won’t last past his thirties?”

You had never wanted to punch an old man before, but there was a first time for everything. Actually that was a lie you wanted to punch this man 2 years ago when you were with Marcus as well. 

Jake exhaled slowly, his grip on you loosening slightly. His father barely looked at him, already sipping his whiskey again, as if the conversation had bored him.

Jungjae, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally cleared his throat. His voice was calm.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a practiced smile. “Let’s not turn this into a lecture.”

Jake’s father raised an eyebrow, but Jungjae continued before he could interrupt.

“I understand the concerns,” he said, his gaze sweeping across both men. “Jake’s future is important, of course. But I also think it’s worth acknowledging that success isn’t a singular path.” His eyes flickered to you briefly, then back to Jake. “And, more importantly, we should trust that Jake is capable of making the right decisions for himself.”

It was a diplomatic way of telling them to back off, and you wanted to hug him for it. You made a mental note to thank him later. 

Marcus’s father let out a soft scoff but didn’t argue, while Jake’s father merely exhaled sharply through his nose.

Jungjae turned to you and Jake, his expression softening. “Why don’t we step away for a bit?” he suggested. “I think we could all use a breather. And maybe a drink.”

Jake hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’d be great.”

Without another word, you stood, relieved to escape the suffocating presence of the two men behind you. As you walked away, Jake exhaled slowly beside you, his hand slipping down to intertwine with yours properly, fingers lacing together.

He leaned in slightly, his voice just for you. “I think I need, like, five shots. Even without Katy.”

You let out a breathy laugh, squeezing his hand. “I’ll match you.”

The bar was quieter than the rest of the reception hall, tucked away near the edge of the venue where the music wasn’t as overpowering. The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses filled the space as you slid onto one of the stools, Jake settling beside you while his uncle flagged down the bartender. Jungjae let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “I apologize for my brother,” he said, tone gentle but laced with frustration. “He can be… difficult.” Jake scoffed under his breath. “That’s one way to put it.” His uncle shot him a knowing look but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned toward the bartender and ordered a round of shots. “Three, please. Something strong.” You exhaled, your body finally relaxing now that you were away from the oppressive presence of Jake’s father and Marcus’s dad. “You don’t have to apologize for him,” you murmured, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against the smooth bar top. “But thank you.”

Jungjae offered you a small, appreciative smile. “I do, though,” he said. “He forgets that respect is earned, not demanded.” Jake let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Try telling him that.” The bartender set down three shot glasses in front of you, each filled with clear liquid. Jungjae lifted his with a small grin. “To keeping our sanity intact.” You and Jake clinked your glasses against his before downing the shot in one go. The burn was immediate, spreading warmth through your chest, and you let out a small hiss, shaking your head. “Damn,” you muttered, blinking rapidly.

Jake chuckled beside you, setting his glass down. Jungjae downed his shot smoothly, barely flinching as he set the glass down with a quiet clink. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I swear,” he muttered in Korean, rubbing his temples, “your father drives me crazy sometimes, Jaeyun.”  You let out a breathy laugh, warmth still lingering from the alcohol. “Then why do you still put up with him?" Jungjae huffed a laugh. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t scare away every decent person around him.” He gave Jake a pointed look. “And someone has to look out for this one.” Jake rolled his eyes but smiled, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do,” Jungjae replied smoothly, placing a firm hand on Jake’s shoulder before shifting his gaze to you. “Especially now that you’re in the picture.” Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.  Before you could respond, the DJ’s voice rang through the speakers. “All couples, please join us on the dance floor for a special slow dance.” You stiffened slightly, instinctively glancing toward Jake. He was already looking at you, his brows slightly raised in question.

Jungjae, however, grinned and clapped his hands. “Perfect timing.” Jake turned to his uncle. “What?” Jungjae jerked his chin toward the dance floor. “You two should go.” Jake scoffed. “We’re not leaving you to drink alone.” His uncle waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. I’m a grown man. I can handle myself.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned in slightly and added, “Besides, who am I to hinder you from dancing with your beautiful girlfriend.” Your breath caught. Jake blinked at his uncle before sighing, shaking his head with a small smile.  You bit your lip, eyes flickering to Jake’s. He sighed but smiled, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

The opening notes of Lover filled the reception hall. Around you, couples swayed in each other’s arms, lost in their own little worlds, and for a brief second, you hesitated.

But then Jake’s hands found your waist, gentle and sure, pulling you in just enough that your bodies aligned. His warmth seeped into you instantly, and before you could even process it, your arms had wound around his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

A quiet sigh left him as he swayed you in time with the music, his grip steady, reassuring.

You swallowed hard and let yourself sink into the moment, tilting your head slightly to glance up at him. The golden lighting of the reception cast soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his nose. His lips were parted just slightly, his breathing even, and then-

Then he rested his forehead against yours.

It was such a simple action. The world around you blurred, and all you could focus on was the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the way his breath fanned against your cheek.

Your stomach flipped.

You sucked in a breath, blinking away the sudden rush of warmth blooming in your chest.

God, if this was fake, then why did it feel so incredibly real?

Trying to distract yourself from the way your pulse was betraying you, you let out a soft chuckle and murmured, “Kotone wants this to be her first dance song at her wedding. ”

Jake’s brows lifted slightly, his eyes blinking open as he leaned back just enough to look at you. “Really?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You nodded and hummed.

His lips curled into a smile, something undeniably fond flickering across his face.

The warmth in his gaze did something dangerous to your heart.

A second passed. Then another.

You could feel his heartbeat where your chests were touching. Or maybe that was just yours going haywire on its own.

You were hoping he closed the small distance between you. Hoping that he would press his lips against yours. 

But he didn’t.

Instead he cleared his throat slightly and pulled away. His face was still close  enough to yours, that you could feel the heat radiating from it. “You look gorgeous today, Y/N. Marcus is surely biting his ass right now.” 

Jake’s fingers traced slow, featherlight circles against the bare skin of your lower back, the heat of his touch burning through you. Every movement was deliberate, teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Which he probably did. Stupid idiot.

You tilted your head, lips curling into something playful.

“Oh, I know he is,” you teased, letting your fingers trail lazily over the back of Jake’s neck, knowing that he really liked it when you played with his hair. “Not that he’d ever admit it. But I saw the way he looked at me during dinner. He was so mad it was almost funny.”

His fingers pressed just a little firmer against your skin as he pulled you even closer, the warmth of his palm spreading across your back. “Yeah? What about Sophia?”

You smirked, ignoring how his touch was burning on your skin. “She looked like she swallowed a lemon.”

Jake laughed at that. “I almost fell bad,” he mused, then paused before grinning. “Actually, no, I don’t.”

You laughed softly. “Neither do I.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I wasn’t lying, you know.”

You blinked up at him. “About what?”

His hand slid a fraction higher, his thumb grazing over your spine, sending a shiver down it. “You look absolutely stunning tonight, Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a second before you regained control. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sim.” Your voice was teasing, but there was something sincere beneath it.

Jake scoffed, his grin widening. “Not so bad? I’m wearing a damn three-piece suit.”

You hummed in agreement, letting your fingers drag lightly over his shoulder. “And looking very expensive while doing so.”

Jake smirked. “Would you believe me if I said I picked it out myself?”

You raised a brow. “No.”

He let out another laugh, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” Then, his voice lowered just slightly, gaze locked onto yours. “I wanted to match you.”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest, skipping a beat before speeding up. You swallowed. “You did?”

Jake nodded, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist. “Of course. Can’t have my girlfriend looking better than me, can I?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t waver. “Oh, so that’s what this is? A competition?”

Jake leaned in just a little again, his breath warm against your lips. “If it is, you’re winning,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, your fingers curling slightly against his shoulder. 

Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. 

You needed to say something.

“Well,” you managed, clearing your throat, “we definitely made an impression tonight.”

Jake chuckled, his grip not loosening. “My mom is obsessed with you. She and uncle Jungjae were raving about how great they think you are.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head. “She hasn’t even had one proper conversation with me.”

“Oh but uncle Jungjae had plenty.” Jake groaned. “I think he’s already planning our wedding.”

You let out a loud laugh, burying your face briefly against his shoulder. “Oh my god. Really?”

Jake sighed dramatically. “I swear he looked at me like I’d personally blessed the family bloodline or something.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “Well, I mean we would make pretty kids. You know, maybe Mr. Fluffington the third needs a sibling? I was thinking about the Kitty plushie we saw in butter last week?” (pls its so cute look at the link) 

Jake laughed and shook his head slightly. “You think we are ready for a second one? Isn’t Mr. Fluffington the Third enough for you? We haven't even told our parents yet.”

You just shrugged and kept on smiling. “If you are up to it. I want a girl though.”

Jake’s eyes flickered to something behind you. 

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted. His fingers, still warm against the bare skin of your back, tightened ever so slightly.

“My dad’s watching.”, he murmured. 

Your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, your hand smoothed over the fabric of his suit. “Oh?”

Jake hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah. Probably trying to decide if you’re worthy of the Sim family name.”

You scoffed, tilting your head. “Oh, please. He can go fuck himself and the Sim family name. You’re taking on mine.”

Jake let out a soft chuckle. “Your last name is Sim as well.”

You pretended to consider. “Right. Let’s ask Heeseung to marry both of us first so we can be Lees.”

He shook his head and laughed. “You are an idiot.”

“Lies. That's a totally valid and good idea.”, you patted his chest.

His fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of your dress. “I think this is a person that requires us to step our game up.”

“What do you mean?”, you tilted your head slightly. 

Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hesitant either. It was deliberate, slow, like he had all the time in the world to make sure you felt every second of it. He tasted like tequila. 

His hand trailed down your spine, fingers grazing over every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around the lapels of his suit jacket.

You should stop.

For your own sake. You should stop.

And yet, you weren’t pulling away.

But then, the song ended.

And reality came crashing back.

You both pulled back slightly, just enough to look at each other. Jake’s breathing was uneven, his pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You weren’t doing much better. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, your skin burning where he had touched you.

What now?

Before either of you could figure it out, a voice cut through the haze.

“Y/N!”

You turned just in time to see Sophia weaving through the crowd, her expression unreadable but her gaze locked onto you with determination.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, barely sparing Jake a glance. “Alone.”

You blinked at her and then at Jake, still breathless, still reeling from whatever the hell just happened. Jake's shoulder tenses under your hands and you could feel his disapproval.

His hand remained on your waist. “Do you want to go with her?” You hesitated and looked at him, at his lips and back to his eyes, that were full of worry and something you couldn’t fully decipher. You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.” With one last glance at him, at the way his jaw was clenched, at the way he still looked like he wasn’t sure if he should let you go, you turned to Sophia.

You followed Sophia out of the ballroom. Your heart was still beating way too fast. 

The air outside was cooler, the music fading into a dull hum as you both stepped into a quieter hallway.

Sophia wrung her hands together, her expression torn between guilt and nerves. You had no idea what she wanted to say and why it had to be outside, but you figured you might as well get it over with.

You cleared your throat. “So… congratulations, I guess?”

Sophia let out a short, breathy laugh, but it sounded more like a sigh. “Thanks,” she murmured before shaking her head. “God, this is so weird.”

You didn’t disagree. It was weird. A few years ago you thought you would be the one marrying Marcus and Sophia would have been your maid of honor. But now she was standing there in a white dress, finger adorned with a ring that was supposed to signal her undying love for someone you once loved. 

Before you could think of anything to say, she blurted, “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Uh–”

“I didn’t want to invite you,” she rushed on, eyes wide, hands gesturing wildly. “I swear I didn’t. Our families said it was only proper because of how close our parents are, and we invited all the other kids of their colleagues and it just–it wasn’t up to me, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, not sure what to do with that information.

Sophia exhaled shakily. “I know I don’t deserve to say this, but I really am sorry. For everything. For hurting you, for ruining our friendship. I hated what I did to you, and I hate myself for it.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You were my best friend.”

A lump formed in your throat. This situation was eerily similar to the one two years ago, when she tried to apologize for sleeping with your boyfriend. When she tried to tell you she didn’t mean to and she was drunk and out of her mind.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well… you made your choice.”

“I did,” she whispered, looking down. “And it was the worst one I ever made.”

For a moment, you just stared at her. You had spent so much time resenting her, being angry, feeling betrayed. She deserved your anger and resentment but you were over it. You had come to terms with their decision and you were not too hung up on it anymore. You closed that chapter. 

“I’m glad you’re with Jake,” she said after a beat, lifting her gaze again. “He’s a good guy. You look really happy together. Happier than you did when you were with us.”

You hesitated. Your instinct was to scoff, to remind her that she had no right to comment on your relationship. But for a split second, you felt bad for her.

“He makes me really happy.”, you say softly. 

You were still staring at her. Really looked at her for the first time in two years. 

Her fingers were twisted together and she was blinking rapidly. You realized she was blinking away tears. 

Sophia had always been a confident person. Sharp, bold, never second-guessing herself. But right now? Here at her wedding, where she should feel incredible, like the main character of the evening she looked small. She looked…sad?

“I really do hope you’re happy,” she murmured, glancing away. “I mean it. I hope you and Jake make it. Because, well…” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, chewing on her lip. Then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she leaned in just slightly.

“You know how our families are,” she said quietly. “How things work. There was no way Marcus and I were going to get away with what we did without…consequences.”

A strange feeling stirred in your chest. “Consequences?”

Sophia gave you a tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “A scandal like that? The golden boy caught cheating on his long-term girlfriend? Me being the other woman?” She shook her head. “Our parents were furious. It was bad for business. A nightmare for their image.”

Your blood ran cold.

“So, what?” you asked, voice quieter now. “This marriage… it’s not–”

“It makes things easier.” Sophia’s lips parted like she was about to say more, but then she pressed them together in a firm line. She exhaled sharply. “It’s just… easier this way.”

And suddenly, things made sense.

The rushed engagement. The extravagant wedding. 

You knew Marcus. You knew how egoistic and self centered he was. How he always had everything to go his way.

And you knew Sophia. You knew she never wanted to marry. If she did, she always wanted to marry in Italy, at some weird lake that you couldn’t remember the name of, with only her family and friends present. After she traveled the world. After she has lived her life. After she has experienced all the things you would daydream about together.

You also knew their parents. Parents that would’ve done anything to protect their image. To smooth over the scandal of their heirs being caught cheating, partying, taking drugs.

They weren’t marrying because they loved each other.

It was damage control.

That realization made your heart drop. Where just minutes before you felt butterflies and your heart was beating in overtime just thinking about Jake in his stupidly good looking suit right now the thought of him holding you, kissing you made you want to scream and punch someone.

Sophia and Marcus weren’t together because of love. They were together because it was the easiest way to clean up the mess they had made. Because their parents had decided it was the best way to protect their reputations.

It was how their world worked. How Jake's world worked. 

You liked to forget that Jake came from a family that is not just given scholarships because they work hard, he comes from a family that gives those scholarships. 

You weren’t stupid. 

You knew Jake was different from Marcus. 

But his father? His family?

Would they ever accept you?

Would they look at you the way Marcus’ parents had, like you weren’t good enough? Would they do everything in their power to make sure Jake ended up with someone more… fitting? His mother and his brother seemed nice enough, but how much say did they get in their lives?

The thought made your chest tighten.

You were already scared. 

Scared of how easy it was to fall for Jake. How it was just like when you started dating Marcus. How you fell in love with Marcus. 

He betrayed you. It was Marcus' decision to fuck your friend. 

But Jake? How much is he actually allowed to decide?

No matter how much you wanted him, no matter how much he wanted you, there were forces so much bigger than the two of you.

And you weren’t sure you could survive being broken by another rich boy.

Jake watched you go. He turned around to join his uncle at the bar again but before he even got off the dancefloor, a voice stopped him in his tracks. “Well, well,” Marcus drawled, stepping into his path. “Look who decided to show up. I was quite surprised when we received your RSVP back. And you came with little Y/Nie.” Jake clenched his jaw, already exhausted by the conversation that hadn’t even started. “What do you want, Marcus?” Just like that the butterflies and the nice tingles from your touch disappeared and he asked himself if the happy couple planned this. Destroying your and Jake's nice moment. 

Marcus laughed, low and mocking. “Still got that temper, huh? Guess some things never change.” He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking toward you before settling back on Jake. “Speaking of things that never change. Y/N looks good, doesn't she? Almost made me forget how… boring she used to be. Almost. Guess it makes sense, though.” Jake exhaled sharply. “What do you mean?” Marcus only laughed, low and mocking. “She always had a thing for lost puppies. Guess she hadn’t outgrown that yet.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Tell me, does she still make that little noise when you kiss her neck? You know the one, like she is trying to hold back but can’t? Does she still refuse to take dick down her throat? She never liked to be face fucked. She wasn’t really into anything really. She was just, well, boring."

Jake's vision blurs with a sharp flash of white-hot rage for a second, fists clenching at his sides. His whole body goes rigid, his muscles tightening as a rush of anger courses through him. ‘Smoking, drinking, sex when I didn’t even want to‘, that is what you told him. Did Marcus do that? Make you go down on him even if you didn't want to? He takes a step forward without even realizing it, his fists rising ever so slightly, the urge to slam them into Marcus' face overwhelming. If this were a hockey rink, he'd have already thrown his gloves down, ready to go. Marcus grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “What?” he taunted. “Gonna hit me? At my own wedding? Do it, Sim." Jake’s jaw tightens, his breath coming in shallow, measured bursts. The heat of the moment almost drowns out everything else, but he manages to force his anger down. He takes a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, trying to regain control.

���You don’t know shit, Marcus,” Jake mutters, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that signals a warning. “You don’t know a damn thing about her.” Marcus scoffs, looking at Jake with mock innocence. “Oh, I know plenty, Sim. I basically shaped her into the person she is now. Tell me, does she still smoke?” Jake's face did something out of his control and Marcus smiled triumphantly. “Seems like she does. Looks like I could get the little weirdo to do stuff she despised. Made her addicted.  I bet she thinks of me every time she lights a cig.” Jake’s jaw tightens, his knuckles white as he fights the urge to slam Marcus into the nearest wall.

But before he can move, an arm slings around his shoulders. “Jake, bro!” Tobi’s voice is light, casual, but his grip on Jake’s shoulder is firm. “Come on, man, you owe me a drink.” Jake keeps his gaze locked on Marcus for a beat longer, watching the way his jaw tics. Then, he exhales sharply, forcing himself to turn away. “Right,” he mutters, letting Tobi steer him toward the bar. As they walk away, Marcus calls after them, his voice dripping with mockery. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Jake. She’s not the type you'd want to stick around to. Trust me, I know.” Jake doesn’t look back, but his shoulders tense under Tobi’s arm. “Ignore him,” Tobi mutters, guiding Jake to the bar. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.” Jake nods, but the tension in his body doesn’t ease. He grabs the drink the bartender slides toward him and takes a long sip, his mind racing.

At one point you made your way back to Jake, sliding your hand into his and resting your head on his shoulder, while he was chatting with a few of his former teammates. He knew that as soon as you got clingy you were either drunk or tired and judging by how you were talking without slurring your words he conducted you were just really tired. 

“Hey Y/N.”, he softly petted your hair. 

“Mhm?”, you hummed, tilting your head to look at him. Your lipstick was slightly smudged and your cheeks had a reddish hue thanks to the warmth in the building and the few shots he knew you had. You were beautiful.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You lifted yourself from his chest. “You think we stayed long enough by now? I kinda wanna be rude but also not, you know. Your dad would be up your arse if we left too early.”

“You’re tired Y/N. I don’t care about my dad.”, he shrugged and pulled you back against his chest. 

“Where should we go? I mean it would be weird if we left to go separate ways right now, right?”, you said, settling back into the position you were in before. 

“Can we sleep over at your place? I kinda don’t want to spend a lot of time at home.”, Jake took your hands and started to play around with the rings on them. 

“Sure. Do you wanna stop at your place first? To get toiletries and stuff?”, you asked, slightly wiggling your fingers.

“Sure. Are your parents going to stay here longer?”, Jake craned his neck and searched for your parents. They were still sitting on their original table laughing at something.

“Probably. My parents are social butterflies. Wouldn’t surprise me if they came home at like 6 am. Where are yours?”

“Dunno. But probably still here.”, he shrugged, not really caring.

“Okay then let’s go. I want to sleep.”, you said and stood up. The two of you bid farewell to his and your friends and called a cab to drive you to his house. 

Jake was laying on your bed, mindlessly watching Tik Tok while you were showering first. Jake had heard the sound of the water running, the occasional hum of your voice. By the time he stepped into the shower you were probably already half asleep, your eyes were already heavy when you two were in the cab to your parents house.

Jake let the hot water pour over him, leaning his forehead against the cool tile. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the steam fill his lungs. The heat felt good, but it didn't help to get the tension out of his body. His thoughts drifted back to Marcus’ words. The things he had said about you. How did he dare to ask Jake that? How did he dare to talk like this about you?

He clenched his fists for a second, exhaling sharply as the water ran over his face.

When he finally turned off the water, he towel-dried his hair and stepped out of the shower, still lost in thought. The bathroom mirror fogged up, and he wiped it clear with his hand, catching his reflection for a moment before he walked into the bedroom, where you were waiting, curled up on the bed in one of his oversized shirts, you stole from his suitcase.

You looked so peaceful, your hair a little messy, your face soft, without make up and relaxed. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. He slid under the covers, his body brushing against yours as he settled in beside you. You shifted, resting your head on his chest.

Jake swallowed hard.

He should leave it alone.

He really really should.

Your sex life was none of his business. You weren't a real couple. Jake didn't have to well more or less compete with your ex. He was a close friend of yours that just happened to be your fake boyfriend. 

That you were cuddling with right now. 

After slow dancing at a wedding. 

And kissing at said wedding.

Okay. Maybe he could ask. 

Jake shifted slightly, his arm resting loosely around your waist. He stared up at the ceiling for a second, debating how to even ask that. He knew he was going to regret it the second the words left his mouth. 

“Can I ask you something?”

You hummed sleepily against his chest. “You just did.”

Jake huffed out a quiet laugh. He hesitated for a second longer, then finally asked, “What was it like with Marcus?”

You stilled. 

Your body tensed for just a fraction of a second before you shifted against him. His fingers twitched against your back.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him, blinking blearily like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. “What?”

Jake cleared his throat. “I mean, like… you and him. Sexually.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh. Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

He wasn’t even sure he knew.

Jake exhaled sharply, staring up at the ceiling again. “I don’t know. It’s just. Marcus said some shit earlier, and I guess I started wondering.” He glanced back down at you. “I know it’s none of my business, but I just–” He sighed, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just watched him, your expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, you let out a quiet sigh and rested your chin on his chest.

“It was awful,” you admitted.

Jake blinked. “What?”

“Sex with Marcus,” you clarified. “It was awful.”

Jake frowned. 

“I mean, I thought it was normal at first,” you continued, voice softer now. “I thought maybe I just wasn’t really into it. Or maybe that was just how it was supposed to be. But looking back…” You shook your head, lips pressing into a thin line. “I faked it. A lot. Most of the time, actually.”

Jake just stared at you, trying to process that. “Wait. You mean you never came with him?” 

You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Maybe once or twice? I don’t really know. I kind of refused to sleep with him for the first like six months. And well after that? Let’s just say Marcus isn’t really familiar with female autonomy and well, quite egoistic. So he came and I just didn't?”

Jake fell from all the clouds at once.

“What the fuck?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He pulled back slightly, staring at you. 

Jake’s brain short-circuited.

Fuck. 

What the fuck. 

He has kissed you like four, five times by now and knew that you were very sensitive. He knew how easy it was to get you to shiver slightly, how you enjoyed it when someone trailed his fingers down your neck. And he didn't even made out with you. Okay, borderline. But how in the hell did that stupid asshole not get you to cum? 

He sat up a little, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. “You’re telling me that in years of dating, he didn’t —”

“Nope.”

Jake ran a hand down his face, trying to wrap his head around that. “And you just faked it?”

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling like you were remembering something far away. “Yeah. I just wanted it to be over most of the time. It was easier that way.”

Jake felt something hot and annoyed settle in his chest. He should just have killed Marcus at the wedding. Not just hit him. How did he dare to treat you this bad in your relationship and then talk shit to your boyfriend, well fake boyfriend but not from Marcus point of view, after he made you feel like you wanted sex to be over?

“I mean, it’s not like I had anything to compare it to,” you added, voice lighter. You were trying to brush it off. “I just assumed that’s how it was supposed to be.”

Jake scoffed. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

You turned your head toward him, amusement flickering in your eyes now. “Oh I know that now. But back at 16 I thought it was kinda weird, especially since I had a boyfriend to touch myself.”

Your smirk deepened. Oh you were enjoying this. 

“I mean,” you continued, “at first I thought maybe something was wrong with me, y’know? Like, maybe I was doing something wrong? Sophia always told me how good you made her feel and how good her orgasms were. But I never really understood what she meant.” 

Jake stilled. He forgot that you and Sophia were close friends before she cheated, so of course you probably knew about his and Sophia’s sex life. 

“But then I started thinking…” You tilted your head, voice going mock-thoughtful. “Maybe it wasn’t me that was the problem.” Your eyes found his and you batted your eyes.  “Maybe Marcus was just that bad.”

Jake exhaled harshly. “He was that bad.”

Your grin turned downright wicked. “Mhm. He was. I figured that out as well. But now i got it all covered, don’t worry Jakey. I can do his job way better and I do find my own clit, compared to him.”

Jake swallowed harshly. “I- I am glad you do.” 

He wanted to slam his head against the nearest wall. Or maybe your head, just to knock some sense into you.

His grip on your waist twitched, but he didn’t let go. Maybe because if he did, he had no idea where your hands would wander next, and he really didn’t trust himself to handle that like a sane person.

You let out a soft hum, watching his throat work as he swallowed. “You seem awfully invested in my lack of orgasms, Sim.”

Jake wanted to argue. He really, really did. He clenched his jaw. “I’m not.”

Your brows lifted, teasing. “No?”

“No.”

You hummed, unconvinced, shifting onto your side again, way too close. “I don’t know… you seemed pretty worked up about it just a second ago.”

“I was worked up about Marcus being a shit boyfriend,” he corrected, voice tight.

“Oh, so my orgasms or lack thereof does concern you.”

Jake swore under his breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I am,” you agreed easily. “And very flexible, too.”

Jake nearly choked. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted by his suffering. “What?”

He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling like it could save him. “Nothing.”

You poked at his side. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you so are,” you teased. “Are you flustered by my sexlife, Jakey?”

You hummed, clearly not convinced. Then, before he could stop you, you reached out and tapped a finger against the center of his chest. “You’re acting weird, Sim.”

“I’m not acting weird.” He was definitely acting weird. Fuck his brain was acting weird.

You grinned, dragging your fingertip slowly down the fabric of his shirt. “Ohhh, I think you are.”

Jake caught your wrist, stopping you before you could do something stupid, something worse. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, as if you were the innocent one in this situation. His grip tightened just slightly. “Are you done?”

“Dunno.” You leaned in. “Are you?”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

You smirked, completely unbothered. “And yet, you still keep playing along.”

“Go to sleep,” he ground out, glaring down at you.

You grinned smugly. “Why? Am I making you uncomfortable, Jakey?”

Jake hated you. He hated you so much. (He did not, in fact, hate you.)

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this. Or more how Jake got you to agree to this. Two days after the wedding Jake stood in front of your parents doorstep and told your dad he was here to steal you away for the day. You were still in your Pyjama, your hair a mess and barely awake, when your dad and Jake came into the kitchen laughing about something.  “Jake?”, you asked, swallowing the bite of toast you just stuffed into your mouth. “What are you doing here?” “It’s Tuesday. We are going ice skating today.”, he said while plopping down next to you. “Huh. What do you mean?”, you asked. 

“I am taking you to my old rink today. They have public skating hours every Tuesday so I thought it was fun to bring you along.”, he shrugged and stole one of the bananas on your plate.  “Oh I don’t know how to ice skate?”, you said and took another bite from your toast. “Good thing I know how to skate.”, he grinned at you. An hour later you were inside a freezing cold ice rink, staring at a pair of rental skates. Jake was sitting next to you, lacing up his own skates with practiced ease. He found some of his old skates at his parents house and got them sharpened, while you got fitted for your skates. Stupid hockey player.

You exhaled and shot him a look. “You realize I could die, right?” Jake smirked, not even looking up as he tied his laces. “You’re being dramatic.” “No, you’re being dramatic,” you countered. “Dragging me to an ice rink when I can barely walk on solid ground." Jake grinned. “Ice is solid as well Y/N.”

You groaned and went back to fumbling with your skates. They felt stiff, awkward, and way too tight, and you were half convinced that this was all part of some elaborate scheme to make you fall on your ass. And maybe break some bones in the progress.  After a few moments of struggle, you let out a defeated sigh. “Okay. I can’t do this.” Jake snorted. “C’mon, princess.” He moved, crouching down in front of you before you could protest. “Let me help.” You stiffened, watching as he easily took over, fingers brushing against your ankle as he tightened the laces. “There,” he said, sitting back with a satisfied grin. “Now, are you ready to go humiliate yourself in front of a bunch of kids?” You glared. “I hate you.” Jake just winked. “Not you don’t.” Standing on the rubber mats was fine. Walking to the rink entrance was less fine. Stepping onto the ice?

Absolutely not. Jake tugged on your hand, but you dug your heels in, refusing to budge. “I can’t.” “You can,” he said, voice infuriatingly patient. “Just take it slow.” “Jake.” You looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. “I will fall.” “I won’t let you fall.” You hesitated.  Jake sighed, stepping onto the ice first and turning to face you. “Here,” he said, holding out both hands. “Just hold onto me.” You squinted at him. “If let my hands go, I swear—” “I’m not letting your hands go. I won‘t let you go.” With a deep breath, you cautiously put one foot forward. The second your skate touched the ice, you panicked, immediately grabbing onto Jake’s arms.

Jake laughed, barely budging from the impact. “Okay, okay,” he soothed, steadying you easily. “I got you. See? You’re fine.” Your heart was racing. “I hate this. I hate you. Fuck yourself Jaeyun Sim.” Jake grinned. “You’re doing amazing.” You groaned, fingers tightening in his hoodie. “I swear to god, if you let me go, I will personally make sure you never skate again.” Jake grinned wider. “Noted.”

You were going to kill him. If you ever got off this ice alive. You clung to Jake like your life depended on it as he slowly guided you forward. Your movements were stiff, jerky, and entirely uncoordinated, but at least you weren’t on your ass yet. “Relax,” Jake murmured, tightening his grip on your hands. “You’re way too tense.” “That’s because I’m trying not to die.” Jake laughed, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings of the rink. “You’re not gonna die.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” you shot back. “I literally can.” He smirked. “Besides, you’re already better than the last time you tried.” You frowned. “I’ve never tried.” “Exactly.” You groaned, but somehow, your feet started moving. Jake kept you steady, skating backward with ease, like this was second nature to him. It probably was. You loved seeing him on the ice. He looked so happy there, albeit during games he didn’t look all too happy, but a bit constipated at times. He was a competitive idiot. But you really didn’t love seeing yourself on the ice. 

He must’ve noticed you staring, because his smirk softened. “I used to skate here all the time when I was a kid,” he said. “Like, all the time. My mom would drop me off and I’d stay for hours. Just doing laps, messing around with the puck until my actual training started. Tobi and I always fought who spend more time on the ice.” You blinked. Yup, competitive idiot. 

“Sounds nice,” you murmured. Jake shrugged. “Yeah. It was.”

Before you could say anything else, a blur of movement zipped past, and you barely had time to register a kid skating perfectly before you let out a scandalized noise “Oh, come on.” Jake lost it, throwing his head back in laughter. “What?” You gestured wildly. “That kid is showing off.” Jake grinned. “He is not. Y/N he literally just skates at a normal speed. You’re just slow.” “Well, this shit is hard. The floor is slippery and I am standing on two blades. How am I supposed to be faster than this?” Jake laughed. “Well by doing the same thing that kid is doing.”, he shook his head, still chuckling. “Alright, c’mon, let’s do a full lap. You’re not doing too bad.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I will hold this over your head forever if I fall.” “I won’t let you fall.”

You eyed him suspiciously but nodded, gripping his hands tighter as he led you forward.  And, miraculously, you weren’t completely terrible. You still needed Jake’s help, but eventually, you started loosening your grip, even skating without his help. By the time you made it back to where you started, your legs were shaking, but you were upright. A miracle. Jake gave you a crooked grin. “Told you.” And just as he uttered that, a kid barreled into you, and suddenly, you were on your ass, the cold ice seeping through your jeans as you glared up at Jake.

His expression morphed from shock to amusement in a matter of seconds. “Oh my God.” “Don’t,” you warned, pointing a finger at him. Jake pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold back his laughter, but his shaking shoulders betrayed him. He crouched down in front of you, eyes way too bright. “Are you okay?” “No,” you huffed. Jake grinned. “You actually did great, right up until you got taken out by a four-year-old.” Your eyes narrowed. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t.”

Yes Jake. That was the problem. You forced a scoff, shoving away the warmth creeping into your chest. “Just help me up, Sim.” Jake smirked but obliged, easily pulling you to your feet like you weighed nothing. His hands stayed at your waist steadying you and making sure you had your balance before letting go. Jake arched a brow. “But really are you good?” You straightened, forcing an easy smirk. “Yeah. Just debating if I should throw you onto the ice.” He chuckled. “I’d like to see you try.” “Oh, you will.” Jake laughed, shaking his head as he started leading you forward again.

Jake was good with kids.

You weren’t sure why that surprised you, but it did.

At some point, after he had successfully gotten you to skate on your own for at least five seconds without clutching onto him for dear life, a group of kids had asked him to race them. And, of course, Jake being Jake, he hadn’t been able to resist.

So now you stood at the edge of the rink, watching as he lined up with a few kids, all of them grinning and buzzing with excitement.

“Alright,” Jake called out, pointing at the far end of the rink. “First one to the boards wins!”

The kids nodded eagerly and got into position.

You bit your lip as you watched him, your chest tightening. The way he fixed a kid’s helmet before skating backward into position, the way he still looked like the same boy who had probably spent hours at this rink, just because he loved it, everything about this made your heart clench.

He was so stupidly cute when he was excited.

And God, that made everything so much worse.

Because this, this, was what you were going to miss.

Him.

Jake.

His dumb competitive streak. His stupid grins. The way he looked at you sometimes. All the little acts of kindness. 

A whistle blew, breaking you out of your thoughts. The kids shot forward, skating with all the energy in the world.

Jake let them win.

He didn’t make it too obvious. He still skated fast enough to keep them on their toes, but you could tell. He slowed down just enough to make sure one of them reached the boards first, throwing his hands up in mock defeat as they cheered.

You were going to miss him.

More than you were ready for.

Jake’s house is quiet when you step inside. 

“I wanna show you something,” Jake says, tugging you toward the hallway.

You let yourself be pulled along, through the house and into his childhood bedroom. Hockey trophies line the shelves, medals hanging from hooks and different lego builds were scattered around the shelves.

Jake gestures toward them with a small, almost sheepish grin. “Told you I used to be good.”

You roll your eyes but step closer, trailing your fingers along the glossy wood of a championship trophy. “Used to be?” you echo, raising a brow. “Please. You still are.”

Jake chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. My dad doesn’t think so.”

Something in his voice makes you pause. But before you can press further, he flops onto his bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Ugh, I need a nap. Skating was a workout.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you sprint for sixty straight minutes. That wasn’t even close to a workout for you.”

Jake just grins, patting the empty space beside him. “C’mon. I know you’re tired too.”

You hesitate, but not because you aren’t tired.

Because you are. Because you know that lying down next to him, in this room, in this house that holds pieces of his childhood, pieces he’s willingly showing you, will only make everything worse.

You do it anyway.

You slip off your jacket and crawl into the space beside him. The bed dips as Jake shifts, his body instinctively curling around yours. His arms loop around your waist, his chest warm against your back, and the moment he exhales, fully relaxing into you, you feel your stomach twist again. Because this isn’t real, even if it felt real. It should’t be.  In two days, this will be over. And you’ve already decided you have to let him go. 

To protect your heart of what was going to come in the end. 

Your throat tightens as you stare at the ceiling. Keeping him in your life after this would only be self-inflicted torture.  Pretending to love him had been easy. At one point it probably wasn’t pretend. So pretending you didn’t would be impossible. And that was why you had to let him go. You have to go no contact. For your own sake.

And as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, you already feel sorry for it. Already grieving a friendship you haven’t even lost yet. You feel the weight of Jake’s arm around you, his steady breaths against the nape of your neck a lullaby you shouldn’t let yourself sink into. 

But you do.

For just a moment.

You blink up at the ceiling, the familiar scent of his cologne clinging to the sheets, wrapping around you. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of his hoodie. You should have given it back. You should. But it smells like him. It feels like him. And soon, you won’t have any of him left. You press your lips together, ignoring the sting in your throat.

Jake doesn’t know yet. That, when you get off that plane, you’re cutting ties. You’ll ignore his texts. His calls. You’ll block his number if you have to.  He doesn’t know that you’ll do the same to Jay. To Heeseung. To all of them.

Jay will know. Jay will see right through you. He’ll hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your texts grow shorter and shorter, until they eventually stop coming at all. He’ll know. And he won’t let you go without a fight.

But this is what’s best. For you, so you don’t destroy yourself in the process of loving Jake like you did with Marcus. For Jake, so he doesn’t have to be put in the awkward position of letting you down gently. So that he doesn’t have to be scrutinized by his father. So that he doesn’t have to break your heart. 

Jake shifts behind you, his arm tightening, his nose brushing against your shoulder. Your chest ached as you swallowed down the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the warmth of Jake’s arm around you, on his hand resting against your stomach. ──────────────────────────Jake woke up slowly, blinking into darkness. His room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional soft sigh escaping your lips. He felt the warmth of your body pressed against his, your head tucked beneath his chin, your legs tangled with his beneath the blankets.

His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close.

A quick glance at his alarm clock told him it was nearly 11 p.m. He probably should wake you up, take you home. Jake exhaled softly, gaze flicking down to you, taking in the way your lashes fanned over your cheeks, the way your lips parted slightly with each slow, steady breath. You looked so soft like this, so unguarded. And fuck, he loved seeing you like this.

Because as much as he adored your quick wit and your stubborn streak, there was something about these rare, quiet moments that made his chest feel too full.

He’d always liked making you laugh, riling you up just to see you roll your eyes at him. But seeing you like this? Safe, peaceful, trusting him enough to just be, it did something to him.

Jake swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against your back, resisting the urge to smooth his hand over your hair.

He liked this.

He liked you.

He might even love you.

He has known that for weeks now.

He wasn’t sure when exactly things had shifted, when pretending had started feeling so much like something real, but he knew he wasn’t ready for it to end. Even after this week was over, even when you both got back home, he wanted this. Wanted you in his life just like this.

Because how could he go back to before? 

He’d been thinking about it a lot, how things would go back to ‘normal’ once you got home. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he didn’t want normal. He didn’t want to go back to before.

He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want this to change.

Carefully, he shifted, reluctantly pulling his arm from beneath you. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soft as he nudged your shoulder. “Y/N, wake up.”

You stirred slightly, your brows scrunching in mild annoyance before your eyes fluttered open. A sleepy frown pulled at your lips. “What?”

“It’s late,” he said gently. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You blinked, still half-asleep, before shifting against him, rubbing at your eyes. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

Jake’s brows lifted slightly. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, already nestling back into him. “Then I’ll just stay.”

And just like that, you were asleep again, your breath evening out, completely unbothered.

Jake let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His chest felt warm, something almost giddy curling in his stomach at how easily you had decided to stay.

Because that meant something, right? You wanted to stay.

Jake had never been a fan of long flights. Too much time to think. And right now, thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. Especially when you were sitting right next to him, head bent over your notebook, highlighter in hand as you studied whatever notes you had stuffed into your carry-on. Jake didn’t even pretend to be interested in anything else. He just…watched you.

The way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you chewed on your bottom lip when you were focused, the way you absently twirled your pen between your fingers before underlining something on the page. God, you were so fucking cute. He had the urge to reach out and tuck that one loose strand of hair behind your ear. You must have felt his gaze because you suddenly nudged him with your elbow, not even looking up from your notes. “Stop staring.” Jake smirked. “Not staring.”

You huffed, eyes flicking toward him, unimpressed. “Go to sleep or something.” Jake stretched his legs out, completely unbothered. “Not tired.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue further, going back to your notes. And Jake went back to watching you. He didn’t know how much time passed, maybe an hour, maybe two, when you spoke to him again.

“What are we going to tell our friends?” Jake blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He turned his head slightly, noting the way you were still looking down at your notes, your fingers lightly tapping against the page. “About what?” You still didn’t look at him. Just kept tapping your pen. "About our breakup. The wedding is over, right? No need for us to be fake dating anymore."

His stomach dropped. The song playing in his ears–one of your favorites–turned into nothing but static. For a second, he thought maybe he misheard you. Maybe he had dozed off, lost in the lull of the plane, and imagined it. But then you finally looked at him. Waiting. Expecting an answer. Jake forced his face to stay neutral. "What?"

You exhaled, glancing down at your notes like this was just some minor inconvenience to get through. “I mean, we should probably have a story, right? You didn’t want to tell them we were faking all of this. So like, maybe we had a mutual breakup? Or—” His head spun. Because what the fuck? Jake should have known this was coming. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the plan had always been to end things after the wedding.

But hearing you say it fucking sucked.

For a brief second, he considered arguing. Because if this was how you saw it, the whole situation still being you and him fake dating, then he didn't have much say in this. If you weren't feeling the same way he did for you, which you obviously didn't, then there was nothing to argue about. He didn't have to fight for a fake relationship, even if it broke his heart.

Jake felt his fingers tighten around your phone. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Sure.”

And he hated how hollow that one word felt in his chest.

You hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. Then you nodded slightly.

Jake swallowed, staring out at the dark sky stretching endlessly outside the window.

Then, carefully, he asked, “We’ll still see each other, though, right?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then you nodded again. “Yeah. Of course.”

Jake exhaled slowly. “Good.”

Silence settled between you again.

Then you spoke, softer this time. “Should we say it was mutual?”

Jake turned to look at you, something unreadable flashing across your face.

You met his gaze, biting your lip. “Like… should we say we had a reason?”

Jake had to bite back a humorless laugh. There was no reason for this to happen. At all. Not even two days ago, you had woken up in his arms. Stayed for breakfast. Laughed at the way he threw himself into the pool. Stayed until your mom called you to come home.

You looked happy.

He just shrugged, like his heart wasn’t actively splintering inside his chest. “I guess mutual sounds good.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

And just like that, it was decided.

Jake turned back toward the window, shoving his headphones deeper into his ears, but he wasn’t listening to the music anymore. Why? He just didn't understand why. 

You had to be a really good actor. That was the only explanation. Maybe he had been an idiot from the very start. But he knew. He knew the second he kissed you in that bar. The way you had responded to him, the way your fingers had twisted into the fabric of his shirt, the way your breath had hitched just before he pulled away. That hadn't been fake. And neither had the way you looked at him at the wedding, standing so close, your eyes flickering down to his lips. He had felt it, that moment stretching between you, the way your body leaned into his just a fraction before he kissed you.

Jake kept his eyes locked on the window, the reflection of you flickering in the glass. You had gone back to your notes, highlighter in hand, looking like this conversation had already left your mind. He wanted to laugh. Because that was it. All of it. Over, just like that. He should've seen it coming. He'd let himself believe, for just a second, that this wouldn't end. That maybe, when you got home, you'd still be his somehow.

It has been six days since Jake and you arrived at home. Six days since you last saw each other. Six days since you asked him to fake break up. Six days spent trying to dodge Jake at all costs. Which was harder than you anticipated.

You stared at the screen of your Ipad, you were at least ten pages behind your professor in the script. At the beginning of the class you still were paying attention, knowing that this professor likes to ask random students questions during the class to check if you were paying attention but at some point our mind wandered away from nerve damage and to the damage you have done. 

Your phone is heavy in your hand, when you pick it up to check the time. Your heart stops for a second when you read over Jake's most recent message from last night.

Jakeyboy 11:08 am: Hey Y/N! Do you wanna go for fried chicken today? We should celebrate that we survived last week!  Jakeyboy 09:29 pm: So…no fried chicken then?

No. No fried chicken. And definitely not in that small restaurant you had your first date-not-date in almost 4 months ago now. That felt like a lifetime now.

You read it immediately. Almost replied. Almost said, Yeah, okay, let’s go. But instead, you locked your phone, flipped it over, and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in your chest. 

It’s been only six days but you miss him. God, you miss him. You didn’t realize how much time you and Jake spent together and spent texting until you stopped. Or at least tried to. 

Your name being called cut through your thoughts. Your head snapped up. Your professor was staring at you expectantly.

“I am sorry, Professor Kim. I didn’t catch that, could you repeat that question?”

Your professor sighed but repeated his question. You answered the question and he moved on.

You let out a breath when he went back to the slides and closed your eyes. This can’t continue like this. You had to get a grip. That thing between you and Jake was fake and you shouldn’t be as weird about this as you were. 

Your phone vibrated again.

Jakeyboy Are you coming on Friday? 

Jake had the Providence Regional this weekend. If they won, they’ll be headed to the Frozen Four. This was important to him. If you don’t go, he wouldn’t spend the whole game wondering why you weren’t sitting in the stands cheering on him, wondering what he did wrong. You refused to be the reason he’s distracted.

Before you can overthink it, your hand moves toward your phone.

You unlock it. Open your chat with Jake.

You type quickly.

Y/N I am sorry I was swarmed with work yesterday :( Prof Hwang wanted me to hand in my essay until yesterday instead of Friday so i had to focus and i banned my phone to the kitchen  I’ll be at your game tomorrow! I promise!!!

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you locked your phone, flipped it over again, and tried to pretend you didn’t feel relief washing over you. ──────────────────────────Jake leaned against the wall outside the locker room, one foot tapping against the floor, hands gripping his phone way too tight. The screen was blank. No notifications. No texts from you.

He checked the time. Five minutes until he had to start getting ready.

You weren’t coming.

He knew it, but he still kept glancing up every time someone walked by, heart jumping for half a second before sinking again. Maybe you got held up. Maybe you forgot. Maybe–

Beomguy came running in, just barely making it around the curve to almost crash into Jake.

"Dude. What are you still doing out here?"

Jake shoved his phone into his pocket. "Nothing."

Beomgyu gave him a once-over. "Right. So you’re just lurking outside the locker room like a lost puppy for no reason?"

Jake rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall. "Shut up."

Beomgyu’s eyes narrowed. "Where is Y/N?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Beomgyu whistled low. "Damn. She’s always here." He shifted, lowering his voice. "Did you guys fight or something?"

"No," Jake muttered, jaw tightening. "She’s just busy."

Beomgyu studied him for a second, like he didn’t quite believe it, but he let it go. "We gotta get changed before Coach loses his shit."

Jake nodded, but even as he followed Beomgyu inside, he couldn’t shake the disappointment curling in his chest. The question lingered, gnawing at the edge of Jake’s thoughts even as he stood and grabbed his helmet.

Had you fought?

No.

But it sure as hell felt like he was losing you anyway.

You’d promised to come.

You knew how important that game was.

And that, more than anything, fucking hurt.

Jake tried to shake off the gnawing disappointment clawing at his chest. The game was happening around him, sticks clashing, skates cutting across the ice, the sharp echo of the puck ricocheting off the boards, but his mind wasn’t in it.

You weren’t there.

Not outside the locker room before warm-ups. Not by the tunnel where you always wished him luck. Not even a last-minute text. Just silence.

He told himself it was fine. You had school, you were busy—but damn, it stung. More than he wanted to admit.

Then he spotted you sitting down next to Sunghoon.

Jake barely processed the wave of relief that crashed over him. His chest felt lighter, and before he could stop himself, a stupid, lopsided grin tugged at his lips.

The second the puck dropped again, he forced himself to focus, taking long strides, chasing it down along the boards. He caught a pass cleanly, shifted his weight to turn–

And then he got crushed.

Pain exploded through his side as he slammed into the boards, hard enough to make his teeth clack together. His helmet rattled. Someone shouted. He barely heard it over the ringing in his ears.

Jake hit the ice but pushed himself up immediately, shaking it off. His ribs screamed in protest, but whatever. Pain was part of the game. He took a deep breath, forced his focus back, and skated after the play.

As he lined up for the next face-off, he couldn’t help but steal another glance at you.

And for some reason, the ache in his chest hurt worse than the hit.

Jake exhaled, flexed his grip on his stick, and forced himself to look forward. He’d deal with everything else, you, after the game. ──────────────────────────The cool night air wrapped around Jake as he stepped out of the rink, scanning the small crowd until his eyes landed on you. You stood near Sunghoon and one of the guys’ girlfriends, leaning against the railing. Your shoulders were slumped, and there were faint bags under your eyes, like you hadn’t been sleeping much, and your hair, normally styled with some effort, was lazily pulled back, like you just hadn’t cared today. When you spotted him, you smiled. “Congrats,” you murmured, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him.

Jake barely hesitated before hugging you back, pulling you in closer. He inhaled the familiar scent of you and suddenly, the ache in his ribs wasn’t the thing making it hard to breathe. You held onto him a second longer than usual, and when you spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?” Jake exhaled against your hair, feeling his chest tighten. He knew you weren’t just asking about the hit.

“Yeah,” he muttered, even if it wasn’t entirely true. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes searching his like you didn’t believe him. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face as well and he whispered back, “Are you?” For a second, he thought you wouldn’t answer. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Then, finally, you nodded. Jake didn’t believe that either. But he let you lie. Just like you let him. ────────────────────────── You were standing next to Jay and Yeonjun at the bar, sipping on your second sex on the beach when the DJ played his third Katy Perry song of the evening. Usually the hockey team celebrated with fried chicken or at the small bar near the rink but today they decided to go to the club. A decision you weren’t too enthusiastic about but went along nonetheless. It was nice to see the others.

It was however not nice to see Jake dancing with another girl. She was way too close for it to be friendly dancing. You swallowed and took another sip, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach. 

Beomgyu wrapped his arms around your and Yeonjuns shoulder shouting “Katy shots everyone! Yeonjun hyung is paying!”

Everyone meant you, him, Jay and Yeonjun since you were pretty sure none of the other players heard what he just said. 

Yeonjun just rolled his eyes, but motioned to the bartender ordering four shots. He was already slurring his words and you knew he should probably stop soon. But you didn’t really care. Maybe another shot would help you forget what you just saw. 

You drowned your already half empty sex on the beach and took the shot, laughing at Beomgyu who was trying to get you to dance with him. 

He turned the two of you and you were happy to not see Jake anymore.

But that also meant Beomgyu did. 

“Damn Y/N. You let Jake get flirted with by other girls? I know you are chill, but this chill?”, his hands grasped your shoulders and he turned you back towards the bar, to Jay and Yeonjuns gazes were following where Beomgyu was now pointing. 

“Oh yeah. Why not?”, you asked, ignoring the hot disgusting feeling in your veins when you watched her grasp Jake's biceps. 

“Because he is your boyfriend?”, Beomgyu asked bewildered.

Fuck.

“Didn’t he tell you?” You tilted your head, feigning mild surprise. “We broke up.”

The second the words left your mouth, the entire table went silent. Oh, it seems like there were more of his team at the bar than you thought. 

“You… what?” Sunghoon blinked at you, beer bottle paused halfway to his lips. Where did he come from? You swore he wasn’t at the bar two seconds ago. Or maybe you were just really drunk already. Probably.  

“We broke up,” you repeated, keeping your voice light. You even forced a small, casual shrug, ignoring the tight knot forming in your stomach. “Just realized we were better off as friends.”

More silence. Or well as silent as a full club could be with the music and conversations bouncing from the walls.

“Since when?” Jay demanded, looking between you and Jake like he was waiting for one of you to jump up and yell ‘gotcha!’

You felt the heat of Jake’s stare from across the room. You knew he was watching you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, not when that girl was practically draping herself over him.

She was giggling at something he said, pressing a manicured hand to his bicep.

Your jaw clenched.

“A couple days after the wedding,” you answered smoothly, taking a slow sip of your drink. “We just didn’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Bullshit.” Heeseung scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “There’s no way you two just broke up and didn’t say anything. He would have told us.”

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “What do you want me to say? It just didn’t work out. We’re still friends.”

Lies.

You wanted it to work out. 

You wanted him. Wanted him to love you. To not be talking to a random girl in a club.

But you were scared. 

Jay crossed his arms, studying you carefully. “You’re telling me you guys just… mutually decided to go back to being friends?”

“Yep.”

An arm suddenly draped over your shoulders.

“Wait, wait, wait,” one of Nicolas slurred, his grin sloppy from too many drinks. “So that means you’re single now?”

Your stomach twisted.

“I mean, technically, yeah,” you said, and smiled at him.

The guy let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn.” He glanced toward Jake, then back at you, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess that means EJ has a chance now, if you let him.”

You forced a laugh.

“Yeah,” you said, ignoring the sudden, unbearable heat crawling up your neck. “Guess so.”

──────────────────────────

The walk back to your apartment felt both too long and not long enough. The world was spinning slightly.

Jake walked beside you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his head tilted slightly downward. He insisted on walking you home. After he finally got rid of that girl and came back to the bar to drink a Katy shot he realized how drunk you were getting and forbade you to drink your Katy shot. That was fine with you. The alcohol didn’t help you forget. It made everything worse. So stopping was definitely the more clever thing to do. 

Now you were here. Alone.

You should have said something. Cracked a joke. Made fun of him for how he had let some girl hang all over him at the party.

But you didn’t.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

You exhaled, your breath curling in the cold night air. That wasn’t what you expected him to say. Your heart clenched. 

“I’m sorry I was late,” you whispered into the dark. “I should have been there to wish you good luck before you went on the ice.”

Jake slowed down slightly, tilting his head toward you. “It’s okay.” 

It wasn’t.

You had spent almost an hour trying to talk yourself into going at all. Sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, watching the minutes disappear. You had almost bailed. But you had gone anyway. You had forced yourself to get dressed, to push through the nausea curling in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, eyes trained on the sidewalk.

Jake huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “I mean it. It was just a game.”

Just a game.

You bit your lip, arms wrapping around yourself. You should have been there. From the start.

“I still should have been there. I promised after all.” you said, your voice quieter now.

Jake glanced at you again, his expression shifting into something softer.

“Hey,” he said after a beat, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You still showed up.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to.

He slowed down slightly, looking at you with an earnest expression. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed, fighting to keep your mind clear. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, but the lie felt bitter as it left your mouth. It tasted awful. Felt even worse.

Jake didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, his face softened in that way he did when he was being gentle with you, like he could tell something was off but didn’t know how to ask. He always did that when he realized you had a hard day in the lab. He knew he had to wait for you to open up. Which you did. Always.

But today you continued to walk to your apartment in silence.

When you reached your building, you turned to hug him goodbye. When you wrapped your arms around his torso he stiffened. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you felt it in the way his muscles tensed beneath your arms, the way his breath caught just slightly.

You pulled back, blinking up at him. “Jake?”

He forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You flinched.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

Your chest ached. A deep, gnawing, ugly ache. Because of course he was hurt. YOu saw him get hurt. 

You crossed your arms, ignoring the slight sway in your vision. “Let me check.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I don’t think–”

“Please Jake.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you hated how raw your voice sounded. 

Jake hesitated. He watched you carefully, like he was trying to read something on your face. But then, finally, he sighed, giving in with a tired nod.

You led him inside, neither of you speaking. The silence was thick, pressing down on you, and you wondered if he could feel it too.

Your bathroom was dimly lit, a single overhead bulb casting long shadows against the tiled walls. The space was small. When Jake leaned back against the sink, you had no choice but to step between his legs, your knees brushing against the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Take it off,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed. Then, slowly, he pulled his tshirt over his head, the fabric ruffling his already-messy hair.

Your breath caught.

Jake was warm. His skin golden under the dim light, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The bruises were already starting to bloom across his ribs, dark and violent against his skin.

You reached out, your fingertips grazing the swollen area. Jake hissed, his body jerking back, before relaxing under your touch. “Jesus, your hands are cold.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your fingers trace lightly over the bruises, moving carefully, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath your touch. The dim light illuminated the way his chest rose and fell, making him look almost vulnerable in that moment. You gently probed his side, checking for any fractures. You didn’t realize you were swaying slightly until his hands found your hips, steadying you. The warmth of his palms burned through the fabric of your top, making your head spin more. Your heart pounded, your pulse a steady, traitorous rhythm in your throat. As your hands ran over the bruise, you felt his body stiffen and his eyes tighten, but you continued, feeling for anything that seemed off. You pulled your hand back slightly, a slight frown pulling at your lips as you looked at him. He was fine, no broken ribs, just bruising. 

He was watching you. You could feel it. The weight of his gaze pressing into you, heavy and unreadable. Like he was waiting for something. For you to say something. To do something.

You couldn’t.

And then, his fingers moved-just slightly, just enough to brush under the hem of your top, to touch the bare skin of your waist. His touch was light, but it sent a sharp shiver up your spine.

Something inside you snapped.

Before you could stop yourself, you surged forward, pressing your lips against his.

Jake froze. Just for a second. But then he was kissing you back.

And fuck, it was good.

Too good. Too much.

His hand slid from your waist, up, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, over your side, up to the base of your neck. And when his fingers pressed against your skin, when his thumb dragged over the column of your throat, you shuddered. A small, broken sound escaped you.

Jake made a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a sigh, and it made your stomach twist painfully. 

You didn’t even notice you were crying until Jake pulled back, his brows furrowing.

His hands gently cupped your face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “Why are you crying?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to answer. You didn’t want to talk.

So you kissed him again.

This time, he was gentler. Softer.

And it only made you cry harder.

Because it felt like grief.

Because you were mourning something you never really had. Something you couldn’t have.

The moment your lips left his, Jake didn’t pull you back. Instead, his hands found your face again, holding it with just enough space between you that he could see your face.

Tears clung to your lashes, slipping down your cheeks silently. 

“Hey,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t answer. 

Jake’s thumb stroked over your wet cheek “Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, but still careful.

Instead of answering you hiccuped, shook your head and pressed your face against his bare chest.

And then, barely above a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat against your ear, you choked out, "I’m so sorry."

Jake stiffened, but it only lasted a second. Then, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in without a second thought. No hesitation. No questions. Just warmth.

His hands ran soothingly up and down your back, gentle, steady. “Hey,” he said again, quieter this time. “Why are you –”

"I’m sorry," you interrupted, voice barely working through the lump in your throat. "I’m so sorry."

Jake’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie, his grip tightening. “Why are you saying that?”

But you just shook your head again, screwing your eyes shut, pressing your forehead harder against his collarbone.

Because you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be in his arms.

You should have gone no contact. You had gone no contact.

And now you had ruined it.

“I am sorry Jake.”

Jake exhaled slowly, resting his chin lightly against the top of your head. His chest rose and fell against you, his heartbeat strong, steady, the only sound in the dimly lit bathroom.

“You don’t have to –” he started, then stopped himself, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He tried again. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

That made your chest ache.

You sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. It just made the tears come harder, your fingers gripping onto him.

Jake didn’t move. Didn’t push for answers. Didn’t ask you to stop crying.

He just held you, warm and quiet and safe.

And you hated yourself for wanting to stay.

──────────────────────────Jake stared at the black screen of his phone. He tapped it. Nothing. No messages, no missed calls. Just the same empty notifications that had been there five minutes ago.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before letting the screen fade back to black.

The day after the game, after the party, after you kissed him and broke down he thought you were just tired and wanted to be left alone. Maybe something had happened in the lab. He didn’t know. You apologized over and over again and didn’t stop hiccuping until you felt asleep. You never told him what you were apologizing for and he didn’t know what you could be apologizing for. What he did know was that it broke his heart. 

By the second day, he was uneasy.

By the fourth, when his messages were still left on read, when every TikTok he sent remained unopened, when you hadn’t even sent him a half-assed meme in return, something inside him twisted tightly.

You never cried. He had never seen you cry, not once. And now, not only had he seen it, but you were pushing him away.

And worst of all, he had no idea why

It didn’t make sense. Nothing had happened, right? At least, nothing bad.

He scrolled through your chat again. 

Jake Hey, how’s your day? Jake Y/N? Jake Are you okay?

No reply.

The worst part? It wasn’t just him. 

He hoped you might be studying with your friends in the empty classroom you preferred to use, but your friends told him you didn’t answer their texts. Chaewon was looking as worried as Jake felt, when he told them that you weren’t answering his either.

Sunghoon had told him you skipped out on lunch with him.

If this was just about the kiss, why were you avoiding everyone?

It made him feel sick.

And now, Jay was standing in front of him in the rink’s locker room, arms crossed, staring at him like he was a fucking criminal.

“What did you do?”

Jake looked up, brows furrowing. “What?”

Jay huffed, shifting his weight like he was trying to stay patient. “Y/N. She’s avoiding all of us. So, what did you do?”

Jake exhaled sharply, leaning against the bench behind him. “I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse, tired. Defeated. “She just… stopped answering me. I don’t get it.”

Jay narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to decide whether Jake was lying or just stupid. “You don’t get it? You two were practically glued together at the hip a week ago. Now she won’t even look at you? I know you broke up, but she said you were still friends? That you ended it mutually?”

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “Yeah I thought so, too.”

Jay’s expression softened, just slightly. “Did something happen at the wedding? Or after?”

Jake hesitated. He thought about telling Jay the truth. About the kiss. About the way you had melted against him one second, only to shut him out completely the next. 

“I–” Jake’s throat tightened. “I really don’t know.”

Jay studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “Well, whatever it is, you need to fix it.”

Jake let out a humorless laugh, hollow and bitter. “Yeah? How am I supposed to do that when she won’t even talk to me?”

Jay sighed. “Figure it out.”

Jake swallowed hard, staring at the unread messages on his screen.

He just wished he knew what he did wrong.

────────────────────────── Your hands were shaking.

You made a mistake.

You don’t make mistakes.

Mistakes mean carelessness. A lack of control.

Yet here you were, standing over a decomposed body in the forensic taphonomy lab, staring at the mistake you just made.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you tried to correct your mistake, but it was too late. A single misstep in this field could mean an entire case being thrown out in the real world. You couldn’t make mistakes. The stakes were too high for mistakes. You knew better. And yet, today, you made a mistake.

Your professor’s voice cut through the haze. “Y/N.”

You flinched.

Professor Kim, looked at you with something close to concern. He rarely stepped in during labs unless absolutely necessary, but now, he gently pulled off his gloves and nodded toward the door.

“Step outside with me.”

Shame crept up your spine as you followed him into the dimly lit hallway, away from the smell of decay and chemicals. The second the door shut behind you, he sighed.

“What’s going on? You’ve been off the whole week.”

You stared at the floor, hands balled into fists. You didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with him, not with anyone.

But Professor Kim knew you too well. He had seen you excel, seen you obsess over every little detail until it was perfect. And now he saw you fail.

“I don’t make mistakes,” you murmured, voice tight.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “No, you don’t. Which is why I’m asking what’s wrong.”

You swallowed hard. The lump in your throat was unbearable.

You wanted to tell him everything. That you kissed Jake. That you regret it. That you regret giving him hope. That you can’t stop thinking about the way his hands felt on your skin, the way his voice broke when he asked what was going on.

That you can’t even focus on yourself anymore.

But you can’t say any of that.

You should lie. Say you’re fine. Say you’re just stressed, that it won’t happen again.

But your throat feels tight, and before you can stop yourself, the truth slips out.

“I don’t know.”

Professor Kim nods, like he expected that answer. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“You’re not helping anyone in this state. Not yourself, not your peers, and certainly not whoever’s lying on that table.” His voice is firm, but there’s something gentle underneath it. “I won’t mark you for today. But, Y/N… get your head together.”

His words cut deeper than they should. You nod stiffly, barely managing a choked-out “Thank you” before walking away.

Because the truth is, you don’t know how to fix this.

How to fix yourself. ──────────────────────────You didn’t go to class the next day. Or the day after. It didn’t even feel like a decision. You just couldn’t. The exhaustion seeped into your bones, weighing you down like an anchor, making everything feel distant and dull. You woke up, stared at your ceiling, and the idea of getting dressed, walking outside, pretending you were fine—it was unbearable. So you didn’t. You called your doctor, told him you were feeling like shit—physically, mentally, you didn’t even clarify, and he didn’t ask. He just signed off on an excuse for the rest of the week. No questions. No judgment. You should have felt relieved. You felt nothing. The days blurred. You ignored texts, ignored missed calls, ignored the quiet ache in your chest every time you saw Jake’s name light up your screen. You thought about answering, about saying sorry, I just need time, but even that felt like too much effort.

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting there. The sky had been soft and golden when you first stepped outside, the sun dipping lazily toward the horizon. You watched it set, watched the world shift from warm orange to dusky purple, then fade into black. Now, only the distant glow of the city lights kept you company.

It wasn’t particularly cold, but it wasn’t warm either. The kind of in-between temperature that should have been comfortable but somehow wasn’t.

Your fingers fumbled with the cigarette between them.

You didn’t usually hesitate. But now, you just stared at it. The lighter sat beside you, untouched. It was stupid—after everything, this was what made you pause? You had been craving the nicotine all day, the mindless comfort of smoke filling your lungs, but for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to light it.

Maybe because you knew Jake would hate it. Maybe because, for the first time in weeks, you didn’t want to disappoint him any more than you already had. Or maybe, deep down, you knew it wouldn’t actually make you feel any better. You squeezed your eyes shut, tilting your head back against the wall, exhaling shakily.

You just needed one second to breathe.

Just one.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the cigarette pinched between your fingers.

Then, before you could think about it any longer, you flicked the lighter. The flame danced in the dark, small and fleeting. You brought it to the end of the cigarette, inhaling deeply as the ember caught, glowing softly in the night.

The first drag burned.

It was sharp in your throat, settling heavy in your lungs. You held it in for a second, like it would make a difference, like it would calm the storm in your chest.

It didn’t.

You let the smoke slip past your lips, watching it curl into the air, disappearing into nothing. The taste lingered—bitter, stale, wrong. You waited for it to do something, to ease the tension in your body, to make you feel anything other than this crushing weight of regret.

Your phone sat beside you, screen dark. You hadn’t checked it in hours. You didn’t need to. You already knew.

Jake played the Frozen Four today.

And you weren’t there.

You never went to away games—traveling was too much, and he understood that. But you always texted him. Always. Even when you were too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed with school, you always managed to send him something. A dumb joke. A simple You got this. A reminder that he wasn’t alone. Because he deserved support. Because his family wouldn’t give it to him. And you swore you would. Even if you weren’t currently in the midst of fake dating. You were—you are—friends. And friends support each other.

But you didn’t.

You let the entire day slip through your fingers, drowning in your own mess, spiraling so deep into yourself that you forgot about him. A sharp inhale stung your throat as you brought the cigarette to your lips again.

You took another drag.

The weight in your chest didn’t lift. The guilt didn’t ease. You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the air before vanishing into the night.

Jake’s voice echoed in your head, uninvited.

"You know that shit’s bad for you, right?"

He never scolded, never judged. He just looked at you with that quiet concern, the kind that made you feel seen in a way that was almost unbearable. "Seriously, Y/N."

Your stomach twisted painfully. You should have wished him good luck. The least you could have done was let him know you were thinking of him. That you still cared, even if you were trying so damn hard to stop.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pressed the cigarette into the brick ledge, snuffing it out before you even finished.

It didn’t fix anything.

And now, you regretted another thing. ────────────────────────── Winning should feel better than this.

The crowd was roaring. His teammates were celebrating, their cheers echoing off the locker room walls, but Jake just sat there, hunched forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at his phone. The screen stayes dark. No messages. No missed calls. At least not from you. Instead, his dad called.

"Congratulations, son. I heard you won."

Jake didn’t answer right away. Just gripped his phone so tight he thought it might crack.

Because he knew his dad hadn’t watched the game. He never watched.

"I’ve been thinking," his dad continued, voice calm, detached, businesslike–just like always. "I’ll be transferring to the satellite office in Seoul. I want to be closer to my family. Closer to you."

Jake’s blood turned to ice. His dad didn’t do things like that. He didn’t just decide to be around. He didn’t care about being close to Jake.

"We should have dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us. Catch up."

Jake felt sick. His dad never just did things for him. There was always a catch. A reason. A way it benefited him more than Jake. This was exactly why it all started, wasn’t it? The fake dating. The whole fucking mess.

Because of him.

Because Jake had wanted, for once, to have some kind of control. To be able to tell his dad: Look, see? I have something good. I don’t need you to approve of me, because I’m happy without it. And you had gone along with it. Had agreed just to piss off Marcus. And now? Now you weren’t even speaking to him.

Maybe he could call you. Maybe he could try to explain how much this sucked, how it was making his skin crawl, how the last thing he wanted was to sit down and have dinner with the one man who had never once supported him. But he knew you wouldn’t pick up. You barely even answered his texts. When you did, it was short, vague, nothing like the way you used to talk to him before. Before you kissed him in you dimly lit bathroom. Before you cried against his chest. Before everything changed.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt. You had promised to be there. Not just for this game–for him. You had promised to be supportive, because his family wasn’t. But you hadn’t even wished him good luck. And fuck, it hurt.

Jake swallowed back the instinct to refuse his dads invitation. Because he couldn’t refuse. Not without making it worse. So he said yes. And now he was sitting here, in the locker room, watching his teammates lose their minds in celebration while he felt like absolute shit.

He played like absolute shit.

The first period had been a disaster. He was still skating around like a ghost, head stuck somewhere else. Then he spotted an opening, a clean pass heading his way, and suddenly he was laying on the ice, unable to breath. The hit came from his blind spot, full force, slamming him into the boards.

Pain exploded through his ribs. His vision blurred at the edges, and he collapsed onto the ice. He managed to push himself up, wincing hard, gripping his stick like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His entire side throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His ribs, still sore from last week, felt like they had been lit on fire. He skated off during intermission, barely making it to the locker room before leaning against the wall, eyes squeezed shut.

"CC, I can’t," he admitted, voice tight, breath shallow. "It hurts too much to breathe." The Coach barely questioned it. Just eyed him, saw the ice pack he pressed to his ribs, and nodded. Jake was benched. And the worst part? He was relieved.

He couldn’t keep playing like this. Not when he was this distracted, this fucking miserable.

He overheard Chaewon and Yujin talk yesterday. You weren't coming to class. Or to study meetings. Or anywhere. Jake had only half-heard it at the time. But now, the words echo in his head, over and over. You weren't just avoiding him. You were avoiding everyone.

And he had no idea why.

His fingers tighten around his phone. His stomach twists. He misses you. So much it’s physically painful now. ────────────────────────── Jake sat stiffly in his chair, barely touching the wine glass in front of him. He should’ve expected this. The pristine, dimly lit private dining room. The carefully curated silence. His father sitting across from him, impeccable as always, as if he hadn’t just summoned Jake here to systematically dismantle him. He should’ve expected it, but it still made his stomach churn.

“You’re quiet.” His father’s voice was as sharp as ever, but there was an air of disinterest to it, like he wasn’t particularly concerned about the answer. Jake forced a shrug, fingers tracing the stem of his glass. “Just tired.” His father hummed as if that was an acceptable excuse, but they both knew it wasn’t. They made small talk, if you could even call it that. His father updated him on the company’s numbers, on his brother’s continued excellence, on things that were supposed to matter to him but never had. Jake responded when necessary, nodding at all the right times, murmuring an occasional “hmm” or “sounds great” even though none of it registered. He felt disconnected. Like he was watching himself from the outside, just waiting for the inevitable shift in conversation.

“Y/N,” his father said, casually cutting into his steak. “Marcus’ father had plenty to say about her. And after seeing her at the wedding myself, I can’t say I disagree.” Jake’s jaw locked, but he said nothing. “She’s… bleak,” his father continued. “Certainly not the kind of woman I expected you to be involved with.” He set his knife down with a soft clink. “You could do better. You already have done better.”

Jake stared blankly at the table. There was something almost funny about it, really. His father didn’t even say it cruelly. Just plainly. Like it was a fact. Like he wasn’t talking about the person his son is in love with, at least in a fake way for his father.

“She’s not a good fit for you,” his father continued, taking a sip of wine. “Especially not considering your future.”

Jake exhaled slowly, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his mind. He was so tired of this conversation. So tired of being told what he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to want.

“And I am not talking about hockey. Hockey isn’t a future, Jaeyun.” His father finally met his gaze. “It’s a distraction. A temporary indulgence. You always knew that.”

Jake swallowed, his throat dry.

“I let you have this because your mother insisted. But you’re not a child anymore. It’s time to stop pretending this is something you can build a life around.”

His father spoke like it was obvious, like Jake should be grateful for being allowed to chase a dream that was never meant to be permanent. Jake felt… hollow. He should be angry. He should feel something. But all he could think about was how small he felt sitting here.

“You will take over the Seoul branch,” his father continued smoothly. “That’s non-negotiable. You’re a Sim. It’s your responsibility.” Jake forced himself to breathe. “And if I don’t?” His voice came out quieter than he intended. His father’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Then I will cut you off.” There it was. So simple. So matter-of-fact. Jake just… nodded. Not because he agreed. Not because he was backing down. But because he suddenly felt too drained to keep going in circles. His father sighed, picking up his knife again, as if this entire conversation had been a minor inconvenience. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you’ll understand in time. You have too much potential to waste on something so fleeting.”

Jake didn’t respond.

Because what was the point? His father had already decided who he was, what his life should be. There was no convincing him otherwise. Jake pushed his chair back, standing on legs that felt unsteady beneath him.

His father barely glanced up. “Where are you going?” Jake’s voice was quiet, almost empty. “Home.” He turned and walked out.

The restaurant doors shut behind him, but the world outside didn’t feel any lighter. The streets buzzed with life, but it all blurred together. He felt like he was moving through static, like nothing was real. He exhaled shakily, pressing his fingers to his temples. His hands felt cold.

And all he could think about was how much he wanted to see you. Because somehow, you were the only thing that had ever made all of this feel bearable. And whatever Jakes dad wanted, it was never Jake’s happiness. It was control. Molding Jake into the perfect heir, and in his father’s eyes, you didn’t fit into that equation. His mind felt foggy, his body running on autopilot as he walked without thinking. Step after step, streetlight after streetlight, but it didn’t make him feel any less numb.

He knew Jay and Heeseung would be at the dorm when he got back. Knew they were probably waiting, wanting to ask how dinner had gone, if his dad had finally backed off, if the conversation had been tolerable for once. It wasn’t. It never was. But he didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

So when he finally reached their building, when he stepped through the door and saw them sitting on the couch, their heads turning toward him immediately—he ignored them.

“Jake–” Jay started, already pushing off the couch, but Jake didn’t stop.

Didn’t look at them. Didn’t acknowledge Heeseung’s furrowed brows, the concern etched into his face. Didn’t say a word. He just kept walking. Straight past them, down the hall, into his room. The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

And finally, finally, he let himself breathe.

He didn’t turn the light on. Just stood there in the dark, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket before he slowly peeled it off. His movements were sluggish, detached, like his body wasn’t fully connected to his mind. His dad’s words echoed in his head, looping endlessly.

Hockey isn’t a future, Jaeyun. You’re not a child anymore. You have no choice.

Jake swallowed against the lump in his throat and let himself collapse onto the bed. He barely managed to toe off his shoes before pressing his face into the pillow, shutting his eyes like it would make everything disappear. But it didn’t. He felt like a fucking failure. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he worked, it was never enough. His brother would always be the golden child. Jake would always be the disappointment–the one wasting his time, the one throwing his potential away.

He had spent his whole life trying not to care about that.

But he did. God, he did.

He knew his father’s words had shaped him more than he wanted to admit. The way he second-guessed himself. The way he always pushed himself harder, trying to prove something, even when there was no one left to convince.

His father had made him feel like he wasn’t enough so often. Every single time he tried to be the son his father wanted. Every single time he failed.

That’s why he dated Sophia. He wasn’t sure he had ever actually even liked her. Not really. Not in the way he liked you.

With you, it was different.

He never had to force himself to be excited to see you, it just happened. You could be talking about the most gruesome, disgusting cases, and he would still be hooked, watching the way your eyes lit up when you explained something you loved. You never made him feel like he had something to prove. Like he was something to parade around in school or in front of your friends, a trophy boyfriend per say, like Sophia did. She definitely didn't date him because she liked him either, judging by how ugly all of it ended. You supported him without hesitation, without making him feel like he had to earn it first. You believed in him, even when his own family didn’t. You made him feel like he was enough.

And god, the butterflies. The stupid, stupid butterflies. He hadn’t felt that way in years. Giddy, like a little schoolboy. 

But apparently, none of it mattered.

Because you didn’t feel the same. ────────────────────────── A few days after Jake played the Frozen Four, you forced yourself to pull it together and go back to class. Your professors had assigned you essays on the topics you’d missed, and for once, you were actually grateful for the workload. It gave you something to focus on.  You texted Jake two days after the game, apologizing for not wishing him luck and congratulating him on the win. But he didn’t answer. You told yourself you understood. If he was mad, if he didn’t feel like talking to you, that was fair. You had pulled away first. But you decided that the two of you had to talk.  This couldn’t go on like this. You had to tell him how you felt. And you had to explain why you needed to step back. You didn’t hear Jay come in. You barely noticed him at first, too focused on the essay you were working on. He sighed and slid into the chair across from you, setting his arms on the desk, catching your attention. You swallowed, shutting your laptop. “Hey, Jay.” “Hey, Y/N.” His voice was quiet, careful. You glanced at him. He was watching you, brows furrowed in concern. "You scared me." Your throat tightened. "Jay—" "I mean it," he cut in, shaking his head. “You disappeared. You stopped going to class, you didn’t go to the game, you barely answer texts. And I wanted to give you space but it's been two weeks and I am worried." Guilt curled in your stomach. You looked away. You had been avoiding him. Not because you wanted to – but because you didn't know how to explain what had been running through your head these past few weeks. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you to talk to me, because I don’t think you’re okay.”, Jay exhaled. "You don’t just get to disappear," he said, his voice quieter now. "You don’t just get to lock yourself away and expect people not to care. I care. Jake definitely cares." He let out a slow breath, watching you carefully. "I just – I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours."

You hesitated and focused on your laptop again.  You wanted to tell him. Jay had grown to be one of your closest friends, until you started pulling away from everyone. "Did Jake do something?" That made you look up. "No, Jay." The words came out harsh and immediate, your voice cracking under the weight of them. "That’s the problem."  And just like that the dam broke: “Jake and I were faking it all. We were never together. Or like kinda? I have no idea. He asked me because his dad is such a stupid arrogant asshole who makes him feel like shit even though Jake is such an amazing person. And I just went along and then you thought we were like you know dating without saying anything and we just thought oh why not. If you would believe us his dad definitely would do too. But-”  You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the desk. "Then- then this stupid fake dating thing didn’t stay fake for me and I actually fell for that stupid idiot. And now I am living through a cliche rom com crisis."

Jay stilled. For a second, he just stared at you. Then he let out a slow, almost pained breath, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. Are you actually telling me that you and Jake spent months pretending to be together, being disgustingly obsessed with each other, making literal heart eyes across the room, and you thought–what? That you were faking it?", he let out a breath, shaking his head. You nodded. You were surprised he wasn’t more surprised at the whole dating thing.  “Why did you end it then, Y/N? If you knew you liked him. That it wasn’t fake for you.”, he asked. “Because I don’t belong in his world Jay. I saw that at the wedding. I don’t belong in his world of rich people who marry their kids off because it looks better for their company's reputation.”, you swallowed and looked away. Jay just shook his head. "So you pulled away because you were scared." It wasn’t a question. You nodded again. Jay let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Y/N. You really thought walking away was the best thing to do?"

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. "I thought if I ended it first, it would be easier." His lips pressed together. Then, softer he asked, "And? Was it?" You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He shook his head. "You know, I don’t think you even realize what you did to yourself. You isolated yourself. You disappeared from everything. And I get it, okay? I do. When you care about someone that much, it’s scary. But shutting down? Pretending it doesn’t hurt? That’s not protecting yourself. That’s just making sure you have no one to catch you when you finally break." His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You clenched your jaw, blinking hard. "I didn’t want him to feel bad," you said, your voice small. "I didn’t want him to have to let me down gently when his dad finally thought I wasn’t enough. I didn’t want him to deal with me."

Jay let out a soft, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. "And who told you that he would? In which world would Jake allow his dad to destroy his friendships, his relationship for fucks sake." You looked away. He was right. Jay was silent for a moment. "You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. You shouldn’t do this alone." He shook his head, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

"You pulled away from me, too," he said, quieter now. "You don’t get to do this alone, okay? You don’t have to." Your heart broke hearing him say that. "I miss him," you whispered. Jay sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah. And he misses you." You let out a slow breath, staring at the desk. “Y/N, you love him. And he loves you.”

You flinched. “Jay—” “He does. It's probably too early for him to say it himself, but it's so obvious.” His voice was firm, like he needed you to believe it. “He’s miserable, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. His dad took him out to dinner.” Jay exhaled sharply. “And you weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere.” Guilt curled in your chest like a vice. Jay sighed. “I’m not saying this to make you feel worse. You didn’t ruin this, Y/N. But you will if you don’t fix it.” You let out a slow breath, staring at the desk. Jay nudged you one last time. "So. What are you gonna do about it?" You stared at your hands, feeling your pulse in your throat. “I don’t even know where to start,” you said, voice small, defeated. Jay’s face softened. “You start with him.” His voice was steady, the kind of gentle guidance you hadn’t realized you needed. "But you start now. You don’t have to have the perfect words. You don’t have to have some big, dramatic confession. You just have to talk to him.” You met his eyes, feeling that old ache return, but this time, you knew you could do something about it. “I’m scared,” you admitted quietly. “I know.” Jay nodded, his eyes softening with empathy. “But you won’t know until you try.”

You exhaled shakily, staring down at your desk.

Jay was right. ──────────────────────────

The glow of Jake’s phone was the only source of light in the dark room. He was laying on his back, staring blankly at the screen, watching as the minutes ticked by.

4:12 PM.

He hadn’t moved in hours. Hadn’t gone to class. Hadn’t gone to practice. Tomorrow was the NCAA National Championship, and he should be panicking about the fact that he was getting benched. But he wasn’t. Because even if Coach wasn’t benching him for missing practice, he physically couldn’t play. Not with his ribs still fucked from the last two games. He had known something was wrong when every breath felt like a knife to his side, but he hadn’t cared enough to get it checked out until Jay practically dragged him to the team doctor. Fractured ribs. A solid six weeks of recovery. No hockey. He should care. But he didn’t. Not about the game. Not about the championship. Not about anything.

The only thing rattling around in his brain was you. And his dad. And the overwhelming, crushing feeling of failure. His phone buzzed suddenly, cutting through the silence. Jake squinted at the screen.

Joshua [Incoming Call] For a second, he debated letting it ring. But then he picked up. Josh never called, so it had to be something important. 

“…Hey.”

“Hey, Jake,” Joshua’s voice came through, steady but softer than he remembered. “You got a minute?”

Jake let out a short, humorless laugh. “I got a lot of minutes.”

Joshua sighed. “Yeah, I figured.” There was a pause before he said, “Dad told me what happened at dinner.”

Jake let out a bitter laugh. “Of course, he did. What did he say? That I was throwing my future away? That I was making a fool of myself?”

“What did he tell you?”

Jake exhaled, pressing a hand against his aching ribs. “Not much to say. He laid out his usual bullshit about how hockey isn’t a future, how I have no choice but to take over the Seoul branch. Then threw in some shit about my relationship being a bad look for the family—because apparently, Marcus’s dad had some opinions.”

There was a beat of silence before Joshua asked, “What did you say?”

Jake closed his eyes. “Told him I wasn’t gonna be his chess piece.”

Joshua huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. “Bet he loved that.”

“Oh yeah. Real father-son bonding moment.”

Another pause. Then Joshua’s voice came through, quieter.

“Jake… I’m sorry.”

Jake frowned. “For what?”

“For all of it.” Joshua hesitated. “For how Dad treated you. For how I just—let it happen. I didn’t know how bad it was, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve done something. I should’ve been there for you.”

Jake swallowed. He wasn’t used to hearing this from his brother. Joshua had always been untouchable—the one their dad never criticized, the one who seemed to just belong in that world.

But now, for the first time, he sounded… human.

“It’s not your fault,” Jake muttered.

Joshua sighed. “Maybe not. But I still should’ve told you sooner that you don’t have to listen to him.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Joshua was silent for a long moment before saying, “Jake, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to let him control your life.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” Jake muttered. “He made it clear. No Seoul branch, no financial support.”

“You do have a choice,” Joshua countered. “Go no contact. Cut him off before he can do it to you. I know you’re worried about money,” Joshua continued, “but listen. Whatever you need, I’ve got you. You don’t have to keep trying to please him just to survive.”

Jake swallowed hard. 

“Why?” Jake asked. “Why are you even calling?”

Joshua sighed. “Because I should have done it sooner. Because I hate how Dad treats you, how he’s always compared us, like you were some failure when all you’ve done is chase what makes you happy. I never wanted to be the golden child, Jake. I just- I loved playing music, and I was good at business, but I didn’t want it to be at your expense.”

Jake let out a shaky breath. “You don’t know how fucking hard it’s been,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Trying so goddamn hard just to be enough for him. And no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

“I know,” Joshua said. “And I’m sorry.”

Jake swallowed past the lump in his throat. He was too tired to be angry, too drained to hold onto the resentment he had clung to for so long. He exhaled. “I think I’m done, Josh. I think I’m done trying.”

“Good,” Joshua said. “Because you don’t need to prove anything to him.”

Jake closed his eyes, the weight on his chest shifting—not gone, but lighter. “Thanks, Josh.”

“For what?”

“For calling.”

There was a pause, then Joshua chuckled softly. “Anytime, little brother.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Guess I’m officially the family disappointment, huh?”

Joshua let out a breath of amusement. “Nah. You’re the one who actually had the guts to walk away.”

Jake didn’t know what to say to that.

Then Joshua added, “For what it’s worth? I’m proud of you.”

Jake blinked.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard those words from a family member before.

It shouldn’t have made his throat feel tight.

But it did.

He forced out a chuckle, trying to cover up the sudden swell of emotion. “Damn, hyung. That almost sounded sincere.”

Joshua laughed. “Don’t get used to it.”

Jake let out a deep breath, leaning back against the pillow as he tried to keep his mind from wandering. He didn’t want to think about the game. He didn’t want to think about anything. But Joshua kept going, his voice cutting through the fog in Jake’s head.

“So, what about tomorrow?” Joshua asked, casually. “The championship, right? Are you nervous?”

Jake blinked, surprised. “Wait, you know about the game?”

Joshua snorted. “Sure. I might not watch all the games, but I try to keep up. I mean, how could I not know about the biggest one of the season? It's your biggest game yet. Maybe you'll get the opportunity to get into a professional team if a agent is watching?”

Jake rubbed his temples, trying to focus on his brother's words. His chest felt tight just thinking about it.

“Yeah, well…” Jake hesitated, his voice faltering. “I’m not playing.”

Joshua went quiet. Then, after a long moment of silence, he said, “What? Why not?”

Jake took a shallow breath, avoiding the words for as long as he could. “I, uh… I have a rib fracture.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Jake felt a knot tighten in his stomach, because as soon as they left his mouth, the memory of the last time someone checked on him, the way you had kissed him after your conversation two weeks ago, flashed in his mind.

“What? Jake, a rib fracture? What the hell? Why didn’t you say anything sooner? You can’t just—”

"It's okay. I had worse.", Jake shrugged, cutting him off. He swallowed hard, still trying to suppress the memory of your touch.

“Jake,” Joshua said urgently, his voice low with concern. “You need to get that checked out. That’s serious. Why aren’t you-”

Jake interrupted him again. "I'm fine. Y/N checked on me and said it's probably fine but then during the game on Saturday I was distracted and someone pushed me into the board. Jay made me see a doctor and everything is fine. I just have to be careful for the next few weeks. Don't worry. But uhm maybe don't tell mom. I don't want her to freak out."

Joshua let out a huff. "Jake, you are insane. I hope Y/N is taking good care of you, if Mina knew I had a broken rib she wouldn't let me out of bed."

Jake let out a dry chuckle, but it lacked any real humor. He ran a hand through his hair, hesitating for a moment before finally saying, “Yeah, well… Y/N’s not taking care of me.” His voice was quieter now, more strained. “I haven’t seen her in almost two weeks.”

Joshua was silent for a second. Then, incredulously, “Wait. What do you mean you haven’t seen her?”

Jake exhaled sharply, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean exactly that. She’s avoiding me.” The words felt heavy as they left his mouth, pressing down on his chest in a way that had nothing to do with his ribs.

Joshua scoffed, completely baffled. “Why the hell would she avoid you? I thought she is your girlfriend.”

Jake let out another humorless laugh. "Yeah she kinda never was.”

 “Jake… what do you mean?”

Jake shut his eyes, pressing his fingers against his temple as if that would somehow make everything disappear. “We were never real.”

“What?”

Jake exhaled, pressing his knuckles against his eyes. “It was fake. The whole thing.”

Joshua still didn’t say anything, so Jake kept going before he lost the nerve. “I asked her to be my fake girlfriend for the wedding. That’s how it started.” The words felt heavy in his mouth, like he was confessing to a crime. “We… we went on these, like, ‘not-dates’ to get to know each other. But then our friends assumed we were actually together, and we just went with it. I don’t even know when it started feeling… different.”

Joshua let out a breath. “Different?”

Jake groaned, flopping onto his back. “I don’t know, man. At first, it was just fun. But then we kissed. And I thought—God, I don’t even know what I thought. Then we kissed again at that stupid party, and we kissed at the wedding and she kissed me again after telling everyone we broke up and then—” He stopped himself, voice catching.

Joshua’s voice was quiet but firm. “And then what?”

Jake swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And then she broke down during the kiss. And apologized. Over and over. And I still don't know what she was feeling so sorry for. Probably for ghosting me. She probably knew she was going to do this.”

Joshua didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Jake let out a bitter laugh. “And now she won’t answer my texts. Or anyone’s. She’s not going to class. It’s like she just… disappeared. And I don’t know what to do.”

Joshua was quiet for a moment before saying, “And you miss her.”

Jake let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Yeah. A fuck ton.”

Joshua hummed in understanding. “So, let me get this straight. You asked her to be your fake girlfriend, but now you actually want to be with her?”

Jake let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

“And she kissed you and then cried, and now she’s avoiding you?”

Jake winced. “Basically.”

Joshua exhaled. “Jake.”

Jake closed his eyes, shaking his head. “She made it pretty clear how she felt.” His voice was quiet now, defeated. “I was stupid for thinking it could be something real.”

Joshua made a frustrated noise. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Jake. Are you serious?”

Jake frowned. “What?”

“She likes you.”

Jake let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Clearly not.”

Joshua groaned. “Jake, I was at that wedding. I saw you two together. I saw the way you looked at her. I saw the way she looked at you. That was not fake."

Jake’s stomach twisted. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.” Joshua’s voice was firm. “She looked at you like you hung the damn moon, Jake.”

Jake pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to fight the wave of emotion building in his chest. “Then why is she gone?”

Joshua sighed. “That’s what you need to figure out.”

Jake let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know if she wants to see me.”

Joshua’s voice softened. “Then find out. Kissing you and then crying about knowing she will ghost you doesn't sound like someone that doesn't feel something for you, you know. Maybe it started as fake. But it seems like it isn't anymore. For neither of you.”

Jake huffed. “Yeah, well, if she does have feelings, she’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise.”

Joshua sighed. “Jake, this girl spent weeks pretending to date you. You really think she’s incapable of pretending something else?”

Jake clenched his jaw, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I don’t know what to do, Josh.”

Joshua was silent for a moment, like he was carefully choosing his next words. “You talk to her.”

Jake huffed. “She’s avoiding me.”

“Then make her listen.”

Jake let out a humorless laugh. “That easy, huh?”

“I didn’t say it’d be easy,” Joshua shot back. “But what’s the alternative? Just giving up? Accepting that the best thing that’s ever happened to you just walked away?”

Jake sucked in a sharp breath. He hated how easily his brother could see through him.

“I know you,” Joshua continued. “You don’t just let things go when they matter. And don’t even try to tell me she didn’t matter.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Joshua sighed again, but this time, it was softer. “Just… think about it, alright?”

Jake ran a hand down his face, feeling utterly drained. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He had been thinking about nothing but you for the past two weeks. ──────────────────────────They lost.  They fucking lost.  Jake was sitting next to Sunghoon and Chaeryoung behind the players bench in the stadium not believing his eyes. The opposing team managed to get the puck into their net two times within 10 seconds in the second period. The goals were brilliant and there was a reason why Seok Matthew got drafted by the eagles, but fuck. This couldn’t be happening. The buzzer ran to signal the end of the third period and Jake basically jumped down to his team, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. This couldn’t be happening.  Jay ripped his helmet off and looked up towards the ceiling, Heeseung skated to the bench and slowly undid his gloves and helmet, looking absolutely devastated. Beomgy looked like he was about to cry and Soobin and Yeonjun immediately hugged him and presumably told him it was not his fault.  Jake just stood there.  They lost.  Their coach gathered them in the locker room, his voice softer than usual, a hand resting firmly on Soobin’s shoulder as he addressed the team. “You boys played a hell of a season. Hold your heads high. You gave it everything.”

Jake had wanted to send him and Yeonjun off with a win, a championship, a night of celebration that would go down in history. Instead, all they had was silence. The bus ride home was heavy. No music, no usual post-game excitement. Just quiet. After a while, their coach stood up and grabbed the mic at the front of the bus.  “Guys,” he started, glancing back at them. “You played fantastic. This whole season was incredible. I rarely have a team with this much connection, this much passion. It was an honor coaching you. So many of you have a bright future in hockey. And this? This isn’t the end. It’s just fuel for next year.” He gave them a small smile. “Next season, the cup will be ours.” A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the team, some nods, some tired smiles. Later that night, they all found themselves crammed into their regular bar. The air was filled with the low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter that felt a little forced at first, but eventually, the drinks started kicking in and they took over the music cranking it up high. “Alright, alright,” Beomgyu announced, standing on one of the bar stools and clinking his beer bottle against his ring. “We may have lost, but we’re still the hottest hockey team in the league, and that counts for something, right?” A weak cheer went up, and Beomgyu scowled. “No, no, no. That was pathetic. Let’s try again – we are still the hottest hockey team in the league, and that counts for something, right?” This time, the response was louder, mixed with laughter and a few playful boos. Jake, slouched against the booth with a whiskey in hand, cheered along, with less enthusiasm as some of the others. He wasn’t feeling particularly celebratory. But the others had enough to drink already to feel enthusiastic again. Beomgyu climbed down from his chair and steered right at Jake. “Okay Jake. Stop pouting. We lost, so what. Smile dude. I just called you hot.”

That actually made Jake chuckle a bit. “I am not feeling very hot right now to be honest.” “Oh wait wait! I know what will make you feel hot within a few seconds again!”, Beomguy turned around and made his way to the DJ and then to the bar. He returned a few minutes later holding up shot glasses filled with red liquids. “Prairie fires!” And then, as if on cue, the opening beats of Hot N Cold blasted through the speakers. “Oh, fuck off,” Jake groaned, while Beomgyu cackled and slammed a shot glass down in front of him. “Katy Perry rules, baby,” Beomgyu smirked. “Take the shot.”

Jake sighed but tipped the tequila back without complaint. The rule was dumb as hell, but it was his rule, and he had to respect it. The alcohol and the hot sauce bruned in his throat when he swallowed the shot.  Then the next song started. Last Friday Night. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” “Rules are rules,” Beomgyu grinned, already handing him another one. Jake exhaled heavily before knocking back another shot.

Then, California Gurls. Jake groaned but took another. Then Teenage Dream. Then Dark Horse. And before he could even process how many shots he had downed in the span of 45 minutes, he was already way past the point of being buzzed.

“I hate all of you,” Jake slurred, swaying slightly as he grabbed onto Nicolas’s shoulder for support, which turned out to be a horrible idea, since he was swaying just as much as Jake. “Correction: you love us,” Beomgyu grinned, drowned another shot alone and turned around. “Soobin hyung! I come to give you my love!” Across the bar, Soobin barely had time to react before Beomgyu launched himself at him. “No!” Soobin’s voice rang out in pure, genuine panic, which send Nicolas and Jake into a laughing fit so hard, that Jake was scared he was going to pee his pants.

Jake was still catching his breath when another Katy Perry song blasted through the speakers, and suddenly, an arm slung around his shoulders. “Jake! It’s Katy! Where are our shots?” “Kotone!” he laughed, spinning around and wrapping her in a bear hug. Without thinking, he lifted her off the ground, making her shriek. “My favorite shots partner!” “Fuck, let me down,” she gasped between laughs. “Imma vomit if you spin me!”

Jake just squeezed her tighter. “You’d still be my favorite!” She smacked his shoulder, still laughing as he finally set her down. “Jay should get us shots,” she declared, nodding seriously. “I want those weird apple shots we had last time. Where’s Y/N? She also has to have one!” His heart stumbled. “She’s… at home,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Kotone frowned. “Aw, no. Why? She needs some Katy shots.” She spotted Jay and almost threw herself into his arms. “Baby. Can you buy us apple shots? Its Katy.”

Jay looked at her with such a love sick facial expression Jake felt like kicking him in the nuts. Jay absolutely deserved to be happy and Kotone made him so happy, he was such a simp for that girl it made Jake sick. He just wanted to kick him for being happy in front of him. And then someone skipped Teenage Dream and he heard the first notes of Finesse by Bruno mars. His heart stopped. In fact everything felt like it stopped. He had to blink aggressively to stop his tears from falling. His breath hitched, his pulse quickened, and the bar faded around him. This song. This fucking song. His eyes darted around, and suddenly, it was like watching a slow-motion montage of all his friends pulling their boyfriends, their girlfriends, their person in for a kiss. Jay and Kotone. Yeonjun and Chaeryoung. Even Beomgyu, drunk out of his mind, was spinning some girl in a circle before kissing her forehead sloppily. It was tradition.

And the last time he heard that song he took part in it. Pulling you close. Kissing you. And you kissed back. It was soft and dizzying, the taste of cigarettes and tequila on your tongue, your hands tangling in his hair. Fuck. He could still feel it.

Still taste you. And he wanted to kiss you again so badly it made his head spin worse than the alcohol ever could. Before he could think, he turned on his heel and started toward the door. He needed to go. He didn’t know where exactly—your place? His? Somewhere else? But he had to go.

It didn’t matter that you hadn’t answered his texts. Didn’t matter that you had been avoiding everyone. Didn’t matter that he had no idea if you even wanted to see him. He needed to find you.

And so, without another word, he turned and stumbled toward the door. ────────────────────────── You were on the cusp of sleep when the sound of your doorbell ringing woke you up again. You groaned and glanced at your alarm clock.  2:14 am. Who would ring your doorbell at two am in the morning. Who would need anything from you at two in the morning? Your doorbell rang again, this time longer. And again. And again. You signed and peeled your blanket off your body. Shuffling toward the front door, you pressed the button to the intercom. “Hello?” “Y/N?” Jake. What was Jake doing here at 2 am.  You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Jake? What are you doing here?” “Y/N please please let me in.” His voice was slurring, and you could tell he was drunk. Without thinking, you grabbed your keys and slipped on a pair of flip-flops before rushing down the stairs to the entrance door of the building. When you opened it you froze for a second. Jake was slumped against the wall next to the door, looking absolutely wrecked. His eyes were glassy and his cheeks and neck flushed. He smelled like alcohol. When he saw you, his head shot up, and before you could even process what was happening, he staggered forward, wrapping his arms around you. His body trembled slightly as he pressed his face into your shoulder. He was crying. You felt his hot tears soaking through the thin material of your Pyjama shirt. “Why did you leave me, Y/N?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What did I do?” You had to close your eyes for a second swallowing hard. “Jake…” You gently pushed him away just enough to look into his face. He looked beautiful, even while he was drunk and crying he looked devastatingly beautiful.

You couldn't stop yourself from wiping his cheeks with your thumb. “Jake you’re drunk.” His glassy eyes locked onto yours, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “No,” he mumbled, shaking his head sluggishly. “Not Jake.” His bottom lip trembled. “I’m not Jake. I’m Jakey. Or Jakeyboy.” His brows knitted together, voice turning small, wounded. “Why are you calling me Jake?” And just like that, your heart shattered. It felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs.

Your throat tightened painfully. You blinked hard, forcing back the sting in your eyes. "Why, Y/N? Why aren’t you speaking to me? Why aren't you speaking to anyone?” His voice cracked as he buried his face into your hands, seeking comfort, yet his words only made everything worse. “I miss you.” You couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like a bad dream. You were the reason why he looked like this, why he was feeling miserable, as Jay put it, and it broke your heart. “Let’s go inside, Jake,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Let’s get you some water.” Jake nodded against your hands, his eyes fluttering shut as if the simple gesture had exhausted him.

You carefully took his hands and helped him stumble inside, leading him to your small apartment. It was more of a one-room studio than anything, but you guided him to sit on the bed and knelt before him. His eyes never left you but he calmed down slightly, not crying anymore.  When you got him to remove his jacket and shirt, you handed him one of his shirts he left at your place after training once. You washed it and it had been lying in your closet ever since.  He looked like a kicked puppy, his face full of hurt. You stood in front of him, standing between his legs, gently cupping his face in your hands again. His skin was warm and flushed from alcohol. “Jake, I’m so sorry. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve—” Your voice broke, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Before you could say anything more, he suddenly pulled you toward him, burying his face in your stomach. His arms wrapped tightly around you, fingers clutching at the fabric of your shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away again. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his shoulders shook, and the wetness of his tears seeping through the thin cotton. “Why did you disappear, Y/N?” His voice was so small. Your hands trembled as they found their way into his hair, your fingers threading through the strands. “I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered, your own voice breaking. “I don’t know—but I am so, so sorry.” A sob caught in your throat, and the dam broke. You tried to hide your face in your hands.

Jake pulled back slightly, his hands reaching up to wrap around your wrists, gently tugging them away from your tear-streaked face. You just shook your head and another sob made its way from your throat. “Jake, I’m sorry. I was scared. I–I didn’t know what to do,” you choked out. His grip on your wrists tightened and he carefully pulled you onto his lap. “You just disappeared, Y/N,” he whispered against your temple and you could smell the faint taste of tequila.  Why did it always have to be tequila?  

“You were gone. You promised.” He exhaled shakily, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Then another. And another. “I was so worried,” he murmured against your skin. Another kiss. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a breath. “What happened? Please, I need you to talk to me.” You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. Not now. You had promised Jay and yourself that you’d talk to Jake, that you’d tell him everything. But not while he was like this. Not when he was clearly drunk. “Tomorrow, Jake,” you whispered, sniffling as you leaned further into him. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, when you’re sober. I promise. And this time, I’ll keep it.”

His hands lingered on your wrists for a beat longer before finally loosening, though he still didn’t let go. You pulled away just enough to grab a box of tissues from your bedside table, dabbing at your cheeks before handing him one. He took it, wiping his face, but his fingers never left your skin, still curled loosely around your wrist, as if he was terrified you’d vanish the second he let go. You swallowed the lump in your throat and mustered a small smile, tugging on his hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Jake let out a quiet sigh but nodded, letting you guide him toward the bathroom. As soon as you flicked on the light, the déjà vu hit you like a tidal wave. Him, slumped against your sink. A spare toothbrush hanging lazily from his mouth. The way his gaze lingered on you in the mirror, unfocused but so unbearably soft. He washed his face, dried it off, and the second his hands were free, they found your wrist again. You led Jake back to your bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the streetlamp outside. You could see how exhausted he was, he was moving slowly and sluggishly.  You pulled back the blanket and nudged him toward the mattress. He didn’t argue, just sank onto it with a quiet sigh, rolling onto his side. You hesitated for a moment before lying down beside him, careful, unsure. But Jake didn’t hesitate. The second you were within reach, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his nose pressing into the crook of your neck.

He exhaled softly, his breath warm against your skin, and you felt the way his body slowly relaxed against yours. His grip on you remained firm, but the tension in his shoulders faded, his breathing evening out as he fell asleep. Your eyes flickered to the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. You shifted slightly, your hand brushing against something soft, and when you turned your head, your fingers curled around a familiar plushie. Mr. Fluffinton the Third. Your chest ached. You should’ve talked to Jake. You should’ve stayed. Instead, you ran. And now, lying here in the quiet, feeling his steady breathing against your neck, all you could think about was how much you had missed him. How much you still missed him. And how afraid you were that you had ruined everything. ────────────────────────── The city was still quiet when you stepped onto the rooftop. A cold breeze kissed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you crossed your arms over your chest.  Just standing up here made you itch to light up a cigarette. Letting the nicotine calm your nerves when your mind was too loud to sleep. You haven’t bought a new packet since you threw your last one into the trash two weeks ago.  The day you missed his game. You took a deep breath, staring out at the streets that were still dark. You hadn’t slept – not really. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jake. The way he had looked at you when you let him in. The way he had held you, his grip tight like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers again. The way he had whispered, Why did you leave me? Why are you calling me Jake? You swallowed hard, rubbing your arms before turning back toward the stairwell. You weren’t sure how long you had been up there, but the sky was starting to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. You sighed, shaking off the lingering chill as you made your way back down to your apartment. The sound of you opening your apartment door woke Jake up, his face soft with sleep, hair a mess against your pillow. His brows furrowed as he blinked, his eyes searching the room until they landed on you. “Where’d you go?” His voice was thick with sleep, raspy and quiet. Your heart clenched.  You crossed the room without thinking, dropping to your knees in front of him. Your hands found his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and he leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Just the roof,” you murmured. “I couldn’t sleep.” Jake blinked up at you, and for a moment, he just studied you. Your fingers moved from his cheeks to his hair, gently carding through the strands, trying to lull him into sleep again. Then your hand brushed against something soft, and you glanced down to see Mr. Fluffington the Third, clutched loosely in Jake’s grip.

Your throat tightened, and you stroked his cheek with your thumb, voice barely above a whisper. “Go back to sleep, Jake.” His lashes fluttered, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. “You’ll be here when I wake up?” You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “I’ll be here.” Jake didn’t say anything else. He just nodded sleepily, his grip on Mr. Fluffington tightening slightly as he let his eyes slip shut again.

You stayed there, kneeling beside the bed, watching as his breathing evened out. His lashes cast soft shadows against his cheeks, lips parted just slightly, his face still carrying that gentle confusion, like even in sleep, he wasn’t sure if you’d really be there when he woke up again. You exhaled shakily, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead before you finally stood. Slipping back into bed beside him felt strange. It felt like too much and not enough all at once. But the moment your body settled against the mattress, Jake’s arms moved instinctively, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. You turned onto your side, facing him, and let yourself study him in the dim light. How had you ever thought you could just leave? Your fingers hovered near his face, tracing over the air between you before you finally gave in, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. He sighed softly in his sleep, leaning into your touch even unconsciously. You bit your lip, eyes stinging.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you would talk. Tomorrow you would tell him everything. ────────────────────────── You stirred awake to the feeling of soft fingers running through your hair. The warmth of Jake’s body beneath you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle touch against your scalp. The slight scratch almost made you fall asleep again but Jake's voice interrupted your almost slumber. “You’re awake.” His voice was quiet, still thick with sleep. You hummed in response, not ready to move, not ready to look him in the eye. His fingers didn’t stop moving in your hair. “You didn’t sleep much, did you?” You swallowed hard. “Not really.” Jake let out a small sigh, his thumb brushing lightly against the nape of your neck. "Y/N..."

You tensed. You knew what was coming. You had promised him answers. "Tell me what happened," he murmured. "Tell me why you left." Your fingers curled into his shirt, your heart pounding. "Jake..." "I'm right here," he whispered. "Just talk to me." You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to speak before fear could make you run again. "I—" Your voice broke. "I'm scared Jake."

His breath caught, but he didn’t say anything, just kept running his fingers through your hair, waiting. You took a deep breath, but it felt like your lungs couldn’t expand properly. Like the weight of everything you had been holding in was pressing down on your chest, threatening to suffocate you. Jake waited. Patient, steady, warm. His fingers still moved through your hair. "I know I don’t belong in your world, Jake." The words tumbled out before you could stop them, before you could talk yourself into silence again. Your voice was hoarse, raw with the truth you had tried to bury. "I’ve always known." Jake’s body stiffened beneath you. “Y/N…” "Sophia told me," you went on, your fingers gripping his shirt a little tighter, needing something to hold onto. "At the wedding. She told me that her marriage with Marcus was just a business deal. That none of it was real." You felt Jake inhale sharply.

"And it just—God, it hit me all at once," you whispered. "Everything your father said to me that night. The way he looked at me like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t good enough." Jake swore under his breath, his hand stilling against the nape of your neck. "He would never approve of me, Jake," you said, voice breaking. "And I couldn’t—I couldn’t put myself through that again. I can't be the girl who gets tossed aside when something better comes along. I’ve already been that girl." Jake exhaled sharply. "You think I would do that to you?" "I don’t know." The confession felt like ripping open an old wound. "I just—I am scared. Scared of getting my heart broken again by another rich boy who’s out of my league." His hold on you tightened. "I thought—" you swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut. "I thought if I ended it first, it would hurt less. For me. For you." Jake was silent for a long moment. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him—“You really think it hurt less?” Your throat tightened. Because looking at him now, feeling the way his body trembled underneath yours, the way his breath came unsteadily, the way he had shown up at your door last night looking absolutely wrecked.

No. It hadn’t hurt less at all. Jake let out a shaky breath, his hand still resting against the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin. He wasn’t saying anything, but you could feel the tension in his body, in the way his chest rose and fell unevenly beneath you. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

"I can’t believe you think I would’ve done that to you." You squeezed your eyes shut, guilt clawing at your ribs. "Jake–" "No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I need you to hear this." His fingers slid into your hair again, not to comfort, but to tilt your face up, forcing you to look at him. The hurt in his gaze made your stomach twist painfully. You felt your eyes water. "I would never do that to you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I would never let my dad, or anyone else, decide who I should be with. You think I give a damn about his approval?"

Your breath hitched. "You really thought I would’ve just–what? Tossed you aside when it got hard? When he didn’t approve?" His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "You think so little of me?" Your stomach churned. "It’s not that," you murmured. "I was trying to protect myself. And you." Jake let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Yeah? Well, you didn’t. You just hurt us both." He was right. You did. "Jake…" "Do you know how fucking miserable I’ve been, Y/N?" His voice cracked slightly, and it broke something in you. "I kept telling myself there had to be a reason. That there was something I did wrong, something I could’ve fixed if you had just talked to me." You shook your head, throat burning. "There wasn’t."

His eyes softened, but there was still something so profoundly wounded in his expression. "Then why didn’t you let me fight for you? Why did you let me love you." Your throat tightened as his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You had thought you were doing the right thing. That cutting things off before they got too real would save you both the pain of an inevitable ending. But looking at him now, at the hurt in his eyes, at the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly where they held you, you realized you had only rewritten the ending in the worst way possible. Your vision blurred. “Jake, I—” Your voice cracked, and you sucked in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I was scared." His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything, just waited. "I thought—" You swallowed, your hands tightening into fists against his chest. "I thought if I let myself have this, have you, it would hurt even more when I lost it." Jake’s breath hitched. "You never even gave me the chance to prove you wouldn’t lose me." A tear slipped down your cheek, and his eyes immediately flickered to it, his thumb moving instinctively to wipe it away. His touch was so soft, so heartbreakingly gentle that it only made your chest ache more. "Your dad hates me, Jake," you whispered. "And he’s right. I don’t belong in your world. I was never supposed to."

Jake inhaled sharply, and for the first time, anger flickered through his pain. "Fuck that." His voice was still quiet, but there was an unmistakable edge to it now. "You think I give a shit what my dad thinks? You think I would’ve let him ruin this for us?" A sob escaped you before you could stop it, and then his arms were wrapping around you completely, pulling you into his chest like he was afraid you’d slip away again. Your hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him just as tightly. "I’m so sorry," you whispered, the words barely making it past the lump in your throat. "I’m so, so sorry." Jake exhaled shakily, his lips pressing against the top of your head. "You should’ve let me fight for you," he murmured again, voice wrecked. "I know," you choked out, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face like you were something fragile. "I can't lose you again," he whispered. "You won’t," you promised, voice trembling. And then, he kissed you.

His lips were soft against yours but he kissed you with a sense of urgency you weren’t used to from him. One of his hands buried itself in your hair and the other one slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You melted into him, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly, just to reassure yourself that he was real, that this was real. Jake groaned softly against your mouth. The hand in your hair found its way to your neck. It slid down your spine, slow and deliberate, the tips of his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. You gasped into the kiss, and he took full advantage of it, tilting his head and deepening it, his tongue tentatively brushing against yours. You slightly pulled on his hair and he gasped into your mouth, pulling away slightly to breath before connecting your lips again.  You caught his bottom lip between your teeth and bit down gently. 

He whined. He fucking whined, a soft, needy sound. His grip on you tightened. His breath hitched, his body pressing even closer to yours. Jake pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours, his lips parted, his breaths coming just as uneven as yours. "Are you still scared?" he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You swallowed hard, your fingers tracing absentmindedly over his collarbone. "Terrified." A small, breathless laugh escaped him. "Me too."

You giggled and put your head onto his chest again, interviewing your fingers and relishing in the warmth of Jake's body. Neither of you spoke for a long time. You were just there. In each others arms, breathing slowly.  Then, after a while, Jake sighed. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and you felt his fingers tighten slightly against your back. “I, uh… I cut contact with my dad.” You blinked, shifting slightly so you could look up at him. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight, like he wasn’t sure how to say the words out loud.

“Jake…” “He invited me for dinner.” he said, voice quieter now. “I just…couldn’t do it. I walked out.” He exhaled sharply. “I think I always knew it would end up like this. I just didn’t want to admit it.” You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly over his collarbone. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” He swallowed. “It’s better this way.”

You didn’t say anything, just traced slow circles against his skin, letting him know you were here, that you were listening. He let out a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. “Josh called me.”, he paused. “ To apologize. It’s weird, you know? I spent so long thinking he was just another part of the problem. That he only cared about himself. But he actually… He actually cares.” Your chest tightened. “Of course he does, Jake.” Jake nodded, exhaling. “Yeah. I think I finally get that.” His fingers brushed over your shoulder, absentminded, like he was still trying to process it all himself. “I don’t know if we’ll ever be close. But at least we’re not fighting anymore.”

You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second. “I’m glad,” you whispered. Jake looked at you then, really looked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.” Jake didn’t say anything for a while. He just held you, his fingers running gently through your hair, his breathing steady against the top of your head.  You let your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You felt your body growing heavier. “You should sleep,” Jake said softly, like he could feel how close you were to slipping under. You tried to fight it, but your eyelids were so heavy, your body sinking deeper into the warmth of his body. “You’ll still be here?” you mumbled, barely awake now. Jake’s arms tightened around you. “I’m not going anywhere.” That was the last thing you heard before sleep finally pulled you under. ──────────────────────────Jakes mom called him while he was still laying in your bed, eating nachos while watching Bones with you. Well he was watching Bones and you were dozing on his chest. He reached for his phone lying on the bedside table next to him, but before he could pick up his phone his mom already ended the call. She had texted him half an hour earlier. 

Mom Hello Jake I am going to be in Seoul from tomorrow until Sunday 🤗 Would you and Y/N like to eat dinner with me? In the small DakGalbi restaurant near your grandmas house?

Jake felt you raising your herald peeking onto his phone screen. “Say yes.”, you said, your voice a bit rough from disuse.  “Mhm?”, he raised an eyebrow and watched you sit up in the bed gathering your hair in a messy ponytail. His eyes got stuck on the soft skin on your neck. His hands haven't left that spot alone since he woke up this morning. Something about it was just so alluring to him.  “Tell your mom we will be there. Tomorrow evening. She was nice compared and seemed to genuinely like me. Even when we only played pretend.”, you shrugged. 

Jakes had to really make himself to look away from your neck. The tshirt you were wearing didn't make it better. The oversized and stretched material exposing your collarbones. His fingers twitched with the urge to trace along the delicate curve. God, you were so unfair. "You want me to say yes?"  You hummed and climbed over his body out of the bed. Now that he was officially your not fake boyfriend anymore he was allowed to stare at you without feeling weird or like a creep. You made your way to the bathroom and his eyes didn’t leave your body for a second.  Jake sighed and texted his mom back. 

Instead of coming back to your bed you stayed in of the area you called kitchen and pulled a carton of eggs from your fridge and frozen berries from your fridge. You tossed the berries at Jake, who was almost hit square in the face.  “For your ribs.”, you nodded, while you gathered everything you needed for whatever you were planning to cook right now.  Jake caught the frozen berries at the last second, hissing at the cold against his fingers. "You're really out here trying to kill me when I am already injured, huh?" You smirked as you cracked an egg into a bowl. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t miss." Jake let out a dramatic sigh, tossing the berries onto the counter before sliding off the bed. "My own girlfriend is a menace."

"Oh? So now I’m your girlfriend?" He froze mid-step, narrowing his eyes at you. "What else would you be?" You only hummed in response, the corner of your lips quirking up as you turned back to the stove.  He walked right up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. You let out an exasperated sigh, though you didn’t push him away. "Jake."

"Mmm." His grip tightened slightly, and his lips brushed against your skin.  "You’re like a lost puppy." Jake smiled against your neck. "And you love it." You scoffed. "I tolerate it." "Liar."

You were about to fire back some witty retort, but then Jake’s lips parted, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw. Your breath caught. His hands slid lower, fingers skimming the hem of your shirt, thumbs pressing softly against your stomach. He kissed you again—slightly higher this time. "Jake," you warned, but it came out weaker than intended. "Hmm?" His voice was innocent, but his actions were anything but.

He kissed along the line of your neck, trailing down until he reached your shoulder. You could feel the smirk on his lips when you inhaled sharply, your hands gripping the counter for support. You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "You are a weak man, Jaeyun Sim.” Jake scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Weak? Me?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, lazily dragging a finger down his bare arm that was wrapped around your front. "You’re all over me, Sim. Can’t even let me cook without trying to get me distracted." He narrowed his eyes playfully, grasping your shoulder to turn you around, caging you in between his body and the inner edge of your counter.   He leaned forward slightly and he slotted his thigh between your legs just to watch the way your breath caught. "You’re talking an awful lot of shit for someone who’s letting me touch them right now," he murmured, his thumb brushing along your jawline.

You tilted your head, eyes dark with amusement. "Who said I was letting you?" Jake groaned. "I hate you." You grinned. "No, you don’t." "No, I don’t," he sighed, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you even closer and you rolled your eyes before pressing your lips against his burying your hands in his hair. He let out a satisfied hum blindly but before the kiss could go further he pulled back a bit. You opened your eyes and pouted at him. “Hey! Now I let you and you pull away?” He giggled at that and pressed his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to kill the mood but I am getting really fucking horny at whatever you do and I really want to be sure that you are okay with whatever we are about to do. I don’t want to give you the impression you have to do anything with me.”  He watched you swallow and your eyes searched his. “What gives you the impression I think you make me do anything Jakeyboy.”  Now it was his turn to swallow. He watched how your hand traveled from his scalp over his upper body until you reached the loose pair of shorts he was hearing. You grabbed him by the strings dangling there and pulled him closer. He was pretty sure you could feel his growing problem very prominently against your thigh.

“I don’t know what Marcus told you.”, your eyes traveled from his lips to his eyes. “But I am not 16 and inexperienced anymore. I know how to stand up for myself. And Jake. I promise I’ll tell you whenever I feel uncomfortable or want you to stop.” Jake groaned and closed the small gap in between your bodies. He pressed himself against your warm body and almost lost his mind when you whined into his mouth.  You carefully traced his lower lip with your tongue and he parted his lips slightly, inviting you in. You rolled your hips into his. It was a miniscule movement but his hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging in just when he gasped. You took full advantage of it. You swallowed the sound, your tongue sliding against his, hot and demanding, making his entire body shudder. But then Jake’s hand slid down your spine, slow and deliberate, the tips of his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. Just to feel and hear your reaction again, to make you shudder. Marcus can go fuck himself. He will never get the chance to experience this. And that thought filled Jake with so much satisfaction he traced your spine back up again, stopping at your neck. You arched into his touch, and he could feel the hitch in your breath against his lips, the soft shiver that followed. He loved how you melted under the simplest touch.

He couldn't help but smile, pulling away from your lips to attack your neck with small kisses. His lips curled against your neck as he spoke. “God, I love how sensitive you are.” You tilted your neck to the side to give him more access and bit your neck. As his fingers dragged lower, tracing along the curve of your back, savoring the way you reacted to every little movement you let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a moan. 

You swallowed hard, and your hands slid into his hair, fingers tightening. He could feel your pulse racing beneath his lips as he pressed a soft kiss just below your ear. Your skin was burning under his touch, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to drag his nails lightly down your spine, after he sneaked his hands under your shirt. The quiet moan you let out nearly drove him wild, and he groaned at the sound, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea what that does to me,” he confessed, his voice strained, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Your hands slid down to his shoulders and pushed him away from your body slightly. “Jake fuck”, your pupils were blown wide, when you looked at him. “We should eat something first. And shower. I am hungry and I feel like I stink and you should eat so you can heal properly. Also we need condoms. I don't have any here.”, you said breathlessly against his lips.  Jake hummed. “I think I have some in my wallet.”   “You carry around emergency condoms?”, you asked, raising one eyebrow. He shrugged casually. “I sure do. You never know when you stumble into your fake girlfriend’s arms, fully drunk, only to turn her into your very hot and,” he pressed his lips against yours, “attractive and,” another kiss, “clever and,” yet another kiss, “emotionally stupid girlfriend who thinks running away is an option when her gorgeous boyfriend is a hockey player who can run way faster than she can.” You rolled your eyes, slapping the back of his head with enough force to make him laugh. “Go fuck yourself, Sim. I am a fast runner. Have you seen me run anywhere? No." Jake grinned, clearly unbothered by your slap. “Baby, I’ve seen you on the ice. You were taken out by a four-year-old,” he teased, his voice full of laughter. You just slapped his head again.  Jake chuckled, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to it before you could land another playful hit. His fingers wrapped around it gently, his thumb tracing over your pulse point. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” he said, still grinning.  You narrowed your eyes at him but didn’t pull away. “You really think I’m emotionally stupid?” you muttered, arching an eyebrow at him. Jake’s smirk softened. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead before meeting your gaze. “I think you’re scared,” he said simply. “And I think you run when things start feeling too real.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated that he knew you well enough to say it out loud. But instead of pressing further, Jake just kissed the tip of your nose and pulled back. “Come on,” he said. “You said you were hungry, and if I remember correctly, I have to eat so I can heal ‘properly.’” He shot you a wink. “Your words, not mine.” You rolled your eyes but continued on cooking while he sat down on a chair in the kitchen area. “You’re staring,” you muttered, not looking up. “I like looking at you,” he admitted easily, no hesitation, no teasing. Your hands faltered for half a second before you shoved a fork in his direction. “Shut up and cool your ribs, Sim.”

He laughed but took the fork, nudging your hip with his before getting the now not so frozen berries from your bed.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @schmocolateschmchip @sirens-dreams @softchannie @firstclassjaylee @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox @bluxjun @sumzysworld @outroherrr @50-husbands @lezleeferguson-120

[mrsfancyferrari]

More Amor

Summary: you are going out with Carlos, you can speak his language, but you don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Song: Friends · Chase Atlantic

Taglist: @random-bouts-of-randomness

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 3.5k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the engines was a constant lullaby in the Formula 1 paddock, a song that vibrated through your very bones. You loved it here, the controlled chaos, the palpable energy, the feeling of being part of something larger than yourself.

Your focus, however, was often drawn to a specific corner of the Ferrari garage – where Carlos Sainz, with his disarming smile and effortless charm, held court.

You and Carlos were friends for a long time. You found him incredibly easy to talk to, his enthusiasm infectious. You liked Carlos, perhaps more than you should.

But there was also a barrier, subtle but ever-present, that you yourself had erected. It was a secret you carried, one that gnawed at you with each passing day: you spoke fluent Spanish, his native tongue.

You hadn't always been this secretive. Back in school, Spanish had been your favorite subject, a fascination with the language and culture that had blossomed into fluency. There was a time when you'd have proudly displayed your linguistic prowess, but a few harsh critiques in a university language class, comments that chipped away at your confidence, had left you hesitant.

Now, you kept your Spanish a closely guarded secret, especially in the presence of Carlos. The thought of him, a native speaker, judging your accent or vocabulary was enough to send shivers of anxiety down your spine.

This particular afternoon, you were tucked away in the hospitality area, a small respite from the frenetic pace of the paddock. Charles Leclerc, Carlos’s teammate and another friend, was perched opposite you, nursing a bottle of water.

He was in a lighter mood after a good practice session and was keen for a diversion.

“So,” he said, his French accent thick, “teach me some more Spanish. The last phrase you taught me was very… useful.” He grinned mischievously, a glint in his eye.

You laughed, remembering the rather informal phrase you had taught him the previous day. “Okay, okay,” you said, pulling out your notebook. “Let’s try something a little less… provocative.”

You flipped to a fresh page. “How about ‘Es un placer conocerte’ – ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you’?”

You broke it down for him, pronunciation and all, your voice a soft murmur that was just audible above the ambient noise. He repeated the phrase several times, his brow furrowed in concentration until he finally managed something that was, while not perfect, definitely understandable.

“Magnifique!” you exclaimed, giving him an approving nod. He grinned, pleased with his progress, and began repeating the phrase to himself, practicing the rhythm and inflection.

Just as he did, a familiar voice spoke behind you. “Que estan haciendo ustedes?”

You froze, a chilling feeling spreading from the base of your neck. It was Carlos, standing in the doorway, a curious smile playing on his lips.

The Spanish he’d spoken was casual, his words rolling off his tongue as naturally as breathing. What are you guys doing?

A wave of panic washed over you. It was close, too close. He had heard you speaking Spanish, even if it was with Charles. Your secret, the one you had painstakingly guarded, was on the verge of unraveling.

Charles, completely oblivious to the tension thrumming in the air, turned to face Carlos, his face beaming. “‘Es un placer conocerte,’” he announced proudly, his accent thick but understandable.

You cringed internally. Oh no, Charles, no.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Charles to you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, I see. You're teaching Charles Spanish?"

You forced a smile, trying to appear casual. "Kind of," you said, your voice a little too high-pitched for your liking. "Just a few simple phrases for fun." You did not want to admit you'd been teaching him the basics.

Carlos crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he observed you and Charles. “Well, that’s good,” he said, his Spanish accent taking over his English slightly. “It’s always good to learn new languages.” He was still looking at you, a playful glint in his eyes that made your heart pound.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, absolutely.” You picked up your notebook and began flipping through it, pretending to be engrossed with your notes as if you didn’t already know every word you'd already written.

"What else have you taught him?" Carlos asked, stepping further into the room.

You tensed, your heart thumping wildly. “Oh, just basic stuff,” you said, your voice tight. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. “You know, ‘hello,’ ‘goodbye,’ that sort of thing.” You hoped he didn’t see through your act.

Charles, bless his oblivious soul, was happily repeating the phrase he had learnt until it was as close to perfect as it could be. Carlos watched him, but his eyes were still on you.

He knew you were lying. He’d spoken to you in the past in Spanish and you had responded without so much as blinking. Why were you being like this?

“You sure?” he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips. He could see the panic in your eyes and the way your hands were clutching your notebook like a lifeline.

He looked at Charles again, and then back to you. “You speak a little Spanish?”

"No, I don't," you said quickly, a little too quickly. Your voice was far too high pitched. You hoped he didn't hear the fear that was leaking in your tone.

Carlos seemed to hesitate, his eyes scrutinizing yours for a moment longer. A subtle shift in his expression told you he knew you were lying, but he said nothing.

"Okay," he said finally, his tone still amused. "If you say so." He patted Charles on the shoulder. “Enjoy your lesson, Charles,” he said before turning and heading out of the room.

You breathed out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It had been too close. You watched him leave, your heart still beating fast. You were acutely aware that you needed to be more careful.

One more slip up like that and your secret wouldn’t be a secret anymore. You knew you should tell him, but your fear of not being good enough held you back.

Later that evening, while you were trying to text, a message popped up on your phone. It was from Carlos.

“Hey, you okay? You seemed a little… agitated earlier.”

You stared at the message, your mind swirling. He had noticed. Of course, he had. He was observant, perceptive. You hesitated before typing a response.

“Yeah, all good. Just a bit tired.”

He replied almost instantly. “Tired? Or hiding something? Maybe a secret language?”

You felt a jolt run through you. He was teasing you, playfully pushing at the edges of your lie. You took a deep breath and decided to deflect.

“Nah, just a very complicated article on tire degradation. Don’t let me keep you, you probably have more important things to do!”

A few seconds later, Carlos responded; “I always have time for you. By the way, you should try speaking more Spanish. It suits you.” He included a winking emoji in the text, leaving you completely frozen.

How did he know? You hadn’t said a single word in Spanish to him, apart from earlier when it was directed at Charles. He was definitely onto you.

Your heart started pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to do. You finally replied with a simple “Night, Carlos” message and put your phone down.

You knew that sooner or later, you would have to face the truth. You liked Carlos, and you didn’t want to keep secrets from him. But the thought of that vulnerability, the risk of judgment, still held you captive.

You hoped one day you’d find enough courage to reveal your secret, to let Carlos in completely. But for now, you would keep your language locked behind a wall of fear, hoping that the wall would come tumbling down one day.

But for now, you had to keep up with the charade, and try not to let him see you were lying about knowing his native language.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The leather armchair cradles you like a familiar friend. Sunlight, filtered through the lace curtains, dances across the spines of Carlos’s bookshelves, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

You’re in his living room, a space that feels as comfortable as your own, except for the subtle undercurrent of nervous energy that always seems to hum beneath your skin when you’re here.

Carlos, with his easy laugh and eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, is the source of that familiar flutter in your chest.

He's gone to the market, a quick errand for the missing ingredient – ricotta cheese, if your shoddy Spanish comprehension served you correctly – needed for his legendary fluffy pancakes.

He'd called them “panqueques esponjosos” and the way his tongue rolled over the words had made your heart do a little tap dance.

You trace the rim of your teacup with your finger, the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway the only sound. You pull your phone from your pocket, a small smile playing on your lips.

A message from Sofia, a friend from Spain pops up. You haven't seen her since the end of your vacation and you miss her friendly banter. You hadn’t told her that you knew Carlos at first. She was thrilled when you had finally spoken about him and also excited the day you finally felt comfortable enough to speak Spanish to her.

You dial her number.

"Hola, mi amiga!" Sofia's voice crackles through the speaker, warm and vibrant as always.

"Hola, Sofia! Como estas?" you reply, feeling the familiar comfort of the language wash over you. The words flow easily, a melody you've secretly nurtured for months.

You and Sofia slip into a comfortable rhythm, gossiping about mutual friends, discussing the latest drama in her life, and laughing about inside jokes from class. You tell her about how you’ve been spending a lot of time with Carlos recently, describing the comfortable silence that settles between you, the way he always offers you the first cup of tea, and the lingering glances that sometimes catch you off guard.

She’s always encouraged you to take the leap with Carlos, but you've always been too afraid of ruining the comfortable friendship you had.

"¿Y qué tal, el chico que te gusta? ¿Como va con Carlos?" Sofia asks, her voice teasing. And how about the boy you like? How is it going with Carlos?

"He's...he's good," you stumble, a flush rising to your cheeks even though Sofia can't see you. "He's making pancakes later." You hope it doesn’t sound as silly as it feels.

You are so aware of your own internal dialogue.

"Ooh, panqueques! Sounds romantic," Sofia giggles. “Maybe he will be speaking Spanish to you soon” she winks, she is completely aware that he doesn’t know you can speak Spanish.

You have not told her about the pet name he has given you.

"Don't be silly," you say, though a small part of you desperately wishes she were right. "He calls me a few names, it's kinda silly,"

Sofia chuckles, “he likes names?"

"Yeah, Cariño." you say quietly. It’s a term of endearment that sits in your chest like a warm coal, always threatening to ignite a fire. you feel your cheeks burn a deeper shade of pink.

"Ay, ay, ay! Cariño! That means 'darling'! He definitely likes you," Sofia says, her voice filled with excitement.

You laugh, trying to downplay the significance. "It's just a word, Sofia." Even as you say the words you know it isn’t true.

You adore the way he says it, the way his voice softens slightly when he addresses you as ‘cariño’. It feels intimate, a secret language woven into your friendship.

"No, amiga, it's not just a word. It's a feeling," Sofia counters, her voice knowing.

You are about to reply when you hear a thud. A bag, probably groceries, hits the floor with a soft, muffled sound. You turn, your heart leaping into your throat, to see Carlos standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise.

His face, usually so open and inviting, is frozen in a state of shock. A second later he looks hurt.

His gaze is focused on you and he's holding the bag of groceries precariously in his hand as if he's forgotten that it is there. There's a strange mix of bewilderment and something else – hurt, maybe? – flickering in his eyes.

He stares at you, mouth slightly ajar, and no words are coming from him, which is so unlike Carlos to be lost for words.

You freeze, phone clutched in your hand, heart hammering against your ribs. The blood rushes to your ears and you suddenly feel as though you’re unable to breathe, feeling as though he’s looking at you differently.

The Spanish words, the comfortable rhythm of your conversation with Sofia, the comfortable feeling you had all but a moment ago evaporates into the air.

“Carlos…” you whisper, your voice sounding small and weak. You feel your cheeks burn and you can only imagine how red your face is.

He sets the other abag on the floor with a soft thud, the sound echoing in the suddenly charged silence. “You…you speak Spanish?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The playful light in his eyes was gone, the crinkles that always appeared when he smiled did not appear this time.

You nod slowly, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. You feel sick at the thought of how he must feel, you should have told him. You should have shown him the real you sooner. “I do,” you managed to say.

You sat perched on the edge of Carlos's ridiculously plush sofa. Your heart was still thrumming a little too fast, admittedly by the man himself. Carlos.

He was pacing in front of you now. He ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair, the movement highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.

“I still can’t believe you spoke it,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

You fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on the throw pillow next to you. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on the intricate pattern.

The idea of speaking it, of letting it flow freely in front of anyone, especially him, had always filled you with a surprising amount of anxiety.

“Not a big deal?” He stopped pacing, planting his hands on his hips, his gaze finally locking with yours, a faint amusement dancing in his brown eyes.

“You mean the fact that you’ve been listening to me struggle through English for years, when you could have corrected me all this time, is ‘not a big deal’?”

A blush crept up your neck. You avoided his eyes again, feigning interest in the small water stain on the coffee table. “I… I wasn't correcting you on purpose.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. It melted the nervous knot in your stomach a little. He dropped down beside you on the sofa, the cushions giving way with a soft sigh.

He turned, his whole attention now focused on you. “So, why didn’t you? Why did you keep that amazing Spanish tucked away?”

You took a deep breath, the words tasting like lead in your mouth. “I guess… I wasn't confident enough,” you finally admitted, the admission feeling like a weight lifting off your chest, however slightly. “I wasn't sure about my accent. Or if I even sounded… right.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his hand reached out to gently touch your arm, his fingers sending a jolt of warmth through your skin.

He’d always had a way of making even the simplest touch feel charged. “Mi amor, you are always right. Never doubt that. And your accent… it’s beautiful,”.

You finally looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any hint of sarcasm, but finding only genuine sincerity. The term of endearment was a fresh shock, and it sent little shivers down your spine. “You really think so?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, his thumb now tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Absolutely. It’s unique, and it's yours. It's part of what makes you, you." He leaned closer, his eyes boring into yours. "And I want to hear more of it.”

The air crackled, charged by the intensity of his gaze. You were acutely aware of the proximity between you, of the warmth emanating from his body, and the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

He'd managed to convince you to stay, the casual invitation coming after a day spent working with his team at the track. Your initial plan was always to return to your hotel, to maintain the comfortable distance that you had been living in.

But then you saw him, his hopeful expression and the puppy-dog pleading in his eyes and you found your resolve melting away. You told yourself it was the pull of shared language, the thrill of having someone that understood you; but deep down, you knew it was something far more profound and far more dangerous.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice a low, husky plea. “Speak more amor? Just a little bit.” His brown eyes, usually full of mischievousness, were now pools of earnest emotion.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat creeping up your face again. “What… what do you want me to say?” you asked, the Spanish words a little hesitant at first.

A wide grin stretched across his face. “Anything. Tell me about your day. Tell me you think I’m the best driver on the grid,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with humor.

You laughed, the sound light and airy in the quiet space. "You're arrogant, tonto," you said, the Spanish rolling off your tongue with more ease than you expected.

His grin widened. “But you like me, arrogant and best driver?” he challenged.

"Perhaps," you replied, playfully avoiding his question. "It was a long day. I spent most of the morning working from home. Then, I had lunch with..." You trailed off, momentarily forgetting the English word for the person you had lunch with during the day.

"Your coach?" Carlos suggested, his gaze unwavering.

"Yes! My coach. We discussed the race strategy and went over some notes," you continued, the Spanish flowing much more easily now.

You felt a strange sense of liberation, of finally letting go of the fear that had been holding you back.

He listened intently, his head tilted slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Every now and then, he would let out a small chuckle or offer a prompting question.

“And now?” he asked softly, interrupting you mid-sentence. “What are you going to do now?”

You glanced around his living room, its sleek lines and modern features a stark contrast to the cozy comfort of your small apartment.

"Now? I suppose... well, I guess I'm going to stay here." You held his gaze, each beat of your heart pounding in your chest.

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb softly stroking your skin. "You're perfect," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "You being here... it makes everything feel perfect."

You shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Carlos…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

He leaned in, his gaze locked on your lips making the moment feel charged with unspoken promises. “Just… say it, amor,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You closed the distance between you and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was everything you expected and far, far more. It was a melting pot of the connection you’d so desperately tried to suppress.

It was a declaration in a language both shared and unspoken. When you finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding against your ribs.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “Tell me in Spanish,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky breath, finally letting the words flow freely, without reservation or fear. “Te quiero, Carlos,” you whispered, the words finally escaping your lips. I love you.

His response was immediate. His lips crashed against yours in another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate, and full of a raw, unfiltered emotion.

You pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck, losing yourself in the moment, in him, in the magic of finally being understood, finally being heard, finally being loved in the most perfect language possible.

The fear, the insecurity you had carried for so long, seemed to dissolve, replaced by a dizzying rush of hope. You had found a home in his arms, in his eyes, and in the shared language that had brought you together.

And in that moment, in his arms, with the city twinkling outside the window, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .

[runnning-outof-time]

Talk of the Town | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @red-riding-wood

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: (Y/N)'s had enough of the whispering that always seems to happen when she's out and around Small Heath.

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2694

A/N: I’m back!! I’m sorry it took so long for me to share this, and I hope it won’t be so long before I’m sharing another story. The two prompts I was given to use are bolded in the fic - I hope you don’t mind how I used them. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! — YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged!

(Y/N) sat down at one of the empty tables, excited to try one of the new menu items at her favorite café. It had been a while since she indulged herself in one of these sorts of treats, so she was more than ready to dig in.

Her peaceful reverie didn't last long. She was only minutes into her lunch when she began to hear whispers from the table of women to her right.

"I think that's her," one of them whispered. "That's Tommy Shelby's girl."

"Are you sure?" another asked, pulling a face as she glanced in (Y/N)'s direction, "she looks too...good."

"Yeah, I'm sure," the first responded, "I've seen her out with him."

"I wonder if she knows about the things he's involved in?" the third woman entered the conversation, pondering aloud to her friend.

"She has to," the first responded.

"I'm not too sure," the second said, "I'm not sure I'd be able to show my face like this if I was going home to a man like that," she reasoned.

"Hmm, I'm not sure I'd mind going home to him though," the first woman commented, a grin forming on her face as she leaned closer to her friends, who were also grinning.

(Y/N) almost lost her appetite when she heard the direction their conversation was heading in. She couldn't believe that they were speaking so candidly about her and her partner's relationship...and that they were doing so while sitting so close to her. They had to know that she was able to hear them.

"I'm going to ask her what it's like to share a bed with a gangster," the third woman announced, ready to get the answers straight from the topic’s mouth.

"No! You can't just walk over to her and ask that!" the first woman hissed, her eyes widening as she reached out to grab her friend's arm before she could leave the table.

That was when (Y/N) focused her eyes back on the plate in front of her. She waited on baited breath and silently hoped that the first friend would get the third to sit down. Thankfully the former's attempts to stop the latter worked, and the women decided to switch topics after that.

She thought that that would have been the last she heard from those women, but nothing could have prepared her for the fact that one of them - the third one that was hoping to speak to her earlier - decided to stop her as she was discarding her trash.

"You're with Tommy Shelby, right?" the voice came from behind, making (Y/N) quickly turn.

"I am," she answered, a bit of surprise laced into her voice.

"How do you do it?" the woman asked.

"What do you mean?" (Y/N) was now confused.

"How do you live with the fact that he's taking directly from the pockets of the poor and doesn't think twice about hurting anyone who stands in his way?" the woman didn't even think about what would be considered proper, and that truly shocked (Y/N).

Had she really said that to a complete stranger? And why was she saying such things about her partner?

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts. She blinked several times before responding, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're talking about. Tommy's family doesn't run their business like that."

There was a moment of pause between the two as the other woman looked at (Y/N) kind of like she was waiting for her to say that she was joking and that she knew exactly why the Shelby family operated the way they did. But (Y/N)'s expression of confusion didn't change.

"You really...you really don't know how he handles business?" there was now surprise in the other woman's voice.

"I don't understand what you're saying, I've just told you that's not how they handle things," (Y/N) doubled down on her previous response.

"He must keep you locked away from certain parts of his life then," the woman stated, stifling her laughter. "Tommy Shelby's a full out gangster, darling."

A bit of incredulousness seeped into (Y/N)'s expression upon hearing the woman's statement. "I'm quite honestly insulted that you would speak of another woman's partner like that. Have you no manners?" she asked with a scoff.

"It's the truth. Everyone around town knows it," the other woman shrugged.

"It's still rude to suggest," (Y/N) responded, pursing her lips together tightly as she tried to keep composed. "Good day," she said then, tilting her chin up as she walked away from the woman without letting her get another word in.

No matter how hard she tried, the words of the woman at the café wouldn't leave (Y/N)'s mind. By the time she reached the home she lived on on Watery Lane, her frustration was just about to the point of boiling over. She didn't even care that she had slammed the door to the home shut.

"Goodness. Hello, (Y/N)," Polly's surprised, but still steady, voice made (Y/N) realize that she hadn't shut the door to an empty home.

"Hi, Pol," the younger woman was terse with her greeting.

Polly was able to feel the frustration as it was practically radiating off of (Y/N). She watched the younger woman carefully as she stood stiff in her spot, balling her fists and opening them in hopes that it would help regulate the emotions she was feeling.

"Well..." the older woman paused, letting out a sigh before continuing, "what is wrong with you?" she asked. She didn't say it in any demeaning sort of way, even though it may have sounded like such. If anything, she was concerned...(Y/N) rarely got flustered like this, so it wasn't hard to pick up that something had bothered her.

"I'm sick and tired of people treating me like I am some sort of animal stuck in captivity! Everywhere I go all I hear is whispers, and sometimes they lead to questions that make me look like a fool when I answer them, and I'm not sure how much more of it I can take!" (Y/N) didn't hold back from expressing what was frustrating her.

Polly pursed her lips. She gave the younger woman a once over, seeing how she was practically shaking with aggravation. She was just about to speak when (Y/N) exited the room.

The silence didn't persist for long though. The younger woman’s exit was followed by a sound of slight struggle and then a crash, which prompted a string of curse words. Polly stayed in her seat, knowing that her assistance wasn't something she would want in this situation.

The door opened again moments later, and this time Tommy walked through it. He immediately picked up on the expression Polly was wearing as well as the leftover tension in the room.

"What?" he asked his aunt, his eyebrows raising in question.

"(Y/N)'s in the kitchen," the older woman responded, pursing her lips after she spoke.

Tommy turned his head to the left slightly and kept his raised brow expression as if to say 'and?'.

Polly also responded nonverbally, widening her eyes and nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen, her way of saying 'see for yourself'.

Tommy sighed, removing his peaked cap and shoving it into one of his suit jacket pockets as he began walking towards the kitchen. It's always fucking something, went through his mind as he crossed the room's threshold. That thought immediately vanished when he saw the woman he was proud to call 'his' on the ground cleaning up a mess of cooking utensils. "What happened, love?" he asked her, his voice making her eyes snap from the floor to look in his direction. It didn't take long for him to see the puffiness surrounding them; she'd been crying.

"I just wanted to fix myself something to eat and when I went to open the drawer to grab a spoon it got stuck, because they're all stuffed into the same bloody drawer even though there are other places for them, and so I pulled on it and the drawer came out," she answered in a rambling mess, her frustration shining through in her words. She then bit on her bottom lip as it began to tremble, the earlier conversation flooding back in her mind as the topic of it was now standing in front of her. Tears began to brim in her eyes and she quickly looked away so Tommy wouldn't catch them.

But, of course, he did. "They're just utensils in a drawer, love. It's no harm done," he tried to tell her that it wasn't something worth crying over.

(Y/N) let out a choked laugh, shaking her head as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "It's not the utensils, Tommy," she said, continuing to shake her head as she spoke.

"Then what is it?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows.

There was a pause. (Y/N) was unsure if she should bring what happened earlier up, or if she should let it rest. She was no longer angry, just upset that people - whom she'd never met - thought they had her and Tommy's relationship figured out. "I'm tired of defending myself," she sighed, deciding to go right to the heart of it all instead of beating around the bush.

Tommy was still confused. He was still stuck on the broken drawer and mess of utensils to understand why she'd respond that way.

(Y/N) was able to see that. With another sigh, she stood up and closed the distance between them. "There's so many people whispering...about you and I, and about the things that you do. I try my best to ignore them, but today a woman came up to me and asked directly how I could live with what you do. I felt like such a fool being placed in that position because it seems that people have a different opinion on your business than I. I'm just...I'm tired of being the talk of the town."

Tommy listened intently as (Y/N) shared her frustrations with him. He could hear how much these comments had been eating her up inside, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel an anger brewing towards these people. How could they choose the times when he wasn't around to get to the person that meant most to him?

"What type of business are you running?" (Y/N) asked after the silence had prevailed for a few moments.

It was a question that made Tommy clench his jaw and avert his eyes to the floor. He didn't quite know what to feel now. He wasn't angry at the fact that (Y/N) had essentially found out about what was actually happening outside of the betting shop floor…he wasn’t exactly hiding it from her. He was angry at the fact that it was people around town who told her about it. It was always his hope that he could keep her out of that side of things. She didn't need that darkness dimming her light.

"Tommy?" she softly prodded him, hoping for an answer.

"I do what I need to do to get things done, (Y/N)," he finally answered her, his voice flat.

His response didn't give much up front, but she was able to read between the lines of it. She exhaled a breath as his eyes met hers once more. "What happened to being honest with the business?"

"When has bein' honest gotten us anything, eh?" he asked her, his one eyebrow quirked in an inquisitorial manner.

(Y/N) sighed, unable to stop the corner of her lips from raising as she looked away for a moment and exhaled a laugh. She let out a sigh then, bringing her hand up to run it across her face. She truly didn't know what to think now.

"Are you upset?" Tommy's question broke the silence this time.

"Yes..." she paused, looking at him again, "but not at you," she made sure to clarify.

Tommy pulled a face in response to her statement, one that asked for her to continue.

"I'm upset that people feel the need to comment on my relationship with you, and that they..." she paused, dropping eye contact as she turned away from him, not wanting him to see how their words still affected her. She took a deep breath before continuing, "that they see me as too much of a fool to be with you."

She couldn't help but laugh at herself as she finished her statement. Maybe you are a fool because you don't know what he really does, she thought to herself. She thought she’d know everything about someone she’d been with for just about six years now. Hell she helped Polly keep the betting shop afloat while the boys were off fighting in France. She knew how things worked in the business. But these whispers started sometime after they returned. With the start of 1919 came (Y/N)'s wondering of why so many people were suddenly interested in the life of Tommy Shelby.

"Hey," Tommy stepped towards her, reaching out and taking hold of her left arm so that he could gently turn her back to face him. Doing so effectively brought her out of her thoughts and made her focus on him again. "Fuck what they have to say," he told her, a devilish grin forming on his lips as he attempted to lighten the mood.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened upon hearing his statement, and she brought her hands up to softly smack his shoulders. "Tommy!" she gasped, her mouth still gaped slightly in surprise. Could that really be his response?, she questioned herself before voicing her disbelief, "I can't believe that's your response," she said while laughing slightly.

"What they say doesn't matter, love," he told her, snaking his arms around her waist so that he could pull her closer to him.

"But still..."

"But nothing," he cut her off, his eyebrows raised. (Y/N) sighed and let her hands rest on his shoulders. The feeling of his suit jacket's material beneath her fingertips made her relax. Tommy truly felt like home to her. Just being in his arms for these mere seconds was making her feel better. "You and me...we're ok, right?" he asked her then, his voice soft as he waited intently for her answer. She was able to feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes fixed on his collar, her fingers running against the lapels of his jacket. "Right?" he asked again when he didn't receive a response, pressing his fingers against her sides as he pulled her slightly closer to him.

His actions made her let out a surprised giggle as their heads touched, and it also made her look at him once more. "We're ok," she affirmed, a smile now present on her lips as she continued playing with his lapels, "I just want you to stay safe."

"Always," he whispered, a smile playing on his lips as he assured her.

"And you'll let me in?" her voice was softer now as she looked at him through her eyelashes.

"I will," he whispered, his eyes flitting down to her lips.

"Good, because I need to have something to tell the women who just can't keep their thoughts to themselves," she stated, placing her hands on his cheeks so that she could raise his eyes to meet hers again. She knew what he was thinking of doing.

"(Y/N), fuck..."

"What they say, I know," she finished his sentence for him, smiling as he exhaled a laugh, "maybe..." she trailed off, a bit of a mischievous smile playing on her lips, "maybe I'll just tell them how good this is..."

"What's that?" was all Tommy was able to get out before (Y/N) closed the space and pressed her lips to his.

And if she did tell the whisperers about that, she'd indeed have them wondering.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @theshelbyslimited

@peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss

@alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl

@emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife

@anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo

[mothwingwritings]

Miscommunication

F!Reader X Pickle

Hello everyone! Sorry for the lack of communication. I’ve been doing this or that, working on stuff, surviving summer, you know how it is.

I have been picking away at quite a few fics recently, but I am all over the place so they are all getting worked on/done/edited at different paces. I wrote this lil Pickle fic in the midst of it all. It was born purely from the thought of a yandere licking up your tears that they themself were the cause of, so I picked a guy and ran with that. I chose Picky because my feral mans does NOTrealize how much of a menace he is to you but by God he’s gonna keep on forcing his love on you until one of you dies. :)

18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

Thank you and enjoy!

WARNINGS: Noncon, forced interaction/cuddling, dacryphilia, miscommunication (if you couldn’t tell by the title), light editing, 18+ only!!!

There were plenty of things Pickle loved about you.

He loved the way you looked. So different from the people of his time, you were distinct in a way all your own. The moment he first laid his eyes upon you he was beseeched by curiosity, your unique appearance adding to the intrigue of your already undeniable beauty and charm. You were smaller, softer, and far more polished than the women he was used to. With glossy well-kept hair and not a mark of dirt or grime upon your body, you appeared to him to be almost glowing. This pure presentation made him feel as if he was beholding some glorious creature from another planet, not a mere human woman. You were definitely something that should be far out of his reach, breathtakingly lovely, but unattainable. Yet somehow here you were, right within his grasp, ripe for his consumption. Having such a gorgeous and otherworldly creature in his vicinity was far too enticing, how could he not be expected to stake his claim?

He loved the way you smelled, though those strange sprays you coated your body with were a bit much for his liking. He preferred your natural scent, the one you always tried to mask for whatever reason, the one that differentiated you from the rest of the herd. He could pick it out from anywhere at any time no matter how far from him you strayed, but it would become especially pungent when you were worked up or excited. He relished those moments, pleased to get a whiff of it through the artificial cover of stinking flowers and fruits. Heady and ambrosial, he would bask in your natural essence, inhaling it deeply as if he were receiving a treat.

He also loved the way you sounded, though your words made no sense to him. All the people that surrounded him seemed to make the same kinds of noises, their lips forming sounds that he was sure held all manner of meaning, but none of it he was privy to. Not that it mattered to him really. Different forms of communication suited him much better than spoken word ever could anyway, and despite the lack of common speech he shared with his new peers, he got by just fine. When Pickle bared his teeth or showed open pleasure, those that were nearby seemed to understand him all the same, so there had never been much need to put thought into their dialogue.

… That was, until he met you. It frustrated him sometimes, when you would speak to him with words he could not comprehend. When you talked with a smile he could assume he did something pleasing, or at the very least you weren’t upset, but when you would frown and raise your voice… What exactly was upsetting you? If it was something he did he wanted to correct it right away, your pretty smile suited you much better than a grumpy frown did. He’d do just about anything to keep it on your face forever, if only he knew the words to say or understood the specific requests you spoke to make that happen. The sounds that spilled from your throat… What praises and admonishments was he missing? What words could he say back to keep you smiling, laughing, happy? He wanted to know, struggled to know, but the language barrier was just too great, leaving him distraught and guessing.

When you spoke to other people (other men particularly) and they understood you perfectly, chuckling and nodding, responding to you in kind… It upset him. Who were they to communicate with you so freely? Who were they to speak with you so openly, when all he could seem to get across was rudimentary ideas and feelings? Even if he loved to hear the cadence of your voice, the lack of understanding and the annoyance these mysterious conversations caused was something he couldn’t quite shake.

But even with all the adoration he felt for you, there was one, and only one, thing he didn’t love about you- your tears.

In his era, cries from your mate meant one of a small handful of things. They were hurt and/or scared, there was a threat nearby and they needed protection, or they simply needed their mates help with something. Regardless of which of these options may have brought on the tears, it was always very easy to figure out what the situation was and for the other party to act accordingly.

But each time you cried was a conundrum. You never seemed to shed just a few tears, throwing your heart into full on wailing at the top of your lungs each time your eyes began to remotely water. Whenever this would occur he would momentarily panic, scooping your perturbed body up to force you against his chest, desperate in his attempt to ascertain a cause of concern that would bring you to this state, one that he could never seem to find. He’d turn your body around this way and that, scouring every inch of you with his eyes and hands to check and see if he could pinpoint any wounds or blood. But while you thrashed and fought as he carried out his inspection, his hands always came back clean, and you never seemed to show particular distress when he pressed down on any given area of your body (save for your more private areas, but you always put up a fuss with those). He’d investigate your surrounding area, prowling for anyone or anything that may have scared you or caused alarm, but found nary a soul or item out of place that could have caused you such distress.

That only left the third option- that you were looking to him for help. But help with what? He had already secured you in the safest place he could find, nestling you far away from any potential threats or creatures that could cause you harm. Though he knew you were not a fan of the dank, malodorous, stone underbelly of the village, it was something you would have to get used to. Keeping you elsewhere was simply too risky. Besides, this area was familiar to him, being not unlike some of the cave dwellings of his old home. And with the pathways being so straightforward and long, he could easily monitor surrounding activity and hide you away should someone show up to cause problems (not that anyone would, most seemed to ignore this place entirely, which was another one of its many appeals).

The paths also snaked deep underground, with exits leading rather far out from the more bustling areas of civilization. It made it easy to hunt and gather, so he had no problems providing you with food, clothing, bedding-anything at all you may need he brought to you, and he was happy to do so. He took honor in being your provider, your lover, your mate.

You were safe, you were cared for, and you were loved by him. He showed it in every way he could, serving and providing in ways that went above and beyond what any other potential partner could do for you. Down here in the depths, he shielded you from all that may have hurt you in your old life. Maybe he didn’t understand your speech, but he could clearly see the toll living with the others above ground was taking on you. Each slump of your shoulder and sigh from your lips was recorded in his memory, the weary look you often wore as you pushed yourself harder than necessary haunted his thoughts until he was pushed into action. Every man whose misplaced comments made you scowl had met a grisly end by his hands, assuring they would never bother you again. Every stress of your old life had been removed, all of the agonies of your previous day to day a thing of the past.

Now the only thing you had to focus on was being a good mate to him- a skill you already excelled at by simply existing. You had no need to be sad, you were perfect, and he was doing all he could to show you this.

So why? Why did you always cry?

Even now as he was buried deep inside of you, the pleasure of feeling you stretch to accommodate his massive size so intense he could barely maintain his sanity, tears continued to spill freely from your eyes.  There was absolutely no reason for them- you were always such a good girl for him, bringing him pleasure and joy he scarcely believed was achievable. If anything you should be proud about how well you take him, about how incredibly good you were making him feel, about how flawless you were as his mate. He loved you, he adored you, he would do any and everything for you, and he planned on doing so until his dying day.

Yet still, you cried.

He couldn’t keep them from happening, and he couldn’t think of any other way to stop them, so the least he could do is try and staunch them for a bit. Holding your face still between his hands, he laved his rough tongue slowly over the apples of your cheeks, passing over your tightly clenched eyes in an attempt to cleanse you of your malaise. Time and time again he lapped at your face like a mother lion cleaning it’s cub, moving from the left cheek to the right cheek in quick succession to drink up as many of your salty tears as he could.

Eventually it seemed to work, or at least it caused your upset sobbing to turn into little more than gentle mewling. Maybe you were just doing this to appease him, or perhaps you were finally sharing in the immense pleasure he had been experiencing, overshadowing whatever negative feelings caused you to cry to begin with. Regardless, the tears were trickling to a standstill, and while they weren’t completely quelled, seeing them diminish caused him to smile brightly. He could consider this a victory.

But as he stared down at your tear stained face, moist and red from a mixture of his saliva and your own upset, he couldn’t deny that there wasn’t a charm to witnessing you in such a state. As he picked up his pace, reaching a particularly sweet spot inside of you, you began to scream out, overcome with the intensity of it all. Once more water seeped into your eyes, and he watched mesmerized as fat tears slid down your face, accompanied by whimpers each time his brutal pacing brushed your core. The way your tears accented your ecstasy, adding to the breath taking view only he would ever have the delight of seeing, he couldn’t find himself hating your cries any longer.

Maybe he had been misguided this whole time, realizing now that this may just be another special attribute of yours. He was starting to understand you better, and felt a fool for being so mistaken for so long. Your cries were unique, acting as a sign of immense happiness, not distress. He laughed slightly at his own blunder, it wouldn’t be the first time he had misunderstood you, but this certainly was the most ridiculous miscommunication.

His smile grew as he thrust into you victoriously, elated at his triumph in unlocking a great mystery about you. This whole time he should have never tried to stop them. From now on, he should try and make you cry more.

[im-not-a-ghost]

Signs they are flirting with you

This reading is meant for you if you are wondering about a crush / situationship 's energy towards you. If questions like "Are they being friendly or is there more?" ever cross your mind, this is your reading. Please keep in mind that this is a collective reading, so it may not 100% resonate with you. The decks used are the following : I don't care oracle, Threads of fate oracle, Spirit Junkie oracle & White Numen tarot.

Group 1

Yes ! , Dopamine? Dopa-go! , Nature is your ally, Don't do this today if you don't want to, King of swords, 2 of swords, King of cups, Boundaries rx, The Weaver, Speak truth "Every cell in my body is conscious and communicates with each positive thought I have." | "I can't control the world but I can control how I choose to perceive it."

They are known to be a perfect introvert by their peers, family and friends. They value their own peace of mind, private space and security above anything else. This is someone that, on a daily basis, do not appreciate people overstepping their boundaries or being intrusive and that will not hesitate to tell people off. I wouldn't be surprised if many people around them think that they are rough around the edges or view them as a mean person. However, if they come across a person they are interested in, this person will definitely come out of their shell.

When they like someone, this person becomes an extrovert. They tend to show off and act a bit impulsively. They go out of their way to make the person feel at ease and put themselves forward. They want to impress with their looks, their skills, the best aspects of their personality. So they will do their best in showing their most vulnerable sides because as much as they want to impress, they value authenticity. Another giveaway is their way of speaking. When they are interested in someone, their tone gets softer, they show more vulnerability and emotion, they tend to encourage and compliment the person when they wouldn't do that with other people. In the beginning stages, they may vary between being sarcastic and very teasing to being very caring and encouraging. Eitheir way, communication seems to be at the heart of this person's love language. In the presence of a person they love, they will tend to see the brighter side of things and strive to be a better person. They will do their best in overcoming their fears and pushing the limits of their boundaries for the sake of the person they love. They are likely to compromise and adapt to the other person's needs because they care about the other's well being in the connection.

If they are interested in you and trying to flirt with you, they are likely to reveal to you aspects of themselves they don't show others. They could share with you their passions, talk about their past, reveal to you their fears or dreams. They will show that they care by creating space for you in their bubble. They will want to make you a part of their daily life in a way or another, even if it may scare them or make them uncomfortable. They may tend to look at you a lot and compliment you about your looks. They may watch your socials frequently. They may show signs of possessiveness / jealousy in group settings by trying to keep your attention on them, being tense / colder when someone is interfering in your conversations, for instance. They may attempt to make you laugh and smile by being quirky or daring. They may also want to isolate with you by suggesting activities that happen in a calmer / more intimate environment such as going to the theater, having a walk in nature or just staying at their place to play games or chill out.

If you're in a long distance connection and maybe met in a group setting, this person could be trying to message you in private conversations.

Group 2

8 of pentacles, ace of cups, Chariot, The Observer, Nature, Universe rx, Surprise! , Party in your heart, No obligation to take advice from others, I deserve abundance " I am willing to see my sameness with others. This opens my awareness to oneness." " Owning my power inspires others to do the same. I am not afraid to shine."

This person is naturally very confident and outgoing. When they are interested into someone, they try to share that mindset and positivity with the other person. They will show their interest first by making significant gestures to make the connection progress. For instance, they may give thoughtful gifts based on what they know of the person, make arrangements for them. They will take interest in the things that you like so that you have more common ground and will want to get you to do the same. This person is definitely the type to match their outfit to that of their partner or have private jokes, set each other's faces as their phone background, having playlists that remind them of their person. Very early on, if they know that they like the person and there is a possibility for it to be reciprocated, they will work very hard to take things to the next level. If you're living at a distance, they'll do everything to get closer to you, both metaphorically and physically. They'll make a lot of research to ensure they do the right thing. It could be them learning about your love language or actually trying to speak your language if you come from different cultures, learning about specific health topics because they know it could help you.

Another sign is that they'll do their best in planning activities that you can enjoy together and that will make you feel good about yourself. They'll want you to be your natural self with them so they'll choose things that won't necessarily require you to wear your newest outfit and up your makeup game. They'll implicitely and / or explicitely get you to understand that you don't have to be hard on yourself when you are with them. They'll take a lot of mental notes about things you like, things that make you uncomfortable so that they can give you the best experience. And you'll very quickly notice the change. This person seems to be very obvious when they are interested in a person because of their natural extroverted self. Of course, they're the type to show off more than usual but also to be a model by nudging you to be more vulnerable very naturally. In group settings, they may be the first to talk about personal subjects to make you feel at ease, the first to do an activity so you don't have to stress about it. They may voluntarily make mistakes, act silly so you don't feel alone. If someone is being rude to you, trying to make you feel uncomfortable or intimidate you, if someone is making an ambiguous comment or giving you unsollicited advice, this person is likely to smartly interfere in your favor. They'll give you a lot of attention, make sure you feel included and cared for.

I feel like this person may have a group of friends that tend to be nosy about their relationships. If they like you, this person will always choose you, no matter others' opinion of you. So if you notice that they seem to interact with their usual friends a little less and they give you more time and space, it can also be a sign of their interest.

Group 3

"Every cell in my body is conscious and communicates with each positive thought I have." | "I can forgive people quickly, release resentment and set myself free." Hierophant, 3 of cups, 5 of swords, Speak Truth, Versatility, Power, I'm not okay, No justification needed, You're here, Just the present moment counts

This person is naturally very sensitive and caring. They tend to be friendly quite easily but they still have a bit of shyness in them. If this person is interested in you, you will notice very quickly that you are at the center of their attention. They'll listen to you and will want you to share with them your worries, hopes and ideas. They'll talk to you a lot about everything and anything, just to be able to be there for you and spend time with you. You won't have to justify whatever you're going through or fight for their attention. You won't have to worry about whether they can understand you or not because even if they don't, they'll show a lot of understanding. This person will tell you things like "you don't have to apologize", "you don't have to give me a reason why you were late or why you didn't answer my message". You won't have to pretend being someone else with them. When they're with you, they may look sad or conflicted, like an inner battle is going on (likely them fighting the urge to hug or kiss you on the spot). They'll do everything for you to feel safe with them and protected. They'll try to be your best friend first. To be the person you come to when you need help or comfort. They may tend to get shy around you. When they are with you, you will be the only thing that matters. They won't accept any interference. They'll likely turn off their phone or put it on airplane mode. They'll pay attention to everything you say, ask questions, give you opportunities to elaborate.

This person will do everything they can not to see you in group settings because they want you all to themselves. If you happen to be in a group setting, they'll retract and remain neutral. They may even pretend to be disinterested in you. They'll show affection in private settings only. If they see you with someone else, they'll look upset. They may argue with you, tease you verbally a lot to get reactions out of you. This person may hit on you quite strongly sometimes, especially if they're feeling bold because someone else is showing interest in you or maybe if they're a little drunk. Their body will show what they fail to convey. You could notice their body getting tense, a certain nervousness in their posture, their hands may look like they're trembling. They could wet their lips a lot, bite them. They could cross their legs to cover for the fact they're turned on. They may avoid your gaze.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Your Excuse To See Me

Request by: @twilightlover2007

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deacon's case takes him to your bookshop.

Warnings: none, fluff,

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable please do not interact with my account or any of my notes.

Main M.List | Deacon M.List

“Hey deac” Luca spoke up as Deacon entered the locker rooms. “Morning guys” he replied greeting the rest of the team. “Tan was just telling us about how Bonnie is jealous” Chris spoke up while they all got ready for their shift. “Bonnie is not jealous; I’m telling you guys she isn’t like that” Tan tries to defend. “What happened that everyone things she jealous?” Deacon asked.  

“Last night we went on a date and when we were walking to our apartment in the hallway this girl was getting harassed by this idiot and I helped her out. After he left, she told us she just moved in and it happen to come up she also spoke Cantonese. I happen to mention it was so rare to find another person who speaks it by coincidence and after that Bonnie’s mood has been off. She won’t talk, she’s basically doing everything she can to avoid making eye contact with me.”  

Deacon hisses feigning pain when he hears the story, “hate to break it to you man but that’s jealousy. I can’t believe you can’t wrap your head around this, she is jealous because that woman who speaks your language probably shares your religion and values growing up in a Chinese American home is now living next door to you. She feels less than now that she has someone to compare herself to.”  

Tan took a second to process his words before he finally understands how it all went wrong, he never even thought Bonnie would think like that. “How are you still single? You should have girls falling at your feet” Tan jokes.  

“Jokes on you bro, he does” Street says making everyone laugh as they walk out of the locker room to meet Hondo. Before much words can be exchanged, Hicks walks in with a case assigned to the team. “20-David, we’ve been handed over a case, apparently the financial crimes and the narcotics division can’t solve it and they want us to wrap up this up. Also, we have intel the man doing the money laundering are armed and dangerous.” 

Hicks goes on to explain the details of the case to the team, saying a man who supposedly goes by the name Authur Lopez has been moving money around through other people’s business. He also may be using them as a stash house. The problem is no one can seem to figure out which business he is using to clean his money. “They know he’s dealing but they can’t prove it, we need to find the proof to bring this guy in” 

“We may have a lead though, detective Chase that was previous the lead on this case said he found Auther has an old high school girlfriend who recently moved to town, we aren’t sure if they have had any contact but it’s worth checking out, she might know somewhere he might hide” Hicks finishes up letting the team take the case. Street and Tan both start researching your home and workplace addresses and they found something. 

“She owned a bookshop, just opened a couple months ago, around the same time we caught wind of Authur and around the time she moved into town, her business could be the one she’s using, she sells books, it can be a good cover if her business gets traffic, and judging by the location I think she’d be doing well.” Street says as he pulls up the location of your shop on the screen for the team to see.  

“I found her home address, it’s an apartment complex about 3 blocked from the shop.” Chris says and pulls the location for them to see. “Okay Street, Tan with me we’ll check out her apartment. Luca, Chris and Deacon you can check out her shop she might be there, she what she knows if she’s willing to talk.” Honda hands out their assignments and everyone jumps in a car their destination.   

When Deacon, Chris and Luca arrive at the bookshop they walk in and don’t immediately see anyone around. They walk a little deeper into the shop and you step out from one of the isles the shop isn’t so big that someone can hide, unless they are in the back room. “Hi there, is there something I can help you with?” you say in a sweet voice.  

At the sound of your voice Deacon whips his head, he stutters a bit when he sees you for the first time. Your hair fell curly down your back, you wore jeans that fit your hips but flared down over your ankles with cute brown sandals, you wore a gorgeous floral top that complimented your skin tone so perfectly. “Hi, Ms. Y/n? I’m Sergeant Kay, this is officers Alonso and Luca, we are here to ask you a few questions.”  

You look up at the handsome sergeant standing in front of you and your brain almost lags. “Sure, happy to help” you smile at him clasping your hands together. You gesture to the chairs and small sofas scattered around the room for them to sit and you do the same. “Ms. Y/n, we believe a man you know has been involved in some illegal activity and we wanted to know if you had any information you could share” the girl who’s name you learned was Chris spoke up. 

“Who?’ you asked her, “The name Auther Lopez ring a bell?” Luca asked you. Authur Lopez, you were never able to look at men the same after him, he was your high school sweetheart. You were going to marry him. That was until you found out he was dealing in high school and left him. “A couple months ago he found my shop, said he was keeping tabs on me and asked if I would consider giving him a job. Auther and I dated in high school, I broke up with him when I found out he was dealing, not only that but he was on them. I’m not sure what I never asked. When I hired him, he promised he was clean and so I agreed. Actually, his shift is meant to start in about 10 minutes, he has to come here.” 

“What is he involved in?” You asked them directly your question to no one in particular. “We believe he dealing again, or maybe he never stopped who knows. We need to bring him in a find the location of his stash house before he can distribute his product.” Luca spoke to you.  

“You’re welcome to wait here until he shows then, I had no idea he was still dealing” Luca made a call to someone while Chris asked to look around the shop and you agreed. Deacon didn’t move though, he sat right there in front of you the whole time. “Are you back together?” his voice was quite as he spoke but you heard him, “No, I’m not interested in starting things back up with him, he has done nothing but disappoint me, I only gave him the job because he said he needed it and he was getting clean.” you matched him tone while you looked at him. 

He was so pretty you could barely take your eyes off him, if you weren’t looking at his chest printing out in the tight SWAT t-shirt you were looking at his chocolate brown eyes, if not that, the you have never seen a man look so good with a beard and that usually wasn’t something you’d go for, the hints of grey just did something to your brain.  

Deacon wasn’t any different, he was too busy staring at you to realize you were staring back, he admired the way your curls look so full but not frizzy at the same time, the way he so easily got lost in your beautiful eyes, and let’s not talk about your figure, he has never seen anyone look so beautiful before.  

“So, Sergeant Kay-” 

“Deacon, call me Deacon” 

“Deacon, you’re a SWAT sergeant what is that like?” you smile when you ask him. He was confused for a quick second how did you know he was in SWAT? Until he remembered he was working, he was dressed in uniform. “It’s good, I like it, it’s dangerous and it’s a lot of work but it pays off in the end. So, books?” he returned the question.  

“Yea, I've always been a reader” you giggle as you continue, “It’s very calming to read, takes my mind off things when I’m stressed, a way to pretend you’re someone else.” 

“How could you want to be someone else?” his tone was breathy, it had a hint of a chuckle in it, it made you blush. It was so easy to get caught up in him you forgot all about what he was here for. Luca walked back into the shop; the noise of the chimes pulled you back to reality. He was met with the sight of you and deacon staring at each other with flirtatious smiles and cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“The others arrested Authur on his way here, they have him in custody. Hondo said meet back at HQ” Chris moves out with Luca and Deacon was about to follow them, “Wait!” you stopped him resting you hand on his arm to stop him from walking. You ran into one of the isles and grabbed a book off the shelf, “Here, an excuse for you to come back that isn’t work related. Now you can go” you smiled at him sweetly and he chuckled at your sweet gesture. “I’ll take you up on that.”  

Deacon walked out the bookshop with a wide grin in his face and he sees Chris and Luca waiting for him with matching grins, seems Luca had filled Chris in and they both clocked the book he didn’t walk in there with. “Ouu someone’s got a crush” Chris said in a sing song tone.  

A few days later the case was wrapped up and Deacon was sitting on a comfortable chair in the SWAT main room with his legs propped up as he read the book you gave him. He isn’t you paid attention to the book you handed in when you grabbed it but it was an interesting book.  

He has been teased non-stop by the team since they all heard about what happened, no one can see him sitting with that book in his hand without saying something about you. They even went as far as to make a bookmark with your face on it and stick it in his book so every time he opened it, he would see you. It was entertaining the say the least but now that the book was in his hand and finished, he felt nervous to see you again, this time he had no motive to hide behind other than he just wanted to see your pretty face again. 

“Hey Deac, we’re gonna hit up Luca’s food truck, do you wanna come with?” Chris asked Deacon as she packed up her things at the end of the shift. “I’d love to but, I have to swing by the bookshop and return this book y/n gave me” He waited patiently for the teasing and right on cue, “You going ask her out?” Chris was grinning like a school girl.  

“I want to, I will, I’m gonna...maybe”  

“Sergeant Kay is nervous? There is a first for everything. But seriously all jokes aside, I saw the way you looked at each other. She will say yes, no need to doubt yourself” Chris smiled at him and punched his shoulder as they walk out of the locker room.  

Deacon rushed to his car saying a quick goodbye to the team and driving to the bookshop before you closed. He opened the door and say you writing something sitting on a high chair behind the desk. “Hey” he said with a small smile.  

You look up from your book and smiled when you saw him, “You came back” you said matching his smile as it grew larger, “I guess my excuse to come see you worked, great book by the way, never thought I’d be into enemies to lovers but apparently I am” he chuckled and put the book down on the desk. 

“I’m glad you liked it; I wasn’t sure you were the type” you giggled. There was a moment of silence between you. A moment where you just stared at each other, admiring. “I have to close up the shop now, it was really nice of you to come back Deacon, it was nice to see you” Deacon smiled at your words knowing exactly how you feel.  

“It was nice to see you too.... hey do you want to join me for some dinner? I know a great food truck not far from here, we could swing by and get something” you wanted to burst with happiness, you didn’t think he had it in him to ask you out but he did.  

“Of course I’ll go with you, let me just grab my purse and lock up” you smiled you sweet smile at him and you giddily ran to the back room to get your stuff, hearing him laugh at your antics.  

When he opened the car door for you at the food truck you smiled and took a big inhale. He watched you fall in love with the smell of the food and you walked right up to the menu, “I don’t know what to get” you said to him, “Order for me”  

Deacon was about to speak when he heard his name being called out, his team was still here. He turned his head in sync with yours and watched a bunch of people walk up to you both. You instinctively stepped closer to Deacon but you quickly recognized Chris and Luca from earlier in the week.  

“I see you asked her out” Chris said. 

“I can’t believe it took him so long” another boy said who introduced himself as Jim Street 

“Oh, give him a break, it’s been a week” their team leader spoke up, Hondo. Their comments made you blush and you hid your face with your hands giggling. Deacon put his arm around your shoulder to shield you from the teasing while they laughed at the situation wholeheartedly. You're so happy Sergeant Kay came to your bookshop.  

🔹I hope you all enjoyed reading! I’d love for anyone to Reblog my work, Like and Comment so it can be shared! I’ve been wanting to write for Deacon for a while and I’m finally starting!

🔹On another note. Deacon is hot as fuck. And I want to write him in a nsfw kind of way. Eventually not atm I’d like some feedback on how you would feel after reading my work.

Taglist:

@twilightlover2007 @fluentmoviequoter @just-a-girl-who-wrytes @spnshortcake

[astrolynnworld]

eiffle tower

pairing: matt & chris x reader

summary: chris sees the way you look at matt. so he gives you the opportunity to have both

warnings: smut! cheating, plot twist, exhibition, degradation, praise, language, oral, penetration, switch matt, dom chris, pig roast, little bit of aftercare.

a/n- the highly requested duo smut 😩

word count: 2,073

i love chris so much but .. sometimes i can’t help the idea of “what if i had chose matt instead”

he carries himself so well and despite the fact that they’re triplets.. i really do see him as another version of chris

the version that is more tame.

whenever he sits with us at dinner and he just looks so pretty and proper

just eating his meal, observing the conversation, sharing a joke here and there.

he’s not too loud or quiet, he’s the perfect middle ground of enjoyable.

and he’s so caring towards me when chris isn’t around

he’s cooking? he’ll serve me first. dropped my phone? he’ll pick it up for me. too anxious to speak up? he’ll talk for me, regardless of the fact that he also has anxiety.

maybe it’s because i’m his brothers girlfriend but i just sense the underlying message of care

often times then not, chris will catch me staring off into a haze at matt.

i always have to play it off as if i just got lost in thought.

i mean i did get lost in thought..

the thought of matt’s eyes rolled back as i strok-

“y/n??” matt snaps me back into focus

“mhm?” i question as i stand at the fridge door aimlessly

“i think you dozed off again” he laughs slightly, “did you hear what i said?”

i shake my head no softly as i take a seat on the chairs behind me

“you okay?” he asks while inching closer and putting a hand on my shoulder

i look up at him standing over me

“i’m fine” i mutter out

“you’ve been out of it a lot lately. wanna know what would help?” he asks rhetorically

you.

“what?” i say before chris walks into the kitchen

“a hot tub?” chris answers, acknowledging that he had heard a bit of our conversation

“you always wanna go to the hot tub” i laugh as i switch my gaze to him

“it’s not the worst idea chris has had” matt remarks

“i could be down for a hot tub” i reply enthusiastically now that matt is down

“i’ll go ask nick if he wants to come while you guys get ready” matt says

“wait im coming with” chris follows behind matt

i walk back into the bedroom and roam around for something to wear

shortly after, chris comes back into the room

“nicks not coming, he has a fever” he informs as he tries to grab his swim shorts

i nod my head and sit on the bed as i watch him change

“see something you like?” he flirts as he slowly approaches me

“a whole lot” i smile as i look up to him for a kiss

“alright love birds. we can go now” matt comes in fully dressed

i grab my bag and quickly follow behind matt

our go to hot tub spot was at the warehouse, which was only 10 minutes away from their house

once we get there, matt grabs his key card so he can unlock the gate to the pool

we trail around the side of the pool and make our way to the hot tub

they both take off their shirts before stepping into the hot tub

i could see the masculine structure lining in their backs

the broadness of their shoulders

the width of their arms as they lean back against the wall of the hot tub

i’m so lucky that i at least get to fuck one of them bec-

“wait! i forgot my headphones at the warehouse last time. i need to grab them before i forget again” chris says in a hurry as he gets out the hot tub and makes his way back to the house

“and bring some towels please” matt shouts after him

“watch him come back with none” i chuckle at his attempt

“no yeah for sure. kids gonna come back with a pepsi and forgot what he even went in for” he says as we share a laugh

“how do you even put up with him?” he says in a curious manner

“what do you mean?” i question

he starts to inch closer from the other side of the hot tub

“i see how you act, you’re not like him. you’re polite.. clean.. civil.. well mannered. how do you put up with him?” he says while fully towering me

“i- we- well because i love him” i nervously speak

“do you love him? because i see the way you look at me y/n”

i freeze in my spot

“you think i don’t notice but i do. you’d rather be with me huh? you’d rather it be me that you lay with every night right?” he taunts over me

“me who fucks you to sleep? every. single. night.” he whispers into my ear

“matt what are you doing..” i shyly whisper out

“say it baby. say you want me instead” he puts his nose to mine

i look into his eyes, “i want you instead”

he closes the gap between our lips with passion

sloppily pulling away and going back in for more as he wraps his hands around my waist

i feed into the passion, feeling a fire of energy ignite in me

“i KNEW it.”

i heard a voice speak from above us

i jump back from matt’s arms as i look up to see an angry chris standing outside the hot tub

matt starts to slowly back away as chris gets back in the hot tub and comes straight for me

he grabs my throat, “you’re such a slut. making out with my brother when i’m less than 30 feet away? you thought i wouldn’t find out or you just didn’t care?” he asks

i stay silent as i try to release his grip from my throat. only making him squeeze harder

“you know.. i had a feeling you were a slut. that’s why i put him up to this”

————————————————————

earlier:

“wait i’m coming with” i followed behind matt

after y/n walks back to my room i stop matt in his tracks

“i might need you to do a weird favor for me.” i speak hesitantly

matt was a great brother but i don’t know how deep that great would go for me

“what?” he asks

“i need you to tempt y/n into cheating on me”

“.. why the fuck would i do that?” he questions

“i’ve been seeing the way she looks at you recently. i need to know if she would or wouldn’t fold”

he can hear the genuineness in my voice. i wouldn’t ask him to do something like this if i wasn’t serious

i still love her..

i just needed to know if she likes him or not, how far she was willing to go about it.

“alright bro. i’ll try” he says before continuing to walk up to nick’s room

————————————————————

present:

i gasp as i start to find it hard to breathe.

he lets go of my throat and pulls my hair back so i can look him in the eyes

“you wanna fuck my brother so bad right?”

he pulls my head back to matt

“here. have him”

he turns me around and bend me over in front of matt

“bro.. i don’t know about-“ matt starts to speak

chris grabs my throat and shrinks down to my face, “tell him how much you want him baby. tell him how you want him to put it in. beg for it”

i silently stare at him in shock of his new aggression

“tell him.” he slaps my cheek

“please put it in matt.” i turn back and speak

“beg him for it” chris continues

“please matt, i beg you. just put your cock inside me”

matt slides my bathing suit to the side and slowly starts to align himself with my hole despite the water making it hard to see

“good girl” chris speaks before placing a kiss on the cheek he just slapped

matt lets out a heavy breath as he slides himself along my walls

i gasp as i feel the added pressure

“feels good doesn’t it baby? feels good to be a slut right?” chris speaks

i nod my head with my pout

“say it baby. say it feels good to be a slut” chris adds in

“it feels good to be a slut” i whimper out as i back into matts cock while he meets me halfway

chris traces his fingers against my lips, “who’s slut are you?”

“yours chris. i do whatever you say” i whine out as i squint my eyes from the feeling of matt’s cock hitting against my cervix

“mhmm. so good for me baby” chris says as he pushes his fingers in my mouth for me to suck

i can faintly hear matt trying to hold back his moans and whimpered pleasure as he feels my walls suck him in

the tightness of my walls clenching and pulling around him as he struggles to identify wether it’s the warm silky wetness is from me, or the hot tub.

shutting his eyes to focus on the pleasure

chris on the other hand, is so turned on by the idea of me getting slutted out for his pleasure

he likes the idea of another man being able to enjoy me like he does

i can see the bulge peering out through his swim shorts

i couldn’t let him go attentionless so i free his cock and start to jerk it under the water

he pulls away from me and slaps me once again

“did i give you permission to touch me slut?”

i pout and shake my head no

he places his cock on my cheek, “fuck. i could cover your whole face baby”

“please put it in my mouth daddy” i beg, tired of the teasing

“you want me to face fuck you baby? you wanna be a good girl and let daddy face fuck you?” he rhetorically questions

“yes please. please put your cock in my mouth and use me to your pleasure” i whine out before he shoves his cock in my mouth and starts to fuck into me

it’s like every time chris pulls out of my mouth, matt pushes into my hole. and when chris pushes back in, matt pulls out

it was a back and forth train of stimulation that sent my head into a spiral

i lost all my thoughts and all i could focus on was the whines and whimpers that poured out of my mouth into chris’s cock

“fuck keep moaning baby. it feels so good around my cock” chris whines out

“you’re squeezing- around my cock y/n.. fuck i don’t know how much longer i’m gonna last.” matt throws his head back as he starts to speed up the pace, sending me flying into chris’s dick

i know im gonna cum soon. i just feel so dirty, getting fucked and stuffed by two brothers in a public hot tub. it felt so nasty and so wrong, i couldn’t help but think of how hot that was

and imagining if someone caught us. how gross and nasty they would think i am. how much of a slut im being right now. fuck i’m gonna cum

i squeeze around matts cock as i let out my orgasm.

as soon as i finish i feel matt pull out of me, followed by trickles of warm liquid splatter all over my back.

“you’re such a fucking slut baby. you let guys cum all over you? you like when guys treat you like a fucking toy and use you to their liking?” chris continues to degrade

“fuck i’m gonna cum baby.” he finishes his final thrusts before coating my throat with his cum

he pulls out and i sit up in the hot tub with a fucked out expression, not being able to think for myself.

tears dry up against my face from not being able to breathe

matt starts to fix and play with my hair while chris wipes my eyes

“it’s okay baby, i still love you” chris says as kisses into my lips

i don’t respond. still trying to regain my sense

“we should probably get her back to the house” matt suggests

“yeah. let’s go” chris adds before he picks me up and carries me back to the car in a cradle position.

————————————————————

a/n- hope yall enjoyed 😘 i put my back into this one fr

taglist: @sturniologirlfriend @cutiepatootie36273 @secret-sturniolo @sturns-blog @sturniolo-2003 @mayaaatok @sturnswrites @mattsleftnipple03 @mattybswife @tropicasturn @princessbetsy123-blog <333

[bittertasteofhoney]

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 10

Fight a Little Harder

Summary: Roberta attempts to pull you out of your Joel-induced coma with a trip to the Tipsy Bison.

|| angst, jackson!joel, jackson!joel x f!reader, age gap (but legal!), reader is afab, physical violence, graphic language||

Notes: Oh boy did I make some peeps upset on my last update…so to continue to say I’m so sorry and grovel at your feet (like Joel really should), here is a super quick update! Thank you for sticking with this fic and showing support even though it is frustrating atm! I promise, more smut, banter and tension is coming your way lovelies.

(Also def still need to edit this so please ignore any typos or weird edits!)

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

For days, you walked in a daze. You couldn’t get his empty words out of your mind. You knew he was lying to you, but whatever lie he was telling himself won out in the end.

You did the bare minimum - went to work and home. You didn’t stop by the mess hall or volunteer to deliver rations or welcome packs. The only people that really saw you were your coworkers. You were a shell and you kicked yourself daily for letting Joel make you feel this way.

Anger now filled your evenings. Where did he get off deciding when your age difference was a problem? He seemed just fine when he was buried between your legs and when you spent every single night together. He was happy. You saw it in his eyes. So why the hell did he do this?

You knew he had to have heard something around town, but the obstacle that kept you in a roadblock was why he didn’t just come to you about it? Of course, you were bothered by the careless things people were saying but every night that he walked through your door and made you smile proved them wrong.

But now? Was it all true? Your inner demons were fighting each other for dominance, and it was leaving your mind in a fractured place.

After the fifth or sixth day watching you slumped over that week’s produce almost mute, Roberta finally lost all her patience. You were wrestling with a turnip plant when her shadow covered you.

“You’re really pissing me off.” You looked up at her in confusion, adjusting your hat to meet her eye. She was backlit by the midday sun, but even you could see the disappointed look on her face and those green eyes narrowed at you.

You shook your head in confusion as a response so she continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to wring Joel’s neck, but I’m also mad at you for letting a guy affect you like this. He isn’t worth all this moping if he was stupid enough to let you go.”

You sat back on your heels and released a deep sigh. “Trust me, I know. I hate who I’ve become but…what happened between us hurt, and I’m not ashamed to say my ego is bruised and I’m hurt and confused and…” Your voice caught and you took another intake of oxygen to steady yourself. “I don’t know. I guess I thought we were something special.”

She just stared at you, letting you speak. “And it just came out of nowhere. I know people were talking-”

“Fuck those morons.” A clipped laugh escaped your lips at her interjection.

“They didn’t know the whole story. I can see how it looked to the outside, but that night when everything changed. God, Roberta. I’ve never felt like that. It was…”

She held up a hand with a disgusted look on her face. “I really don't need the details. He made you happy. I got it. But he’s still an asshole for doing this. I don’t care about his reasoning.”

You nodded and dug a finger into the dirt, tracing a pattern.

“So, the only natural thing we can do to get you out of this funk? We gotta get you drunk, my friend. Andy is watching the kids tonight so I’m intending on drinking until I can’t feel my feet. ” Another laugh escaped you. “Your ass better be at the Tipsy Bison tonight at eight or so help me, I will drag you all the way to the bar top.”

She stomped away but for the first time in days, a small smile ghosted your lips.

Once eight rolled around, you already had a tumbler of whiskey in your hand and a gaggle of coworkers surrounding you in the warm-lit bar. You distractedly swirled the liquid in your glass when you felt a nudge and looked up to Roberta frowning at you. You flashed her a smile to appease her and spun around on your chair to motion to Tommy who was working the bar that night.

The second he caught your eye, he bounded over and gave you a wink. “How’s my favorite ray of sunshine doin’?”

You shrugged and swallowed what remained in your glass, sliding it his way. He grabbed a bottle from behind him and topped it off. “Just peachy. Thanks for asking.”

He leaned on the waxed wooden counter and you tentatively met his gaze. He looked at you for a long moment before simply saying, “He’s a goddamn idiot for hurtin’ the both of you.”

You barely had a chance to react or ask him more about what he meant when a rowdy group entered the bar. You took a healthy swallow of your refreshed glass when a whistle rang out across the crowded space.

“Sunshine! Just the girl I’ve been waiting to see.” Confused, you spun back around and wished you could take the action back when you met the searching eye of Roddy.

Roberta immediately grabbed your arm to move you away when you patted it to tell her you were fine. At least for now.

You felt Tommy stiffen behind you. He was the first to speak. “Roddy, you ain’t supposed to be in here and I suggest you turn your ass around before openin’ that big mouth of yours.”

Roddy threw his hands up, smirking to himself. “I mean no harm, Tommy. I promise. I just had a question I wanted to ask her.” You moved to stand, and he took a step toward you. Roberta shot him a murderous glance and he just laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me I had to basically be an octogenarian to even interest you? I didn’t realize soft dicks were your thing.”

You looked at your shoes, feeling your cheeks heat. Joel maybe wasn’t your favorite person at the moment, but his dick sure wasn’t soft.

The entire bar was watching your exchange. You felt Roberta’s hand on your shoulder.

“Roddy, get the fuck out of here. Nobody asked for your bullshit.”

Once again, Roddy pushed forward and Tommy hopped over the bar to put himself between the two of you. “You better not fuckin’ touch her.”

The asshole just kept laughing with his eyes glued on you. “Tell me, was it good? Did you enjoy that old man fucking you? Or was it him who enjoyed having you sit back riding his cock while you-”

Someone grabbed Roddy by the collar of his jacket, yanking him back and hauling him to the floor with a loud grunt. That someone was a person you didn’t even notice sitting in the corner of the bar accompanied by Maria while Tommy worked his shift for the night. You also somehow didn’t notice those chocolate brown eyes clocking your every movement from the moment you walked in.

Hell, you would’ve been surprised to see how long he held himself back before he just couldn’t take one more word out of that asshole’s mouth. And when your eyes clocked Joel on top of Roddy, the wave of deja vu that hit you was lethal.

His fists were flying at a rate that seemed humanly impossible, and you barely registered your choice to launch yourself toward the fray until you felt a strong pair of arms holding you back. You screamed his name and other townspeople in the bar tried to intervene, but no one could get close enough to stop those fists from connecting with Roddy’s cheek, ribs, mouth and nose. They just kept coming.

You screamed his name again, and for a brief moment, he paused but the sound of your scared voice only renewed his anger. You fought against Tommy and finally found a break in his grip. Instead of once again trying to intervene like many expected you to, you beelined for the door.

You ran outside and paused when your feet hit the packed mud, heaving in breaths. You leaned forward on your knees and tried to breathe deeply, but the tears finally came. The words Roddy said and seeing Joel for the first time since he broke things off hit you like a brick wall. The tears turned into soft sobs and you brought a hand to your chest as you heard another set of feet barrel outside.

You spun around and saw Joel standing there, panting and spotting yet another bloody lip. At least Roddy is consistent.

Your breaths came quicker and soon, you too were panting in anger. He opened his mouth to speak but you stole his moment away. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You closed the space between you and shoved him. “Why are you doing this?!”

Joel’s eyes were dark and angry, and even he couldn’t keep that from his voice. “Like hell am I going to stand around and watch while he talks to you like that. That little shit has no business-”

“No! You have no business.” Your hands were flying in vague gestures as the adrenaline and anger flowed through you and demanded to be emoted. “How can you tell me you want nothing more to do with me? And that I make you feel dirty. Then, turn around and waltz in with your fucking white horse?”

He just looked at you with angry eyes and you couldn’t stand it. “Say something!”

He brought a hand to his mouth and rubbed it, trying to control his own emotions. He’d never seen you this angry. Hell, no one had.

“Why did you treat me like I didn’t matter to you if you’re going to continue using your fists every time someone is nasty to me?!” He still couldn’t speak.

“I’ll give you this, Joel. At least you're consistent in your bullshit. Because none of it makes any sense. In theory, you shouldn’t care if what we had together felt so wrong.”

He stepped forward without thinking and bracketed your shoulders with his hands. You shoved him away again.

“No. You don’t get to do that anymore. You don’t get to touch me.” Your tears were coming in streams and covering your face in a wet shine. You touched your chest again to still your breath and the hiccups that were puncturing your words. “None of it makes any sense. Unless you lied to me.” You hated that your voice cracked.

He took a step back and whispered your name. You shook your head angrily. “Did you lie to me?”

His eyes pleaded with you to do something but you didn’t know what because the coward couldn’t even speak a goddamn syllable other than your name. “Is it because of what people were saying? Does small-town talk really matter that much to you?”

He just shook his head.

“Well, whatever it was, it sure made that decision a quick one for you.”

Again, he whispered your name and tried to close the gap between you. You let him, briefly. You met his eyes and wanted to fall back into time before any of this happened. You just wanted your nights back with him. You wanted him back.

“I’m sure you’ll get over this quickly, too.” You tore his arms off you and stormed down the road and back to your home that was no longer a place he could escape to.

As soon as you were out of sight, Tommy slowly walked down the steps and turned to his brother with a hard look on his face.

“You deserved everythin’ she threw at you. You’re a goddamn coward, Joel. You don’t fuckin’ deserve her.”

Next Chapter.

Tag List :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness @keseqna @millers-girl @treacherqus @lemonboi @spnfic85 @secretlettersfromyourlove @nosebeers @boscogirlsworld @aleemendoza2425-blog @puppi-sonnenschein

[thecreelhouse]

fascination

part one - let it suffer, let it shine

paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)

summary: the more you work with your boss, Steve, the closer you become— yet he still remains an alluring mystery.

WC: 4.9k (ik i said I’d have longer chapters, but it worked best splitting it this way. the next is longer I promise!)

includes: language. some angst and hurt/comfort. discussions of: grief, mourning, funeral practices, cremation and embalming techniques (just basics though nothing detailed). mentions of blood. takes place in the late 80s. reader has no description of appearance but she does have specific personality traits. if you don’t care for that, this isn’t the fic for you.

masterlist // vampire vibes playlist

A/N: Oh I am SO excited to finally start sharing this!! originally this was just smut for Halloween, but uh, kinda just grew on its own— smut is now in a later part lmao sorry, but plenty of tension and flirting coming soon 👀. Please heed the warnings on the masterlist and the specific ones for this part before reading! To anyone who gives this a chance, I hope you enjoy it <3 (dividers: @/saradika-graphics) title is from tunnel lights - chelsea wolfe

if you deny death, you deny life / let it suffer, let it shine / what must be severed? left behind? / what is there yet to find?

Your boss is fucking weird.

Then again, maybe it just comes with the territory of working in a funeral home.

At least he’s nice; having never worked for someone who was truly kind before, it was a pleasant surprise. There’s a genuine interest he holds in showing you the ropes as a starting mortician’s assistant; he’s probably happy to have the extra set of hands on staff, too. Plus, the field work counts towards your class credits—how could you say no to that?

The way he carries himself though, that’s where things seem… odd.

Everything odd about him is on a fringe; every so often, he speaks with a hint of formality, too formal for modern times. He’s got a certain Victorian flair to his wardrobe, but it’s only noticeable if you stare long enough (and lord knows you love to stare at him). He wears a strange pendant around his neck every day, one usually tucked underneath his shirt, but slips out from time to time; just enough to catch a glimpse. You’re pretty certain he actually lives in the Victorian style funeral home— the second and third floors are off limits to the public. The hours he works are closer to sundown, which you didn’t mind, it’s not like you were a morning person to begin with. Oh, and he’s cold to the touch. 

Always. Fucking. Cold.

You’re certain you’ve worked with corpses warmer than this man.

There’s something strange about Steve Harrington, and you’re dying to figure out what exactly that strange something is.

“Do you mind if I observe?”

Startled, you jolt and yelp, nearly dropping the brush and restoration palette from your grip. You turn around, wide-eyed while your annoyance fizzles into defeated laughter.

“Jesus, Mr. Harrington, stop doing that!” 

“Eugh,” he groans, upper lip curling in disgust, “I promise, you do not need to call me that.” He follows it up with an apologetic, warm smile, with his hands held up. “And apologies. I never realized how quiet I must walk until meeting you. Thought you’d be used to it a month in.”

“I’m gonna get you a pair of tap-dance shoes to wear around here.” Spinning back around, you attend to the decedent laid out on the table; you lean down, continuing your meticulous work on the restoration of their features. Every so often, you glance over at a photo the family offered as reference. 

“Oh, a new uniform?”

“Yep. Only for you, though.”

“Sounds like workplace discrimination.”

The longer you spent time around one another, the gentle banter became more comfortable to ease into; it just felt natural by now. You faintly smirk, focusing on the task at hand.

“Your restorative art skills always impress me.” Heat washes over your face with the compliment. He wanders around the embalming table, stopping across from you to study the details you recreated. “I find it cliche to say ‘they look like they’re sleeping’, but she truly appears at peace.”

“I always hated hearing that.” You huff out a laugh, checking the photograph again. “Even as a kid, I knew people were lying to make themselves feel better.”

“From that perspective, it’s understandable.”

“Absolutely, but it made me want to learn the process and do a better job. So… shoutout to the mortician that botched my grandpa’s restoration for inspiring me to go to mortuary school, I guess.” While you half-heartedly chuckle and shrug, Steve fixates on you, frowning.

“How old were you?”

“7-ish, I think.” You blend the thick, oily makeup onto the woman’s face, feigning a little bit of color on her empty shell. “Took a few failed college attempts to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and I think I was scared to commit to mortuary science. But… better late than never.”

Zeroed in on your work, you miss the way Steve watches you fondly, before circling the table back to you. When you pull your tools back, he gives the lightest, most gentle squeeze to your shoulder. “Not many people can find their footing after falling several times. You should be proud of yourself.”

As heat creeps along your skin once more, he leaves as silently as he arrived.

The touches are driving you mad.

Tiny, fleeting touches; hands brushing lightly against one another, little squeezes on your shoulder with encouraging words— they all send excitement coursing through your veins.

And they’re all from someone who should not be close to you like that. It’s unprofessional, and would have your skin crawling with disgust if it were anyone else. Yet a month and a half in, you’re realizing you like them, they’re comforting.

There’s also a mild thrill that comes with forbidden actions, even if they’re as mundane as one body briefly brushing against another.

Everything about this is unprofessional. Your morals and standards are dissolving before your eyes, making exceptions for some guy. Some handsome, charming, literally cold-to-the-touch guy, who’s also your boss. What did Steve have that was so special to drop aside your boundaries?

You’re nearing the halfway mark of the summer, and have learned quite a lot from Steve assisting him during embalming.

He’s strange, though— that’s nothing new— there are some … quirks… and workplace practices you’re thrown off by. Rather than drain a decedent’s blood into the drain, as protocol, he has the embalming pump directed into a peculiar tub, hermetically sealed off anywhere away from the connected drain hose.

“It’s easier to… dispose of this way. Won’t clog the old drainage system in the building.” He’d eventually explain, and surely enough, you never questioned it; after all, you’re only the assistant to his career experience. “And safer to dispose somewhere else that’s… appropriate.”

You never asked where that somewhere else was, but damn, if it wasn’t a burning question in your mind ever since he mentioned it…

“Today’s a slow one,” Steve says, not sparing you a glance as he’s rummaging through paperwork on the desk. “No one to embalm, and no services today, so don’t feel obligated to stay.”

You frown with a small huff; you just got here, and with each shift, you find yourself longing for more time with Steve. Attraction aside, you appreciate how patient he is while teaching techniques you’d never get in your classes. You’re able to focus with him, unlike under some of your professors.

That huff is just loud enough to catch Steve’s attention. Lifting his head, his smile grows when his eyes lock with yours, amused. “What? I figured you could use a break.”

Put on the spot, your face heats up as you shift uncomfortably in place. Steve’s expression settles into something calm, one with understanding as he takes in your energy.

“N- no, I appreciate it, but I…”

He sighs out your name and stands up straight, rounding the desk to narrow the gap between you. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called before you got here. You’re more than welcome to stay, I just don’t want to give you pointless busy work. Your time is worth more than that, angel.”

Your breath catches in your throat over the endearing term, casually pinned onto the end of his words. There has to be a foot between you and Steve, but this is the closest you’ve stood face to face with one another. 

It should feel weird, feel wrong, that he called you angel; any other employer parading this behavior would have you completely uncomfortable at best. There’s no tone that sets off discomfort or ill intentions— at least, you hope. It’s not like he’s tried anything strange, aside from those fleeting, feather-light touches, but those don’t bother you either. You can’t pinpoint why.

His comment on your time’s worth only adds to your trust in him; not most employers would value someone else’s time.

“It’s o- okay,” you shake your head, tearing your stare away from his lips. “I can leave.”

Something flashes in Steve’s eyes, but you can’t decipher what. You’d like to believe it’s disappointment, not ready to part ways for the evening this quickly, but you’re probably only seeing what you’d like to see.

“It’s not part of your credit requirements, but there’s a decedent I have to cremate. If you’d like to stay, I’d love teaching you the process.”

Most folks would not feel welcomed by an offer like that, and would turn it down with ease. You, though, always eager to learn the ins and outs of this field, nod immediately. 

Doesn’t hurt you’ll spend more time with Steve, either, of course.

Half way through monitoring the cremation’s progress, while fixated on the retort, you blurt out a thought that’s been brewing since the decedent was placed inside.

“Is it wrong to embalm others but not want that for yourself?”

Steve turns to you, brow quirking slightly, intrigued by the question. “Hm… personally, I don’t think so. We all have our preferences, and they should be respected and carried out before we’re laid to rest.”

You fidget on the cold, steel stool, finally meeting his gaze. “‘Cause I like helping people… I like being able to give closure to others, make the farewells a little more… peaceful, I guess.” You shrug, glancing back down at the notebook in your lap, scribbled with on-the-fly points and tips for cremation. “But I wouldn’t want that for myself.”

“And what would you want?”

You roll your eyes before speaking, “Something more than a box in the ground. I wish natural burials were more common… I think being laid to rest under a beautiful tree just feels… right. Or with some of my favorite flowers planted nearby. Giving myself back to the world that gave me so much… feels more human than being dolled up to rest in a cold, lonely casket forever.”

Silence lingers, and you worry you’ve rambled too much, especially noticing the way Steve’s stare is glued to you.

“I- okay, please don’t fire me for saying that. I don’t judge anyone who wants that, or any kind of burial, I just mean for me, y’know?” You cringe at yourself, waving your hand. “Forget I said all of that.”

“I’d never fire you for having your own beliefs,” Steve shakes his head. “Certainly not for ones as beautifully thought out as that. We don’t get to decide where we’re born, but we have the choice to decide where to be laid to rest. Of course not everyone would want the exact same thing. Shame the more gentle option isn’t legal here.”

Relief washes through you, shoulders resting away from tension. It eases you into asking, “So… if you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Harrington—“

Steve makes a gagging noise, tongue out with dramatics. “Don’t call me that.”

“Right, sorry,” you laugh, slipping into a new shared comfort. “Well… what would you pick?”

Brows jumping up, his eyes grow wide. “Me?” You nod as he sighs with a shrug, running his hand through his hair. “I, uh… haven’t really given it much thought.”

The mood in the room shifts, and you take the hint. “Yeah. No, yeah, I get it. S’kinda hard to think about sometimes… dying I mean.”

Oh my god, I need to shut up. What sense does that make? We’re both morticians!

Slumping in his seat, he rests his head back against the wall as his eyes close. “You’re not wrong. It’s vastly different compared to thinking about it for those we care for here.”

A breath of relief passes your lips; okay, maybe you’re making more sense than you give yourself credit for.

“Yeah, separating work from reality, and all that…” Trailing off, you remember the third layer of this discussion, still unspoken. “It’s scary to think about for those you love.”

There’s no verbal response, only Steve left staring at you right as he opens his eyes… maybe dumbfounded? Bothered? Christ, you wish it wasn’t so hard to read him sometimes. The man is strange and mysterious— both, at times, infuriating.

A shrill ring breaks the trance, causing you to drop your notebook and Steve to jump up, alarmed. He rescues your notebook and pen from the ground, handing it over with a nervous laugh. “I- I’ll go get that.”

He rushes into the prep room, answering the phone in a hushed, frantic whisper, unable to make out what he’s saying. You peek through the narrow window of the swinging doors, watching Steve run a hand through his hair again, tugging a little out of what seems like frustration. He holds the phone up with his other hand, shaking his head before slamming the handset down onto the hook.

It’s pure curiosity and concern, keeping you fixated on him while he’s distressed; even from a distance, it’s easy to tell how unsettled the phone call has made him. He rubs his eyes, shoulders sinking with what you assume is a sigh. 

Whatever’s attempting to drag him down doesn’t last long as he fights it off, sighing one more time before turning for the door. His eyes lock with yours, halting his pace, but only for a moment. You turn away, embarrassed you were caught being nosy.

Steve pushes the door open, forcing a smile down at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You dare to ask, “Is everything… okay?”

One brief, flat laugh slips out as he shakes his head, “Ask me again tomorrow.” 

Sliding back into his chair, he drags it closer to you, his knee knocking into yours, contact earning a shiver up your spine. 

“Mind if I check your notes?”

He’s trying to distract himself from whatever has him upset, you just know it; now he’s easy to read, only because you witnessed his mood shift. Over what, though, you can’t say, nor is it your place to ask.

Instead, you indulge in the request, handing over your notebook to him with a nod, moving on politely for Steve’s sake.

“Hey, kid. Got a minute?”

You glance up from your work— preparing the decedent in the casket for the viewing later this evening— to see Eddie stroll in. 

Eddie is Steve’s best friend, and hearse driver. He’s usually the one on call for tasks like picking up those who passed, and driving the decedent to their final resting place.

The family requested the decedent— a mother— be buried with a handmade quilt, one of sentimental value, made of the shirts that once belonged to her late husband. The quilt was comfort in time of grief, only to be cut short before she herself followed after him into a life somewhere beyond here.

It’s always intriguing to hear every family’s beliefs and their versions of the afterlife. Heaven. Paradise. Maybe reincarnation. Maybe nothing. Who knows where we end up when our time arrives?

You just hope this woman and her husband are somewhere at peace, happy, free of suffering, wherever that may be.

“Hel-looooooo?” Eddie waves his hand in front of your face. Goddammit, spacing out again. “You doin’ alright?”

Snapping yourself out of the haze, you force a nod. “Ye- yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, long day. What’s up?”

“You gonna be okay for tonight’s viewing?”

“Why, you gonna do it if I say no?” You chuckle.

“Oh, fuck no. You know me, I’m just in charge of the pickups and hearse cruising.” He snickers, shaking his head. “Stevie boy’s on his own if you have to leave.” Then he glances over his shoulder to the door, dropping his voice to a softer tone. “Is he around?”

“No,” you answer, multitasking to not lose track of time, tucking the quilt in neatly to the walls of the casket. “Why?”

“He’s uh… look. Don’t tell him I told you this,” Eddie drops his voice even lower. “I don’t wanna tell his personal shit to others, it’s not my place, but he’s not doing too hot. You mind just… I know you’re busy, and focus on your work first, but just lemme know if something feels… off.”

As if Steve himself doesn’t seem off as a person to begin with. Same with Eddie, but not so much. He doesn’t seem stuck in formalities the way Steve can be sometimes.

“Okay… off how?”

Eddie sighs, rubbing his hand down his face. “He’s really having a hard time with a—“

“Oh, Eddie!” Steve’s voice cuts in, causing the two of you to freeze. “I was looking for you.”

Speak of the devil.

Well, maybe not ‘devil’— oh, whatever, brain. Shut up.

Eddie’s face deflates with his back still turned to Steve. He whispers, “Please, just keep me updated, alright?” Then he spins around, strolling back down the aisle between chairs for the guests. “Stevie! Hey, man. What’s up?”

Steve makes eye contact with you, giving a ghost of a smile, one that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. He turns to Eddie, arm around his shoulder to lead him out. “Maybe we should talk out here, give some space so she can focus.”

You’re grateful he’s been accommodating to your needs when it comes to your line of focus; it seems like a chore to most employers to consider.

Except, you’re left concerned about him. Even as the two men left the room, your focus seems to have departed with them.

It’s going to be a long evening.

Just before the first viewing you’re assisting begins, you gather the courage to ask a burning question, one that’s been on your mind since you began this job. You hope, too, it’s a gateway to figure out what’s got Steve so “off” as Eddie put it, but you’re not even sure what signs you should be looking for. 

As you wait by the front doors for the family to arrive, you glance over at Steve, watching you curiously.

“Mr. Ha—“ You catch yourself, watching as a smile curls along his lips. “Steve?”

“Yes?”

Running your hands over your blazer, you attempt to flatten a faint wrinkle, one that’ll bother you the rest of the night, now that you’ve notice it. “Could I ask a personal question?”

His brow quirks, turning toward you. “Of course.” He notices the way you continue to fidget with your blazer, reaching out to gently stop your hands. “You’re nervous?”

Shivering under his touch, you find yourself drawn to lean into it, but resist.

“A little,” You admit, but he gives a look, obviously seeing right through you and your jittery nerves. “Okay, a lot.”

“What for?”

“Well, ‘cause I—“ Your forehead creases and you frown. “Hang on, you didn’t answer my question.”

“We’ll get back to that, your comfort is more important, angel.” Your stomach flutters from the way he calls you angel. “What has you so bothered?”

It takes so much effort to pull yourself back into the moment after he addresses you with an endearing term. “I’m just… I don’t know, I keep second guessing myself. What if my work isn’t good enough? What if I upset the family?” You feel so foolish for getting so worked up, but you can’t stave the self-doubt off any longer. “Do I have time to adjust anything?” You glance back into the viewing room, scanning over the decedent’s appearance for flaws. “Can we—“

Steve’s hands rest on your shoulders, stealing your attention from your spiraling thoughts, breath hitching in your throat.

“If I didn’t believe in you, or your hard work, I would’ve done the restoration, and you wouldn’t be assisting tonight.” He locks his stare with yours, eyes kind, gentle, matching his faint smile. He notices the way you tense under his touch, hands retreating from your figure. “Sorry, that’s— I don’t mean to be creepy, or anything—“

“You’re not creepy, Steve.” You reassure him, despite frowning. “You mean well, I know you do. Might be a bit… inappropriate, though.” You look away, knowing in any workplace, it is, but here, you just feel like you’re helping others with a friend. “I- I mean, I truly don’t mind, but if someone else sees—“

“You’re absolutely right, my apologies for crossing that line.” He gives an apologetic smile, but it’s fleeting, backing away a few steps as he clasps his hands in front of him. “We work together so well, I tend to forget we’re only coworkers.”

“We can be friends, too, you know.” You glance out the front doors, afraid to attempt eye contact again. “I kinda already consider you my friend… if that’s not pushing boundaries, of course.”

Steve gives a kind smile, softly snorting. Something you’ve noticed in the time you’ve worked together: he never fully grins, even when laughing. It’s almost like he restrains himself from displaying any brief joy, and you can’t figure out why.

“Of course that’s not pushing boundaries. Not for me, at least.” He glances out to the parking lot, eyeing the first few cars that roll in. There’s still another five minutes or so before the viewing begins, so he doesn’t cut the conversation short. “But I’d like you to make that choice on your own. I never want you to feel pressured into anything. Whatever the decision, I will respect it.”

“Then yeah, we’re friends.” You feel a layer of tension peel away, comfort setting in. “Since we’re friends, do you mind me asking why you became a mortician?”

Steve inhales deeply through his nose, caught off guard by your query before exhaling roughly. “There’s… a loaded answer to that question.” He hesitates, clearing his throat. “I don’t mind sharing, but this isn’t the best time or place.”

“Right, shit, I’m sorry—“

He sways forward, like he’s about to step closer, but reels back as he remembers— right, workplace boundaries.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, angel.” His gaze is soft and sincere, shooting a reassuring smile. “Let’s talk after the viewing.”

The guests are now long gone, and you and Steve have just finished rearranging the viewing room for the morning’s funeral. You’ve tried staying aware for any signs Steve might’ve shown in his mood or demeanor that something’s not right, but nothing’s changed, not that you picked up on.

Steve barely locks the viewing room’s door before your restless energy finally comes to a head; you’re right on his heels, startling him for once as he turns around.

“Christ!” He yelps as he bumps into you, but quickly narrows his eyes while you giggle away.

“Nope, just me.” In a childlike manner, you stick your tongue out teasingly. “How’s it feel to be spooked for once?”

“You’re a petty little thing, aren’t you?” Resting his hands on his hips, he gives you a once-over; you scoff, trying to ignore the warmth blooming under your skin. 

You cross your arms, snorting, “Would you rather some boring, strait-laced assistant instead?”

Okay, where the hell did that boldness come from?

Steve steps closer, toe to toe with you as he smirks. “Cheeky, too. Will I have the pleasure of seeing a whole new side of you now that we’re friends?”

“Depends,” Shrugging, you walk off, but throw a glance over your shoulder. “Will you trust me as a friend with your answer now?”

That’s how the two of you end up in his roomy office, with Steve, legs thrown across a luxurious love-seat, while you’re cozy and sprawled out on an antique recamier. It’s dim from a few low lights, but the moonlight pouring in through the parted drapes offers a comforting illumination. Your blazer is slumped over a cushion, and he had unbuttoned the first few buttons of his dress shirt.

Somehow, just hanging out like this, it feels normal. Casual. Familiar. 

“I can’t believe you have a fainting couch,” you murmur, sinking into the soft, velvet pillows. “You ever wonder how many people in corsets this thing has caught back in its prime?”

Steve snorts, shaking his head, “That’s a myth, you know. They weren’t even called that in the Victorian era.”

“I didn’t ask for a history lesson—“

“You clearly needed one.”

Jaw falling slack, he laughs harder, but shields his grin with the back of his hand.

“Why do you do that?” Puzzled, he furrows his brow. “Cover your mouth when you laugh, I mean. You do that a lot.”

Ruminating, he cautiously answers, “Because I don’t… I’m— it’s a self conscious thing, I think.”

Your lips curl downward, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me to ask.”

“I’ll, um… delve into that some other time.” He clears his throat, “But I have another question of yours to answer first.” He stares up at the ceiling, arms resting up behind his head. “You want to know why I entered this line of work, yes?”

“Mhm, it’s fascinating to me what everyone’s deciding factor is.” You hug a pillow of your own; this feels like a sleepover, the part filled with exchanging scandalous gossip and whispered secrets. Though, you know his answer will be far from something so trivial.

You don’t expect a drawn out sigh from Steve, but it crowds the room regardless. 

“I used to watch over a group of kids in my old neighborhood, kind of unintentionally, after some… mishaps. My parents had a large home, but they were rarely around, and some of the kids needed a safe place to go that weren’t their own homes. They became something akin to… siblings to me, and over time I discovered I truly loved caring for other people.

“They led me to some friends closer to my age over time— that’s actually how I met Eddie,” He chuckles as he mentions his friend and business partner. “Things felt so… complete. A patchwork family of misfits, but it was my family. It didn’t matter that my parents were absent, not when I was surrounded by others who cared, and that I cared so, so much for.”

You can already tell he was serious when he said it was a loaded question, especially with how his voice cracks from time to time.

“I…” He shudders, running his hands over his face. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about the details yet. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it just kills me having to say it aloud.”

You sit up, shaking your head, “No, please don’t feel like you need to tell me. I shouldn’t— I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“What did I tell you earlier? There’s nothing to apologize for, and I mean that.” His words are firm but the tone is soft, reassuring. “I lost almost all of them… it’s an awful type of dread to live with, feeling helpless when you’re unable to help others, keep them alive. It took a lot of time, and grief, but I accepted the reality. If I couldn’t help others stay alive, I could at least care for them in death, give them a proper sendoff. It felt like I had a purpose again, and— ah, damn.”

Grabbing tissues off his desk, you rush across the room to him. “Here—“ Streaks of red lined his palms sporadically where streams of tears should be. “Steve, oh my god, are— are you okay?”

He yanks a fistful of tissues into his hand, shoving them against his eyes. 

“It’s- I’m fine, I swear. I have this— it’s this… medical thing,” Steve stammers as he bunches tissues to his eyes with one hand, waving the other while trying to explain quickly. “It’s alright, nothing to fret—“

“Should I call an ambulance?” You don’t allow him to finish, panic rising while you answer yourself, “I’m calling an am—“

“Don’t, I’m fine.”

“Steve…” Cautiously, you settle on the loveseat next to him, observing him for any sign of distress. He only continues to blot his eyes, leaving crimson splotches behind on the tissues. “That can’t be healthy to… that’s…”

“Those children I used to take care of would say “friends don’t lie”,” Steve sniffles into the fabric, sighing with the weight of grief. You watch as blood soaks into the paper, and how unbothered he is by it. “I still stand by that. You and I are friends now,” he dares to turn his head, glancing toward you with worn, weary eyes. “I’d never lie to you.”

“But you’re not telling me something important,” you add with persistence. “You may be a bit older than me, but I’m not that naive.”

Voice dropping barely above a whisper, he counters, “Withholding the truth isn’t always lying. I’ll tell you, in time.” He crumples up the tissue in his fist, clearing his throat, eyes falling back to the floor. “It’s not something that’s easy to talk about.”

Something in the back of your mind tells you to run; the blood tears and mystery of his past alone are enough to set off the alarm bells. You should leave. You should quit. Something is wrong here.

Yet your gut feeling urges you to stay, to patiently wait for Steve to eventually open up, trust you completely. You’re friends now, and whatever is going on is clearly causing him great pain.

The alarms silence, the voice screaming at you to run quiets down— you’ve felt safe with Steve since the very first day you walked in here, and now that you’re friends, it’s only fair to return that safety back to him. Whatever is wrong isn’t with Steve, but something of his past, weighing so heavily on his heart all this time later.

What’s really wrong here is the unspeakable heartache Steve’s been enduring for so long.

“Well…” boldly, your hand blankets over his fist; you constrain your reaction his cold skin, shivering through you. Steve’s head snaps up, taken aback by your touch. Even through the red tears welling up in his eyes, they’re soft, honest; any panic left withers away when the hurt in his gaze is stronger. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.”

[hanasnx]

" DON'T BURY THOUGHTS THAT YOU REALLY WANT " — katsuki bakugou.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established coworker relationship ノ sexual and suggestive content: dirty talk ノ degradation: m+f receiving ノ body shame joke.

You’ve known pro-hero DYNAMIGHT for years now, and he just started paying attention to you in ways you notice. Admiring him from afar was easy, but closing in was another matter entirely; working alongside one another got you in the same proximity, and he was forced to acknowledge you. He treated you like any other person he meets, and after studying him, you figured out an in.

Instead of a simple, “I’ll kick your ass!” from him when you’ve pissed him off, you’ve devised your own special language with him. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem to give you the impression you’ve gotten the best of him. Instead, you’re rewarded with hateful but sexual confessions. Now when you piss him off, his and your special brand of understanding and humor have turned a violent warning into a disgusting promise. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” he tells you.

If anyone was listening in, they’d think you and him have entered some romantic relationship, completely inappropriate to your professional standings. On the contrary, you’ve trained him to speak to you in a way that pleases you without him even knowing. Now your banter with him consists of angry flirting, and he still believes he’s making threats. Out on the battlefield he shamefully critiques your poor choices with something along the lines of, “Was gonna fuck your brains out tonight, but it looks like my job’s already done!”

You wear it proudly. You’ve managed to get the great Katsuki Bakugou to do what you want him to. After a long, arduous process groomed by your consistent schedule with him, spending time together observing him as you work alongside one another, you’ve done it. In place of him calling you a simple idiot, he tells you you’re lucky you’re hot.

A “fight” with him, looks like a horny situationship from the outside, publicly debuting your desire for one another like PDA-obsessed freaks. You delight in it, while he remains oblivious. At least you thought he was. More and more, he leans into this little share of humor you two have going on, wit that leads you into suspicion.

“You look like shit. Maybe if you slept over at my place, I would’ve tired you out enough to get you to bed at a decent time.” Bakugou notes, passing you as if he’d relayed the weather. Brows furrowed, you pivot your head to watch the back of his while he strides on. It’s unusual that he’d phrase it that way, regarding it as opportunistic rather than domineering. You shrug it off under the basis he’s just evolving the jokes, he’s not extending an offer.

The next day isn’t so different, sitting across from him at the table in a meeting you’re both early for. His body language is lax as always, an elbow hooked behind a corner of the chair, his glove at his belt, legs spread far. Taking up as much space as possible, whereas your hands are clasped neatly on the surface in front of you. You can tell he’s reading you, those crimson eyes unapologetically scrutinizing your erect posture and a cruel grin stretches one side of his mouth. Sighing impatiently through your nose, you call him out on being a creep. “What? What’re you lookin’ at, Bakugou? You want me or something?” you call upon that unique sense of sexual humor, hoping to trip him up.

No such luck. He snickers, and leans back in his chair to cross his thick arms across his wide chest. A pose that leaves you gulping, and he visibly notices how your eyes wander for a milisecond. “Whatever guy you’re fucking is doing a shit job because you’re still a bitch with a stick up your ass.” Has he been cooking that up this whole time? He looks mighty pleased with himself.

“Don’t be a pig, Dynamight. Who I’m sleeping with is none of your concern.” you retort, and you’re not beating the bitchy allegations. You stick your nose in the air in spite of yourself, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him teetering on the back legs of his chair. So you peer at him a little more deliberately while you’re faced away. “Unless you want a piece, that is.” A much more subtle flirt, gauging his reaction to such a timid offer.

Meanly, he scoffs. “‘A piece?’” he parrots. “What, a piece? Of that little thing? The fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh? Ass like that you’ll have to work for it.”

“Bakugou!” Somehow, he went a little too far that time. A pang of hurt is uncharacteristic to experience, and yet it twists your heart. You mask it, trying to match his energy in a way you can manage. “Are you just gonna comment on my body or are you gonna do something with it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna do som’thin’ with it, alright. I’m gonna do som’thin’.” A greedy expression shifts his features, eyeing you up like you’re a meal, a prey. Maybe he's catching on to you... And before he can explain and you can rebuke, other heroes enter the meeting room, and all four legs of his chair land with a slam.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[psychemochanight]

So... Dick Grayson's Headcanons :D (this gonna be a long post-)

Some mine and some from the fandom!

Obviously not all of them (I don't have all of them in mind right now), but as you know, we will continue to post them here anyway🤙

And I already mentioned some of them before, but I'll mention some of them again anyway.

First I remind you that these are just HC and/or things that I like to project onto the character, you don't have to agree or share them with me, if you don't like one, just skip it please, you don't need to come here to discuss because of a HC of a fictional character.

I also advise that, although I always try to ensure that the HCs do not interfere with the canon, some may contradict it (mostly because I forget certain details of the canon- lmao).

Disclaimer made (?), let's go to it ✨

Dick has the body of a person who does calisthenics, an acrobat's body, indeed, more than that of an Olympic male gymnast.

(Ignoring canon on the first one, lmao). But yes, I like to think that Dick doesn't have as much muscle as Bruce, that way he can keep his flexibility intact, because, no matter how flexible you are, if you have too much muscle, you lose mobility, so, yeah. Still, he have more muscle than the average acrobat, but not as much as a gymnast... Kinda sleeper build.

Many heroes thought Dick was a meta.

Mainly due to his flexibility, others for more silly things like being able to understand Flash when he speaks.

Dick has a very messy eating schedule, He often forgets to eat and sometimes eats twice as much, not because he is hungry, but because he has forgotten whether he has eaten or not.

He doesn't eat much junk food, although he is constantly on a sugar rush. Anyway, thanks to Bitewing he has a better schedule now, since he doesn't forget to feed her, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to eat something too. He still doesn't sleep enough tho.

Although he seems to be the most relaxed in his family, he is the second most paranoid after Bruce.

Paranoia + anxiety, more specifically. He takes it as best he can.

Ironically, despite his paranoia, he is the one who trusts the others the most in his entire family; but he always has a plan in his head in case he is betrayed.

He doesn't have anger issues, not all the time at least... The poor guy is just overstimulated.

Except when he is underestimated for being a "pretty boy", then the anger is real.

He is quick to learn to play instruments given his high muscle memory and keen ear.

Canonically he knows how to play guitar and also some piano.

Although Bruce knows more languages, Dick is the most fluent in them.

Bruce knows the languages, but he makes the typical mistake of thinking in his native language and then translating. Dick does have the ability to think directly in other languages.

When he gets angry, Dick talks very fast and starts mixing up languages, so even though Bruce knows all the languages Dick is speaking, can't keep up because he needs to translate everything.

Continuing with languages, I like YJ's idea of Dick butchering the English language... So, yeah, he actually does that.

But he doesn't do it because English is not his first language (even if he has Romani ancestry, his first language will probably be English, since it was the common language in the circus), but because he has spoken too many languages since he was little, then they get mixed up in his mind and when a word doesn't come to mind in English, he just makes up another one. Sometimes he just says the word in another language.

Another one about languages: even if he canonically only speaks 10-12 languages, for me he actually speaks/understands many more, he's just not fluent in them so he doesn't count them.

He is an AUDHD person, without diagnosis, but on more than one occasion his friends said it to him.

Barbara especially, has been telling him this since they were younger.

As an added bonus: AUDHD is harder to diagnose than ADHD or autism alone, since it is known that the characteristics of each one can diminish or even cancel the characteristics of the other; at the same time, it can increase other traits, but these may be wrongly attributed to other conditions.

I say this as someone from the field of psychology, please don't think I'm making this up.

So, Most of the "weird" things they noticed about Dick they attributed to his growing up environment and subsequent PTSD... Which is partly true, but not entirely true.

He knows too many random facts that no one knows where he learned them from, not even him.

He's on the asexual spectrum, probably demisexual, and biromantic.

This doesn't mean that he can't "enjoy" it, but he definitely doesn't feel the same as he doesn't feel a real attraction due to the lack of connection.

He liked the rain.

It's not exactly a trigger, but he doesn't like it like he used to.

If you understand, you understand.

He doesn't like compliments about his physical appearance, but he responds egocentrically to compliments about his other qualities, although this is to hide his shame, he does not know how to take compliments.

He prefers to act to hide his embarrassment, otherwise he ends up as a bundle of nerves.

He definitely did the thing more than once where he went to Metropolis and jumped off a building to get Clark's attention instead of visiting him like a normal person.

He loves it when his friends are the ones who initiate the hugs, especially since most of them lift him off the ground when they hug him. He'll never say it, but he loves this.

Although he acts like an older brother to everyone, the moment someone older is with him, he becomes an annoying younger brother.

He only does it with people he trusts, tho, since it requires him to let his guard down a little.

This is a very normal trait in older siblings, actually, and most of the time it is unconscious, and it is even more common if they were only children for a long time.

He likes to act dumb so the bad guys will underestimate him.

The bad thing is that sometimes even his family forgets that he is also considered a genius.

Here we ignore what DC did with Dick by making him more focused on leadership, he was always a child prodigy and always will be.

Alfred taught him to clean in specific ways because Dick complained a lot about the texture that certain objects had if they were not cleaned properly.

He also taught him cooking tricks, because otherwise Dick would starve because he doesn't like to eat many things.

He only likes chips... And also football.

It's pretty good in all kinds of art, He may not be a artist like Damian, or a dancer like Cass, but he holds his own in those disciplines as well.

He mainly uses drawing to draw structures or spoken portraits rather than for artistic and recreational purposes.

He only dances at events to which he is invited or any type of mission that requires it.

Tbf, canonically, he does know how to draw and dance, it is the reasons why he does them that is a HC.

He also knows how to do things like sewing and so on, his mother taught him to fix his own clothes.

He doesn't have a favorite color, but he tells people it's blue because it just makes sense to everyone.

He likes to wear superhero merch.

He can't stay in an office for the sake of his sanity, prefers dynamic jobs.

He also changes jobs very often even though he is good most of them, he gets bored.

He took too many online courses, he just never claims certification so it looks like he didn't study any degree.

Sometimes he just sits quietly with Damian watching animal documentaries without a narrator.

He often complains that Bruce never let him have a pet.

He knows perfectly well why he couldn't, he never had time to take care of one, he just likes to complain about it.

He is the one who scares his siblings the most, but none of them admit it.

He is the most stealthy (with Cass), a consequence of his bright yellow coat when he was a kid. Jason is the next stealthiest, but Dick is the one with the "light feet."

He definitely understands synesthesia.

He discussed many times with people about what color Monday is and what number is orange.

Summer is too hot and winter is too cold, he is team temperate, thank you very much.

He listens to music very often, he also sings to himself whenever he is not listening to music.

He knows lullabies in several languages, even those he doesn't actively speak.

He helps comfort frightened small children, and entertains older children with juggling and magic tricks.

His resistance to pain is terrifying, but when he is in serious pain, his childhood accent becomes thick.

He camouflages his childhood accent as an adult, adopting the Gotham accent, but can still use his real accent or imitate any other.

He often imitates the voices of the people he is talking to when they are being hypocritical, or simply to annoy them.

Although he mostly makes bad jokes, he is actually more than capable of making genuinely very funny jokes and pranks, he simply made bad jokes part of his personality since they were the ones that made Bruce laugh the most.

Although he grew up in the circus and knows more swear words than he should, he's not really a person who casually swears. He grew up being around people, especially children, so he knows how to control himself pretty well in that regard.

However, he knows how to destroy someone with words in a much more damaging way than with simple insults, even more than insulting them in every language there is and will be.

He looks pretty all the time, this annoys his friends and especially his brothers a lot.

Cass doesn't care about it, she finds it interesting and kind of funny.

He likes to braid Donna's hair. <3

And this is all that comes to my mind right now, but I will add more in reposts if I remember others, because I know I have more- especially since I didn't actually add HC of him as Robin or Nightwing-

And if you notice any mistakes, sorry, writing too much actually messes with my brain... and my English-

Edit: Here's part 2 :D

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS pt. 2

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 3,754

A/N: I’ve been contemplating cutting this into two parts all day, but fuck it we die like men

The next moons were spent silently. Perhaps the entire situation had blown over, with Aemond taking the refusal as it was, and moving on to the next, or perhaps staying with Sylvi. Maybe that was for the best, as it would keep all the other girls housed.

The brothel had been closed for the day, the recent event had been enough for many businesses to close their doors. A war had been declared with the murder or Jehaerys, and with the dragons looming in the sky, it promised to be bloody. Of course, special allowances were made for soldiers and high-born, a back alley entrance just as suiting as a grand one when desperation calls.

Today was particularly slow, many lords stuck in meetings and soldiers in training yards. The girls took to mostly laying around, sipping wine and eating cheeses while they joked and told old stories.

"Where would you be, if not here in this brothel? If you'd taken a different path, made a different decision, what would you be doing right now?" Someone had asked, and after a contemplative silence, finally people began to speak up.

"In another brothel, perhaps." Earned many laughs.

"I'd be married to some disgusting old man, I'm sure of it. Fucked full of halfwit babes and barely surviving." You'd spoken up. "I heard my parent arguing in the night about a proposal they'd received from King's Landing. I knew it must've been some old Lord, looking to perverse himself on a young girl. That was the night I'd left."

"You ran to King's Landing to escape a life in King's Landing?" Maria questioned flatly.

"It was the last place I thought they'd look. And if they did look, they'd never find me, hidden in a whore house." The girls laughed and shared their own answers before moving on to a new topic.

The conversation was cut briefly to a halt when the door was heard slamming shut. All heads turned in time to see the curtain move and reveal none other than Prince Aemond himself. His eye scanned the room silently, lingering a moment more when he found me. I turned away and sighed, looking to the ground. Another girl jumped up and quickly ran to fetch Sylvi.

"Your highness, we did not expect your patronage this evening." Lauryn spoke up, laid on her side on one of the sofas we all surrounded. Mischief twinkled in her eyes as she met your gaze for a second before looking back to him. "Have you come for Sylvi? Or have you come for something...fresh." The other girls giggled. "New, perhaps? I would be more than happy to make a suggestion."

"Girls, do not tease our prince. It's very rude." A girl sighed and shook her head. "Will you please show Prince Aemond to Sylvi's rooms?"

The room fell silent as everyone looked to me. To refuse in front of him could be seen as disrespectful, and in a time of such uncertainty with the royal family, it would not do to test his standing. Especially with the almost forgotten history between you, that you would much rather pretend doesn't exist. If you were the one to guide him to Sylvi's room, however, it would not bode well with her.

"I think Lina had gone to fetch her, she should be here any moment." Maria spoke up, sensing your discomfort.

"I require her now, I do not have much time." Aemond finally spoke, hands clipped behind his back, and eyes unwavering. "Take me to her."

You sighed and moved to stand, dusting your hands off on your thighs and giving the girls a lasting glare that had them avoiding eye contact.

"Your highness." You mumbled as you passed him and headed towards the hallway. You did not hear him follow you, but you felt his presence, and gaze, burning into your back. You were quick to make your way to Sylvi's room, knocking and announcing your visitor.

"Surely she is here, I do not remember her mentioning any errands." You turned at her knob, to find it locked, a sure sign that she was out at the moment.

You were alone with him much to your chagrin, and his pleasure, you were sure. It had almost seemed like a setup, if not for the impossibility that Sylvi would ever agree to it. You had to admit, it was all rather flattering, the feeling of his eyes trailing your body in desire, but you could not entertain him.

"She is not in, your grace. I can leave a message for you, or I can see to her whereabouts, if the matter is urgent." You turned around to him, but did not look him in the eye, not wanting him to see anything more in your gaze than there was.

He was silent, looking at the door as if expecting Sylvi to manifest at any moment. Your eyes began darting about the hallway, looking for an out so you could get away from him and go about your business, particularly somewhere with witnesses.

"Your highness." You murmured the words to remind him of where you were, standing in a hallway in complete silence with no task at hand, and no end in sight. He still did not respond, only not he stared at your face, his eyes soft, but unnerving all the same.

"If you'll excuse me." you moved to pass him, but he grabbed your arm and placed himself in front of the exit, blocking you from leaving. 

The action stirred something in you, though you weren't sure if it was fear or desire. Aemond was handsome, you had to admit, but knowing who he was and what desiring him would mean for you was enough to swallow and pull away from him.

"I require refreshment."

"I'll have wine brought to you, would you like a room?"

"I'll take it in the kitchen, thank you."

A chill ran down your back at the thought of him, gracing your kitchen once again with his daunting presence, looming over your home and your peace. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, moving to pass him again, this time he allowed and followed you. When we passed the girls again, Maria watched with a hawk's eye, and sensing the tension, rose to follow us to the kitchen, the savior she is. You fetched the wine for him, and some bread and cheeses, dressing a small tray for him to enjoy and setting it at the table. 

He drank and pecked at the food, slowly savoring each bite, his eyes flickering to Maria every now and then, before returning in your direction. You could tell her presence bothered him, even if he did not say it. He could've ordered her out of the room, if he'd wished to. In truth, he could've ordered you to sleep with him if he'd wished to, but he didn't. Instead, he ate, and looked at the two of you, one with longing, and the other distaste.

"I was sad to hear about your nephew, Prince Aemond." Maria addressed him politely, likely attempting to lighten the tension in the room. She did not take on her same even, monotonous tone that she used with the girls. Instead, she purposefully lightened her voice and spoke with grace and propriety.

"Yes, as was I."

"They were there looking for me. I feel an immense guilt for it, knowing if they'd found me first, he would still be here."

The admission was surprising to the both of you. How did one respond to such a personal statement. Maria was better versed with loss, having mourned her mother and been separated from her siblings when her father sold her to Sylvi. But still, she did not respond, only looking at him with a pitying look before chewing her cheek and looking away. He looked sad, and that look did not suit him. You wanted to comfort him, to reach out and pet his snowy hair, but instead you refrained.

"I attended his funeral march. He was a beautiful boy, and he looked very sweet."

He reached out to grab my hand, and pressed a light kiss on the back of it, rendering me speechless.

"What will we have for dinner tonight?" Maria broke the silence, addressing only you.

"Likely bread and broth, we are low on meat with the war. I'm sure Sylvi will want to save it for working nights." You took your hand lightly from the prince to turn more fully towards Maria.

"Are you not well rationed for the war?" Aemond spoke up, if you could call it that. His voice was low, as seemed to be the standard for him.

"With the soldiers coming in, all the meat is sent to the castle, and what little we get is three times what it's worth. Those who can afford it are hoarding it away."

"I can have pigs sent from the castle."  He spoke with finality, as if there was no discussion about it.

"I'm sure Sylvi is managing it. She likely is out now, fetching more food for us." Maria answered for me, but he waited for me to answer, acting as if he hadn't heard Maria speak. "Times are hard us smallfolk."

"We are well, my prince. Sylvi takes care of us." You agreed, and turned away from him, busying yourself with small meaningless tasks that were obviously a ruse to get out of the conversation with him. He moved to speak, but was interrupted by one of the girls bursting into the kitchen

"Sylvi has returned, your highness. You wished to see her?"

"I'll find her myself, thank you." He stood to leave, and left us in silence.

Aemond did return on the morrow, with men in tow with meat and fresh ingredients. They loaded up the kitchen to your specifications, Aemond overseeing the entire thing, standing as close as you would allow and stealing glances to watch for your reaction.

"We've not had food so fresh for many moons, my prince, I cannot thank you enough." You curtseyed to him, imagining all the possible meals for the girls. A few girls lingered in the kitchen as well, clearly pleased with the food, but especially with the men who delivered it, who they ogled and catcalled openly. The men were obviously intrigued by the girls, many not having the chance to visit in a while. The tensions were clearly rising in the small kitchen, and it was quickly overwhelming your space.

"Please, put the flour bags on the floor, so I can scoop it out without lifting." You attempted to break the heat in the room, Aemond's eye shooting to you at the sound of your voice.

Aemond seemed to sense your anxiety, because he spoke up and dismissed the men, with confirmation that you could manage the rest. The men quickly left, and the girls followed in pursuit. 

"I truly cannot express my gratitude." You turned away from him to begin putting away the last few boxes of food.

"If the whores are well fed, they work better for the men. It keeps morale high." He explained, stepping with you around the kitchen. "And it made you happy, so I am happy to do it."

That rendered you silent, and you resigned to swallow and nod.

"I'm sure you know by now that I spoke to Sylvi about you." You winced at the prospect of the turn this would take, now that you were all alone with him and no Maria to mediate. "She said you do not..." He let the sentence die. "Are you a maiden?"

You shot around to look at him, surprised by his boldness. He was a prince, however, and the blood of the dragon. Boldness was his very being, so it should only have surprised you that it took so long for him to make his intentions more public. Turning back to the food, you gave a timid nod, knowing that he would not let the question go unanswered.

"And you are resigned to cook for the rest of your life? For whores?" You scoffed, turning back to your tasks and refusing to meet his eyes again.

"These girls are my family. Sylvi..." Your heart stuttered just at her name. The though of her knowing you were there, alone with the man who'd announced his desire to her so plainly. "Sylvi gave me a home when I needed one, she took me in when I was lost in a foreign place. I owe her my life, and she only asks that I earn my own way. I am lucky that I can provide food, and not what so many have to sacrifice."

"My family have forsaken me in many ways as well."

"Your family put you in a castle, on a dragon, feared by any man you come across. It is not the same, my prince." He was silent at that. "And my family did not forsake me, I left them."

"Why would you do that? Did they mistreat you?"

"Not particularly, no. I just didn't find happiness in the Riverlands, and I didn't want to spend my life there."

"You're from the Riverlands." He nodded, as if committing the information to memory. "Sylvi doesn't have to know." His unrelenting bargaining was quickly running sour with you.

"So that's what this is about? You've brought food to win my favor?" You turned around to find him much closer than you had anticipated, looming over you and trapping you against the table. You pressed your hands to the edge to brace yourself, and his eyes flickered to the motion before looking into your eyes.

"I do not like the thought of you unsatisfied. Hungry with no way to satiate your needs." The double meaning was not lost on you, and the words admittedly did something to your body that you did *not* expect.

"I have always managed."

"I can give you more. And I'll ask you for so little." He ducked his head down towards your face now, his voice lowering into a husky drawl that made your mouth fall open.

The desire was there, you could not deny. But there was too much hanging in the balance, too much at stake. Your home, your pride, the only semblance of family you'd ever had. And this was one of the few things you had left that was truly yours. You had your maidenhood, and you had control over who would have it. What good could it possible do to throw it all away just to fill the whims of some spoiled prince? No matter how handsome that prince may be.

"You ask for everything." You closed your eyes and turned your face away from him, unable to breath in his scent any longer. "And I cannot give you what you want at the risk of all I have-" His lips were on yours before you could turn away from him, and his hands were on your hips, pulling you to him.

You tried your best to pull away, whimpering into his mouth and pushing against him. Your hands found his chest and you pushed your upper body away, which only served to push your hips further into his, against the hardness he now sported and gladly rubbed against you. When he seemed satisfied with your kiss, he pulled away, moving to kiss at your jaw and neck.

"Stop." You were breathless and still pulling from him, but he was not hearing. "My prince, someone could hear!" He finally relented, ceasing his kisses but still holding you to him.

"I'm not here as your prince. Call me Aemond."

"I cannot, your highness. You must leave now, please." Your pleas went ignored. "You will ruin everything!"

"I will give you anything. Name it and it's yours, I swear." You sighed, shaking your head.

"I don't understand why you can't choose another. There are women here in excess. Exotic, talented beauties that will do anything you ask for."

"Have you not been listening to me? I am not some cunt-drunken fool, I want you." His declaration struck you dumb, and you jerked back at his admission.

This was somehow worse than if it'd just been some lust-driven obsession, the thought of him imagining a life with you or all people. You, the lover of a prince. Would you move to the castle? Become a mistress? A wife? Impossible, the crown would never allow it. Sylvi would have your head for it. If the thought of you fucking him had her so bristled, the thought of him loving you would raise her hackles. It was what finally gave you the strength to squeeze past him, still awestruck by what he'd just said, and in desperate need of distance.

"And what would that be like? I'd be a mistress to you? Would we have little half blood babies, with half a claim to the iron throne, and I spend my life worrying for their safety?"

"I would bring you to the Keep, and plead my case to my brother. I am his blood, he would not deny me a wife of my choosing." You scoff in disbelief and put your hand over your chest, sitting against the table again for support.

"You've lost your mind." You shook your head.

"Let me ask my brother. If he says yes, will you come with me?" His voice was desperate and low. A certain vulnerability hid in his eye, and he pressed himself to you once more, though this time in search of comfort instead of relief.

In truth, it would be a better life then you could ever have here. You would dine on food you did not prepare, and drink wine from foreign countries and wear dresses of the finest material, instead of the itchy rags you tolerated now. And more importantly, Aemond seamed sure in his love for you. It was quick, to be sure, and without much to sustain, but you could always relish in the idea of a man's devotions. Especially someone as powerful as Aemond. Not all marriages were born of love. Most were convenient, and you could always grow to love, if you both nurtured the relationship and allowed it to grow.

But wasn't that the very thing you'd ran away from? To dishonor your family as you'd done, and then turn around and do the very thing they'd asked of you? How could you justify it? Marrying a prince would certainly put you back on their radar. If they found you again, what could you say for yourself? That it was different, because it wasn't their decision? It would break their heart, and likely yours as well.

"It would not matter, I'm afraid. I cannot marry you for my own reasons, and there's simply nothing that can change the circumstances." Distancing yourself from him was hard, and seeing the downtrodden look quickly pass his face was harder.

He collected himself, cleared his throat and returned to the same look he'd first given you. Looking down his nose, hands clasped behind his back, eye staring through you.

"You are a foolish girl." His statement shot a look of surprise to your face. "You do not know what is best for you. You ran from the Riverlands at the idea of a proposal that would have given you stability and a title, because you were too stubborn to accept a marriage you did not choose, and you do the same now."

"How dare you? You know nothing of my situation-"

"I know well enough about you to know that you are incapable of making beneficial decisions. I've allowed your adventures and you've lived your life, it is time for you to grow up and be my wife as you were meant to be."

Oh.

The silence was disastrous. You could only look at him with wide eyes, though you could not see him. You were back to that night, the last time you'd seen your family. Listening from outside their rooms as they spoke so gleefully about your proposal, and how they could not accept it fast enough. How honored they were to be considered, and how well suited you were for this man.

Could it have been Aemond's proposal? Surely you would've known. Your mother would not have waited to share this news with you. A prince asking for your hand? It would've been a triumphant win for your family. You were no great prize, the daughter of a decently wealthy house in Saltpans. A prince would raise your station farther than you could every dream, not that it was ever something you worried about. More importantly, though, Aemond was not some old Lord wanting to steal a girl away from her joys. Aemond could have made you...happy. Or at least, content.

"You sent the proposal? All those years ago?" You questioned him, but the answer seemed plain to you.

"My father sent it. I was unaware of the plans until the message returned with news of your disappearance. A girl who would spurn the chance to marry a prince, it was unspeakable. Humiliating. But I could not fault you. You were confused, and scared. You did not know me, so I sought you out. Then to find you here, pretending you do not know me. I gave you another chance, why do you not want me?"

"I didn't...I didn't know." You felt as if you could not speak, your whole life had been laid out based off this very important event. To know you'd gotten it wrong was earth shattering.

"What didn't you know?"

The room melted in the corner of your eyes, distorting your view. You held your stomach to quell the nausea riding, and went to step away from Aemond, only to trip and fall down, sitting on your calves.

Aemond knelt immediately to hold you up, calling to someone for aid. Black patched clouded your vision, but you squeezed your eyes, hoping to eradicate them.

"What's happened?" Sylvi's urgent voice snapped you back to consciousness, at least enough to push away from Aemond. "Aemond, what have you done to the poor girl?"

"I am okay, I just...want to lie down. I need to leave here, I need my rooms."

"Some water for the poor girl." Sylvi ordered someone, and you were helped up and ushered away to your room, where the girls doted on you, whilst questioning what caused such an episode.

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