#Like there’s so much it’s insane ahahaha

[zenwhoberi]

What is the best gotg comic to start with/buy first to read?

i would say it largely depends on what you want! have a look through and see what tickles your fancy.

generally though, guardians of the galaxy (2008) by abnett and lanning is widely considered the best run and for good reason. it’s tightly paced and full of character and defined the guardians. basically everything since has been riffing off that run. if you start here, make sure to finish it off with the thanos imperative, which is the real ending! and if you want a massive epic that shows how the guardians got together, alongside nova shenanigans, it can provide that too. you can read the annihilation and annihilation conquest events (they’re basically unofficial guardians books, everyone shows up and it’s how they are formed), then guardians of the galaxy (2008) alongside nova (2007) because they both spin out of annihilation, then at the end of those read the thanos imperative in which the two storylines converge again. it’s good stuff and beyond a couple of early 2000s-isms (gamora spends half the time basically naked. i mean, power move, but still) it has aged pretty well.

al ewing’s run is by far my favourite alongside that, but I’m not sure how well it would work as a jumping on point as it relies on a lot of prior knowledge of relationships and traumas and has a really big cast, some of whom aren’t exactly developed to their fullest potential because the book was prematurely cancelled. the three books we did get were great and al ewing did an amazing job characterising peter, rich and gamora in particular (rich specifically. legitimate perfection).

if you want something closer to the mcu to dip your toes into, the 2017 run by gerry duggan was decent. people don’t really talk about it much i guess because while it starts off alright it unfortunately finishes with a bit of a whimper with the infinity wars event. but by all means it’s a not-very-intimidating place to start. it has the five from the first movie as leads. it’s not exactly top tier gotg, as i said, but it works well enough if the movie is the dynamic you’re used to and you want more of something familiar to get started.

in terms of solo books, once and done, groot had a fantastic solo book in 2015 (at least I think it was 2015? it’s by jeff loveness) which I would recommend to literally anyone, gotg fan or not. that’s also a shout. yeah, read groot. it’s not a massive commitment and it’s very wholesome.

the star-lord grounded solo book i never shut up about is a favourite of mine but, again, it relies a lot on prior knowledge of peter as a character because he’s coming to terms with a lot of stuff about himself. that’s not to say it can’t be enjoyed as a new fan, it can and i know people who started with it and enjoyed it. i just think it’s better appreciated when you know more about what makes him tick. it’s inherently not a good representation of gotg as it normally is (no space shenanigans, it’s set entirely on a few streets of NYC) but it does a great job as a little character study of pete. but if you see the summary and think it looks good well, why not! <3

#generally just. Avoid Bendis and Humphries I guess is the general sentiment <3 #feel free to ask about anything else if you’re interested in a book specifically!! i can’t imagine how confusing it is #coming into gotg comics nowadays #Like there’s so much it’s insane ahahaha #ask #gotg

[absolutemimery]

1 year since I fell in love with the big fat red guy

Extra selfship doodles hgghghhh

#I can't believe it's been a whole year and my feelings towards him are still very very strong (hyperfixiation goes crazy!!) #ohh my sweet Celestia I love him so much I'm serious I think about him every day and just smile and giggle to myself #like genuinely sometimes when I hear audios of him talking or see fanart of him #I just start blushing and smiling like an idiot or have a visceral reaction ahee hee #like demonic growling and flapping my arms or shaking them #anyways I am very normal and totally not insane ahahaha 😇/j #spooky month #bob velseb #bob velseb x oc #self insert x canon #self ship #spooky month fanart #also was listening to tea errors and got inspired by that line 🤭🤭

[boxwinebaddie]

How does Sheila and Gerald feel about Raven/Crimson Dawn

definitely not....Good things.

at least...

...not at first.

i mean, for one, isaac broflovski literally worships every beautiful cinnamon scented little breath raven makes out of that smirking, knee-jerking, puffed out, pierced up, pretty boy mouth of his and in turn, worships every mismatched sock worn, worn-out blood moon crimson dawn red doc marten-ador(n)ed step that his beloved raven of crimson dawn takes on planet earth. his world; we just live in it ofc.

according to raven superfan ike, who...should he hear so much as a *jingle* from the silver moon charms hanging from the back of said ravenstan signature doc martens or even the faintest little wind chime of emo boy earrings twinklin musically as another bitter breeze rolls by, ike will come a'running...in a pair of red doc martens.

...except his aren't broken in from nonstop marathon running and matrix dodging hoards of insane dawn spawn/tryin to get to taco bell in between sets ( even tho he knos he's not allowed to do that )

so, needless to say, ike is in...terrible foot pain.

but he is Also IN a brand new crimson dawn t-shirt.

signed by all the boys, and ofc, #baeven.

whose obnoxious, sharpied star-A signature can be seen from space.

care to comment, astrophysics major craig? he's interning @ nasa :)

anyways, that of course, was bad enough. because while ike is a free agent and basically able to do whatever he wants on account of his parent's obsession w/ helicopter parenting and suicide-watching kyle...wearin all black, sulking around and blaring satanic punk rock music at 3am on a school night...was def starting to tip the scales.

...but again, *sheila vc* boys will be boys, she had her own little rebellious streak back in jersey as swoww tittybang; it'd pass.

...however, it did Naught pass! and neither is super genius, giga iq ike because he started SKIPPING SCHOOL bc education systems are vegetation systems and institutions of oppression and depression.

and yet, cuttin class & saying fuck school was still not what grounded ike. not wearing all black, not blasting crimson dawn, not blowing off school or bleaching his hair...no, the straw that broke the camel's back, the thing that finally had good son ike overtake kyle for the first time in nearly 17 years and steal the title of bad son

...was when ike...STUCK A SAFETY PIN THRU HIS LIP.

SO HE COULD LOOK LIKE!!!!

RAVEN!

OF!

CRIMSON!

DAWN!!!!!!!!!!!!

oooooooooOOOOOOOF! and guess when ike did it?

right when kyle and stan walked through the broflovski front doors. and i bet you anything, ravenstan was in the LEAST pc outfit ever. best case scenario, he was in a crimson dawn shirt, a slightly less slutty pair of the signature raven tiny vegan leather hooker prostitute pants for nasty boys that need jesus and an open black puffer jacket...worst case scenario he was wearing...sigh

the support rock, fuck a rockstar tank top ;)...fml.

either way, he is def wearing a fishnet undershirt so you can see all his crazy tattoos, every obscene emo boy piercing is on his face, his nails are chipped/pitch black, his eyeliner in smudged, all his luggage is coffin shaped with 666 patched all over it and...his hair is BLUE.

so uh...not looking super kosher or ready for temple. HELPPPPP.

yeeeah, sheila is not super stoked on him, especially as she's mopping up ike's lip blood with a rag...oh my god, stan is So HORRIFIED. like not only am in my hometown which i haven't been to since i killed my sister and disappeared, i am also in my best friend's old house, speaking to my best friend's mom who doesn't know i'm her son's dead super best friend and just thinks i'm an obnoxious celebrity who ruined both her kids lives and HATES ME shdlkshds...i'm sorry, bb.

she does say "you know, sweetie, you really do have a beautiful voice and a Very handsome face. it's just a shame you've got schmutz all over your eyes and turned your head into a pin cushion! oy vey, what would ya mother say, young man?" *finger waggin, hand on hip*

ravenstan, half laughing half crying, "not much" :')

anyways, because of the mishap with the hotel rooms, all of the south parkian rm college students are putting up a member of cd or another...celebrity. ( fun fact, call girl is also coming xx more on that )

and jersey got super lucky and pulled raven's name out of his hat.

anyways, them living together and sleeping in the same room, the tension is so crazy especially since...

listen.

don't kill me.

but you know how i am. and the boys were too happy when they were secretly dating ( which is the arc right before this ) so uh...now they are Not dating...and also very unhappy. haha! fun! slay! <3

so uhhhh...spending that much time in close quarters! whew!

also, for context purposes, kyle, at this point, knows raven is his stan.

nOT THAT IT MATTERS BC KYLE IS MAD AT HIM!!!!!!!

but, that’s not important rn, what's important rn, is stan and kyle’s parents who...ya, starting with sheila, was not team raven when he showed up but...kyle's secret sweetness is also hers. and she did care a lot about stan when he was 'alive', so sheila does warm up to raven slowly but surely. mostly bc he is...ofc, an angel.

he stopped all his shows just so he could make ike's birthday the best ever and play at his winter formal in their nowhere town as like, one of the most famous people in the world currently. despite seeming like a bad influence, he actually is a very good influence on ike from that point forward, makes him refocus on his studies and says it is punk rock to learn and go to school ( it does make him very introspective about school since, bc he was, yknow, dead, he couldn't go to traditional school and it is the point of the plot where rae thinks a lot abt...going to school/wishing he could go to school )

ravenstan is also really polite to everyone and rizzes sheila in spanish a lot haha. he is not that good at doing chores as a disaster person, but he always offers to do the dishes and help sheila cook. mrs. broflovski calling jersey over like "look, bubbeleh! i put oreb in your special apron...since you never wear it >.>" ft. stan winking at kyle in the skull and cross bones standana in the blue star of david apron that matches his blue beautiful blue ass eyes and sticky-uppy, tousled hair with the fkn schmatta slung over his shoulder...

*jersey inner monologue* killmekillmeKILLMEKIIIIILLLLMEEE

btw, sheila's lil nickname for stan is raven in hebrew...she is also slowly teaching him hebrew...he's not that good at it but he's so cute.

also speaking of cooking n dinner — dinner specifically. i think they are having a special hannukah gathering/some kind of pre-bday dinner for ike & stan's really nervous...what's new…and he wants to impress the broflovskis and not look like an emo rockstar dirt bag,

so when dinner starts and everyone's sitting down, stan's running a little late and kyle rolls his eyes like, ofc, he's fucking late, that fucking asshole...but then stan has his little she's all that moment coming down the staircase all slow and shy and tentative...

...and he's wearing the ravesey hate suit, all pressed ( or idk he tried sheila taught him how to use the iron but stan x chores is a notp ) all buttoned up ( the tie is in knot tho, he does not know how to tie a tie ) his hair is a fluffy and brushed ( wow! stan showered! clap pls! ) NONE OF HIS PIERCINGS ARE IN, none of the like 9 earrings, no eyebrow piercing, none of the nose piercings, NOT EVEN THE LIP PIERCING, WOW, no eye makeup, and awkwardly shuffles into his seat across from kyle, adhd boy fiddling w/ the buttons on the sleeve of his dress shirt and is like "i'm sorry, i'm late!"

and everyone is just STARING AT HIM BC OH MY GOD, STANLEY MARSH AKA RAVEN LOOKS SOOOO GOOD, OH MY GOD!!!! and sheila ofc is like oH MY GOODNESS!! YOU LOOK SO HANDSOME OREV!!! EVERYONE DOESNT HE LOOK DARLING!!!! DONTCHA THINK HE LOOKS PERFECT, BUBBLA?! *stares at ky expectantly*

and he, does, ofc, as always, look perfect to kyle, but rem(inescent) of the ravesey hate, while stan does look put together, stan is meant to look like he's falling apart and messy and sloppy, bc that's his authentic self and that's how he's comfortable...and that's how kyle likes him, very much of course...i'd say love, but...he can't lmao! so kyle just says "yeah, maybe if his tie was tied right." >.> *eyeroll*

prompting a sheila eyeroll bc ffs kyle, stop being RUDE to our guest.

or as sheila calls him, their “chosuve gest" <3 or very important guest *sheila vc* oh, and you too, ike! ( smh its his birthday dinner :/ ) and kyle's mom is like "okay, sit down!! go eat!!! don't be shy!!!" gesturing to all this table of food and all the in laws, like both sets of grand parents, aunts, uncles, zayde and...bubbe?

am i gonna revive cleo?

...but interestingly enough, stan, who can eat enough for an entire super bowl stadium, both teams, audience members n staff included, is not eating so sheila is like *squints* "do you not like dinner, orev?"

and stan is like 'AhaHAHahAHHAha!!! no, no!!! it looks--wow! everything looks really delicious! i was just...admiring it! and this silverwear, it's really...w-wowza! the ingraving is very—“

then jersey cuts him off, harsh, deadpan like:

"ma, raven's...Vegan...remember?"

and sheila immediately pales like "oh! OH! i'm so sorry! we haven't had a vegetarian type here since s--"

ALMOST SAYS THE S WORD!!! which is FORBIDDEN IN THE BROFLOVSKI HOUSE!!! which is good, thank god, bc no one can find out raven is stan...and there's this picture on the wall behind sheila's head of stan and kyle on the night before stan disappeared in their sadie hawkins dance outfits, doing awkward prom poses AAA.

but sheila deflects hard like "here, honey! have some salad!" but i think the dressing is like, ceaser or something and stan still can't eat it oh my god and she's freaking out, trying to get up from the table to rapid fire cook something for stan and he's like "NONONONO!!! it's okay, i'm really not that hungry! it's fine, it's, uh--i can have these!" and takes an apple form the center of the apple — AND ITS THE GODDAMN CENTERPIECE OH MY GOD, so kyle is sniiiiickering.

but stan doesn't even have time to snicker back, bc they're all focused on stan not eating, so they're not noticing kyle just pushing all his stew and stuff around the plate, trying to artfully rearrange it so it looks like he's really digging in...everyone is fooled.

not stan tho...stan is really worried, staring hard and so kyle mouths "stop staring at me." glaring at him oh my god...drama. boooys :(((

they also keep accidentally playing footsie under the table, smh.

BUT I HAVEN'T TALKED ABOUT GERALD YET!!! and gerald is talking, talking shop, trying to get raven/cd to hire him as their personal lawyer because while gerald does not like raven at all, he has been sort of quiet and cordial because he's being sneaky/strategic and all he sees is dollar signs, business opportunities. he knows that raven is rich and that cd is like the biggest rock band in the world rn. so he wants a cut of those profits and so he's laying it on thick. he also never bothered to learn raven's name and thinks it's raymond.

sheila is piiiiissed like, gerald, no talking about work at the table! we have guests over, it's impolite! and it's ikey's birthday dinner >:(

in between that there's lots of dinner table talk, ZAYDE ASKS IF RAVESEY ARE DATING and kyle is like "no that's a stupid rumor from the internet. raven is actually dating..." *sips wine* "Call Girl."

thERE IS SO MUCH TENSION, OH MY GOD!!!!! sheila is bummed, she's team ravesey, ike is also bummed, he is also team ravesey, grandparents are equal parts bummed and relieved, but none more than gerald who is like "thank god, i was worried bc of all the rings and the fruity color of your hair, that you might be…Queer."

and stan is like aHhahaaha!!!! whew! pls pass the WINE

there's additional important talk about ike and college ( ike is a year younger than all his friends bc he's smart and skipped a grade ) they are discussing him being a doctor like he chose it. kyle, ofc, knows he wants to be a journalist so he's like "has anyone asked IKE what he wants?!" bc kyle has had a little too much wine at dinner omg, so he's just starting all kinds of problems, i'm screeeeeaaaaaming. it comes out that ike wants to be a journalist. it's a mess.

kyle and gerald start fighting with each other, also gerald has been slyly putting kyle down all night and belittling him to look big. nitpicking him, playing down his accomplishments, being a dick. basically insinuating that compared to stan who is a fucking rockstar with millions of dollars, kyle is basically a joke and kyle is just Taking It in a way that kyle neeeever does, but it's his dad, he feels 7 years old again and is shutting down, you can see his eyes dim

aND STAN EXPLOOOOOOOOOOODES!!!!! LUNGES OVER AND PUUUUNCHES, PACIFIST STAN PUUUUNCHES GERALD IN THE FACE, PUTS HIM AGAINST THE WALL FIST FULL OF HIS SHIRT IN HIS HANDS, ABSOLUTELY SEETHING. and he is like! fuck you, gerald! kyle is one million times the man you will ever be! he is kind and wonderful and hardworking and fucking BRILLIANT!!! he is the best person on earth and YOU ARE LUCKY TO CALL HIM A SON, YOU WASHED UP, MALE PATTERN BALDING PINCHE PENDEJO!!!

everyone is shocked!!! everyone is STUUUUUNNED!!!! oh my god!!!! no one more than kyle whose heart is beating so fast. but anyways, stan just tries to compose himself and straighten his suit out, like, mrs. broflovski dinner ( the centerpiece apple he ate ) was delicious, everyone i am so sorry and happy birthday ike. AND WALKS OUT

anyways, uh...i hope that answers your question.

-uncle nina, angst queen and incitor of VIOLENCE!!!

#WOOOOOORRRLDSTAAAAAAAR!!! #viva la revolución babey! #i am sorry this was poorly typed and crazy but do u see the vision also i am sorry abt the plot holes #i didn't want to give you too much at once #i love stan w the blue hair sm also fun fact he dyed it blue bc its yerseys favorite color...not knowing its bc its his eye color #stan and sheila bonding is so cute #she does tell him often that he reminds her of a boy she knew #kyles best friend from before the fire #and stan is like ahahaha whew #also the pronoun thing for stan is hard for her but she tries #for kyle which is nice #BUT YEAH THE BOYS ARE FIGHITNG BC NEWS DROPS THAT RAVEN OF CRIMSON DAWN IS DATING POP PRINCESS IT GIRL CALL GIRL #its a whole mess it happens a lil before the plane ride over #so kyle is not on speaking terms w stan at all #its a whole mess #SPEAKING OF MESSES but first speaking of cleaning up nicely HELLLLOOOO GENTLEMAN STAN I LOVE U QUE QUAPISIMO #is it hot in here or is it just THE FLAMES FROM HELL BC THATS WHAT THAT DINNER PARTY IS GOING UP IN #i cant believe stan HIT someone and it was GERALD #insanity...pls note kyle follows him out...do they make up #who knows...i hope they makeout tho smh

[starsstuddedsky]

Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?

genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is

warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any

wc: 18.3k (oops)

a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)

You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink. 

There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.” 

You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.” 

“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”

“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture. 

It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try. 

Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead. 

“That looks like shit.” 

“Trust the process,” he says. 

“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?” 

“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?” 

“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit. 

“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved. 

“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?” 

“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag. 

“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack. 

“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.” 

“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?” 

You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.” 

“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically. 

Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.” 

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. 

“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him? 

“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic). 

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?” 

“Yeah. How did you know that?” 

His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?” 

You don’t trust your voice so you nod. 

“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all. 

“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does. 

You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back. 

Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush. 

The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can. 

By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break. 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.” 

“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere. 

“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag. 

“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.” 

.

.

Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once. 

It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away. 

You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute. 

Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can. 

Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms. 

A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops. 

Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?). 

“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.” 

Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind. 

“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him. 

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.” 

“You can just call me YN,” you mumble. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes. 

The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.” 

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly. 

“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says. 

“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you. 

“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point. 

“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says. 

“Did you need a handshake?” 

He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed. 

“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else). 

“Advice?” 

“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?” 

“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?” 

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.” 

You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?” 

“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. 

President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position. 

“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at. 

“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council. 

“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder. 

“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?” 

Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him. 

“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.” 

He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.” 

“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse. 

“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.  

 But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy. 

You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone. 

“Are you following me?” 

Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.” 

“As opposed to by myself at the table?” 

He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.” 

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.” 

“You could–” 

“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you. 

“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?” 

“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him. 

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?” 

“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.” 

“Not yet.” 

Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.” 

“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!” 

“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.” 

“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense. 

“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.” 

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.” 

“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you. 

What just happened? 

Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?” 

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?” 

Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.” 

You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss. 

“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun. 

“He wants to be president.” 

“Of student council?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?” 

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you. 

“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!” 

Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear. 

.

.

For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up. 

[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin. 

You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you. 

Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety. 

You should have trusted your gut. 

You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance. 

In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester. 

You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.” 

Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.” 

“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.” 

He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.” 

You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.  

Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?  

“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says. 

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other. 

Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on. 

“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper. 

Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.” 

“Are you even passing this class?” 

Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades. 

Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.

Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again. 

Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class. 

Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do. 

But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale. 

Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something. 

“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.” 

You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”

“I always do it!” Renjun says. 

“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.” 

“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.” 

“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.” 

Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you. 

“What do you normally do during break?” You ask. 

Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you. 

You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?” 

“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.” 

Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand. 

You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would. 

He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.” 

“Really?” You frown. “Why?” 

“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.” 

“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows. 

“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.” 

Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back. 

“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.” 

“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

.

.

Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you. 

So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone. 

“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?” 

“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you. 

Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.” 

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.” 

“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen. 

The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop. 

A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.” 

“That’s so much work.” 

“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage. 

“You okay?” Chenle shouts. 

“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you. 

He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you. 

“So,” he says. 

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?” 

“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did. 

“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him? 

“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.” 

“And if I ask you?” 

Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.” 

“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops. 

Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”

“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.” 

“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”

“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin. 

“I heard he’s running for president.” 

“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily. 

“Why are you helping him?” 

“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?” 

“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says. 

“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”

“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either. 

“I know what I’m doing.” 

Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.” 

“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say. 

“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.” 

“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.” 

“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.” 

“You don’t have the power to do that.” 

He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?” 

You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises. 

He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing. 

“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room. 

You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out. 

You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning. 

[Na Jaemin] you busy? 

.

.

For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes. 

You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications. 

Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait. 

But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications. 

The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not. 

You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call. 

“Hello?” 

“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.” 

“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.” 

Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?” 

You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it. 

“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.” 

You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?” 

“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.” 

“Don’t you have a lab partner?” 

“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.” 

“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach. 

“So are you free?” 

Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now. 

“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?” 

“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?” 

“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.” 

“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.” 

“Bye, Jaemin.” 

The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate. 

.

.

Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way! 

Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med. 

Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up. 

The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage. 

“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?” 

“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!” 

You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene. 

“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!” 

“Well, you’re not physically possible!” 

“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.” 

“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle. 

“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it. 

Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops. 

“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.” 

“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.” 

Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.” 

“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications. 

[Na Jaemin] in the library  [Na Jaemin] lost in the library  [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs 

[yn] need me to come find you? 

[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please) 

“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting. 

“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.” 

“Why?” 

Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?” 

“Is there any other?”  

“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.” 

“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation. 

“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”

“That’s not at all what I want.” 

“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.” 

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly. 

He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever. 

“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more. 

[yn] on the way now 👍 

Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.” 

You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.” 

Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought. 

Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies). 

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone. 

“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.” 

“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness. 

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.” 

Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.” 

“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.” 

“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.” 

You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering. 

Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.” 

“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work. 

“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for. 

“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.” 

“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly. 

“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.” 

“How come?” 

“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.” 

“Fresh-tern?” 

“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not. 

“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says. 

“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?” 

He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.” 

You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him? 

You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash. 

“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information. 

Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.” 

“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.” 

“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes. 

“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.” 

“None of you are poli-sci?” 

“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.” 

“You really hate them?” 

“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory. 

“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.” 

“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?” 

“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.” 

“No!” 

“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.” 

“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you. 

Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it. 

You eye him. “Do you even need these?” 

“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile. 

.

.

“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there. 

That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot. 

“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots. 

At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces. 

 “What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts. 

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts. 

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout. 

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts. 

“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’” 

“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol. 

“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”  

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?” 

“Professor Ahn,” she says. 

“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.” 

She smiles even wider. “Really?” 

You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge. 

The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name. 

Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute. 

You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave. 

Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards. 

You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms. 

“Jaemin.” You grin at him. 

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”  

“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny. 

But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips. 

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.” 

You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.” 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee. 

You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.” 

He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?” 

“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting. 

Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers. 

Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways. 

Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world. 

Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. 

“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word. 

Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass. 

“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone. 

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.” 

You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round. 

Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps. 

Yeah, you’re definitely staring. 

Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist. 

“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music. 

You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.” 

Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?” 

“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free. 

He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk. 

The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty. 

Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away. 

The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights. 

You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back. 

The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from? 

So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters. 

Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.” 

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?” 

“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked. 

“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out. 

He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something. 

“You feeling okay?” 

It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.” 

Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?” 

“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.” 

“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?” 

“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.” 

“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?” 

“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like? 

“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it. 

“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?” 

You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.” 

Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?” 

“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry. 

“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.” 

You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?” 

Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost. 

“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up. 

“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says. 

“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?” 

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?” 

You shrug. “It’s fun.” 

“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries. 

“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!” 

Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves. 

Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all. 

He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?

“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.” 

“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes? 

“What?” 

He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.” 

You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard. 

The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too. 

“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it. 

“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined. 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?” 

“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.” 

“And you?” 

“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he. 

“Take me home?” 

He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.” 

You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling. 

The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his. 

“Goodnight, YN,” he says. 

No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?” 

He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.” 

You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.

Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed. 

“I don’t normally have company,” you explain. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?” 

You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.” 

“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear. 

You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total. 

“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.” 

“The one in red?” 

You nod. 

Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. 

Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it. 

You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him. 

He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest. 

Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily. 

“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.” 

You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?” 

Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it. 

He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?” 

.

.

[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up  [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3 

You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been. 

No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours. 

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin. 

“Hey,” Renjun says. 

“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching. 

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.” 

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?” 

“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.” 

You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.” 

“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.” 

“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen. 

Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time. 

An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up. 

“God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila. 

“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.” 

“Do you want toast?” You offer. 

He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”

“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?” 

“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face. 

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small. 

He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen. 

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first 

2) he pretended not to know you were running 

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone 

4) he never belonged in your world 

The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand. 

Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.” 

“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute. 

“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.” 

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.” 

“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?” 

“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.” 

You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.” 

“Okay, I’m not understanding.” 

“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”

“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.” 

“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.

“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?” 

“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.” 

“That would be too easy,” you mutter. 

Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.” 

“That’s what you said last time,” you say. 

“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.” 

You snort. 

“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.” 

You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?” 

Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.” 

You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart. 

It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start. 

Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart. 

“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–” 

“Did you know that I was running for president?” 

Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”

“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white. 

He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.” 

“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.” 

Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob. 

.

.

Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat. 

.

.

Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out. 

But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all. 

And today, Chenle got a puppy. 

She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet. 

“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed. 

“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly. 

“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!” 

“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.” 

“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!” 

“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!” 

You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?” 

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.” 

“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head. 

“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand. 

“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.” 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter. 

Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.” 

“What are you talking about?” You eye him. 

“How was the sex?” 

“You’re seriously asking me that?” 

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.” 

You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.” 

Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.” 

“That’s not at all what I said.” 

“And yet you’re not denying it.” 

“Please shut the fuck up.” 

For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you. 

“Just tell me.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.” 

“Of school?” 

He rolls his eyes. “The election.” 

You stare at him. “Seriously?” 

“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email. 

“But it doesn’t make any sense.” 

Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?” 

You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze. 

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?” 

“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.” 

You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain. 

“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’” 

Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize. 

And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming. 

.

.

How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol. 

“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?” 

“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.” 

Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!” 

Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung. 

“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says. 

“You better be fun, then,” you say. 

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in. 

The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines. 

When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this. 

You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go. 

He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing. 

“Hi,” you say. 

He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?” 

An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?” 

He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?” 

You shake your head.  

“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest. 

When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you. 

But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.” 

He nods slowly. 

“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.” 

Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?” 

“Do you?” 

He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you. 

“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me. 

“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.” 

Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.” 

He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?” 

You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy. 

“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.” 

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.” 

“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his. 

“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?” 

“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.” 

He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.” 

You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?” 

“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.” 

You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.” 

“They really don’t like me,” he says. 

You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist. 

“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask. 

He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

.

.

You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s). 

Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound. 

You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.” 

“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist. 

“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.” 

“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek. 

“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.  

“Good answer,” you say. 

He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.” 

“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?” 

He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.” 

He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early. 

“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball. 

“A persimmon?” 

“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.” 

You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding. 

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says. 

“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.” 

He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.” 

“Jay-Z?”

“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.” 

You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.” 

“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?” 

Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him. 

“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.” 

thank you for reading!

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct fluff #nct angst #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part three)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves (+ some headcanons including the Shadows), Makarov

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

A/n: I tried so hard to get this one out in time with the other but my other wips are getting to me 😭. I posted twice today just to feed y'all ahaha.

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

König

ꕥ (PLEASE DON'T COME AFTER ME, I DON'T KNOW ANY GERMAN AND I'M USING GOOGLE TRANSLATE)

ꕥ Speaking of König, I don't think this man is the shy boy that some people is making him out to be (not that he doesn't have that side at all, I just feel like they make it his whole personality). Based on voice lines alone this man is cocky asf.

ꕥ There's a reason for his mask, yes he was bullied as a child because of his looks and that's one of the causes to his social anxiety but that doesn't mean this mf is shy. He just like to avoid people and social interactions yk. (Y'all have no idea how much I can relate to this)

ꕥ Has and will continue to use his height to his advantage, someone bothering you while you're both sat having a wonderful time together? This mf stands the fuck up, shoulders back, chest out and everything. Looming over that person while glaring down, arms crossed while they're engulfed by the shadow of this 6'10 behemoth of a man.

ꕥ Chubby!Reader? He'll throw you over his shoulders, only using one arm below your ass while he carries you off. Seriously it is no problem to this man, he'd beg you to sit on his face and suffocate him. If anything I'd say he has a preference for it yk, very soft and plush reader for real.

ꕥ Our DIY king here wearing a shirt for a hood, his hair sticking out of the hole for the head whenever he's dressing casual. Play with his hair like right now, you'll make him melt right then and there.

ꕥ Enjoys cuddling, hasn't had many partners and by that I mean kinda none. Nobody was insane enough to approach him till you came around so he's very touch starved. He didn't even know he enjoyed touching that much till he was able to feel the amount of warmth your body gives him. He'd swear on his life that he was intoxicated in that moment.

ꕥ Whenever you sit or straddle on his lap, he's still so fucking tall. I swear you will gain neck pains if you wanna keep eye contact while talking to him. (I understand the struggle, I am a 5'1 girly. Every character I know within the CoD universe is taller than me 😭)

ꕥ Doesn't actually wear his mask around you, he's comfortable and trust you enough to know you wouldn't go around telling everyone what he looks like.

ꕥ Nicknames he'd call you in German are Mein Schatz, Fräulein, Liebling, Engel and Kleine Maus

ꕥ He's still definitely bitter about not being a sniper. (AHAHAHA)

Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin

ꕥ (IF I'M BEING HONEST, I DID NOT EXPECT HIS VOICE TO BE THAT DEEP. ALSO HIS VOICE LINES IN KOREAN/HANGUL (IDK WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT)

ꕥ He has doodles on his tactical gear that he did himself (there are also one that are a tribute to squid game because man's had a gambling addiction), has asked you to draw on it too and he proudly wears it when on duty. Will feel stupid while unconsciously smiling if you draw a heart.

ꕥ Writing something down on his vest from your own mother tongue and he's asking the meaning, if it's genuinely something good like a compliment or something like "I love you" then you will catch this man with a shit eating grin.

ꕥ He used to be a gambler before entering the military and it eventually got him to stop, though he still has a thing for risk, he got himself a more deadlier alternative.

ꕥ Expect surprise back hugs, this man isn't called Horangi for nothing. He's stealthy, I like to think that whatever he says to you is well thought out as well. Man knows how to think before he speaks.

ꕥ Horangi likes to pounce on things, just for the fun of it. It leads him to tackle you on your shared bed a lot, lots of play fighting too.

ꕥ HAS THE PRETTIEST EYES EVER. Like seriously, the only people who knows what he looks like is you and König. Had gentle eyes, you know that quote "His eyes softened", yeah that's the definition of his eyes.

ꕥ Loves it when you trace the veins on his arms with your finger nails, will just straight up offer his arm to you.

Keegan P. Russ

ꕥ This man and his panty dropping voice like holy hell I have never heard a voice as deep as his without a vocal fry (from those try hard guys on TikTok who try to hard thinking their thirst traps are good).

ꕥ Calls you "kid" in an affectionate way? It's honestly just what he calls anyone younger than him, you're shorter? He'll emphasize on that shit. Elaborating on the nickname I said earlier, he uses it less when y'all are dating but still does on some occasions.

ꕥ Would say the most dirty and uncalled for things, whispering it in your ears. He's and asshole in the best way possible, loves it when you gasp and playfully slap his chest.

ꕥ He's sweet though, would see you as his wife even if you're not married. You're his now, the moment you entered his life, he basically had a death grip on you.

ꕥ Something tells me that he likes talking about you or to you through radios yk. His voice sounding even deeper through the device, calling you doll even though he's supposed to refer to you with your call sign.

ꕥ Praise kink? I mean you've more likely heard his voice lines, is the type of man to praise you and ruffle your hair, either that or he'll kiss you depending on what stage of your relationship you are both in.

ꕥ Constantly thinks his eyes are weird even though they aren't, he just has sleepy eyes. Speaking of sleeping, I feel like he has such a fucked up sleeping schedule and is used to pulling all nighters more than the normal person.

ꕥ Will drag you in bed though and lay his whole weight on top of you because you ain't going nowhere, you are staying there with him and only him.

Philip Graves

ꕥ (If it isn't "Fix It Felix", please tell me I'm not the only one who sees it AHAHAHA)

ꕥ Philip is touchy, somebody for the love of everything that is holy cuddle this man please. He is just screaming at any type of physical contact at this point. (My sources? Right fucking here)

ꕥ Is the type of boyfriend to come home to you and just hug you, y'all would be there for a solid 10 minutes before he lets you go. Burying his head into your neck and just inhaling your scent while having his arms wrapped tightly around you.

ꕥ His Shadows? More like his fucking children, again going back to the TikTok. He knows how to get their attention, the little pats on the shoulder and small praises are his way of saying they did a good job and they're eating it up.

ꕥ That being said, you are either gonna be their mother figure or someone they enjoy protecting because their dad is so fond of you. Why not be both right?

ꕥ You cannot tell me this man won't be next to the grill, spatula, tongs or whatever kitchen utensil in one hand and a cold bottle of beer in the other.

ꕥ Spends his weekends with you on his lap while he watches football in your guys' couch, you're definitely scrolling on your phone during this.

ꕥ You cannot tell me this man doesn't wear cowboy hats and boots because he certainly does, is it a turn on or a turn off? I genuinely do not know..

ꕥ Is fruity on some aspects but would never fucking admit it..

Makarov

ꕥ Y'ALL ACTUALLY THOUGHT I'D WRITE FOR THIS MAN? NAH THIS ACC IS WHOLESOME (OR ANGSTY) AND ION THINK THIS MAN IS SALVAGEABLE. (This came from a girl who once was obsessed with Tom Riddle for years when she was 13, I recovered from it dw)

ꕥ This man would literally use anyone and anything as leverage for whatever he wants to achieve. (Yes I am one of those "I can fix him" people but damn idk if this man is fixable)

ꕥ Please don't tell me you actually genuinely think this man would be good to you.. I knew what I was writing was unrealistic but damn y'all are delulu on another level (so am I, stay delulu). Jokes aside I love y'all and he's one of the few I won't write for. (AHEM Severus Snape (that greasy mop haired mf)

ꕥ And yes I understand most of my shit are kind of OOC but damn if I wrote him, it would be extremely fucking far from canon and I don't like romanticizing toxic relationships (if I ever do write it, it will be angst and I can't ever promise a happy ending).

ꕥ Happy April fool's! (I know I'm posting this end of September (it's actually October now 😭)

#cod headcanons #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #philip graves x reader #konig x reader #horangi x reader #keegan russ x reader #cod x female reader #cod x gn!reader #cod modern warfare #cod mwf2 #call of duty mw2 #mw2 #makarov x reader #satire #Aethelwyne Lia writes

[raelle-writing]

Thank you for all of your DFF content! It brings me a lot of joy reading them. 😊

I wanted to shout out the DFF production crew since it’s incredible the transformation Us and 2J went from KPTS to DFF lol. That is some skill.

It's so true!!! I think 2J in particularly looks insanely different but maybe it's just because I'm more familiar with Us ahahaha but both of them look so different. They're like chameleons.

They really went from rich mafia bois to student and teacher ahahahahahaha

They seriously just look like different people 😭

Thank you for the note, I appreciate it so much! 💕

#dead friend forever #dff the series #dff #por dff #keng dff #us nititorn #2J khunchalach #be on cloud

[theotherbuckley]

Ahhh I’m rewatching 911 and I’m at 2x4 and omg the flirting between Eddie and Buck is insane sometimes I think we are clowning and remembering it wrong and then I rewatch the episode and I’m like nope that really happened. Like fucking Buck asking why Eddie didn’t date and Eddie saying they weren’t his type whilst they literally keep knocking shoulder like why you guys touching so much??? And the Eddie calling the fact that Buck lives in his “invisible girlfriends” house a weak excuse like ahahaha, and the Pepa eyeing up Buck like 😏 “who’s this?” Like she’s asking Eddie if he has something to share and then Buck going out of his way to help Eddie with Christopher sksksksk

#plssss this is season 2 and their chemistry has always been insane #911 buddie #911 abc #911 fandom #911 on fox #evan buck buckley #buck x eddie #911onfox #buddie #911 show #911 season 2 #buddie 911 #911 fox

[shouldershimmycity]

Pour Some Sugar on Me (Rooster x Reader)

“How would you feel about a reserved all business pilot reader in TOP GUN with Rooster but he picks at her saying she doesn’t let loose and have fun so she shows up at his house to strip tease out of her flight suit to pour some sugar on me by Def Leppard don’t ask me where that came from I was listening to that song and that popped in my head 😂”

“Oh my god AHAHAHA, can I make it so that they're all at the bar when she does? I feel like that would be mad funny. Also I love that song, I call it my unofficial official stripper song so like I'm totally down.”

Requested by @kp9983

I tried so hard hahaha, I loved this idea so much. I have zero shame and zero regrets.

*****

“YOU SHAKE MY NERVES AND YOU RATTLE MY BRAIN– TOO MUCH LOVE DRIVES A MAN INSANE– YOU BROKE MY WILL– BUT WHAT A THRILL– GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!”

The bar was full of voices as Rooster, as per usual, was leading everyone and playing the Bradsahw’s signature song on the piano. Everyone was crowded around him, belting the words, but not you. There was no doubt that your head was bobbing along, your booty wiggling on the barstool, but you were planning practice mission strategies on a napkin.

You were a woman who needed to get stuff done when it was assigned to her, it was just in your nature. You needed answers to bigger questions and you needed them ASAP, no time to waste. That being said, when you weren’t busy, you were the life of the party. Many members of your previous squadron could testify to that. But being that you were almost always busy, it was hard for some people to see that side of you.

Looking up, you focused on a certain mustache making its way over to you. And some people just wouldn’t let it go. 

The truth is, you liked Rooster a lot, like… like liked him. He was tall, handsome, funny, muscular, what else would anyone want? Sadly, you were a little out of the loop with him because you were cripplingly shy, and only around him. Resisting the urge to shrink into the barstool, you remained cool when you felt him walk up behind you.

“What? No singing, Breezy?” Rooster asked in mock surprise.

“Not tonight, I’m working out these strategies for the mission practice,” you mumbled to yourself. Little teeth marks covered the pencap where you had been gnawing on it, deep in thought. 

“Why am I not surprised? Don’t you ever stop working?” Rooster criticized. 

“Mmmmm..no,” you answered, only half listening. Then the pen was lifted out of your hands, and you looked over at the pilot next to you in annoyance.

“I think I know what your problem is now,” he mused, lowering his voice for only you to hear, “you don't know how to have fun.” He wore a smug smirk as he flicked the pen between his fingers, raising an eyebrow at you. He was teasing you, but you knew how to poke back. 

“Ha! Yeah, Rooster,” you snorted, “I don't know how to have fun.” You mocked him in a dopey tone. 

“Who says you don’t know how to have fun?” Phoenix asked, sitting down in the empty seat next to you. 

“Rooster,” you answered, glaring at him. This only added to his shit eating grin. Phoenix’s eyes widened, and you were worried they might just pop out of her head.

“What?! You are so fun! How can you say that, Rooster?” Trace asked, astonished at his accusation. He laughed sarcastically, gesturing to you in general.

“Because, Phoenix, look at her! She’s sitting at a bar, doodling flight plans. She didn’t even change out of her flight suit for fucks sake!” Rooster pointed out everything he saw wrong with you at that moment, and it kinda hurt, “I’ll believe it when I see it, Trace.”

Something inside you was so crushed and irked at the fact that he believed you were a boring, uptight person. On the one hand, you wanted to leave him be because you didn’t need to prove anything to Rooster.

On the other hand you wanted to make him eat his words, shit eating grin and all. He dropped your pen and strolled away, and you turned to Penny, who was giving out drinks to customers left and right.

“Penny, my dear?” you asked sweetly as soon as you were sure Rooster couldn’t hear.

“Yes Breezy? What can I do for you?” she smiled politely.

“Can I do something stupid on your bar top to make a man eat his words?” you asked, your own shit eating grin filling your face.

Penny raised an eyebrow, as did Phoenix, but you just winked at them. 

“Go for it,” Penny shrugged, curiosity giving in over every other urge to say no. Might bring more customers, who knows. 

“I’ll need one shot first, if you don’t mind,” you requested, putting a one hundred dollar bill on her bar, “I’m sure there’s a bet going on behind my back that I’m about to win, so keep the change.” 

Penny poured you a shot, which you took casually. You sauntered over to the jukebox and plugged it back in. The music came on through the speakers and you chose the perfect song, a smirk on your face as you glanced over at Rooster, who was sniggering about something or other. Probably your lack of personality.

You were shy when it came to Rooster, but you would be damned if you let someone call you boring. He was like a boy who teased someone because he had a crush on them, but you were a grown woman. Thanking your past self for wearing something nice under your flight suit today, you set the song into the queue and walked away. 

Suck on this, Birdboy. 

*****

Rooster, Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback were all chatting about dumb shit they did in flight school while sweet Bob sat in the corner. I Love Rock ‘N Roll by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts ended from the jukebox, and that's when your song started up. Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard.

Step inside, Walk this way, 

You and me babe, Hey hey!

Coyote started coughing, choking on his drink. Bob’s eyes widened, and Hangman practically shouted.

“What the fuck…” Hangman trailed off, surprised but evident delight filling his expression.

Rooster raised an eyebrow and turned to face the bar where they were all looking. You stood on top of the bar, looking Rooster dead in the eyes, hips swaying slightly to the music as the song started up. 

Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on, 

Livin' like a lover with a radar phone–

You strutted down the counter like it was a runway, earning some cheers and whistles. The hair tie that had kept your hair all neat was now removed, and you shook your waves out, hair now framing your face. 

Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp, 

Demolition woman, can I be your man?

Looking around the place, you saw other pilots, just as delighted as Hangman to witness what was going on on Penny’s bar top. That was the only confidence boost you needed.

Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light

Television lover, baby, go all night

Your fingers pulled the zipper of your flight suit down to your navel and you pulled the top of it off your shoulders, seductively showing off the white button up t-shirt you had on underneath.

You knew there wasn’t a man or woman in the room who didn’t have their eyes on your breasts, which were pushed up by the nicest lacey black bra you had, and on show from the lack of done up buttons. 

Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet

Little miss innocent sugar me, yeah, yeah

The sleeves of your flight suit dropped, freeing your arms. Your suit was now being worn like a pair of pants. Arms raised above your head, you started moving your hips back and forth in a more confident motion, your entire body swaying with the motion.

Now c'mon, take a bottle, shake it up

Break the bubble, break it up

Your eyes wandered over to Rooster, and you almost doubled over with laughter at his face. The man’s jaw was slack with shock, and he was sweating. Next to him, the boys were whooping, Hangman was whistling, and even Bob was clapping. 

Pour some sugar on me

Ooh, in the name of love

You would give Rooster something to look at, since he couldn't stop staring at your hips.

Pour some sugar on me

C'mon, fire me up

Pour your sugar on me

I can't get enough

You grabbed a pipe that was poking out from the ceiling, and hooked your thumb in your flight suit, pulling it down a little, now swinging your hips in circles. You were acutely aware that the hip of your matching panties were being flaunted, while you mouthed along to the words. You received a good number of whistles from the crowd for that one. 

I'm hot, sticky sweet

From my head to my feet, yeah

You ran your other hand down your body, your hand traveling over your hips. Whoops filled the bar from everyone but Rooster, who was too involved in thinking about scenarios in which his hands were there instead.

You ran the tip of your tongue against your front teeth, and you had no idea but that was the thing that drove Rooster wild all the time. He almost choked on his beer like Coyote did earlier.

Listen, red light, yellow light, green-a-light go

Crazy little woman in a one man show

Successfully having turned on every human being in the bar, and short circuiting Rooster, you had fun with it. A little air guitar here, a beer bottle microphone there, you were a performer in another life.

When the song ended, there wasn’t a person in the bar who didn’t cheer or whistle. You neglected any help off the counter, and slid off, black boots hitting the ground. You looked over at Penny, who was nodding in approval and Phoenix who looked like she was deceased from laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” you asked, your grin wider than ever now.

“This,” Trace said, flipping her phone to you. You took a good long look at the immortalized image of Rooster, frozen in shock and dare you say turned on. The laugh that left you was loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Phoenix flipped to a picture of you dancing on the bar and you could tell why he was making that face.

Your flight suit hung low on your hips, showing off your curves and just a little of the panties you had bravely flaunted. Your skin was slightly sweaty and dear god did that bra do wonders for your breasts. You were giving fuck me eyes, and damn if you could you would have fucked yourself. 

You looked over at the man in the picture, who was now drinking his beer quietly, still processing what he just witnessed and smirked in silent victory. Excusing yourself from Phoenix’s company, you strutted over to Rooster who almost fell over when he saw you. 

“A-Are you gonna… put that back on?” he said, his voice strained. You raised an eyebrow, you were absolutely flirting now. 

“Why Lieutenant? Does this bother you?” you put your hands on your hips, puffing out your chest ever so slightly. Rooster couldn’t help but look down, and did he just lick his lips? 

“Okay, okay, I get it now,” he said, drawing it out, unable to tear his eyes from your chest, “I’ll never call you boring again…”

He finally looked back up as you leaned in close to his ear, whispering only for him to hear.

“Do you, uh, think you’d need any more demonstration?” you asked him suggestively. After the show you just put on, there was no shyness left in you. You made those fuck me eyes again, and Rooster stared back at you.

The hand that was holding his beer bottle shifted nonchalantly to cover his crotch, obviously self conscious of, ahem, something.

I think it was safe to say that Rooster never found you boring again. 

*****

Thank you again, @kp9983 for the suggestion!

#rooster top gun #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun x reader #topgunmaverick #top gun

[melancholitas]

Penguin: You can't be serious! That's it, we're settling this. Here and now!

Shachi:Oh? You're on! If you lose you have to admit I'm right!

Penguin: Bold of you to assume you stand a chance, I'll make you eat your words!

Shachi: Eat THIS instead!

*an arm wrestling match ensues*

Sabo: Should we settle our earlier dispute like that as well?

Law: Are you insane? I'm never going to arm wrestle you!

Sabo:Aww, don't be like that, dear. Or are you too chicken to try? Afraid you'll have to admit I wasn't being reckless at all?

Law: Don't be ridiculous, you perfectly know you were. I just like to keep my hands functioning, thank you very much. Your grip strength is absurd!

Sabo: *jesting* So you admit it?

Law:.... I hate you.

Sabo: Ahahaha, no you don't. You love me~

Law:.... FINE.

#one piece #trafalgar law #sabo #one piece shachi #one piece penguin #sabolaw #lawbo #pensha #shapen #heart shenanigans #melan's brainrot

[emyluwinter]

You have been waiting for a long time, many have asked.

And finally…

*dramatic pause*

*drum sounds and intro*

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° CONTINUATION OF THE SILVER BULLET!!🎉🎉🎉🎉

*throws candy, confetti around*

It's just a pity that the author of AU deleted his account. I hope they're all right.

I apologize that you had to wait so long. (as much as a whole year! And give or take a couple of months. Well, better late than never at all) Ahahaha.

I hope you enjoy it as well as the first part, enjoy!

⸜(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)⸝

A few agonizing weeks of ghostly unknown after the attack on the Silver Bullet Bar.

The whole city was overwhelmed by a pressing, unnatural tension, seeping into every crack or forgotten speck of dust lost among the furniture. Unpleasant, compressing, like a prickly chill penetrating to the bones and settling somewhere in the stomach with a heavy load. From the unbearable pressure floating in the air, it was possible to turn on the entire light bulb factory when it was completely de-energized. No one dared once again to be near the paths of the thugs or the leaders of the mafia houses. Both old and new.

Civilians, the unfortunate ones who managed to stay in such a place, went out as little as possible to keep their safety and peace. Away from the eyes of angry minds and aching chained hearts of mafia people. People who have turned into a wild unbridled force, turning their souls into the likeness of monsters that thirst for revenge, blood and cutting. If earlier they held their territories in unshakable respect and fear, now it was a regime of terror and chaos. The rules became stricter, more tyrannical, insane and ridiculous. The brutal curfew imposed on civilians hardly gave out a grain of hope for the sun's rays in this hopeless dark storm.

The policemen, whose fate was more unenviable, were stunned as just one attack on a neutral territory alarmed the entire criminal world, like an overturned bottle with settled sediment, turning the pure exquisite contents into a completely muddy and unimaginable brew. Many who had a head on their shoulders wrote a statement on the same day and fled the city, capturing their families in a hurry. People who knew what price, no, pricelessness has only one person in the whole district, a modest, ordinary worker, understood. One scratch can lead to a couple of good quarrels. One bruise inflicted by a drunken brawler turned into a bloody massacre in the darkness that had never seen the light.

But when there was a rumor that Yuu were badly injured...

Knowledgeable people could understand that this would result in the explosion of not one barrel of oil or dynamite, but a huge powder magazine, engulfing everything around with its uncontrolled flame. By splitting their lives into splinters into events "before" and events "after" the incident.

"Ghosts" are the shadowy faceless workers of Dire Crowley, with whom no one wanted to have any dealings among the living, and even more so those restless souls who met their final path from their hands. They guarded the "Silver Bullet" without a single respite as their eternal silent grave. Not letting any of the living people, no curious civilians, no random souls lost in darkness and ignorance, no mafia or police bloodhounds. The latter were more than happy not to step into the trap with the "tombstone", after their close accidental step happened to be nearby.

No matter how many futile attempts were made, no matter how many professional people were sent, all attempts were crowned with failure. Not a single soul was able to enter the place of the attack.

People from Savanaclaw, famous for their bloodhounds, with their animal charm and stubbornness, were met with a suffocating smell, knocking them down two blocks before the bar. Which only aggravated their attempts to find at least a barely "remaining trace" of the bartender. People from Octavinelle, with their connections and eyes and ears on every corner of the city, like hidden anglers in the depths, were met with scattered traces like dust on the cracked old paving slabs around the bar. Two unsurpassed Ignihyde, geniuses whose technology could wipe someone's life to powder with just the push of a button on their endless devices. They were met by "Shadows" who stirred up their every technique to the last screw and left only piles of mutilated and chewed metal, which would definitely violate the agreement on their "neutrality" and not interfering in the affairs of others, if not for the statement that no one from other "Territories" can conduct "their own affairs", and this it also included the search for information and evidence on neutral territory, The ''Silver Bullet'' was a guarantee that any knowledge, words, negotiations, swearing, will remain in oblivion and scattered in the thick smoke of tobacco and cigarettes.

Hunt - Shadow and the best hidden sharp blade, among the luxurious elegant flowers of Pomefiore. A person whose actions could create a headache for at least three groups only by their appearance in the room.

Was delivered to the head of Vil Schoenheit in….

…a closed elegant crystal COFFIN…

Strewn with flower petals (from the persistent aroma of which the head was dizzy to fainting as soon as the coffin lid was opened, and several pawns had to leave their posts because of this), like a sleeping unearthly beauty and left in a deep sleep, in ignorance and ecstasy of their own dreams and dreams.

But by some unthinkable miracle still alive. Not remembering the events a week earlier, when he went on another search. Not remembering how the hell HE could have been taken by surprise.

Schoenheit took such a clear and open message "Mind your own business" as an intimidating warning and decided that first of all he would take care of the safety of his subordinates. It was reckless to count on the "mercy" of the first time, and no matter how much the Hunter persuaded him to continue his independent search, Vil was unshakable. If they follow the same scenario, with a warning, then the ending and the curtain will come sooner than it should. And they will hardly be able to get out of this alive.

This was definitely the work of the "Ghosts", there were only isolated exceptional cases when their victims remained alive. The "survivors" were delivered without any prints in closed coffins back to their homes. Treating the "victim" with respect and accuracy. Not the most terrible fate, unlike those that befell other unhappy souls. Not even one of the "old leaders" is eager to say out loud what these people are capable of. The very mention of each of them brings incredible discomfort or the thought that they will meet Charon's boat or the Gate of Judgment faster than they finish their thoughts.

There was only one thin thread connecting the event with the fact that this attack really happened. Some of the particularly kind-hearted people hoped that the Bartender just managed to escape from all this incessant nightmare. Trappola and Spade were the only witnesses who last saw the Bartender-Yuu and their cat Grimm alive that day. In a very deplorable condition, wounded, with a strong smell of blood and medicines hastily used so that Yuu would not get a painful shock. From their testimony less than two hours from what they saw, it was clear that the "Dogs" took them in an unknown direction. The duo of card soldiers were only tied up and abandoned a couple of blocks from the crime scene.

Unheard of luck in the opinion of many. An unsolicited curse due to the realization of his helplessness before the power of others.

What was surprising about this luck, because Ace and Deuce remained whole and alive after meeting with the people of the older gangs. It usually ended very tragically or was a bloody warning to everyone. If this is not an official meeting and you have interfered in their affairs, you have witnessed something that no one should ever see. Even taking the same air next to them had terrible consequences.

But this time…..they didn't touch any of the younger mafia groups.

What infuriated the heads more was that Yuu suffered. Their unapproachable jewel, their treasure, their of love and adoration, were wounded. The priceless blood that flowed in their veins was spilled to them, without the approval of any of the heads (they would not have given their consent anyway, even for all the money and privileges that the tsunami poured into them), they dared to touch and insult their body with wounds. It was a silent declaration of war for every mafia group leader from the younger generation. Because no one dared to approach, even to approach more than a step closer to their flawless flower, their holy grail, amid the dust, dirt, alcohol- and tobacco-soaked air of the bar. Definitely in need of repair and better sponsorship.

Waiting for any news, any clues or at least any lost crumbs about the alleged whereabouts of the Bartender, it seems as if time itself decided not to go any further and waited in hiding for any news about this case. Each of the gangs "tried" to cope with anger from the realization that they could not deal with the attackers themselves. They also disappeared without a trace as well as their "favorites". The fate that would have awaited the attackers would have been recorded in history as the most greedy and brutal massacre in the mafia world. The heads in some inconceivable way even concluded an agreement that if the attackers, these desecrators of their inviolable peaceful abode are found, they will pass through all 7 groups. And each gave an iron guarantee that they would remain in sufficient consciousness and the rapidly approaching end of their lives to pass a verdict from each. Juniors or novices were not allowed to "take part" in this Vendetta.

Drowning out these moans and screams of their desperate souls, which moaned and demanded revenge, prayed to see the Bartender again at least once. "Senior gangs" - such as Crowley's Crows or Crewel's Watchdogs or others, did not give answers to countless questions of gang leaders, no matter how much they were voiced. Their pleas went unheard. The rules tightened more and more, hunts became more frequent without any control or purpose, the destruction became more global, but nothing could calm the rampage in the thoughts and actions of some mafia leaders.

Despite this, they continued to work harder, harder, more obsessively.

It was as if Yuu's life hung on a thin web from every beat of their hearts..

Schoenheit, Kingscholar, and Ashengrotto were to visit one of the Crewel mansions to discuss the supply of some medicines, their manufacture and the construction of new points. Mundane things that required their attention and distracted them at least in some way from the endless search. From this endless trap and agony where there was no end in sight. A clue can appear out of nowhere and completely by accident, even the thinnest thread of the web would be for them a strong sea cable pulling them to Yuu.

Their paths passed through the familiar tangled green labyrinths. Tall, densely growing, lively and very well-groomed hedges of shrubs with plants with long thorns dotted every centimeter. Whether they were poisonous, no one was particularly eager to check it, well, except that there were a couple of "curious researchers" from different groups who got a very good kick in the ass.

The hedges were so dense that they seemed to be made of walls that barely let the sun's rays into the tangled, tangled paths. If you didn't know the right way, it was easy to get lost in them, even worse if you start running into dead ends with traps. It will definitely not end well for you. Disposable drawing cards were issued for each visitor and for each visit. The drawing was different each time and somewhat confusing for an ordinary person, but not for gang leaders. A kind of puzzle check for the assertion that you really deserve to come by invitation. At the end of the meetings and the exit, they were burned without leaving traces or pulling out the "system" or "algorithm" of the passage.

An artfully designed system of passages and entrances on a relatively large territory.

Enough to take away uninvited guests, and enough to inspire guests with at least a drop of prudence and caution to meet with the owner of the house.

-How much more do we have to play this nonsense, damn it, I'm not in the mood to play this game. - Leona growled irritably, following the signs to a certain place. Along the way, kicking small pebbles of gravel from the path, which unpleasantly clogged into his open sandals. They had been walking for more than 40 minutes. The same green walls, only the paths were replaced by gravel, old vintage tiles or a finely sprouted lawn. The monotonous picture and the surroundings only irritated his mind, which was plowing without a blow.

Catching something out of the corner of my eye, less than a fleeting flash, so much familiar flashed somewhere in the thicket. A barely tangible joke of a tortured mind?Or was it the same smell that was carved like a stone in the rough rock of the canyons and sand? It can't be a hallucination, it can't be a mockery from others. Yuu's apartment where they lived was easily found. But even if you knew the address, there was no guarantee that they would be allowed there. The old groups guarded both the bar and Yuu's apartment as if the very word "protection and patronage" were invented for this case. No matter how much Leona longed to get a tidbit in the form of Yuu's clothes or clothes with their smell, it was a forbidden fruit that no one could get. And it infuriated him..

But if it's not a lie, not a vile trick of others..then… this?

Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw someone in a small almost barely noticeable gap the size of a baby's little finger nail, among dense green bushes. When this lion had a high motivation, and a thirst to get something. His own "pack" was afraid of its leader, his mind was frightening to them.

-I dare to agree with you, Kingscholar,… but still Mr. Crewel has a stronger position of his affairs and we still need to consider their opinion…?Excuse me?! -Azul added irritably, but in a more polite manner, trying to tread carefully so as not to scratch his expensive patent leather shoes on another path of rough gravel. Azul and Vil noticed that Leona was looking somewhere rooted to the spot, fascinated and detached from reality, clearly not participating in their conversation and not even adding irritated snorts or caustic comments what he had been doing for the last hour.

-Leona?What did you see there? – already tired of the bickering and bickering of his fellow travelers, Vil was going to scold the obnoxious lion for his slowness and that he was delaying them. Instead of any explanations or answers, Leona resolutely fixed his gaze on the bushes, estimating their height and width.

Like a jeweler inspecting a new uncut stone. Without answering a single question, without giving any hint for further action.

The lion moved into action.

Abruptly running away from the place, Leona famously and masterfully jumped over two-meter bushes, as if it was child's play for him. Leaving their "fellow travelers" in complete bewilderment and with their eyes wide open from shock. Even if lion was so tired of these wanderings, it never reached the moment of outright "cheating", because later in this version, the "lost way" doomed himself to imminent death. Painful or fleeting was determined only by the will of fate and chance.

As much as Kingscholar hated all these rules and frameworks, he followed them. Because he wasn't crazy enough to risk that much.

What the hell made him suddenly cross that line and risk everything?

-Leona you will be eaten by dogs are you in your right mind?! - Vil's voice was heard further and further away, but Leone didn't care. He found what he wanted.

No, what I've been looking for intentionally all this time.

There was a tall tree behind the hedge, maybe an apple tree or a peach, it didn't matter. Not now. The important thing was that the branches of the tree could serve as an excellent ladder for landing on the other side of the maze.

Caught in the midst of a beautiful manicured garden with a glass stained glass greenhouse inside, filled with various flowers and buds of different colors and sizes. Plants that could not be found anywhere in the city and a small artificial stream in the shade of trees.

It was a hidden garden from all eyes, like a paradise, an escape from all the troubles and sorrows of the world. It is not surprising that Divus has never invited guests to this part of its vast territory.

The nose gently tickled the smell of flowers and fresh greenery, interrupting the very subtle, barely perceptible smell of medicines and severe wounds…

It wasn't a trick of his imagination or a tired mind.

There in the shade of the trees in the greenhouse next to an artificial stream. Snoring sweetly in their sleep, tired and exhausted from treatment. Dressed in a light, elegant, terribly expensive dressing gown and carefully covered with a blanket, they slept soundly on a small folding and antique armchair…

…Yuu.

Their wounds were still healing and they looked frightening to say the least, but it was definitely much better compared to how the senior heads found them. The face that had been swollen from the blows was already slightly yellowish in the area of the jaw, the blow seemed strong enough to leave such a huge mark. The rest of the wounds could not be seen from the warm blanket. Despite the first-class care from Crewel himself and probably the best masters that saw this light, Yuu still looked very sick and weakened.

Leona was sure it was them. Even though the light fabric of expensive lace covered their face, their body was carefully wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Which made the task of identifying a sleeping person very difficult. Swallowing nervously and taking a step towards him, Kingscholar once again cautiously looked around, not noticing guards or dogs anywhere.

And then he ran like a "stupid, reckless boy"… towards his unsuspecting sleeping "prey" Leona could not even remember when he could give himself up to the "moment and emotions" for the last time.

He was so eager to find what had been taken from him. To cling with your claws and teeth and not let anyone else take it away even for a moment. Even if they resist. And they would definitely hit him with everything that came to hand, it was worth reaching out closer to their "protective layer". It's good that they're not in the bar right now, getting hit on the head with a bottle or a metal shaker was not the most pleasant of possible developments. Although of all that could be used now, Leona noticed a watering can. Also mettalic, he even grinned that "garden tools" had never occurred to anyone before to be used against him. And Yuu would probably use everything they have. Maybe they even hid a small cast-iron frying pan or kettle somewhere to protect themselves, oh, definitely this was one of the most interesting traits of the Bartender's character.

He missed their "indifference" so much, their unapproachable facade, their body language, their movement. They began to fade in memory due to the lack of certainty that it was not a dream.

If Riddle's Roseheart personal space s would have porcupine thorns, Vil Schoenheit poisonous potions, Malleus Draconia impassable thorns and vines…

Then the Bartender Yuu had a damn impenetrable safe, with all the layers that could only be thought up, to rebuild all the indestructible thick walls, which did not take any dynamite or invasion in the form of any mafia leader.

For the first time in his life, Leona Kingscholar felt his hands tremble. From trepidation? From the feeling that he will reveal his desired "gift" that he has always wanted to receive? A priceless reward that was awarded only by his touch and attention?

Slowly, unhurriedly, without tempting fate with unnecessary movements, Kingscholar carefully hooked his nails on the delicate flawless lace on the cheek of the sleepers.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was screaming and he was afraid that it could be….not them. Not their bartender, impregnable as an indestructible tower. And someone… different.

Not the person that he wants to immediately kidnap to his lair and subjugate to his will. Of course it would be wonderful if Yuu wasn't given even the slightest resistance, but that would be too boring. Too mundane. Too easy. What kind of leader will Leona be if she grabs prey that is inactive?

Removing centimeter by centimeter of lace from his face, Leona nervously licked his lips dry from exertion, seeing traces of ointment for the treatment of bruises and swelling after blows. If only a single scar remained on this face, Kingscholar would personally dig them out of hell, tie a contract with the King of Hell and the Dead, just to get to the idiots who dared to approach and desecrate with their own hands this living temple of his captive heart. Just to show that "death" was a heavenly mana for them before what he would do to them.

Perhaps he himself would like to leave a small scar? A mark from his fangs on his neck so that everyone can see who this person belongs to. No one would be able to stop him now. Sounds very tempting~

But…

It was too childish, because with such a fragile neck that was always hidden from prying eyes by the "bartender's uniform", it would be easy to break it with one hand. His strong, callused hand. And it would have ended so quickly and so pitifully.

Ah, right now he can, just take this easy prey with him… and.. -Get your rough dirty hands out of their face. - Vill said tensely through his teeth, spitting out each letter like a caustic poison. Taking out his pocket pistol and pointing it directly at the back of the head of Savanaclaw. Leona did not even turn around or, in any way, react to these threats. Not considering his attention to be something important.

He was too preoccupied to appreciate the extent of Yuu's injuries and the stages of treatment. The blood loss was very serious, but not enough to bring them to the edge of the border of life and send an invitation card from the "soul boatman". The head of the "Dogs" has good connections with doctors and scientists, so skillful that Leona would not be surprised if Yuu was taken out of the other world by agreeing with heaven about a postponement. After sniffing, the head of Savanaclaw notices notes of certain medications. He may not be familiar with the full list of pharmacology from around the world, but he can definitely find out which ones are being used now. Yuu is kept on strong medications and medications, there can be no doubt. Because their body simply could not cope with the painful shock due to the wounds received. They are not fighters like every "piece of the puzzle" of any of the criminal gangs, they do not harden their bodies with fights and training. They are an ordinary person who will definitely be in a serious condition after the incident. Bruises on the face, apparently trying to break through their bones to break the jaw so that there would be no screams. Traces on the neck, Leona growled menacingly just from the very idea that someone had time to touch their body. There is no medical collar on the neck, so they left only swelling and terrible bruises. For a second it might have seemed that this could have been "staged as a case with a rope and a chair," disguising an ordinary murder as a suicide. It's enough to scatter the evidence and cover up all traces.

The police sniffers are too exhausted with their work, they didn't even begin to sniff out what happened. So there is a possibility that "someone" wanted to get rid of the Bartender. It's a lousy deal for them. Or use this sacrifice to lure someone out of the current young groups.

Now this explains why Yuu is so much patronized by the senior heads. Their life is the only piece that gives a neutral territory for civilians. Kill them and even more chaos will begin. To leave them alive means to give people hope for a peaceful time for which everyone is starved like in the desert.

A fragile wounded herbivore, what an irony that they don't know their full value now. Gently pressing his fingers below the sternum, Yuu shuddering immediately squeezed out a painful hiss and turned away from the touch that disturbed their sleep. Broken ribs. More than two, perhaps there are cracks in the others, which is why they breathe so shallowly and barely flinch when they try to turn on their side. Is there still a sharp smell of blood, a knife wound? Or stabbed? Damn, it's easier for him to tear all these pieces of cloth on them to examine every inch than to play these charades.

They beat purposefully, there is no doubt, but they did not try to kill immediately for some reason, and apparently there are still injuries. But at gunpoint with the clinging gaze of a "Peacock with curled curls" it will not be easy to do.

Now it's easy to understand why they sleep soundly and a lot. Medications do not allow them to "wake up" and give the blissful a rest from the world. Even without reacting to someone's presence and outsiders, any noise or action will be missed by their sleeping mind. The shock of the experience is huge, physical injuries would definitely have great consequences on their minds.

Well, "the best medicine is sleep", right? How ironically they were connected by this particular detail in behavior. Ah, it would be so nice to just soak up in such a garden and take a nap together. Perhaps he would have had more time to make sure how severe their condition was.

-Do you think I'll let you at least allow such a luxury to look at? - Leona chuckled, still feeling the cold metal of the gun at the back of his head. Like hell he'd show what he could find. None of them. He would personally examine every inch of Yuu if he had the chance. The lion does not share his prey.

- Well, neither of us is going to give in. Be an obedient lion and move away from them so that your brains don't get dirty on them, and blood doesn't scatter like beads on their chest and face.

The silence that had arisen between the Lion and the Queen was broken by very heavy breathing somewhere behind them, in the accompanying sloppy running noise from shoes on the path laid out to the greenhouse.

Cursing because of the more hardy and athletic body of his "fellow travelers", Azul cursed them for the sixteenth time. His thoughts were filled with such obscene ejaculations and expressions that he did not even expect that he remembered and even more so ever heard something like that. Floyd could only dream of such a set of obscenities that Azul had now.

Shortness of breath and shortness of breath were practically the main enemies at this moment, the out-of-breath leader Octavinel. Azul had to put his hands on his knees and bend over to straighten his appearance. Running is definitely not his strong suit, mind games? Yes, he's a pro at it, but not a sport. He would rather start playing Russian roulette than agree to a ridiculous marathon on gravel in the private garden of one of the leaders of the old groups. You have to be a completely desperate person to take such risks without a specific goal and without having all the cards in your hands for your own victory.

"… so that instead of tea in the morning, a cup with medical leeches is served to you…."

And another one of 15-20 curses and curses flew by with lightning speed in the octopus's smart brains.

It was too unpredictable and unexpected turn of events when Kingsclar suddenly rushed over the fence somewhere or……to someone? Schoenheit quickly realized or noticed something, rushed after him. It would seem that only one moment had passed, and these two had already jumped the fence as if it was child's play. But Azul was unlucky, he had to find a "loophole" in the hedge along which Crewel guard dogs usually crawled and cut his detour. How glad he is that Floyd once got stuck out of pure chaotic curiosity in one of these loopholes!!

True, Crewel was definitely not thrilled with the behavior of this unnecessarily ubiquitous puppy that day.

Having finally recovered from a sharp tiring run and climbing through narrow places, Azul began to look around quickly, catching his eye on every detail that would later become a benefit for him. He needed an answer why did these two break the rules that they followed so strictly for who knows how long?

It could be a plant that few ordinary people have heard of, but so rare and precious that a lot of blood could be shed. It could be the fruit of a tree… or a piece of real divine… forgotten by the gods.. ….ambrosia…..

For the second time, Azul's lungs lost all air. Seeing just for a brief moment someone's silhouette behind Leona and Vil, his gaze could not deceive. Acutely feeling how icy water doused him from his head to his feet, penetrating to the bones and into every cell. Shackling and squeezing, feeling how everything squeezes every part of his being and at the same time bursts like the brightest firework in the darkness of the night.

Oh, the mighty, boundless, rich dark waters of the ocean…

It was a lost Pearl.

Not yet "belonging" to him, a pearl adorning a dark, gloomy, old and in need of repair place in the bar. Like a forgotten sunken treasure hiding in an old decrepit wooden chest at the bottom of the sea. Like an opaque seashell hidden among sand, silt and the bottom of the sea, it conceals a tiny treasure hidden from all curious eyes.

Yuu wasn't taken away by someone's dirty uncouth hands! Right now they're in front of him! He can approach and see their face, clearly enough, clearly enough and not foggy, without fear of waking up again. Not the dreams that tormented his head every night, every moment, every second of the impossibility of seeing them in reality, when Azul could not hear their voice, their restrained manners. Their courtesy in the form of a box of napkins, when the leader was a little overdoing it with alcohol and his tears flooded the entire bar.

Which Yuu were definitely not happy about when it happened, so confused Ashengrotto with the realization after a hangover. But he still appreciated every moment with them. With their "impenetrable" wall around their personal life, habits, interests. Of course, Azul could, at the click of his fingers, find out everything up to the last second of the Bartender's life if he wished. But, it won't be so interesting. This is an exciting game where they always slip out of his tenacious hands, despite all his efforts. And he keeps looking for any crack or hole in their defense, just to get to them.

It remains only to deal with the "two" problems standing next to the treasure.

Speaking of them..

The tension between Leona and Vil could have been cut by a drilling machine, because an ordinary file would have broken how heavy and oppressive the atmosphere between them was. Maybe Azul is eager to steal Yuu right now, until they can neither resist nor feel alarm or fear that they are being taken somewhere without direct permission. But he is still in his right mind not to get into conflict with these two. It would be possible to use a garden cart to transport the "Pearl", but too complicated escape routes would have to be endured. In addition, he can barely cope with his two, and now also with a weighty cargo in tow.

No, this is a bad idea.

On someone else's territory, senior leaders, without support, with a visible physical advantage. That would be a deal with a fatal outcome, definitely not desirable at the moment. It was a lousy alignment from which side he could not turn the game board in his direction.

-May I remind you, gentlemen. That we're not at home. - cautiously threw a reminder that worked like an explosive bomb, Azul looked indifferent and looked through no alarm or trap had worked somewhere. Any oversight that leads them to a more dangerous turn of events. Now that the "guest" rule has been violated, you need to urgently look for a way not to run into even more trouble. In the best scenario of his game moves, Azul will be able to leave on his own without suffering and begging, bargaining or even selling for himself an "invitation" or "courtship" for Yuu. A couple of extra skillful hands would definitely not fit them? To prove himself in the best light in front of the "elders" was definitely more reasonable, a very good alignment and a lot of benefits for him!

-Huh, when did you care, Azul? - Leona sneered caustically, pulling the lace fabric back onto the unsuspecting Yuu's face. He saw what he wanted, learned what he wanted, others are not allowed to see it. Even through the lace fabric Schoenheit could clearly see all the consequences on the pale face of such quiet and slumbering Yuu. With compassion filled to the brim in his poison-soaked heart, Vil memorized every wound, every bruise, every small swelling on his face with undisguised rage. All that distorted the charm of the Bartender hidden from prying eyes.

It wasn't just a crime….Oooh, no… it was an attack on "his property"

Although technically and straightforwardly speaking, Yuu was not given any hints, signs, flags, at least anything that could be considered confirmation for an affair or a relationship. They kept their personal space and relationships firmly at a distance until the next galaxy or more. As far away as possible from the "regular visitors" of the Silver Bullet. To tie yourself to at least one of them means to sign a one-way ticket without the right to make a mistake.

One step forward, two steps back, Vil regarded it as a leisurely graceful dance with partners who are just getting used to each other's movements and pace. A light, delicate and courteous touch here, a couple of compliments there and the pace can gain momentum for more decisive movements.

Only if your "partner" is not as closed as a refrigerator in cement, which was Yuu. The bartender was a pro that even Rook couldn't find out anything from their personal information. According to rumors, the same person was the cause of Octavinelle's insomnia, because with their influence, even they could not find anything. Or someone "intentionally" covered up the traces of life, the past and everything that was connected with the Bartender. What was a more reasonable explanation than the complete absence of at least some meager crumbs of information. Their occasionally sharp comments, like a defensive structure, only amused Schoenheit. A silly, naive little man behind the bar. They don't even need to coquettishly clap their matted eyelashes covered with dust from behind the bar to get the attention of the "Queen" herself.

-mhm… - a quiet sleepy sound barely escaped from Yuu's chest when they changed the position of their head for a more comfortable sleep. The three men froze with mute awe and adored their every breath. Judging by the slight trembling from time to time, it was very painful for them to lie in one position, which bothered their ribs and the Bartender had to hold his breath for a couple of seconds to endure the acute pain and finally exhaust the air from his lungs when the pain finally eases.

Their hands were so stained with someone else's blood and taken lives that it was ironic that the three men were afraid to make an extra move or make too noisy a sigh, just so as not to wake them up. Do not disturb their peace and peaceful sleep in ignorance. Of course, they were like hungry animals and longed to hear their voice again, to see their deft hands pouring glass after glass of alcohol in the bar, to see their subtle emotions on their face. They were thirsty, they were hungry. But they were still miraculously restrained by an unknown force, unknown even to themselves.

Finally, Vil decided to take a step and threw the lace fabric from Yuu's face with a gesture filled with grace and lightness, briefly examined their condition. Just like Leona did a little earlier.

Oh, what a loss. Their lips were slightly cracked. Apparently the Crewel dogs made a small mistake by not giving them proper hydration for the skin. Of course, their wounds are now in the first place, without a doubt! But the very thought that their lips would be cracked and bleeding was driving the already frazzled nerves mad. Drinking medicine or eating with wounds on the lips is very unpleasant and uncomfortable. Even the slightest movement will be painful. As a Queen, he couldn't ignore it, he must take close care of his precious Bartender.

Schoenheit's personal pocket cosmetic bag always had a set for such "emergencies", even though it was used only for himself. Recently, Vil liked the hygienic lipstick with the smell of peaches. Not a plitar apple like Epel's, nor something citrus, nor tart or strong, but a very soft peach smell.

Using one hygienic lipstick was a somewhat… intimate and very close gesture from Schoenheit's point of view. It's like sharing a lovers' kiss away from all the prying eyes and fuss. It's like keeping this novel in the strictest secret and pouring out all the love behind tightly closed doors.

While Leona was distracted by some sound and listened attentively, Vil took the opportunity and, still holding the gun at the ready, took out his sanitary lipstick and carefully applied it to the pad of his index finger.

Touching their lips with even the pad of a finger was enough to confuse his thoughts so much. After the devil knows how many unbearable nights when his perverted consciousness gave false hope, dreams where they were completely at his mercy. In his delicate graceful hands, drowned in his strength and movements. His tenderness, his love, his touch. Pull every sound, plea from their mouths and divide the breath and air from the lungs for the two of them. In private. Away from everything… After such nights and a heated mind, he spent the whole next day in the most lousy mood that only Hunt could notice.

Ah, it seems one fleeting touch was so painfully little for his insane hunger. He wants more.

Their thoughts, their thirst, their hunger were disturbed by a voice they didn't want to hear right now. In everyday matters, for them it was neutral or at least respectful. Now he was putting some of them in fear for his actions. -I don't remember giving my invitation to MY personal garden for bad puppies. - menacingly breaking the silence like a rumble of raging thunder among a quiet harbor, the voice of Divus sounded, in the tense silence of the uninvited guests present. Walking along the winding path laid out by expensive tiles, like an angry deity waiting for the right moment to grab someone by the throat with his hand. Violation of the boundaries of its territory, meant only a brutal massacre of the unfortunate that dared to commit such a misdemeanor. Crewel's "chain dogs" followed him like his own shadow in clear weather. Two particularly tall and stocky subordinates with "masks" of Dobermans covering their faces, walked one step ahead as if protecting their master from even the slightest sigh of enemies.

The others immediately surrounded the three "uninvited guests" in a tight knot, as if throwing a noose around their necks and waiting for the owner to order it to tighten until the bones crunch.

The numerical superiority of the dogs was obvious, now they are in an extremely disadvantageous and precarious position.

-What does it mean, Crewel? Have you and the feathered jerk been hiding their location from us all this time?? - Leona growled, looking around imperceptibly for at least the slightest chance to escape or leave. He didn't lose his mind enough to rush into a fight alone against an entire group. Although he could quite try.

-In my defense, Mr. Kingsclar jumped the hedge first. - Azul modestly added, in order to save his skin a little, and without taking his eyes off the henchmen of the owner of the house, he took off his hat as a sign of respect. Or accepting the inevitable? -My answer is still the same. It's none of your business, puppies. - the owner of the house snapped and looked at the heads of the young groups with irritation. Well, Crewel was distinguished by titanic patience … from time to time, and when you get a lucky ticket of "patience" no one could predict. Besides Yuu, they were their only favorites among all the people who saw Crewel. Despite his fearsome reputation, Divus didn't even hide it. On the one hand, he could amuse his ego that the Bartender was a unique person who received such a status, on the other hand, it amused. To see how the leaders of young groups and their wards climbed out of their skin and gnawed their nerves, breaking their bones, just to get a grain of attention from Yuu. Cold served attention, which was always not enough for them.

-Does not concern? Crewel with all due respect to you and your work, you have taken away what I have been looking for for so long. And you, among all the others, were the one who constantly told us to give up the search. - Rage boiled in Vil's veins, mercilessly venting his irritation in every word addressed to the not too hospitable "host of the house". His acting nature, although it retained the "outer face", inside he was like a hot devil.

-Yuu. is. not. your. property. - Crewel snapped, again not giving any answers to their silent questions that were hovering in the air like a pack of angry bees. It seems even Divus himself was pretty tired of this topic and wanted to close this box with the discovered treasure as soon as possible and hide the rest from "prying" eyes.

-Not yet. - Leona grinned, not leaving the place where Yuu slept peacefully, their sleep was so deep and strong that it seemed that no rumble or noise could disturb their peace. A hint of a hostage? Which is to be expected from a lion with a lot of hunting experience. At Leona's words, Divus frowned with displeasure. Ah, it seems cheeky grinning dogs should be taught a special lesson. To make them finally realize their position.

Apparently they are not sufficiently aware of their situation.

-Neither of you is competent enough and has a strong enough position for even one freckle on their cheek. - Imperiously snapping his fingers, Crewel pointed to his "sleeping guest", wondering how to resolve the heated situation. There were plenty of options to choose from. As much as he didn't want to just teach these three scoundrels a lesson, the rules of decency had to be observed. In addition, his would not like to arrange a massacre in my own house. -Take the puppy back to the room. And check all the indicators….As for the naughty puppies wandering around where they were not allowed.. All three heads tensely sucked air into their lungs and prepared for a fierce fight. Will they really try to kill them?! Seriously injure to save information about the Bartender? Whatever was out of all the options that were spinning in their head, the script was very crappy. -Let their "blissful ignorance" remain with them further … – Divus smiled smugly, lighting his cigarette from a long mouthpiece with a beautiful engraving in the form of an elegant silver pattern. Two "Dobermans", without any problems or any resistance from the violators, approached the chair with the sleeping Yuu. It was a completely wild picture, people with masks and robes hiding their faces, as if from a single breath of wind, were next to such a fragile life and weakened body.

-We'll take you back to your room. – calmly said one of the Dobermans, untangling the folds in the blanket, and wrapping Yuu like a dozing little child who needs to be taken to bed. It was only necessary for one of them to seat Yuu to intercept them in his arms for a more comfortable position. Yuur immediately gasped for air with their mouth slightly open, from the pain they tucked their legs to themselves and clung to the Doberman uniform as if they were holding on for their lives. Uttering an agonizing prolonged moan of pain for the second time, louder than the others. Almost choking on his own breath.

Silence reigned in the garden again. Crewel stared in amazement at how Leona, Vil and Azul were glaring at his employees, due to the fact that Yuu was hurt. Touched without their "permission" once again in front of their eyes. Moreover, they froze and fell silent as if by mute order. Well Crowley was right, Yuu had the most influence on mafia leaders than anyone else. Yes, not wanting it and avoiding it like cholera.

In tense silence, everyone noticed the Bartender's broken breathing, which gradually leveled the movement of his chest and the work of his lungs. The pain eased its grip on their body, and they could catch their breath a little. -I'll give you some painkillers. – while one was busy patiently waiting for Yuu's acute pain to ease a little, not moving like a marble statue. The second Doberman took out a small bottle from his breast pocket and made sure that the Bartender was really able to drink the medicine. Delicately touching the bottle to their lips, the Doberman tilted Yuu's head slightly so that the liquid filled their mouth. Yuu drank greedily and immediately began to frown and cough from the terrifying aftertaste. They stuck out their tongue and frowned so funny that Azul wanted very much to get out his phone and record it all on video. But he was stopped by the thought that he would grab a bullet in the head faster than he would get to his pocket.

With all the care and accuracy that could only be in human movements, intercepting the weakened body of a sleeping person and carrying away from the curling fights and conflicts of interests of the mafia. If the shrine was a living person, it would be Yuu. What most infuriated those present from the "fans" was that the Bartender was not held by their hands. In such a tender, delicate embrace.

In less than a moment, everyone was waiting for the beginning of the "play". Punishments or the fate that should have fallen on the heads of violators of the rules.

The first to fall to the ground silently like a doll was Azul, as if he was struck by an instant sudden death. Vil was able to fight off at least six more people to at least try to intercept Yuu by the thin lace falling from their faces. What was so treacherously beckoning everyone behind him, fluttering from a light breeze in the garden. It was as if they were abducting a fabulous creature, unthinkable and ephemeral before their eyes.

Leona lasted the longest of all three and felt a sharp prick like a bite from an annoying mosquito in his neck. Poison? A dart? He didn't even notice the attacker, was it a thin needle? More like a tiny annoying itchy splinter. Did he really lose his grip and mind because of lack of sleep from the search? What a shame. Leona vision begins to swim faster than his brains work and process options for his actions.

With steely calm and indifference, watching the startled uninvited guests, Divus approached Leone, who was growling aggressively and trying to get up from the ground and grab the legs of those who were carrying the bartender away with his claws. This man was definitely not going to give up, even when he couldn't stand up and move a single muscle.

-Contact the dogs, get ready to get to the "fangs"… This was the only thing that reached Kingsclar's keen ears before he was thrown into the darkness of an unconscious pool.

A few hours later.

Feeling a sharp pain in his head, trying with great effort to focus his senses on the surroundings, Leona could barely open one eye and distinguish several silhouettes. Was the place safe for him? Abduction? Which sounded, though terribly absurd with his strength and skills, but still a possible option. Gradually, his eyes got used to the light and began to distinguish silhouettes and colors around. He is definitely not at home, not at his "base", or in one of his personal places where he rests his thoughts from the world and everyone around him.

The exquisite interior of the room surrounding him, people with dog masks and Crewel peacefully sipping his drink from an expensive crystal glass, patiently waited and looked at three sluggish attempts to get up from an expensive carpet.

-Are the gentlemen awake yet? - Divus asked with an undisguised grin.

-Mgh… what… what happened? - Azul muttered hoarsely, smoothly sitting down with his hands on the floor, adjusting his lopsided glasses, taking a glass of water from one of the servants, feeling like every cell is filled with unbearable heaviness. -You have stumbled upon one of the dead ends with a trap. As you know, the best caution is a proactive step forward. - Divus replied with casual calmness, as if he was explaining another topic for his inexperienced puppies.

-So-so service and "reception of important guests" - Leona snorted, rubbing his temples with displeasure, feeling like his head was filled with an unimaginable load and thick fog. How did they end up here? This has never happened before.

Well, you yourself are well aware that the best tactic is when there are no "uninvited guests" in your own house.

And he was damn right. No one would want to see familiar faces from mafia groups, police and others at home. No one will be waiting for them with hot tea and pies. -Do you want to say that your "invitation" and the drawing was a lie? - Vil complained with displeasure when he was helped to sit down and he noted with displeasure that there was a trace of the carpet in the form of a small indentation on his cheek. How many hours did he lie like that to stay? -Of course not. It's just that you took the wrong turn, this happens from time to time. When you wander around the same place too much, your consciousness can play a cruel joke on you. - one of the servants handed Crewel an elegant cup of tea, and while Divus was waiting for "his guests" to recover, he enjoyed the drink.

All three of them had a sharp feeling that they had forgotten something extremely important. Some very necessary thought was spinning muffled somewhere in the halls of the mind. She screamed, howled and scratched like a trapped wild animal hungry for freedom.

Or they really exhausted themselves so monstrously by searching that their own brains sent them to deal with another maze puzzle on their own. And Crewel gently hinted to these three, "You are yourself to the state of vegetables that even the last remnants of your mind have evaporated, the fact that you don't look where you're going is your problem, stupid puppies, not mine"

Either Divus outright lies to their face and does not even regret their deplorable condition and they were pumped up with something very strong. Poor Azul, he couldn't even stand on his own and was helped to sit on the nearest chair. Vil and Leona were not in the best condition, they were reeling like on an unsteady bridge in a wild storm. But still they tried to swear, complain and grumble about this event and the service.

When they were no longer able to voice their complaints, the Owner of the house still ordered the servants to serve them tea and snacks. If the puppies have the strength to yap and whine at him, then their condition is not so deplorable and they just get on his nerves as revenge.

Which means he can finally put all the waiting hours on them for the hell of how many hours and take it out on them properly.

Somewhere in one of the corridors of a luxurious mansion, with an exquisite interior, two Dobermans were walking. The sound of their footsteps bounced off the thick walls covered with expensive paint and paintings from different eras and tapestries. They walked in silence, listening to any rustle nearby, or remotely recognizable voices somewhere in one part of the mansion. Holding the already half-asleep man in his arms, the Doberman periodically cast a glance at the "guest" of his master. Waiting for the dream to lift the veil of fog from their consciousness.

-Mhm.. - Very lazily and sleepily opening one eye, Yuu frowned at the light and tried to realize where they were and where they were being carried. There was complete chaos on their heads and Dobermans jokingly called "the haircut of a bitten bush", Maybe they were professional thugs and criminals, their sense of humor was still as sharpened as their nose. -Are you awake? - another man in a Doberman mask noticed, simultaneously checking the state of their health. If at least one scratch remains from the "uninvited guests", their boss will definitely not be happy with this arrangement of cards.

-Mr…. De Soto?Where… I heard voices.. - the bartender whispered listlessly, settling down more comfortably in strong hands. They have already got into the habit of pressing their cheek against someone's muscular chest. In fact, it was terribly uncomfortable, because it seemed that you were being dragged by pieces of stone. But from the realization that they have been carried on their hands for so long that any bride or princess would envy, it became more pleasant.

-Did you hear the voices of the Owner and us, or did you dream? - the Doberman clarified very subtly, trying to make out whether there was a conversation between those young leaders and Yuu. Or their conversation took place only in a joke of reason.

-Mm..not sure..everything is so foggy. Except for Mr. Roscoe's incomparable cologne. Who did you kill… to smell so amazing? - trying to cope with the still heavy and foggy head from sleep, Yuu lightly rubbed the tip of his nose against the chest pocket of the Doberman. Both "Dobermans" snorted and burst into merry laughter, you can hear a lot of funny things from a person on "painkillers". And they didn't have to remember everything, because they weren't even suitable for dirty blackmail. In addition, it killed their boredom from time to time.

-We use the same cologne for all the "chain dogs" so that no one can track down who is who. And in addition, we will be able to smell someone from our own. - De Soto explained, adjusting the blanket on Yuu's neck, checking that the bandages and ointment did not smear on the fabric and was so where it should not be.

-Um-uh..

-Hey. You bark too much and talk about the subtleties of our work. - Roscoe growled, obviously frowning despite the mask hiding his face.

-Don't show your teeth to Roscoe. They already know so much material that they are a walking encyclopedia for police bloodhounds. - Their human security partner replied with a shrug.

-I don't like them..they always come and don't clean their shoes. - complained and mumbled Yuu. Remembering how they had to wash the floors over and over again after the bloodhounds. It was like some kind of incorrigible invasion, repeated over and over again. Until Yuu, for the first time in his life, had a fight with the police department in one week and forced them to wash the bar themselves.

Wounded pride, so living out its last days from the encirclement of mafia clans and alliances around, has seen the best days in their lives. So now they had to obey an ordinary civilian who not only beat up all the policemen armed with a mop and a floor rag. So also to "serve a sentence" for "disrespecting someone else's work"

This was probably the first time in the history of this area and the city that some bartender was not arrested or reprimanded by the police. Moreover, he forced them to correct their habits of cleanliness and neatness that had deepened in their bones. Some wives of policemen were pleasantly touched by the changes of their husbands and sent a few nice gifts for the Bartender, someone made a knitted warm blanket, someone gave a hot lunch. Someone gave a new scratching post for the Grimm.

After hearing about the case with the police station and Yuu. Crewel laughed so loudly that the whole mansion tensed at the thought that nervous tension had overtaken their owner.

-Yeaaah, we've heard a lot about this story. - Roscoe grinned cheerfully, wanting very much to see the expressions on the faces of the police when cleaning the bar. -And we were all wondering why you needed a bucket of antiseptic in the bar.- De Soto asked, half growling, half laughing.

-This is for these assholes who come to the bar in blood and try to give me cash in my hands. As if sanitary standards for them are not prescribed in the mafia charter. Or what do they have, a bloody contract, ritual sacrifices in the form of bullets? - snorting and grumbling like an elderly man, Yuu slightly jerked his uninjured leg as if wanting to kick someone from his memories. Dobermans look at each other and can barely restrain themselves from exploding with laughter. So the three of them walked, laughing and talking as if old friends were looking after a young ward in trouble.

After a few more agonizing weeks of terror and chaos, a meeting of senior heads and Yuu took place at the Crowley Mansion.

It had already become a habit for the bartender to be a "guest" or an "observer" from the outside while the others were doing their dark business. Usually it was Daire office, but this time it was more like a luxurious living room. With large cabinets filled with various books, souvenirs, figurines and weapons. A round table with fragrant tea served filled the whole room with a pleasant herbal smell, and a variety of various snacks and light meals, suggested that the conversation was going to be very long.

But this time the tension and the mood itself was different. Yuu couldn't help but notice it. Lucius was more restless in Trein's arms, Sam looked a little tired, even Vargas, with his superhuman energy and endurance, looked battered. Crewel, despite all his acting mask, looked than everyone else….nervous?Annoyed? As if hanging in the air, no one dared to voice aloud without the permission of the "chief"

-Today we have to discuss the question of whether it is worth opening a Silver Bullet, or Yuu it remains to live with one of us until other options appear.

Ah, that's speeches the devil's business…

In truth, Yuu were already so used to being treated well by Crewel and his chain dogs that they were out of their minds and wanted to get hurt again just not to see the faces of any of the "regular customers" of the bar. Seriously, when else will they get the opportunity of the best care, service and security on the continent, reception for free? The conditions were only that Yuu remain neutral. Everyone knows, everyone hears, but they don't say anything and don't give anything. This town was so exhausted by all the bloody showdowns that a neutral zone, a safe zone from others, was almost equated with a blessing. The privilege that Yuu would have gladly refused and moved away from this … To start everything from scratch and not be persecuted by anyone, was not the most terrible thing. Despite all the difficulties that could arise along the way. But with such "admirers" it was worth thinking about where they could not get to with all their might and strength. And their damn, damn thirst for competition and competition. "Showing whose ass is sitting higher" - as Yuu sometimes called such cases. -Considering that as the youngest demons have completely gone off the rails, if they see Yuu, they will tear it up for souvenirs faster than I will sell everything on Black Friday. - Mr. Sam grinned and complained at the same time, straightening his snow-white glove and immediately reached out to take some treats provided to the "special guests", the choice fell on the canapes and cookies.

-I agree with Sam, the puppies are off the chain and don't even spare themselves, let alone their subordinates, just to get to them. Crewel added with a heavy exhalation. The dogs were a well-knit team, and were distinguished by caring for each other. As if they were more like a pack that would not sacrifice a single one of its fellows.

-Even if you put a guard on them, they will have to walk with her for the rest of their lives. - Vargas mused aloud, which was not particularly typical for him, though. But his "hunting and guarding" regime continued for too long, even for his limits.

Looking at the discussion from the side, the Yuu felt as if they were being squeezed from all sides by metal plates that were getting closer by the minute and squeezing them tighter as if in a vice. They were trapped, unwittingly. Damn it, they did everything just not to make mistakes. Where did they miscalculate so badly? They did not show favorites among customers, did not even give an empty hint. Who knew that these bloodthirsty psychos would need their heart and soul?!Not to mention the body. Yuu felt a chill of horror sweep over their body. No, it's all right. They're in the safest place right now. They just don't need to face any of the younger factions.

-Not to mention the fact that we received some "demands" from the authorities of the continent to settle this and expand the zone of neutrality. - Mozus finally spoke when Lucius began to sit on his lap more calmly.

-I was going to do it, before the attack… preparations have even begun. - justifying himself with facts and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, Crowley, as it can be seen, was also at a dead end. On the one hand they need Yuu to go back to the bar and Quoting Daire in one of his personal conversations with the Bartender, "To bring these madmen to reason and pour at least a drop of common sense into their heads!!!" On the other hand, the realization that Yuu is now the main target of the whole city. Starting from kidnapping for ransom, ending with extortion and a pretext for the denouement of the massacre. It's like giving a piece of meat to hungry predators.

Their card, their main trump card that needs to be beaten deftly and skillfully enough so that the situation develops in favor of the holder of this card… The End.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst yuu #disney twst #twst mc #disney twisted wonderland #twsited wonderland #mafia au #silver bullet au #silver bullet #Goose slippers #I finally finished writing...

[fellshish]

‘how could they have *lost* your booking?!’ ‘shut up we’re lucky we at least got the last room’ AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BAD AHAHAHA holy shit the show ships them as much as we do 💀

Oh noooo not the broadchurch bedsharing scene…. I have so many thoughts about it. Because it’s decidedly not a shipping scene…. An anti shipping scene, even. The show doesn’t want us to ship hardy and miller and the hotel bedsharing is supposed to demonstrate how lacking in desire for each other they are. Joke’s on them because come on!!! It’s SO tense. If you don’t want shippers, A) don’t write so many tropey scenes, B) don’t write at all. Fandom’s gonna fandom.

The broadchurch bedsharing scene serves two big functions at that point in the narrative.

One, it’s supposed to hilariously contrast with the hot and steamy sex lee and claire are having in that very same moment. Which uhhhhh is an interesting choice of parallel if you don’t want ppl to ship them loooool

Two, it’s supposed to remind us how much miller and hardy, as opposed to soooo many female/male detective shows, are not a potential couple at all. But here’s the thing. David tennant has chemistry with all his costars. And the scene is written soooooooo shippable???

First of all. They have such old married couple energy already. Miller tells hardy off for offering to sleep in the car, since he has a heart condition (a HEART condition. Don’t read into it though ;;))))) ) and like the subby non-husband he is, he gives up trying to fight it immediately.

They do the whole i’ll be on top of the sheets you’ll be under them dance. Which makes it MORE awkward than if they just slept together like adults. Then miller tries to lighten the mood with a half joke about how it’s a “bit weird”, to absolute CRICKETS from hardy. Then she decides the best thing to do is ask him again if he’d slept with his suspect????? After which he tells her grumpily to go to sleep, turns around and dreamily remembers the suspect lying down next to him??????????? Which is an insane choice of the show tbh knowing the actual context. And the fact that hardy always refuses to answer this question to test miller’s faith in him and his morals….. come on. Come onnnnn!!!! Oh how easily this scene could be read as two severely emotionally constipated characters unwilling to relax just one muscle for fear of the p immediately landing in the v.

#my asks #broadchurch #alec hardy x ellie miller

[marysixnumbers]

Tickletober Day 11 - Squeal

Fandom: Arcane

Words: 1,074

"Can you stop that?"

How Vi could make such a noise with a bag that small, Caitlyn didn't know. Pretty much everything they'd brought down to Zaun with them was strewn haphazardly across the floor of their tiny room they'd rented for the night, as Vi reached into the deepest crevices of her travel pack to find something she swore she took with her from prison.

Vi turned around to see Caitlyn sigh and bury her face in the bed's lumpy pillow. "If you don't drive me insane with that racket, you'll definitely disturb our neighbours. Just quieten down for a second, OK?"

"Relax, Cupcake. The rooms here go for basically nothing. No-one comes to this part of Zaun for a good night's sleep." Having failed to locate her trinket, Vi dumped the bag on the floor and began picking up their scattered possessions. "Our "neighbours"" - she flashed air quotes at Caitlyn - "have heard far worse than someone stomping around a room over."

Muffled by the pillow, Vi could hear Caitlyn scoff. "Well, in my house, we were raised to be considerate of strangers. You'd never hear a thing from me when we were guests." She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket over her, her eyes half-shut as she tried to find a comfortable spot on the sagging mattress.

Vi rolled her eyes. It's likely she would've ignored the Piltoveran's bout of snootiness had she not looked over and saw Caitlyn's foot sticking out from under the blanket.

"I dunno, Cupcake. When people stayed at my place..." Vi's footsteps were nearly silent on the threadbare carpet, honed from years of sneaking around her childhood playmates. "...things usually got pretty rowdy." Reaching the foot of the bed, her knuckles brushed against Caitlyn's bare sole. She wasn't sure if her touch was firm enough to tickle, but she didn't have to worry, judging by the way Caitlyn's eyes instantly sprung open and her foot shot back under the covers.

She must have been grinning like a chem-baron in an alchemist's lab, because Caitlyn sat up and started slowly inching away from the Zaunite. "Vi, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Vi didn't know exactly what to expect when she dived onto the bed and swept Caitlyn up into her patented Tickle Hug (good at dealing with squirmy lees, and she had a hunch Caitlyn was one of those), digging her fingers into her upper ribcage, right below her underarms. She did not think Caitlyn would jolt in her arms and squeal so loudly she swore she saw the window frames rattle. Vi didn't even know Caitlyn could make a noise like that, or any of the frankly amazing noises that were flowing out of her now - innumerable tiny squeaks and squeals as Vi poked her ribs, deeper chuckles and snorts as Vi's thumbs rubbed the spot just below her ribcage, messy giggles and hiccups as Vi circled the small of her back, followed by her breaking out into wild, uproarious laughter as Vi's fingers wriggled past her undershirt and scurried over her belly. One of her hands was grabbing at Vi's wrist and shoving at her shoulder, struggling to shove her away, while the other was tightly gripping the pillow in a vain attempt to make this feel any less unbearably ticklish. She was smiling wider and more freely than Vi had ever seen, the gap in her teeth showing unconscientiously, her slim body shaking against Vi's bulkier frame.

"Nahahah- Vihihi, get ohofff- Eeek! Stahahap it, I said I'm soreeEEE- No! Ahahaha, don't! Get off thehere- getofftherenotthereNOTTHERE- AAAAH!"

Vi's finger had slipped into her navel, getting a squeal just as loud as the first - and an equally loud banging on the wall behind them, followed by someone growling in a language Vi didn't understand. She got the gist, though, and reluctantly withdrew her hands from Caitlyn's stomach, now shivering as she took in deep breaths. Caitlyn's face was flushed a shade darker than Vi's hair and strands of her own hair were sticking to her forehead and neck. She blinked a few times, brows furrowing and blush deepening as she took in the gently grinning face of her assailant.

Caitlyn propped herself up on one elbow and gently punched Vi in the shoulder. "You're a monster."

"A tickle monster?" Vi couldn't help saying it, and grinned even more when Caitlyn averted her gaze and started fiddling with hair.

"Whatever. You're horrible." Caitlyn rolled onto her back, and though the light was dim, Vi was sure she could make out a small smile on her face. The thought that Caitlyn might not actually mind this, or even perhaps like it, popped unbidden into Vi's head, and she had to forcibly suppress images of poking Caitlyn's sides in public, or waking her up with gentle underarm tickles, or holding her in her arms and tickling her until all their worries melted away. Of getting to see that beautiful gap-toothed smile, or hear those adorable squeals and giggles, on a daily basis....

Vi smacked herself (on the side that Caitlyn couldn't see, of course). There was no way they could stay together for that long, no way they could reach that point. There was a reason she was down here and it had nothing to do with teasing the woman that lay beside her. She shuffled in place and looked over at the clockface next to her. Perhaps she could fit in a little more. Just while they were here.

"Cupcake?"

"What is it this time?" There was no malice or exasperation in Caitlyn's voice.

"No-one ever tried tickling you when you were staying somewhere?" Vi nudged Caitlyn in the ribs. "You were loud enough back there to keep anyone awake."

"Shut up." Caitlyn giggled, then paused for a moment, licking her lips. "We didn't have many sleepovers when I was young. And even then, I was never... tickled... during one of them."

"So you've never been tickled before?" Vi inched closer to Caitlyn. The other woman squirmed slightly but made no attempt to move away.

"Not since I was very young." Caitlyn turned around to face Vi, that same small smile playing across her lips. "Why do you ask- oh nohohahah!"

As Vi predicted, Caitlyn made enough noise that night to keep the whole building up. Not that either of them minded. After all, no-one comes to this part of Zaun for a good night's sleep.

#augtickletober2023 #arcane tickle #i love caitvi with my whole heart #also like writing stories in rundown hotel rooms if you hadn't guessed! #tickle fic #tickle story

[sunflowerrex]

Ahahaha I’ve had this sittin around for a bit, but for some reason I didn’t wanna post it?? Idk something about it feels off, but I spent a lot of time and had a ton of fun makin this so might as well 🤷🏼‍♀️

ALSO I’ve never drawn a horse from the front before so if she looks stupid pls be nice I genuinely did try my best

But the teasers that @amukmuk posted abt their cowboy/western vibes Thranto fic has so insanely excited oh my god

I love cowboys and westerns n shii SO MUCH

(Also this is like one of my fav songs of all time I 10/10 recommend America, they are just *chefs kiss*)

#my art :) #Eli vanto #gay lil space cowboy #but now he’s an actual cowboy #thranto #fic art #thrawn 2017 #cowboy au #star wars #Spotify

[melonteee]

You know, I've come to headcanon that Law, while having great stamina, isn't physically that strong (Like even Brook who doesn't have muscle could beat him in arm wrestle). For me those abs of his are just decoration for fans. And it's okay since his devil fruit has new power for every fight.

This all came to mind because I imagined him at Udon prison and laughed the idea of him trying to move any rock to the point that Kid and Luffy don't know if they should pity him or laugh at him (Kid probably laughs) and no, Law doesn't accept Luffy's help either and rather starves.

I honestly don't think Law has great stamina at all since his power takes it out of him LMAO like you'd think that means he can build it up but it drains him SO fast, I feel like if Luffy had the op-op fruit he'd make it last MUCH longer cause of his insane stamina.

But yeah Law's a string bean he's got very lean muscle, the abs just exist on him because he still needs to run and fight physically sometimes but he's not very good at it AHAHAHA

He's also shit at throwing rocks he never throws them very far it gets me every time

#ask #melonask

[bitwynn]

I have never watched yugioh but ive gained enough knowledge from pop culture osmosis to bullshit something out so-- SAGAU but the reader is a huge Yugioh/trading card game nerd

Even though the skills theyve learned from playing Yugioh and other such TCGs dont precisely translate, their skills in building a deck is UNMATCHED. And their skill in execution of their deck is also insane.

I remember that when i was watching a Drawfee stream or vid or something, Karina, Drawfees resident anime and Yugioh expert kept talking about these builds and decks of cards that would instantly just one shot literally anyone and everyone and i can see it so much. I imagine that before they get isekaied into genshin, they play a lot of rounds of matches against the cpu and the characters all around but thanks to their deck building, everyone is just decimated to the point that the only time they ever co-op in genshin is to either visit friends, farm for materials, or play Genius

I also imagine that they make just-- these INSANE meme decks that SOMEHOW FUCKING WORK?? Like Pokemon deck where you constantly spawn summons like Oz, Gouba, the fUCKING WATER SHITS FROM OCEANID, and so on.

Ofc, they still play the main game but they have spent... a LITTLE too much time playing Genius.

Okay onto the SAGAU part.

Since the world of Teyvat doesn't take card games and the like as seriously as we do (i mean cmon-- theres been news of certain cards and decks being banned in Magic: The Gathering tournaments and Yugioh tournaments with tons of security for calming down raging dedicated card game players for both events), i feel like its gonna HIT THEM LIKE A BRICK how utterly outclassed they are when they play against them.

Because theyre expecting like "oh, the Overseer/Creator/(insert whatever you wanna call urself here) is inviting me to a simple game of cards! This shall be a pleasant and calm afternoon in the Cat's Tail with them!! :))" but then in reality, you just called them over to see how good the "ai" is and to increase the diversity of your cards so you can make more decks. Meaning, they proceed to systematically destroy each and every character, POSSIBLY EVEN with a deck personalized to beating that characters deck into the ground. Card game culture is different here and there AHAHA

God i imagine that, since apparently Cyno is the best player of TCG, after losing you might just get so many pings of Cyno wanting a rematch. Or like, as your reputation in the game circles grows, he might just sneak into Cat's Tail and sit in on one of your matches to see what hes dealing with. Let me tell you, he is going to be stunned and is probably trying to formulate his deck against whatever deck you had on hand that round. And then he peeks into Cat's Tail again and HAH lol, diff deck for diff person. And he just starts making another fUCKING DECK--

When yall finally face off, its literally just This scene. Cyno still loses by a landslide but you had to get a little serious there.

God when you finally get isekaied, have fun integrating our worlds card game culture into theirs AHAHA-- also Cyno Will Be Asking For Rematches Everyday. Have fun making cringey Yugioh and card game references with him AHAHA

I know jack shit abt Yugioh and i used to play some TCGs but that was a long time ago, so if youre actually much more well versed in the subject-- FEEL FREE TO TAKE MY IDEA AND RUN AHAHAHA

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin self aware #genshin impact self aware #genshin impact au #genshin tcg #genshin genius invokation #genshin genius invokation tcg

[legacyshenanigans]

Hey! 🥰

Can we please get an intervention for father's alcohol problem arranged by Ominis but Marvolo is also there. 😁

The most hilarious thing about this ask is how its kind of a half inside jokes and anyone new here is going to be like "Wtf?" And anyone who didnt see Kiwis comment will also be like "Wtf?" Ahahaha 🤣🤣🤣

Daddy "Aleister" Gaunts Intervention🍷🤣

Marvolo and Ominis: *sat in the living room, waiting anxiously*

Aleister: *wanders in* Oh..Hello boys?

Ominis: Father *nods his head*

Marvolo: Hello Father.

Aleister: Ha..I feel like I've just walked into an Intervention.

Ominis: You have, Father.

Aleister: *raises a brow* ...What?

Marvolo: This IS an intervention..About your drinking.

Aleister: .....

Ominis: Its abit much..Don't you think?

Marvolo: Your wine habits are troubling.

Aleister: You are both absolutely ridiculous *laughs* Why now? I've been on the wine since you were born Marvolo!

Marvolo: Oh so it's MY fucking fault is it?! *frowns*

Ominis: Can we all have some peace and calm please?!

Aleister: *aims his wand at Marvolo* DON'T you raise your voice at me, Son.

Marvolo: *aims his wand at him* Admit you have a drinking problem.

Ominis: Hellloooo? Caaaaaalm..Peeeeeeeace.

Marvolo: There's a nice little rehab in-

Aleister: CRUCIO!!

Marvolo: *doges it* CRUCIO!!

Aleister: *dodges it*

Ominis: *dives over the back of the sofa* FUCKING HELL!!??

Marvolo: FATHER ARE YOU COMPLETELY INSANE?! *furious look*

Aleister: I DON'T NEED AN INTERVENTION! I DONT NEED REHAB! IM FINE!!!

Ominis: Both of you CALM DOWN! GOODNESS ME!!!

Aleister: You know what would calm me down? A NICE GLASS OF RED!!!!

Marvolo: YOU HAVE A PROBLEM FATHER!!

Aleister: WHEN YOU DRAG HOME BODY PARTS TO FEED TO REREK DO I SAY A DAMN THING?! NO! WHY ARE YOU SO CONCERNED ABOUT MY BEVERAGE INTAKE!?

Marvolo: BUT WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT ME!! WE'RE TALKING ABOUT YOU!!

Ominis: *sighs heavily*

~

#the gaunts hc #the gaunt family #marvolo gaunt hc #marvolo gaunt #hogwarts legacy headcanons #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt headcanon