#just realized I’ve been doing it the entire game

[finelinefae]

match one [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's struggling with harry's coaching before the first tournament and harry's feelings control him more than he controls them

word count: 10.2k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, fluff, harry being a boy and not being able control himself around y/n

this is part 2 of the game, read part 1 here

. . .

“Again,” 

Y/N gritted her teeth and bounced the tennis ball on the ground before throwing it into the air with a straight arm and hitting it with the racket, watching as it pierced through the air to the opposite end of the court. 

She heard a sigh come from the bench on the side of the court, “Again,” 

She inhaled sharply through her nose to try and contain her temper as she repeated the same serve. 

“Again,”

Y/N spun around on the heel of her New Balance trainers, her pleated, white skort twirling as she did. She crossed her arms and glared at the boy lying on his back in his school uniform which was now crinkled and unkempt after the school day. “You’re not even watching,” She replied for the first time after having done the same serve more than ten times already. 

“I don’t need to, I know you’re not doing it correctly,” He replied, monotonously. 

She clenched her jaw, “Well as my coach, aren’t you supposed to show me how I’m meant to do it correctly?”

“I can show you but it won’t change anything,” He said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and sits up, “You already know how to do a flat serve, I’ve seen you do it. You’re just not hitting it hard enough. I can hear it in the way the ball lands on the other end of the court.” 

“You could have just told me to hit it harder,” She retorts. 

“Am I meant to play the game for you as well?” He quips which makes her blood boil. 

This was their third training session, and Y/N had reached her limit. With her first proper tournament just three weeks away, she had hoped that seeking help from the best tennis player at Crestwood would elevate her gameplay. 

However, Y/N was getting frustrated with each session being a monotonous repetition of drills she had already learnt herself. It grated on her nerves and she felt as though she was back to square one. 

She was beginning to regret having enlisted Harry for his mentoring in the first place. Whenever they’d try to talk mutually to each other, it would just end up in an argument of some kind where they’d end up needing ten minutes to cool off.

Y/N had already qualified for the Academy Slam before she even asked Harry to coach her. There had originally been sixteen academies from the surrounding counties competing in the games and now there were only half and Y/N was one of them. She’d passed the qualifiers all by herself and maybe she could pass the games that way too.

“Again,” He said that one word Y/N was beginning to hate. 

Who knew what she was capable of if she had to hear that word one more time. 

Feeling a surge of anger, Y/N tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all the strength she could possibly summon. She watched as the ball made a fast and straight trajectory towards her target area which just so happened to be right beside Harry’s place on the bench. 

He jumped up, a look of surprise on his face. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, eyes following the ball as it hit the fence.

Y/N's smirk wavered as he approached her, her surprise matching his when he spoke again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

By the end of the session, every inch of Y/N's body throbbed with exhaustion. She drained an entire water bottle in one go, her fitted polo shirt clinging to her damp skin. She had thought she'd engaged every muscle in her body, but the way her calves screamed at her with every step told a different story.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harry asked, standing above her and blocking the sunlight. 

“I want to start training properly,” Y/N stated.

“We are training properly,” He argued. 

“You realize you haven’t shown me a single tactic since you started coaching me right?”

“And?” 

“How am I meant to win the first tournament if all I know how to do is basic drills?” 

“Do you know how many times my coach made me practice flat serves before we could move on?” He asks but she doesn’t answer, “A month. I went home with blisters on my hands because I was doing them non-stop six hours a day.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, “You think tennis is just about being tactical then you’re not playing it properly. The only way you’ll ever be a good tennis player is if you master the techniques.” He explains, “I’ve seen you play Y/N. For someone who has never had professional coaching, you are one of the best players I’ve seen but you lack confidence in your technique. That flat serve you just aimed at me? One of the best flat serves I’ve seen in a while. If you can do that in every game, you’ll have no problem winning but if you want tactics? I can draw you a diagram and it’ll save two hours of my day no problem.” 

Y/N tries not to show her surprise at his words. Instead, she takes them all in, “Shouldn’t we at least be analysing my opponent?”

She was playing against Vanya Maddison in her next game. She was tall which was a major advantage in the game but her spatial awareness wasn’t exactly on par. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N had no idea whether to take it as a compliment or not. She’d never heard Harry say anything good about her so was taken off guard by his words. “So are we still on for tomorrow because I have to meet Mitch in thirty minutes and if the answer is no at least I can actually plan on getting wasted tonight.” 

Y/N took a moment to think. She had never expected him to say something positive about her, especially about her anger. It was a side of herself she often struggled to control, but hearing Harry acknowledge it as a strength left her feeling conflicted.

As much as she considered training on her own which would give her some peace and quiet, she wanted to see where her training with Harry would go. If he was right, maybe she’d actually have more of a chance of winning than she did on her own. 

She stood up and put her gym bag over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow,” She walked past him, wanting to avoid the satisfied grin on his face. 

“Y/N!” Harry called, she could hear him jogging towards her before she stepped out of the courts, “I wanted to give this to you.”

He placed in her hands a cassette tape with white masking tape on it with the words ‘Y/N’s theme songs’ scribbled onto it in black ink. “What is this?” She asked, looking up at him.

“When I was in Australia, I used music to help me get in the zone before a match. My coach told me to use a cassette tape because phones were too distracting,” He explained. 

“You made this for me?” She frowned.

“What? You’ve never been given a gift before?” He chuckles. 

Y/N looks down at the plastic in her hands. It’s not that she’d never been given a gift by anyone before- she and Sarah always exchanged gifts over Christmas and for each other’s birthdays- but it was rare for her to ever receive anything from anyone else. Her parents would often give her practical things at Christmas or transfer money into her bank account on birthdays. 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at her lack of reply but she cleared her throat, “I don’t have a cassette player,” She said but Harry quickly removed his backpack and pulled out a walkman. 

“You can borrow mine,” He handed it over to her, “I won’t be needing it anytime soon since I’m not playing,” She noticed the downcast look in his eyes as he mentioned the fact he wasn’t currently able to play with his injury. 

“Um, t-thanks?” She said, unsure of how to respond to his sudden kindness. It felt unusual. 

“I picked a few songs that reminded me of you,” He smirks, “Don’t worry, they’re not all about a girl with an attitude problem.” With that he turned back around and walked towards the other exit to head to the car park. 

She felt ease on her chest as the usual teasing remarks returned, “Asshole,” She called out to him to which he just put his middle finger up in reply. 

. . . 

After taking a long shower in the girl’s shower rooms in her dorm block, Y/N headed back to her dorm after changing into a white shirt and sweatpants. She could feel the strain in her arms and legs as she flopped down onto her bed. 

Luckily Sarah wasn’t back from spending time with Mitch, so she took in the peace and quiet which came rare to her these days as all her mind had been on recently was the Academy Slam. 

Her mind wandered off to Harry and his words from earlier. Y/N knew she was a good tennis player but it was the first time she had heard someone else tell her that. She wasn’t expecting it, especially not from her tennis rival of the past ten years. 

Her eyes glanced at the cassette tape and the walkman she had placed on her desk before she headed off to the shower. Sitting up, she grabbed it and stared down at it for a moment before putting the cassette into the player and putting the headphones on. 

She laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. Her fingers hit the play button and the first song began to flood her ears. The first few beats of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ began to play and she immediately rolled her eyes. Then afterwards, ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie. 

She wondered how many songs Harry had managed to put on the cassette and how many were female anthems of empowerment. 

The next song seemed to catch her attention even further when Gorillaz ‘She’s my collar’ began to play. The beat now permanently injected into her bloodstream along with the rest of the album from the number of times she had listened to it. 

She wondered if Harry had known he had included a song by one of her favourite bands and whether he knew the meaning behind the song too. Maybe it had been a coincidence which was a thought Y/N had decided to settle on as she listened to the rest of the song. 

‘Nothing to be justified yet

She the first I'm running with

She the one that get my collar

She the one I'm running with (she's my collar)’

. . . 

The next day at school, Y/N sat in the library during her study period to study for her biology exam at the end of the week. Even though she was set on the scholarship, she still needed something to fall back on if she lost out in the next few games so she made sure she was still getting the best grades she could. It had also been ingrained in her to be the best in every class and she didn’t think that trait of hers would ever leave her. 

“Y/N!” Sarah called, her voice echoing within the silence of the library.

Ignoring the irritated glances she received, she paced towards Y/N and sat in the empty seat beside her. Y/N smiled at her friend’s excitement. They were foils to each other and that’s what made them get on so well. Whilst Y/N had a black cat personality, Sarah was sunshine in a person which was probably why she was so perfect for Mitch who was equally as bright. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something and you’re probably going to hate me but Harry’s already said yes and-”

“Sarah,” Y/N placed her hands on her shoulders, “Breathe.”

Sarah did exactly that before continuing, “Would you do a feature with Harry for the school newspaper?” 

Y/N frowned, “What?”

“The school newspaper? You know the club I’ve been part of for the past two years? They want to do a feature on your training for the sports section and I told them I would ask you.” Sarah explained. 

“Oh I don’t know about that-”

“Pleeeassseee,” Sarah gripped her arm that was resting on the desk and batted her eyelashes.

“You know I’d do anything for you Sarah but I don’t know if I have the time and my focus is on my next game,” Y/N replied. 

“Harry’s already said yes to it,” Sarah interjected.

“You asked him before me?” 

“Well actually,” Sarah hesitated, “Luke, the boy who’s writing the article, asked him this morning,”

“Why didn’t he ask me?” 

Sarah gave her a pointed look, “You’re not exactly the most approachable,” Y/N’s frown deepened at her words, “So will you do it?” 

Y/N sighed, considering it before giving Sarah an answer. The last thing she wanted was for someone to be asking unnecessary questions in time that could be used to train for the first round of the competition but Sarah was her best friend and she knew how much the school newspaper meant to her and her university applications too. 

“Alright,” She relented, “I’ll do it.”

Sarah squealed, receiving another round of vicious glares from other students in the library. Her arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “Thank you,” She pulled away, “They’ll come by tomorrow afternoon during practice, is that okay?” Y/N nodded a response.

. . . 

It was raining outside. 

Y/N’s eyes stared out the window as she bounced a tennis ball on the hard floor of the gymnasium and wondered if the weather foreshadowed the next hour. 

“Will you sit down?” Harry muttered, “You’re giving me a headache,” 

“He’s late,” Y/N says, “We could have been practising,”

“Do you ever just do anything else?” Y/N shot him a glare at his sarcasm, “I get this is important to you but don’t you just want to, I don’t know, have fun?”

Y/N walked over to her seat right next to his and straightened herself for the interview the school newspaper had organised for them. Sarah had told both her and Harry to dress smartly for the occasion which, according to Harry meant a designer sweatshirt and trousers whilst Y/N had gone for a dress and pumps. It wasn’t overly smart for either of them but enough to make it seem like they had made an effort. 

“The fact that you’re even suggesting that tells me you have no idea how important this is to me,” Y/N responds, monotonously. 

She hears a scoff from beside her, “What?” 

He turns to face her, his face rather too close, she notices three moles on his right cheek that she hadn’t ever seen before, “I think I know better than anyone how important this is to you but I also know from experience how important being in high school is with people your own age.” She forgets sometimes that even though he was whisked away to fulfil his place in the Australian Open, that his time of being a kid was cut short, “I don’t go out of my way to coach just anybody,”

“What do you mean?” She frowns but before Harry could reply, the doors to the gym open and in scrambles a sixth year with a messenger bag and a tripod with a camera dangling from his neck. 

“It means,” he leans forward, murmuring, “if you had half the belief in yourself as I have in you then you wouldn’t need me at all.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke’s voice echoes as he steps towards them and places all three legs of the tripod on the ground and scrambles to screw his camera to it. 

“What’s with the camera?” Y/N asked. 

“O-oh, we’re recording the interview so I can write everything up later and we’re going to need your pictures together afterwards,” Luke explained. 

“You want us to take a photo together?” Y/N frowned.

“Did Sarah not tell you?” Luke replied. 

“Calm down, love. It’s just a photo,” Harry murmured and she tried not to react to the nickname he had used for her. 

Once everything was set up, Luke sat across from them with his laptop on his thighs, questions already typed out, “So, you two have known each other for a while now?” Luke asked as he sat across from them. 

As Y/N was about to tell him how they didn’t exactly know each other on a personal level but knew each other through tennis, Harry spoke up, “Since we were both in third year. I was eight and Y/N was seven but we’ve been in the same class since we were infants.” 

Luke nodded, “That must help a lot in your partnership,” 

Harry chuckled lowly, “Something like that,”

Luke types a few things down in his computer before turning his attention to Y/N, “Um, Y/N what made you turn to Harry for his coaching other than the fact he won the Australian Open?”

Y/N frowned, what more reason did she need to give? “Well, the fact he won is a big reason as to why I approached him,”

“But isn’t he injured?” Harry stiffened beside her. The way he asked made it sound like he was defective, unusable.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes but I’ve seen Harry play games with a dislocated shoulder. He’d just pop it right back in and start playing again. His current injury doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s one of the best tennis players I’ve seen at Crestwood.” Y/N ignored the looks from the two boys. She knew she’d have to compliment Harry at some point during this interview, especially if they needed to show a united front for the games.

“And do think the same about Y/N?” Luke asked Harry who now seemed irritated by him.

“I think,” Y/N was prepared for a backhanded compliment but what she got was something entirely different, “Y/N has all the potential in the world to go for what she dreams of and I hope to watch her do it all even if that means I’m watching from the sidelines.” This time it was Y/N’s turn to glance at Harry, taken aback by his words. 

Luke spoke again, “You know some people are calling you the underdog in this tournament?” Y/N froze, it was the first time she had heard of it, “all the other women competing have had professional coaching and the school invests heavily in their tennis players.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I didn’t know that but I have every intention of proving them wrong,” Harry bumped his knee with hers but she ignored it. 

“And What do your parents think about you doing this before leaving exams?” Luke asked. 

Y/N ignored the sting she felt at the thought of telling her parents what she was doing and the looks of disappointment she envisioned, which had been gnawing at the back of her head since she qualified. She answered confidently, "They're happy for me and excited to see me in the final."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as Luke leaned in, his expression curious. "You think you'll get to the final?"

Harry scoffed, “Are you insinuating she won’t?” 

Luke backpedalled slightly, sensing he’d struck a nerve. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. It's just that some people doubt the capabilities of those who haven't had professional coaching."

"Hey Luke, do me a favour and invite those people to the first game in three weeks' time. Let them witness firsthand what it's like watching a player as skilled as Y/N, without any professional coaching," Harry's frustration was palpable, catching Y/N off guard with his assertiveness. Typically, she would be the first to break in such situations but it seemed Harry already had.

Luke’s face warmed as he realised he overstepped, “R-right, let’s move on.” He scanned through his list of questions to find something more light-hearted to break up the mood, whilst Y/N straightened her shoulders, thankful they’d gotten to the final round of questions. “What do you both like to do outside of training?” 

“Together?” Y/N cringed, trying to picture spending time with Harry in a normal setting. 

“Not necessarily,” Luke shrugged. 

“My best friend is dating her best friend so we’ve been spending a lot more time together recently. Normally, I play guitar or recite poetry whenever I’m not coaching Y/N to volley properly,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the lies that left his mouth.  

“I study,” Y/N stated. 

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyebrows creased.

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, “I’m top of the class in all of my classes, that doesn’t just happen without hard work.”

She could feel Harry’s eyes on her and for the first time, she turned her head to catch his eyes. She noticed the frown on his lips and something in his eye that looked a lot more like concern or sympathy than the desire to tease her about her lack of social life. 

“Well, I think that will be enough,” Luke stood up and grabbed his camera, “Do you mind if we take a few photos now?”

Y/N and Harry stood from their seats, side by side and looked into the lens of the camera. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile as Harry did the same, “You’re standing too close to me,” Y/N spoke through her teeth as the camera flashed.

"Look who's talking with their giant foot squashing my shoe," Harry retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. Y/N inhales sharply, her gaze dropping to her foot to see what he's referring to. But before she can react, Harry smoothly slides his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side with practised ease. Their eyes meet, and just as the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Y/N side steps out of his grip with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, that will be all,” Luke smiled. 

As Luke packed his things away, Y/N and Harry stood awkwardly side by side without saying a word. Y/N glanced out the window and saw the sky had cleared up and the sun was setting. She needed to get back to her dorm to study for her French exam tomorrow as well as binge-watch tennis matches on YouTube which she’d been doing a lot recently. 

“Did you really mean that?” Harry asked, catching her attention, “All you do is study outside of school?”

Y/N looked at him, “I hang out with Sarah some days but yeah, I mostly study. I don’t really have a lot of choice and I’m not naturally smart.” Harry’s head tilted to the side like he was secretly questioning her in his head, “What? Aren’t you meant to crack a joke about me being stupid or something?”

Harry's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "I could never think you're stupid, love," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. She found herself speechless, unable to figure out what had gotten into him recently. 

He pulled out his car keys from his back pocket and motioned his head towards the gymnasium exit, “C’mon,” He urged, “I wanna try something out and before you ask, it’s nothing to do with tennis or studying.”

Y/N’s feet stayed glued to the ground as he walked away and expected her to follow. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, wanting to refuse his invitation so she could get back to her dorm. But curiosity got the better of her and she followed a few paces behind him as he led her to the empty car park. 

Harry pressed the button on the car keys and the lights flashed on a black Audi hiding in the corner, “What are we doing?” She asked. 

“Have you ever driven a car before?” He wondered, looking at her with a hint of mischief. 

“Never,” She replied and was bewildered to see him open the door to the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat. 

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, love,” He smirked.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “N-no! Harry, I'm not driving your stupidly expensive car.”

“C’mon,” Harry chuckled, “Don’t be chicken.”

She scoffed, “I’m not being chicken, I’m being sensible. If I crash that car, I don’t even think my parents will have enough money to fix it.”

“My parent’s will,” He grinned, cockily, “Get in,” 

“No, I’m not driving that car.” She insisted. 

Five minutes later, Y/N sat in the driver’s seat of Harry’s Audi with her fingers over her eyes as he instructed her on how to start. “Are you crazy?” She whimpers as he switches the engine on. 

“Stop worrying, I’ve got my hand on the break.” She looks down to see his hand already wrapped around the hand break, “Just stay calm and do what I told you to do. Clutch down, first gear and then ease your foot gently off the clutch.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me tennis, not driving laps around the school parking lot,” Y/N argued.

“Think of this as a team bonding exercise,” He shrugged, “Okay now foot down on the clutch,”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” She strangled out, placing her shaky hands on the wheel.

“Relax,” Harry chuckled, “You’re being dramatic.”

“It won’t be so dramatic when we end up in a tree,” Y/N retorted as she carefully felt the pedals and pressed down slowly on the clutch. Feeling the car rise, Y/N gasped and removed her foot. 

“Calm down, it’s just because you put your foot on the clutch,” Harry was trying his best not to laugh at her, “Okay, now do it again.”

Y/N squeezed her hands on the wheel and repeated her actions, moving the gear stick “Okay, now carefully raise the clutch,” Harry instructed and as she did, he lowered the handbrake and the car slowly began to move forward. 

“Holy shit,” Y/N wailed, “We’re moving,”

This time, Harry did laugh unable to stop himself after seeing her reaction, “Make sure you turn the wheel or we really will end up in a tree,” 

Y/N did as she was told and turned the wheel slowly, “Okay, I’ll move into second,”

“Harry no!” She gasped but put the clutch down so he could move gears. 

“Atta girl,” He beamed.

Y/N’s worried expression soon turned into shock and then excitement as she moved slowly around the car park, “I’m driving Harry!” Y/N grinned and Harry swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“You are,” He praised, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

After switching between first and second gear and Y/N complaining that her feet were aching from how tense she was using the pedals, Harry offered to swap places and show her what it was really like to go out on an evening drive. 

“Harry!” Y/N choked on a laugh as he went all the way up to sixth gear down the empty streets in the middle of nowhere, “Slow down,” She squealed. 

Harry glanced at her, grinning when he saw how wide the smile was on her face. He pressed his finger on the button to wind down all the windows, “Oh shit I love this song,” He turned the volume up on the stereo as Beyonce’s ‘Love on Top’ started playing, blaring loudly through the speakers of his car. 

“Baby it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Harry screamed the lyrics of the song and Y/N’s laughter sounded through the entire car as her hair blew behind her. “Sing it, baby!” He cheered, neither of them realising what he had called her. 

“I’m not gonna sing it,” She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as the engine revved. 

“It’s the only way I’m gonna slow down,” He teased as the build-up to the chorus played. 

Y/N giggled as Harry began to sing solo to the chorus again, giving her a look that had her rolling her eyes before she screamed out the lyrics alongside him, “When I need you, make everything stop! Finally, you put my love on top!”

Their laughter merged together as the song played out. Harry slowed down the closer they got back to town and cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was brushing her wind-swept hair with her fingers. “You okay?” He asked, seeing the glow on her face. 

“Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m okay. I just don’t get to do stuff like this… ever really.”

He nodded in understanding. Harry had met Y/N’s parents a few times before. His parents were frequent visitors to their country club so he knew what they were like but he had no idea of the extent of the pressures they had put on Y/N to do well. It reminded him of his own parents and the last thing he wanted to do was allow someone to feel the same way he did whenever his parents were too hard on him. 

“Wanna pull in somewhere to get something to eat?” Harry asked. It was getting late and they both had school tomorrow but he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let her go- not when she was having so much fun. 

“Okay,” Y/N nodded. 

He pulled into a dessert shop that was still open. Y/N followed him inside and to a booth in the corner. Harry ordered both of them bowls of soft-serve ice cream and Y/N even asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake to go with it. “I shouldn’t really be eating,” She told him.

“Hmm I heard drinking strawberry milkshakes improves your footwork. They served them all the time in Australia,” Y/N shot him a look that told him she knew he was bullshitting her but it made him smile. 

“Are you nervous about the game coming up?” They’d been training non-stop every evening and Y/N was quickly improving everything she had already learnt on her own. After considering Harry’s words a few days ago, she knew Harry was right. He had been good for her technique and she felt even more sure of herself than she did at the beginning. 

“No,” She said coolly, “I don’t have time to be nervous.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

The waitress came over and placed their desserts in front of them, along with a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. “Mitch says he’s going to throw a party at my place if you make it through to the semi-finals.”

“A party at your place?” Y/N quirked a brow.

Harry sighs, “He came up with the idea of throwing a party and then just kind of decided it would be at mine.” He explained. 

Y/N nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. It had been so long since she had had something so sugary and sweet. She hummed before realizing she was being watched by the boy opposite her, “Just so you know, even though you bought these desserts and taught me how to drive, doesn’t mean I like you.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling and dimples carving into his cheeks. Y/N’s heart stuttered but she pushed the feeling down, “Okay, tomorrow you can go back to hating me again and we’ll pretend today didn’t happen.”

“And you can do the same,” She says. 

Harry gives her a look, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t put a label on, “I don’t hate you Y/N.” 

She frowns, “You’ve always hated me,” 

“No,” He shook his head, “Never.”

“But you’re always making fun of me,” And she always did the same. 

“Because it’s the only way I get to speak to you.” He admits. 

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had always assumed Harry had hated her since their rivalry had gone on for so long. She didn’t know what to say, confused by the sudden revelation.

“Ew,” It came out before she even had time to think, “Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me uncomfortable.” 

Harry seemed to deflate but quickly placed a smile on his face, “You make me uncomfortable and you’re singing, by the way, is awful.” 

Y/N scoffed, "At least I don't sound like a dying goat." Despite the return of their familiar banter, her heart seemed to continue to flutter under Harry's earnest gaze, stirring a mix of emotions within her that she’d never felt before. 

She didn’t know what was going on with her but the last thing she needed to think about was her emotions when her biggest goal to date was right before her. 

. . .

Three weeks had gone by far too quickly for Y/N’s liking.

“Again,” Harry drawled.

Y/N gritted her teeth and repeated the backswing technique Harry had shown her but the angle was all wrong and the ball ended up going completely off court.

“Fuck,” Y/N spat, throwing her tennis racket on the floor and squatting, balling her hands into fists on her head.

Harry sighed, walking over. “You’re nervous about tomorrow,” He stated like he didn’t need her to confirm despite the fact she had constantly told everyone she wasn’t nervous about anything. 

“I just need to win,” She mumbled.

“Get up,” Harry ordered. 

Y/N did as she was told and stood up. He grabbed the racket from the floor that she’d thrown across the court like a toddler throwing their toys out a pushchair and flipped the racket between both of his hands. He handed it back to her and grabbed his own.

“I want you to mirror my actions,” He says and stands a few steps away from her. 

He steps forward, tossing the tennis ball into the air before swinging his racket with both hands, expertly landing it in the left corner of the opposing court. Y/N tracks his every move, mimicking his actions as if she were his shadow.

Y/N’s ball lands slightly off target and Harry bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the scowl on her face. He walks towards her and comes up behind her. Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels his fingertips press gently on her arm. 

“You need to straighten this arm more,” He advises, his fingertips sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he straightens her arm out. “Calm down,” he murmurs, his mouth near her ear, “I can feel your heart beating.”

Y/N seems to lose every ounce of oxygen when he places his hand flat against her back where he can feel her heart beating, “Breathe,” He says, “You will win tomorrow, I will make sure of it.” 

The warmth that flooded Y/N’s body quickly left as Harry took a step back, “Try it again,” He nodded towards her racket.

Y/N sighed, tensing her muscles again after Harry had practically managed to turn them into liquid. She tried to ignore the flutter in all of the pulse points in her body that were screaming to make contact with that new presence and swung her racket, landing the ball exactly where she wanted. 

“There y’ go,” He murmurs, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “I think we should call that it for today,”

“What?” Y/N frowned, “The game is tomorrow, I need to practice.”

“Y/N, we’ve been practising for half the day already. You’re going to wear yourself out if you carry on,” Harry tells her.

“Fine,” She huffed but Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Come to my place,” He offers.

“Why would I do that?” She goes to grab her sweatshirt on the bench and pulls it over her head. It was getting colder now that the sun was going down. 

“Because I know you’re just going to come back here once I leave and trust me, you don’t want to do that.” She opened her mouth to refuse but he continued, “We can watch Wimbledon on TV and order pizza.”

She wondered how he knew that Wimbledon was one of her favourite movies and pizza was her favourite food. “Is it the DVD exclusive?” Y/N asked.

Harry’s lips tilted upwards, “Of course,” Y/N nodded, following him to his car so he could drive them to his apartment. 

Y/N remembered the last time she was in Harry's car three weeks ago. It was the first time Y/N truly enjoyed being in his company and the first time she had allowed herself to have fun and relax. 

The day after,  they resumed their usual arguing as if the previous night hadn't occurred. However, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by a surge of unfamiliar emotions swirling within her.

Despite the bickering, she kept noticing things about Harry—like the way he smiled and talked. It made her feel weird like there was something more between them that she hadn't noticed before.

The air was silent between them as the radio played lowly in the background. Harry turned into a block of apartments that looked far too expensive for a student to afford all by themself. “This is where you live?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening as he pulled into a spot. 

“For now,” He says. 

Y/N trailed behind Harry as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made their way to his apartment. When he swung open the door, flooding the space with light, Y/N couldn't help but notice the spaciousness of the apartment, as well as its emptiness.

“I haven’t had time to unpack,” Harry said, walking to the kitchen after kicking his shoes off, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll just take a glass of water,” Y/N’s eyes darted to all of the boxes that covered the floor. 

She walked to the kitchen area and leaned against the counter, “Are those your trophies?” She asked, seeing the metal cups in an open box.

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve kept all of mine even the ones that didn’t count.” 

“They all count,” Y/N grins, walking over and pulling one out, “The battle of the sexes trophy.” 

Harry smirked, walking round to stand beside her, “I still remember the look on your face when they handed me that trophy. If looks could kill, love, I don’t think I would be here.” 

“It was a big deal to me okay?” Y/N replies, “I seemed to blame you for all my losses when I was a kid.” 

Harry’s expression softens and his head turns to look at her, “Will you blame me if you don’t win tomorrow?” 

Y/N’s smile falters, “No, I’d blame myself. I think if I lost this, I don’t know who I would be anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Harry’s eyes glint underneath the soft lighting of the kitchen, “God,” He whispers, “You drive me crazy y’ know that?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Do you think you could love anything more?” He asks, ignoring her question. 

“I can’t think of anything, if I did I’d have to love it an awful lot.”

“Okay,” He nods like he’s accepting a challenge. 

Y/N narrows her eyes, “What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “But I want you to know-”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door swings open and the shrill sound of his mother’s voice fills the air. Y/N stands straight and she notices Harry tense up, taking a step in front of her, he pushes her behind him.

“Harry,” His mother sighs, “How are you darling?” 

“Mum,” He replies, curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“Your father’s running late home so I thought I would come by to see how you were,” She says and then looks behind him.

Y/N doesn’t need Harry to introduce her as she steps forward and holds out a hand, “Hi Mrs Styles, it’s nice to see you again.” 

"Y/N?" Anne gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "You've grown so much, you're beautiful." She reached out, taking both of Y/N's hands in hers and giving her an appraising look.

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Styles," she stammered, feeling a mixture of nerves and warmth.

Anne smiled warmly. "Oh, call me Anne," she insisted before turning her attention to Harry. "I didn't know you two were such good friends."

Y/N and Harry exchanged a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond.

"I'm her coach," they both blurted out simultaneously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Anne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, her gaze flitting between them. "You're coaching?"

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he confirmed quietly.

"But Harry, your injury," Anne interjected, concern evident in her voice as she glanced down at his leg. "You're not meant to be—"

"I'm fine, Mum," Harry interrupted sharply, his tone making no room for argument.

"Harry, you know you can’t be playing-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry's voice rose, his frustration evident as he cut her off, causing Y/N to jump at the sudden outburst.

Anne's concern softened into a resigned sigh, her eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and understanding. "Alright, Harry," she relented, her tone gentler now. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself."

Harry's features softened, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes. "I promise, Mum," he said, his voice softer now, more subdued.

Anne nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. That's all I ask."

As the atmosphere relaxed, Anne turned her attention back to Y/N, her smile warm and welcoming. "Well, it's lovely to see you again, Y/N," she said kindly. “Tell your parents we’ll be stopping by in the spring.”

Y/N returned the smile, her earlier nervousness dissipating in the warmth of Anne's acceptance. "It was nice to see you too, " she replied sincerely.

Harry glanced at Y/N, a softness in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat. After seeing his mother out following her very brief visit, Y/N finally mustered the courage to ask, "What was she talking about?"

Harry's expression turned grave, his features shadowed by a sense of burden. "It was nothing," he replied.

"Why can't you play?" Y/N pushed, her concern evident in her voice.

"Y/N, I'm telling you to leave it alone," Harry warned, his tone firm.

But Y/N couldn't let it go. "If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" she insisted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why," Harry snapped, his words cutting like a knife. 

"Nothing I do or say has anything to do with you, so go back to hating me because it's a hell of a lot easier than what I have to deal with."

Y/N's heart sank at his harsh words. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. "You know, now I remember why we never got along in the first place," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. With a sharp turn on her heel, she made her way to the front door. "You're such an asshole, Harry."

"Y/N," Harry called out, his voice tinged with regret as she stormed out of his apartment towards the elevator. "Y/N, come on, don't be like that."

"Go suck a dick," she shot back, stepping into the elevator before Harry could stop her.

As the doors closed, Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Let me drive you back, at least," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the sound of the closing doors.

"Fine," Y/N huffed, her tone clipped with annoyance.

The car ride back to her dorm was tense and silent. When Harry pulled into the front of her dormitory, Y/N moved to open the door finding the silence far too uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Harry's voice broke the silence. "I can't play tennis anymore," he confessed, his words heavy.

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean you can't play anymore? That's ridiculous," she exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her voice.

Harry's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I mean I can't ever play tennis again," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with shock.

"I tore my ACL during practice for the French Open. I—" Harry's voice trailed off, unable to continue, “It was so bad Y/N and I was in so much fucking pain and no one would listen to me. I went through multiple surgeries and rehab but the doctors sat me down and said I couldn’t play unless I wanted to fuck up my leg for the rest of my life.” 

“Harry…” Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears. 

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Harry's words sank in. She glanced over at him, seeing the pain etched in his features, and felt a surge of empathy wash over her. It was a devastating blow for someone who had dedicated their life to the sport they loved.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with genuine sadness for the boy beside her.

Harry managed a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “That’s why I had to come back here. My father can barely look at me and my mother won’t leave me alone. At least here I can be around people my own age but when I’m at home, it’s fucking suffocating Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine losing the one thing she loved above anything else in the world and have to re-construct everything she had ever known to find something else to love just as much. 

“I don’t expect you to say anything but I’d appreciate it if you showed me a little mercy,” He spoke. 

“Why would you offer to coach me then? Would that not make things worse?” She asked.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like there was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say but couldn’t, “I figured it would alleviate the pain.” 

“But I saw you play, I watched you and you beat me,” She exclaimed.

“Yeah and it hurt like a bitch afterwards,” He shook his head.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wondered why Harry had been unwilling to play against her during the training sessions and now she knew why. She felt awful, her heart was hurting for him. 

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me and I don’t want this to change anything between us. I’m tired of being treated like a broken toy and I think it would kill me inside if you looked at me differently.” 

Y/N stayed quiet, facing forward and collecting her thoughts before saying, “Thank you for telling me,” She murmured, “And it doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole,”

Harry laughed and then his pinky brushed the side of her hand, “You will be everything tomorrow.” He whispered.

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the soft edge of his words, “You think so?”

His eyes softened, “I believe in you, more than anyone in the entire world.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. The tension had settled and now a newfound respect lingered between them. 

She would win tomorrow, for herself and for him. 

. . . 

It had been a while since Harry had been to a tennis tournament. The last time he was on a court for an official match was well over six months ago, it was a challenger match he participated in during his training for the French Open before his life took a vast turn. 

He sat in the stands with everyone else from Crestwood who had come to watch the first game. Although Crestwood Academy invested more in the football team than any other sport, the turnout had been pretty good and nearly every seat was occupied by a student or teacher. 

On the opposite side was Eaststone Academy who seemed to have invested heavily in their merchandise for Y/N’s opponent. Everyone was either wearing a t-shirt with Vanya’s name on it or carrying a sign with supportive catchphrases written in bold marker. 

Harry craned his neck in hopes of seeing Y/N preparing herself somewhere outside of the court but couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d sent her a quick message this morning and asked her if she needed anything but she insisted she wanted to be alone. 

“Fuck, it’s good we got in the queue early,” Mitch came by with an anxious Sarah, holding two cokes in his hand. They were both wearing navy shirts and sweatbands around their heads, Sarah was holding a sign that had Y/N’s name on it. 

“She’s gonna hate you for that,” Harry tried not to smile.

“Oh I already know,” Sarah said, “She watched me make it last night and then almost ripped in half when I asked her if I should bedazzle it.”

Harry’s expression changed into one of concern, “How was she?”

“She’s nervous but she insisted she was okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes, “You know how she is.”

He did, which was why he was willing to accept the fact she wanted to be by herself even though he was desperate to drive over there with strawberry milkshakes just so he could see that smile he had been dreaming about for the past three weeks. 

Suddenly, Eaststone Academy stood from their seats and cheered as Vanya Maddison came onto the court. “I’ve never seen such long legs,” Sarah gasped, saying what both Harry and Mitch were thinking. 

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as the people around him stood on their feet. He glanced down to the court and his eyes fell on Y/N as she walked onto the court with a dip between her brows and her tennis bag over her shoulder. 

She was wearing a white, pleated skort and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Her hair was slicked back as tightly as possible into a braid and her white runners were tied up on her feet. He noticed she was wearing earbuds in her ears and then found the walkman he had given her clipped to her skort. He smiled at that, wondering which of the many songs he had put together she was listening to. 

“There she is,” Sarah pointed and then waved to get her attention. 

Y/N held a hand over her face to block the sun and looked up at the crowd. When she caught sight of Sarah, she offered a friendly wave before her eyes landed on Harry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then walked to her seat on the other side of the umpire. 

“C’mon,” Harry murmured, feeling his palms sweating at the sight of her. 

“She’s got this in the bag, H.” Mitch puts a hand on his shoulder. 

Through the speakers, the umpire calls out the start of the match and everyone falls silent as both players walk to opposing sides of the court. Y/N bounces on her feet and swings her racket backwards and forwards as though warming herself up before the match starts.

When the first serve came, Y/N's reflexes kicked in. She returned the ball swiftly, keeping the rally going with her quick movements, remembering what Harry had taught her. Each exchange became more intense, but Y/N stayed determined, chasing down every ball.

When Vanya hit the ball for the other corner, Y/N ran towards it and returned the ball swiftly, earning the first point with a well-placed shot. The crowd erupted into cheers as Y/N gained an early lead.

“That’s my girl!” Harry clapped his heart in his throat. 

But Vanya wasn't about to let up. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, winning the next two points with powerful serves and precise shots. The score was now in Vanya's favor, and the pressure was on for Y/N.

“Fuck!” Y/N released a growl and hit her racket against the floor before storming off to her seat. Harry was tempted to walk down and help her but he needed to let her see what she was capable of on her own. 

Her anger was radiating from her, “I’d hate to get on her bad side,” Mitch said. 

Harry couldn’t seem to reply as he leant forward with both his elbows on his knees. “C’mon, c’mon, you can do it.” He mutters, thinking of the first bit of advice he had given her. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and stood on her feet. She walked back to her line on the court and bounced the ball up and down on the ground before throwing it up in the air and hitting it with a flat serve, exactly the way Harry had taught her. Her anger radiated from her as she slammed the ball with her racket and hit it with such force it went flying to the other end of the court but not before bouncing inside the square right by Vanya’s foot. 

Harry stood to his feet and pumped his fist into the air, “Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed as Sarah cheered beside him. 

They were now at match point and Y/N had to win this next round if she wanted to win the entire game.

The tension thickened in the air as people sat on the edge of their seats to see who would come out on top. This time, it was Vanya’s turn to serve as she launched the ball into the air and hit it with her racket to Y/N’s side of the court.

As Y/N unleashed powerful serves and precise shots, Harry found himself captivated by her every move. With each grunt of exertion, each flex of her muscles, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Despite the shifting heads of the spectators around him as they followed the ball back and forth, his gaze remained fixed solely on her.

Every aspect of Y/N's play had him in a trance—the way her muscles rippled as she sprinted across the court, the intensity in her expression as she anticipated Vanya’s next move, the graceful sway of her hair with each swing of her racket.

But as Harry watched, something stirred within him. A warmth spread through his veins, igniting a fire deep within him. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his shorts, a physical reaction to the raw power and determination radiating from Y/N on the court.

"Oh, fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he glanced down and saw the undeniable bulge in his shorts. Panic surged through him, his mind reeling with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Mitch's voice cut through his thoughts, and Harry quickly lowered his drink to conceal his arousal.

“N-Nothing,” Harry forces a smile, “I need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond as she pushes past everyone to get away from the crowd.

He walks quickly over to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was thirteen years old after experiencing girls for the first time again. Was it wrong to rub himself off in the middle of a tennis match when all he was looking at was the girl who played his favourite sport better than anyone he had ever seen, dominating the game with her anger and intensity like she was a complete animal?

He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind and his cock seemed to ache the more he thought about how beautiful she was on the court, completely in her element, anger and passion emitting from her. Every grunt and groan she made as she hit the ball with so much fervor had his head spiralling. 

He looked down and tried to will it away, he needed to get back out there to see her win the game. He thought of every disturbing thing he could possibly think of and even took out his phone to google the quickest way to get rid of an erection.

The excited yells of the crowd told him someone had won and he prayed he would return and see Y/N with the medal around her neck. 

After about ten minutes of taking deep breaths, he finally felt composed enough to leave his car. With a flustered face, he made his way back toward the court, silently praying for some kind of cosmic intervention to erase the embarrassing moment from his memory.

As he turned the corner, he spotted Mitch and Sarah engaged in conversation with Y/N, who was proudly wearing the gold medal around her neck. She had won - he knew she would. 

Y/N's eyes lit up as she noticed him, a wide smile spreading across her face as she proudly displayed her medal. Unable to resist, he grinned back in response.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and delicate strands of hair framed her face. At that moment, she radiated beauty, and he couldn't deny the sudden surge of emotions that had slowly been weaving themselves into the fabric of his feelings ever since he had returned to Crestwood. 

If the past fifteen minutes were anything to go by, Harry knew this was more than just a game of tennis. 

He was in trouble.

. . .

People cheered as Y/N entered Harry’s apartment with Sarah at her side, holding beer cans in the air and patting her on the shoulder as she sifted through the crowds of people. S&M by Rhianna played over the speakers as the apartment that was previously empty was now filled up with student’s from Crestwood. 

“There she is,” Mitch’s voice yelled over the music, “Crestwood’s very own Serena Williams,”

“I wouldn’t go that far Mitch,” She chuckled, unable to stop herself from smiling so hard after the excitement of her first win. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as she went in search of the one person she wanted to see whilst everyone fell into conversation around her. 

That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in his hand. His hair was a tangled mess, and his body was adorned in a loose, white shirt, its u-neck revealing the inked pair of swallows beneath his collarbones and gold chain around his neck. On his legs, he wore a loose pair of black trousers.

Y/N held back a smile as she made her way over to him until she realised who he was talking to. 

Her face fell as she saw the angelic blonde, tanned and glowing like she’d just come back from a holiday somewhere south of the equator. 

Harry’s face lit up as Y/N approached until he realised what was going on.

“Hey,” He smiled, trying to distract her. 

“Where were you?” Y/N snapped her gaze towards him. 

“What do y’ mean? M right here,” He spoke, “You were incredible out there.”

“Who’s this?” Y/N ignored him, folding her arms and looking at the girl he was speaking to. Y/N knew exactly who she was but felt the need to act as though she had never seen her before. 

Harry hesitated for a moment before introducing her. “Y/N, this is Astrid.”

Astrid flashed a dazzling smile at Y/N, her demeanour friendly yet confident. “Congratulations on the win today, Y/N. I’m looking forward to our match in the semifinals.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. “What?” he stammered, clearly taken aback.

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, surprised. “Y/N and I will be facing off in the semifinals.”

Y/N grit her teeth and forced a smile, the two girls eyeing each other up and down as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously between them.

Now that Y/N was into the semi-finals her next opponent was Astrid Anderson, one of the best junior, female tennis players in the county. 

Who just so happened to be Harry’s ex-girlfriend.

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[ghostking4m]

Rejection Is Just Redirection

Luke Hughes x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Listen, you didn’t really need college. You broke into the entertainment industry at 16, so college was just a plan b you put on the back burner. Being one of the most famous names and faces in the entire world, you easily had enough money to afford college, so why not give it a shot? After all, your boyfriend went to college, though he did kind of drop out to play hockey.

Once you made up your mind that you’d be going back to school, your next step what choosing your major and what schools to apply to. You write songs and sometimes write poems and books, so maybe English or journalism? Maybe Communications would help you answer some of the dodgy questions the paparazzi ask you. Heck, even political science or economics or business would be a good idea. They would allow you to make a difference in the world. Business sounds like a safe choice. You could do a lot with a business degree. Now to apply to schools.

So here’s the thing, you’re finally in a real relationship that you really don’t want to mess up. Staying in LA would allow you to go to school and continue working, so you could still be in the limelight when you want to be. USC and UCLA would be great choices for that and they’re extremely accredited schools. However, maybe Rutgers is the school you should choose, since it’s close to Luke. NYU might even be an interesting choice since it wouldn’t raise too many questions if you’re going to school in the city because you want to or if it’s because you want to be closer to your boyfriend. It has always been your dream school when you were a kid. Well, it’s decided then!

You honestly weren’t expecting the application and admissions process to be so complicated and grueling. It’s like the education system is trying to torture kids to see who would come out on top as the victor. College really is like the Hunger Games, isn’t it? You hadn’t the slightest idea of how to fill out your major requirement classes or send your high school transcript to the admissions office and your essays were mid at best. You’re a celebrity, it’s not like you needed to try all that hard to graduate high school since you did homeschooling since you were 16. Though, you gotta admit that the feeling of finally being done with the application process was a relief. It’s just a waiting game now for admissions decisions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“T-minus 2 hours until decisions come out. You nervous?” Luke asked as you guys were laying on the couch before he had to go to practice.

“A little, but it’s not the end of the world if I don’t get in. I mean, i’ve already got my career, so why would I worry about getting in so that I could work more to get a degree that would allow me to work even more? Why did i do this again?” you questioned back, joking with him. “If I don’t get in, I’ll just grab my bag and go back to LA and star in the highest grossing movie of the decade… again”

Luke laughed at your comment, despite hearing the quiet hesitation in your voice. He didn’t realize how much you actually wanted to get in. He didn’t know how much you wanted to prove that you’re more than just some face in gossip magazines or the most talked about name in the headlines. You wanted to be seen and treated like a person, someone who people respected because you worked just as hard as they did to get to the same place as them. You always advocated for equality for everyone and yet people always worshipped you and put you on a pedestal.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he countered.

“I’m not sure yet. Part of me regrets applying, because I don’t want to get in for nepotism or for being famous, but I also want to get in, because I want to make everyone proud of me.” You replied.

It broke Luke’s heart a little to hear you talk about this in the way you are, because how could anyone not be proud of you and what you accomplished at such a young age? You had 6 Oscars, 4 Emmys, the most nominations at the Grammy’s this year, and you were named the most powerful person of the year by Time Magazine, Forbes Magazine, AND Vogue. You were a sensation that was still only just beginning. You had the entire world eating in the lam of your hand.

“Well, no matter what happens, I’m proud of you for trying. You don’t need college, but I applaud your efforts anyway. You could honestly be anything you want, be anyone you want, all you have to do is try and not everyone can do that.” He said, and his heart absolutely MELTED at the tiny smile you tried to hide by hiding your face further in his chest.

He heard you mumble the most adorable, embarrassed “Thanks” from his chest and he couldn’t help but giggle.

“Let’s not think about it for a while, please?” you asked, politely.

“Ok. We can just rewatch the movie where you play a real life version of one of the most famous dolls in the world.” He says, purposefully teasing you!!

“Oh God.” You laughed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You held your breath as you opened the email concealing your admissions decisions. It felt as if the world was telling everyone to be quiet and listen.

“I got it.” You whispered as quietly as possible.

“You got in?!” Luke shouted, jumping nearly 7 feet high as he got up to look at you.

“No. I got the email that says if I got in or not.” You answered.

“Oh. Sorry for freaking out.” He looks away, slightly embarrassed. You give him a small look and smile full of adoration before turning back to your phone.

“Here goes nothing.” You say as you click on the email. “What? I don’t get it? Oh! I have to log into the admissions portal in order to see the decision.”

You click on the portal login link and enter your login id username and password, fingers slightly trembling with anticipation. Hesitantly, you click on the link that states “An update has been made about your decision.”

Taking a deep breath, you read a letter that says:

“Dear Y/n, Thank you for applying to New York University. We are humbled by the overwhelming interest in attending NYU and the outstanding quality of the applications we received this year. After careful consideration and thorough examination, it is with regret we must inform you were are unable to offer you admission for the Fall 2024 semester.”

“I didn’t get in.” You confessed barely loud enough for a mouse to hear.

Instantly, Luke had his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, fiercely protective. You were so disappointed that you weren’t even crying, almost as if you were expecting to be rejected.

“Whatever. Fuck them anyway. They didn’t deserve you to begin with. You belong somewhere like UMich or in an Ivy League school. You’re too good for them.” He tries to reassure you. “Look at it this way, you can continue doing what you love most and stay here with me. In the end, you learned something.”

“And what’s that?” you questioned him.

“Rejection is just redirection, that’s all. College wasn’t in the cards for you and life thinks you’re better off in the spotlight, making more money in a single year than those lousy admissions officers make in their entire lives. You were meant to be somebody great. You ARE somebody great and you’re becoming somebody even more perfect than I ever thought possible.”

His words struck a chord in your heart so deeply that you couldn’t help but hold on to him for dear life. You felt your eyes begin to prick with tears. As the first one fell out of your right eye, you knew automatically that they were tears of joy. Your heart swelled with pride and love for Luke as you laughed into his chest.

“Yeah. Fuck them. I don’t need them. I’m a star! You’re all I need.” You teased back. Deep down, you were incredibly disappointed, but Luke’s words of affirmation and love meant more to you than the rejection letter did. Nothing could beat that.

“That’s right, baby.” He laughed as he tighten his grip over you. He gently kissed the top of your head and repeated quiet “I love you’s” for at least 10 minutes.

“What time is it?” You asked.

“It’s…5:30.” He responded gently leaning over to turn on his phone to check. “Oh Shit! I’m gonna be late!”

“Go! Go! Go!” You laughed at him.

God, this boy. You thought, shaking your head. That’s MY boy.

#mine #x male reader #x reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #hockey gender neutral #hockey x male reader #hockey x reader #nhl fic #nhl x male reader #nhl imagine #nhl players #nhl hockey #nhl #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x male reader #luke hughes #male readers exist too #x male reader imagine #male reader imagine #gender neutral y/n #male reader

[firstlinefreddy]

I’ve subconsciously created my own call and response with Jack, every time he mentions DeAngleo I’ve stated responding “oh FUCK him”

#just realized I’ve been doing it the entire game #bruins lb

[sophfandoms53]

Crying over Frontiers’ characterization at 3 am like ya do

#i just sat through knuckles and Sonic’s conversation sitting on the rock #and DUDE #that scene was so good #I’ve been in love with how Sonic has been written the entire game honestly #and this scene cemented it #but knuckles omg #i didn’t realize how much I missed his character until now #and his dynamic with sonic is so funny and a highlight of the game #the smiling I’ve been doing is unreal #y’all were right about how good this game is #sonic the hedgehog #sonic frontiers

[un-pearable]

3/4 games down, sonic 3 & my best boy here we come >:3

#excuse my absence as of late i’ve been all in on playing origins with my bro #honestly miracle sonic has a franchise at all sonic 1 is torture /j #they’re all good ass games but the immediate jump in enjoyablity from 1 and cd to 2 is crazy #though partly just being able to do co op only after you reach 2 is part of it in story mode #sonic 2 is so well designed though we did 2player the entire time and it is painfully obvious that 3 was not designed with it in mind while #2 was. anyway what i’m saying is good video games im glad i’m finally playing them :] #NOT looking forward to having to go back and get all the emeralds i misssed lmao. i got like half of 1s #missed all of cd bc i forgot it had them. and worked my ass of getting all seven in 2 only for me to realize i had no idea what we actually #we’re supposed to do with them. but anyway #had fun :] i had a birthday doodle i should post so keep an eye out #hope you all had a fun day for the 23rd! we are pretending nothing bad happened on the 24th <3 happy bday sonic #see y’all soon once we finish 3&K tomorrow :]

[heeliopheelia]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐁𝐑𝐎

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 1.7k

warnings: hoon’s quite suggestive, jake’s hinting suggestive content but it’s really up to your own interpretation lmaoo, kissing

a/n: yayyy, this one has been sitting in my drafts FOREVER!! so glad to finally put it out...

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

You can’t help but chuckle into his lips, teeth clashing slightly when his cold hands make contact with the skin underneath your top. Heeseung pulls away from the kiss, raising his eyebrow at your behavior before realizing that the reason for your laughter comes from the touch of hands. 

Already knowing his ill intentions of tickling you by his expression, you put your hands over his and speak before you can even think of your words first.

“Bro, don’t even-”

Your words are interrupted with a loud scoff. “What did you just call me, you little witch?”

“Hey!”

“You see, things like that really make me rethink our relationship.”

You burst out laughing away before shoving his face away gently. “You’re so mean.”

“You’re the mean one for even letting such words come to your mind while addressing me.” 

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile before grabbing his neck and trying to smush your lips together. A whine rips out of your throat when he denies you your kiss and looks at you as if you were crazy.

“Just come here, you dramatic ass! I haven’t seen you in a whole week!”

Heeseung flicks your nose instead. “Exactly! You haven’t seen me in an entire week and the first word that comes to your mind is bro. Really?”

You groan loudly, throwing your head back as you prepare yourself for the next fifteen minutes of bickering with your boyfriend. “Oh my god-”

PARK JAY

“Why would you ever call me that, oh my god.”

His frown is enough to make you burst out with chuckles. You grab onto his arm as you catch up to him, letting the glass door of the small convenience store shut behind you. 

“I thought that was funny,” you chirp up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently.

“And in public too? You really want me to go gray before my thirties, don’t you?”

You raise your arm up and run your hand through his soft hair, pretending to actually consider his question. “I think you’d actually look rather hot with salt-pepper hair, you know? You’d look ravishing with any hairstyle, really.”

Jay sends you an unamused look as you keep giggling. “Sweet words aren't gonna get you anywhere, miss.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” you finally fold as you slip your hand into his. 

Jay intertwines your fingers without skipping a beat, before tugging on your arm and pulling you even closer to him. 

“Please, don’t ever do that again. I might actually go crazy.”

SIM JAKE

You look with slight disappointment at your boyfriend occupied with his game – too occupied to notice you’ve called him a bro instead of baby for the second time this past five minutes. Sitting boredly on his bed, you sigh again.

“What is it, angel?” Jake asks, eyes drawn to the screen and never sparing you a look. 

You never minded when he spent his evenings gaming, you know everyone has their own stress relievers, but tonight you were just so damn bored you didn’t know what else to do.

“Nothing, bro,” you snap a little sharper than intended, slightly irked by his innocent negligence. “I’m gonna order some take out. What do you want?”

Only then, couple seconds of silence later, your words seem to click and Jake pauses his game and turns to you with a slightly perplexed expression. “Wait… Could you repeat that?”

You roll your eyes. “I said, I’m gonna order som-”

“No, that word you’ve just called me,” he cuts you off with a pout. “Why would you say that?”

You shrug, dragging out your upset act although there’s barely a spark of annoyance in your system by now. 

“Dunno. Maybe I just wanted my boyfriend to pay attention to me finally after I’ve been begging for it for an hour now.”

Jake coos at you before standing up and walking over to you, abandoning his game completely and engulfing you in his embrace. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbles into your neck as you fall backwards on his bedsheets, your boyfriend on top of you. He kisses up a trail up to your jawline, then moves to your lips for a moment and dragging it out longer and longer. “Lemme make it up to you, huh?”

PARK SUNGHOON

“What’s gotten you so quiet?” Sunghoon asks as he nudges you with his hip, standing right beside you.

You finish washing your face before patting it dry with a towel, ignoring his questioning look as he pierces you through the mirror. You put the towel next to the sink before sighing.

“I don’t know, bro,” you say, biting your smile back as you notice his eyebrows raising up at the unusual nickname. “I guess I’m just tired.”

Sunghoon snorts quietly before turning to face you, leaning his hip against the marble counter. “Really?”

You look at him with fake confusion, tilting your head to the side as you blink innocently. “What do you mean?”

“If I remember correctly, I was just blowing your back out ten minutes ago and now you’re here calling me this fraternal slur?” He claps back, smiling lazily as your eyes go wide at his bold words. 

“Sunghoon! Oh my god,” you gasp, smacking his bare chest with your towel. “Have you got no shame?”

He barks out a laugh before walking up to you and grabbing you by your hips. “Maybe that’ll make you think twice before trying your stupid shit on me again.” And as these words leave his mouth, he’s leaning down and smacking his lips onto yours, already pulling you to your bedroom again.

KIM SUNOO

“A WHAT?” 

Your arms fall to your sides, and you watch as your beloved boyfriend goes into a fucking spiral over a nickname that’s just slipped out by an accident. “Sunoo, baby, please, calm d-”

“I know you did not just call me bro. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

You follow him out of the kitchen from where he storms out, an outraged expression on his face. You stifle your laughter and put on a serious facade as he drops down on the couch with an irritated huff, muttering under his nose about how unbelievable you were being.

You take a seat next to him and place your hand on his thigh. “I swear, I only said that out of habit.”

“Yeah, what’s next in the store for me?” He asks and this time you can’t help but chuckle. “No, tell me. When should I be prepared for you to start calling me homie or gang?”

“It’s not that serious!” You laugh in his face, only making his expression more sour. But how can you help it when he looks at you as if you’ve just pissed in his cereal bowl? 

“I’ve literally never been more offended in my life.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pepper his cheeks with kisses, hoping this will ease him out sooner. “I’m sorry, my beloved, my heart, my everything.”

“Keep talking and you might be forgiven somewhere in the future.” 

YANG JUNGWON

“I was thinking about buying that one perfume lately,” you say suddenly, eyes planted at the tv as the commercial reminded you of your last trip to the mall.

“Are you sure?” Jungwon hums, resting his head over yours that’s leaned on his shoulder. “It was rather expensive, no? I don’t want you regretting buying it two days later.”

“I know, bro,” you groan and turn your face to bury it in his neck. You don’t notice his head tilting to look at you a little questionably. “That’s why I’m thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ll actually commit.”

There’s a brief silence before his sweet voice follows after the kiss he presses to your hair. 

“I don’t think that’s my name, baby.”

You pull away, slightly confused, blinking up at your boyfriend. “What?”

“Out of all the nicknames you’ve given me, I liked that one the least.”

It takes you a moment to click and finally comprehend his words, and when you do, you let out a small huff at his still rather soft way with words.

You wrap your arms around his middle. “Oh… Sorry, I didn’t actually mean to say that.”

“It’s okay,” he assures quickly, bringing you closer to his warm chest, a steady heartbeat beating underneath his sweatshirt. 

“Well, which one do you like the most?” You ask, implying to his previous thought. 

Jungwon ponders for a moment. “Hm, I don’t know. I like all of them, really. Won is pretty nice, or my love… I like dumpling surprisingly a lot too.”

You can’t help but laugh at his answer, mind barely recalling the one and only time you jokingly referred to him as a dumpling while you pinched on his dimpled cheek lovingly.

“Gosh, you’re so cute.”

NISHIMURA RIKI

“Can you pass me the salt, bro?” You ask your boyfriend who’s sitting on your left. 

You’re too focused on frowning upon the bland food you’ve made to notice how Riki’s eyebrows furrowed up at his new nickname. 

After not having a response in the following minute, you turn to him with surprise as you notice the look on his face. 

“I don’t know, sis, I think your hands are fully capable, no?” He chirps at you and you gape at him with confusion before the realization dawns on you.

You snort, shaking your head at your boyfriend. “Don’t be a child, I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out.”

Riki hums. “Dunno, it sounded pretty natural to me, sis. Almost as if it was your regular nickname for me, sis.”

“Stop it!” You whine out, dropping your fork before glaring at the smirking man on your left. “I didn’t mean it. Now, give me a kiss.”

You pucker your lips and lean forward, only to be met with his hand pressed flat to your mouth. Your eyebrows shoot high as he chuckles at you. 

“Sorry but I’m not into incestious relationships.”

“Riki, c’mon!” You groan, kicking his shin underneath the table harmlessly. 

He cups your cheeks with a laugh and squishes your face with his fingers. “‘m just teasing,” he muses before leaning in and closing the gap between you. 

permanent taglist @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth @seungiesluv @i4kt @heehoonsnemo @seongslutt

© heeliopheelia 2024 // ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT copy, translate or repost any of my works on any other social platforms.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung fluff #heeseung imagines #lee heeseung imagines #park jay x reader #park jay fluff #park jay imagines #sim jake imagines #sim jake x reader #sim jake fluff #jake x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon imagines #sunghoon imagines #kim sunoo x reader #kim sunoo fluff #kim sunoo imagines #sunoo x reader #yang jungwon x reader #yang jungwon imagines #yang jungwon fluff #jungwon x reader #niki x reader

[tokyothirstygang]

Your bff Chifuyu is everything a girl could want: hot, loyal, and adorably stupid. There’s only one problem with your golden boy…he thinks he’s bad in bed. Good thing he has a friend like you willing to help him improve his dick game

You’re lounging around on a Saturday night with your best friend, Chifuyu.

He seems distant as he sits on the couch with you, eyes trained on the TV but clearly spaced out.

“Chifuyu? Hello? Are you okay? You’ve seemed…off all day.”

He doesn’t respond until you grab a pillow and chuck it at his head.

“Hey! What the hell?”

He tries to throw the pillow back at you, but you catch it before it hits you.

“Sorry! I tried talking to you but you didn’t answer. What’s up with you? You’ve been weird since you got here.”

Chifuyu sighs and slumps down further into the couch.

“I can’t tell you. It’s too embarrassing.”

You turn to sit sideways on the couch to face him full on.

“I’ve literally seen you trip, rip your pants then land in dog poop. What could be more embarrassing that?”

His face flames at the memory.

“Hey, you said you’d never bring that up again!”

You fight off a smile, knowing it would only humiliate him further even though it was really funny at the time.

“Chifuyu forget about that. What’s bothering you? We tell each other everything.”

He bites at the cuticle around his thumb and bounces his leg up and down.

“Fine, but this conversation is never ever leaving this room, okay?”

You nod furiously, eager to know his big secret.

“Okay, well…last night I was with Anna, you know that girl I met at the bar? I don’t think she, uh, had a good time when we were together.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“A good time doing what? Like hanging out with you?”

Chifuyu’s face hits full tomato status.

“No, not hanging out. When we were…” he trails off and it takes a moment for the realization to hit.

“Oh! When you were bed?”

Chifuyu groans in frustration and throws his head back.

“Yeah. It’s just-“ he reaches for a pillow and puts it over his face. “I don’t have that much experience. I know I’m not the best but I can’t be that bad, right?”

You accidentally snort at the question and he groans again.

“Im sorry! It’s just that we’ve never had sex so I wouldn’t really know what you’re like.”

“You know what? I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Forget I ever said anything.”

He leaves the couch and wanders over to the bar cart in the corner. He pours himself a shot of vodka and downs it immediately.

“You want one?” He asks and starts to pour you one before you even reply.

He comes back holding four shots- two for you two for him.

You both throw back all the shots, giggling and coughing the entire time.

When you’re both buzzed and warm, you catch yourself gazing at Chifuyu.

He was an extremely attractive man. Even if he wasn’t the best in bed yet any girl would still be lucky to have even bagged him in the first place.

That’s when your devious little mind gets an idea.

“Chifuyu…” your mouth starts talking before your brain can catch up and without realizing it, you say something that changes you both forever. “What if we had sex? If you think you’re bad in bed, you can practice with me.”

He stares at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“W-what?”

“I said…” You scoot closer to him.“let’s have sex.”

He still looks startled, but you don’t miss the way his eyes briefly linger on your lips.

“We don’t have to. I wasn’t trying to pressure you I just…I just…” his words gets lost in this throat.

The more he looks at you the more he can’t ignore how soft and inviting your lips look. He also can’t ignore the way your shirt is clinging to your tits or how your eyes are lighting up with that mischievous glint.

“So what if we do have sex? What then? We can’t just be the same after that, can we?”

You know he’s right but the topic has already been put on the table. No going back now.

“Things don’t have to change. You’re just practicing with me. You’re probably just getting nervous when you’re with other girls, but you know me, right? We can just have fun with it. It’ll be like…a science experiment!”

Chifuyu shakes his head at the comparison.

“You’re treating my dick like a science experiment?”

You both fall into a fit of laughter. The whole idea starts to seem ridiculous until you catch sight of Chifuyu nervously bouncing his leg again.

You start to turn your attention back to the TV when Chifuyu’s hand lands gently on your thigh.

When you look at him you see his pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed.

“If we do this…promise it won’t ruin things with us.”

“I promise.” You hold out your pinky, and Chifuyu grins as he links his with yours.

“Okay, then.” He shifts himself off the couch and down onto the floor. He’s on his knees in front of you, and you’re confused until he reaches for the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Lift up.” He demands, and you immediately obey. He slides the pants and your underwear off together then gently pulls you to the edge of the couch.

“Spread your legs for me.” A jolt of adrenaline rushes through you as you open your legs and expose yourself to him.

He takes a moment to admire the view in front of him before moving his lips to your inner thighs. He’s making a point of teasing you by giving attention to every spot except for where you need him most.

“Chifuyu… please.” When you lift your hips up, he takes the hint and gives you what you want.

Immediately its clear why someone wanting a quick hook up might hate chifuyu: he eats pussy like he’s in love with you.

He’s making out with it like it’s your mouth, passionately kissing, sucking and sliding his tongue around it like he’s waited his whole life to have you spread out in front of him like this.

He’s slow and intentional about it, holding your hands and listening to every little sound you make to see what you like the most. He’s going to make sure you feel every little thing, and he’s going make sure it feels fucking good.

You writhe beneath him, lifting your hips up to ride his face. He lets you control him. Whenever you push his face in deeper, he happily obliges while securing your thighs around his head with his strong hands.

“Fuck! Chifuyu…”

When you cum, you cum hard. Harder than anyone has ever made you cum from just foreplay alone.

When you finally recover from your orgasm, you’re in complete shock.

If this was any indication of what he was like in bed, all of those other girls were definitely idiots.

Chifuyu was going to ruin you.

“Jesus, Chifuyu. You’re so good at that.”

He blushes at the compliment.

“Really? Thanks, I-I wasn’t sure.”

You sit up, lean forward, and gently grab his face. You kiss him eagerly, not missing the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“Let’s go to my bedroom.” You suggest, and he nods, immediately pressing his lips to yours again as soon as you’re done talking.

You stumble back to your room, feverishly kissing the entire way. When you finally get there, you’re entirely naked and Chifuyu is down to his boxers.

“What position do you want to try first?” You finally pull away from him long enough to catch your breath. You sit down on the edge of the bed and look up at him.

“Uh…I’m not sure. Maybe-“

“Oh my god.” You accidentally cut him off mid sentence. While he was talking you snuck a peek at the bulge in his boxers. Unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, his cock has to be big.

“Wait, let me see.” You reach forward and roll his boxers down his thighs. When you finally get a good look at it, your mouth drops open.

“What? What’s wrong?” Chifuyu’s eyebrows furrow in confusion .

“Nothing, it’s just…huge.”

You’re not exaggerating. It’s a long, thick cock that’s guaranteed to split you in half.

“Is that okay? Do you think you could take it?” His genuine concern is adorable…and sexy.

“Y-yeah we can make it work. Just tell me what you want.”

He decides he wants you from behind first so you get on to your hands and knees and brace yourself for him.

When he tries to enter you, you immediately clench around the tip.

“Oh, shit.” Chifuyu sighs at the friction. “You might be too tight for me.”

“Just go slow. I can take it.” You’ve never had someone as big as Chifuyu and now that you’re presented with the opportunity, you can’t back down.

He reaches around you and starts rubbing circles into your clit.

“Is that better?”

You nod, dizzy at the feeling of being slowly stretched and filled up.

When you manage to take him halfway, he leans down and presses kisses onto your spine.

“You’re doing so good for me. Shit, just keep taking it like that.”

That’s when you know Chifuyu has lost himself to his lust. Level headed Chifuyu would be way too shy to say something like that. You have officially entered uncharted territory with him.

As he sinks in a little more, he tests the waters by giving you two steady, deep thrusts. When you immediately cry out, he smiles to himself.

“Look at you. Already falling apart for me.”

You sigh and bite your lip as you grab a pillow and lie face down ass up.

Chifuyu takes that as a sign you’re ready and willing for him so he starts pounding into you.

Your brain doesn’t even know what sound to focus on: his growls, his hips crashing into you or your own screams of pleasure.

Within minutes he has you cumming all over him, chanting his name and gripping the sheets.

He waits for you to ride out your orgasm before he flips you over on to your back. You’re still seeing stars when he directs your attention to his dick.

"Look what you did to me.”

Around the middle of it is a sticky, white ring.

“Creaming all over my fucking cock when I was barely inside you.”

You’re still in complete awe at the way he’s been talking to you. You initiated the sex thinking you were going to teach him some tricks but instead he was unlocking new kinks for you.

“Come here.” He backs off the bed and stands in front it. He pulls you up and to the edge of the mattress. “Clean up your mess.”

When you look up into his eyes you see they’re dark and animalistic.

Your sweet Chifuyu is gone.

You take him into your mouth, almost immediately gagging because of his size. If you thought taking him into your pussy was hard, this was on a whole other level.

He gently rocks his hips forward, sliding himself in and out of your mouth.

Your eyes are watering and you can barely breathe but he looks so gorgeous with his head thrown back and eyes closed you let him keep using you.

You continue to suck and choke on his cock for a couple of minutes before he finally pulls it out.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that. Get back on the bed for me.”

You assume he wants to go back to where you’d left off but he stops you as you try to get back on all fours.

“No, baby. Lie on your back for me.”

You do as he says and before you know he’s got your legs spread open and thrown over his thighs.

“I wanna see your pretty face while you take it.”

Just like that he’s sliding back into you, stretching you and making you feel full before he’s even started fucking.

When he finally does start moving his hips forward, you swear he’s going to rip you in half.

“Fuck! Chifuyu…you’re so…so big...” Your words only encourage him to keep going, and when he miraculously sinks fully into you, you both cry out.

“Shit…you’re the only one who’s been able to take me like this.” He confesses, sliding his hand down to toy with your clit. “Your pussy must be made for me.”

He intently watches your face and when his cock finds the spot that makes your eyes roll back, he keeps hitting it until you’re speechless.

You want to yell his name, moan in pleasure, and tell him you’re about to cum but it feels too good to do anything but just take it.

He feels you getting close and leans down to your eye level. He presses his forehead against yours while he strokes you slow and deep.

“I know you want to cum, baby.” He whispers and your toes curl. “Just let me have it. Make a mess on my cock.”

You find your voice again as your orgasm hits you hard. You scratch at his back as you scream his name over and over.

“Shit…ugh…baby…” Chifuyu pulls out and strokes himself a few times before he cums all over your stomach.

When he flops down in bed next to you, you’re completely confused.

“So, wait a minute…why exactly did you think you’re bad in bed?”

He lets out a shaky laugh as he tilts his head to look at you.

“I don’t know. I could never get it in all the way. I thought maybe they weren’t turned on enough to take it. Like maybe they didn’t really like me or something.”

You smack him with a pillow for the second time that night.

“You idiot! They couldn’t take it because you’re big not because they didn’t like you.”

Chifuyu glances at his dick as he considers it.

“Huh… maybe you’re right?”

You roll your eyes and playfully shove him.

“I think you’ve been in too many fights. Your brain is only operating at 5% these days.”

He chuckles as he rolls out of bed. He leaves the room and returns with a towel for you.

As you clean yourself off, you see Chifuyu sitting on the edge of the bed bouncing his leg again.

“So…how was I? You can tell me the truth.”

It’s baffling that he’s nervous again after everything you’d just gone through together.

“Chifuyu Matsuno, you have officially ruined other men for me.”

____

Shout-out to all the big dick Chifuyu stans I hope everyone survived this story because I was losing my mind writing it 🥵 lmao

____

@sherlockscumslut @tomiokas-lunchbox

@kindbitch

#tokrev smut #tokyo revengers smut #anime smut #tokrev chifuyu #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #chifuyu smut #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu x y/n #chifuyu scenarios #chifuyu x you #chifuyu matsuno #tr chifuyu #big d!ck chifuyu returns #cw: smut #cw: suggestive

[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

[bau-muffin]

“Live Mas”

Word count: 6343

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, dbf!Hotch if you squint

Content warning: oral sex, fingering, p in v sex

Summary: you had a bad week at work, and Aaron suggests you go on a cabin trip. What could possibly happen?

Author’s Note: this is for my friend’s (@rivnxm) birthday! Happy birthday darling, and I hope you have a WONDERFUL day <3 xoxo

“Oh my god, thank you for letting me crash here,” you said, half gratefully, half apologetically, with a bottle of wine in your hand. Aaron raised an eyebrow at you with a half smile from where he was sitting in an oversized armchair, beckoning with his hand for you to set your things down.

“You’re lucky you caught me on a day where I actually got to go home at a decent hour. Jack’s at Jessica’s until Sunday night, and this house sounded a little hollow.”

You sat your bag on the floor unceremoniously beside the couch, the wine on the coffee table, and yourself on the couch, flopping a bit.

He eyed you, and you almost rolled your eyes as you felt him “profile” you.

“Rough day?” Aaron asked.

“Rough week. JD is giving me issues and I can’t stand him! He said my article was frivolous. Frivolous! Can you believe the gall?”

“Isn’t this the same guy who said your use of the word “persnickety” in an editorial was entirely too casual?”

“The one and only bastard.”

“If only he was the only bastard. It would make my job easier.”

You rolled your eyes, “you know what I meant.”

He reached for the wine bottle and pulled out a bottle opener and popped it open, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I do.”

Of course, your friendship with Aaron Hotchner was probably a bit strange. He was in his 40s, a father, and a widower who had been through a divorce, and you were… well, quite a bit younger and not as jaded or cynical.

You were acquainted with him through your father, whose expertise was consulted for a case as a favor to Aaron, and somehow you two clicked and became better friends than he was with your father. You’d met him after your father invited him to a barbecue, and you realized you’d never met a more stoic man, nor one who could wear the hell out of a quarter zip shirt like he did. Did you form a small crush on him? Yes. Did you dare utter it aloud? Hell no. You suppressed the snot out of it.

“You know what I need? I need a vacation. Just… to relax. Maybe become one with nature, let the moss grow on me like a rock.”

Aaron got up to get wine glasses from his wet bar, and came back, sitting down in his chair as he poured the wine in the glasses. “What would your ideal vacation be?”

“Gosh… I love the mountains,” you said dreamily, your chin propped up on your knuckle, “I haven’t stayed in a cabin since… I don’t know, since I lived with my parents.”

He handed you a glass of wine. “I see.”

“You sound awfully pensive, what’s ticking in that head of yours?”

“I was thinking… maybe, we could take a vacation. Just you and me and a cabin in the mountains. A retreat, if you will. Jack’s at Jessica’s, and I have an overstock of days off.”

You took a sip of wine and leaned forward. “Where were you thinking?”

“West Virginia. I’ve rented a cabin before that was about four or five hours drive from here- easily doable for a weekend getaway. We could leave tomorrow after work, Friday, and come back Sunday evening.”

“Why would you come?”

He shrugged. “Keep an eye out on you. Plus, I need a break too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you not believe I can take care of myself at all?”

“I don’t doubt that you can,” Aaron insisted, “I just… I don’t know, I don’t want to risk anything.”

You were aware of his overprotective tendencies, partially because of the horrors he saw at his job, and also because of what happened to his wife. Your eyes and lips softened a little at the layer of concern in his voice. “Well… I guess it’s always more fun with friends.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “You could bring some board games.”

“Are you telling me Super Special Agent Aaron Hotchner is fond of board games?”

“That is not what SSA stands for, and you know it,” he said with a laugh.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in the passenger seat of Aaron’s SUV after work the next day. He had loaded up your bags, snacks, and cooler of drinks into the trunk without much complaint, which surprised you. You were sure he would make the typical sarcastic “traveling light?” comment that most guys did, but it was nothing from him.

“I guess I’m the passenger princess,” you said with a laugh before you popped a gummy worm in your mouth from the bag between your legs.

His eyebrows raised in bewilderment as he looked over at you. “I- if you mean exactly what the term sounds like, yes, I guess you are.” Aaron looked at the road before looking back at you. “Gummy worm, please?”

“I’m surprised Penelope hasn’t taught you more internet slang,” you said as you handed him a red and green gummy worm.

“She taught me what “rizz” and… um… “slay” means. That was too much for me.” He popped the worm into his mouth. You studied the side of his face for a second before he glanced over at you. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a gummy man.”

“I love gummies. If Ronald Reagan ate jellybellies to concentrate on ruining our country, then I eat gummies to help save it. It’s not so great for my physique, though.”

“I like your physique,” you blurted.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn’t say anything as he turned his attention to the road, though even your view of the side of his face didn’t hide the small smirk.

“You’re smug,” you said, teasingly accusatory.

“I don’t get many compliments on my physique nowadays- give me a minute or two to stew in it.”

“It- it kind of reminds me of Atticus Finch. You know- from To Kill a Mockingbird?” You said ramblingly.

“Are you saying I’m Gregory Peck?” You didn’t have to look at him to know he had that damn smirk on his face.

“I-“ you paused for a moment before lifting the bag of gummy worms comically, inspecting the back of it. “What level of alcohol content is in this anyways?”

“Hopefully none, considering I’m driving us, and you gave me one.”

“You’re a lightweight if all it takes is a gummy worm to get you tipsy- but there is none, you are very astute, Aaron.”

By the time you guys drove up the winding lane to the cabin, you were exhausted. You planned on taking a nap as soon as you hauled your luggage in, and you had told Aaron as much about fifteen minutes before the estimated arrival time. It was nightfall anyhow.

“I’m the one who drove, and you’re exhausted,” he mused with a smile as he carefully set some luggage on the porch.

“You’re more than welcome to take a nap too, if you’d like,” you said with a soft scoff as you waited by the door for him to open the cabin, “I’m sure there’s more than enough space for you to lay your weary head.”

“I’m sure there is,” Aaron said with a small smile as he opened the door to the cabin, with the instructions that the owner had given. When you lugged the cooler and snacks in, the smell of wood met your nose.

“This makes me so nostalgic,” you said breathily, carrying your load to the kitchen.

It was a medium sized cabin, so the living room, which featured a nice fireplace, and the kitchen were all in one open space. You didn’t study it much further as you began loading your drinks and food onto the counters and into the fridge, and Aaron began pulling in suitcases and toiletry bags.

“I’ll check the layout, and you can decide which bedroom you want to stay in,” he explained.

“Be quick about it, I need to get my blanket and pillow,” you said lightheartedly.

“Yes ma’am,” he said sarcastically before venturing further.

You cleared your throat when you realized the formal address made you feel something low in your stomach, but you tried to ignore it. You continued putting things away, then you turned and Aaron was standing there, his brows creased.

You rolled your eyes as your hand landed on your chest by instinct. “God, you scared me.”

He ignored you. “We have a problem.”

“What is it? It’s not a leak, is it?”

“If only. I could fix that. No, it turns out I booked a cabin with only one bed.”

“Oh-“

“However, I can probably sleep on the couch. If it makes you feel better, we can take turns.”

“Aaron, no, take the bed. Not to make you feel old, but your back-“

“My back is fine,” he said gruffly, “I sleep on my couch at home all of the time.”

“Aaron…”

“Don’t ‘Aaron’ me,” he said with a tiny smile, “I insist. Besides, you’re tired, and it’s almost time to go to sleep for the night anyway.”

“You damn smooth lawyer fbi agent,” you muttered as you moved to carry your stuff to the adjacent bedroom, “you make a good argument.”

“I know I do. Now, go get some rest. We can start planning the itinerary tomorrow morning.”

“What makes you think I won’t just sleep in until lunch time?” you asked sassily.

“Then I suppose that’s your prerogative.”

You moved to give him a hug, setting your bags down. “We’ll see. Good night.”

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“I hope they do,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Good night.”

You thought you heard an amused hum behind you as you tote everything to the bedroom. It was cute- a queen sized bed with a nice quilt on it that had an adorable design featuring bears, a large dresser that looked hand carved, and side tables with rustic lamps that had antlers for shades.

The bathroom was a decent size, and you found that the shower looked like a dream. But when you looked out of the sliding door where there was evidently a deck… you were surprised to see a hot tub. A hot tub, but not two bedrooms, you mused.

Then you saw the mountains, lit faintly by moonlight, and you gasped, awe filling you as you studied the range, your eyes tracing every pinnacle.

But after you put on your cotton pajamas and brushed your teeth and showered, you slid under the covers, the weight of the quilt settling nicely on you, and you realized- you can hear every damn scampering and skittering creature in the woods. The crickets that once seemed to be a comforting constant now sounded more ominous, and the frogs that were croaking innocently seemed to take on an edge.

You scrolled on your phone for a while, all of the lamps turned off and your face illuminated by the screen. But your brain was not winding down, and you were not sleepy. You set your phone on the side table, and turned from the window, your face towards the door, and closed your eyes.

No bueno. Those critters and the chirping and the croaking and various skittering wouldn’t let you sleep.

It took about two hours before your resolve melted and you got up out of bed.

As quietly as you could, you padded to the kitchen- you had not made it to the fridge well before you heard Aaron’s groggy voice saying your name and then, “are you okay?”

You could barely see his head peeking over the back of the couch, pointed away from the kitchen.

“I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d get some water. Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

You paused, wondering if you should admit the embarrassing truth. “The noises outside.”

“Someone’s not accustomed to the great outdoors and being away from highways and interstates,” he said a tad bit teasingly.

“I’m not,” you admitted as you filled a cup with water.

“C’mere.”

You sipped the water. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to help you go to sleep.”

You set your cup on the counter. “And your method would be…?”

“Stop asking so many questions and just c’mere,” he said, a tad bit exasperated.

“Okay dad,” you said sarcastically as you ventured towards the couch.

Aaron was half laying on the couch, his elbow propping himself up. His legs were covered by a thin blanket, but he was wearing a slightly tight green t-shirt with the Schweppes logo on it that made you bite your lip. You could clearly see an outline of his chest and the small chub of his belly even only lit by the moonlight through the window, and it was… well, he was an attractive man and you’d never felt a greater impulse to bury your head into someone’s chest before. You ignored your baser instincts.

“I’m here,” you say, almost sounding annoyed, your hands on your waist. You didn’t miss the way his eyes flitted over your pajamas.

“Sit on the couch with me. Maybe we can watch something until you fall asleep.” He sat up and patted the seat next to him.

“Were you not asleep when I came in?” You sat down beside him, and he threw part of his blanket over your lap.

“I’m a light sleeper because I’m constantly listening out for Jack. Or my phone, for the bureau.” He put his arm behind your head on the back of the couch. “You can lean into me, if you want, you know.”

Your head instinctively laid on his shoulder. “Aaron, I’m still befuddled why you would ask me to go to a cabin with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… our friendship is so unlikely anyways. You’re… frankly, middle aged. We’re in totally different areas of life. You have more… experience.” You cleared your throat nervously. “In life I mean.”

His eyebrows raised but he said nothing as he turned the TV on. Of course it was George Lopez.

“You make my life feel a little lighter,” Aaron said finally. “I love having you around and…” he studied his lap for a moment. “I would probably consider you my best friend. I’ve told you things I… I hadn’t told my team for… for a while. Maybe ever.” He looked up at you with a small smile. “You drag it out of me without saying a word.”

You stiffened a little at being called best friend, but you felt his eyes studying you keenly.

“And what do you want me to say? Call you my father figure?” You said teasingly.

“God, no,” he said almost a little too emphatically, cringing, “We’re definitely two adults. I don’t want that sort of… dynamic. Besides, I am way too young to be your dad.”

You grinned a little, but your eyes started to droop closed.

Aaron shifted so that you could lay more comfortably, but soon, despite the canned laughs from the TV, he too drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, you did not expect your pillow to feel so warm or firm. Your hand patted around, and you felt a moment of panic course through you.

You opened one eye to realize that your pillow was none other than the chest of Aaron Hotchner. Your face was buried into his chest and your cheeks flushed at the thought of it. You patted one more time to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Somewhere in the night, you guys had laid down, and your legs were tangled with his, your back against the back of the couch and Aaron facing you, kind of… pinning you.

“Having fun there?” His voice said softly, though a smile was evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry-“ you scrambled to sit up but he shushed you gently.

“Don’t worry about it, we were asleep. It’s not like you could have helped that.”

“Still-“

“I am not going to tolerate you blaming yourself for something so innocent and harmless,” Aaron said sternly, his voice deepened by the morning grogginess. It was too early in the morning for you to need to clutch your legs together. Your resolve or the lack thereof was embarrassing, really.

“Is this how you talk to your agents?” You asked teasingly.

“Yes,” he admits, “I have had to remind my agents that sometimes things don’t go as planned on missions, and it’s not always their fault. Some of them take it hard.”

You leaned your head back against his chest, and his hand moved to the small of your back.

“Do you think…” you started but then hesitated.

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think it would be inappropriate if we flipped so that I’m… you know, on your chest?”

No words were spoken; you felt his strong arms move you, and you were laying on his chest.

“I take that as a no,” you murmured. His chuckle rumbled within his chest underneath you.

“We’re friends, we can take it, right?” Aaron said, almost cryptically.

You attempted to sit up, but when you realized how… intimate that felt, you laid back down. “I really don’t think you’ve been telling me the whole truth,” you said daringly. You looked up at him and you could see his arched eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“We have some sort of tension, and I need to know if you feel it too.”

“Tension?”

“Don’t play dumb, Aaron.”

He said your name, and it was followed by a second of hesitance.

“Aaron. We’re both adults here,” you said pleadingly.

He looked down at you, his eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t explain what you saw in those dark eyes of his, a vulnerable yet guarded fortress that you could occasionally peer into like a dollhouse. He looked so… conflicted. Like he wanted something that was well within reach, but fear or uncertainty was holding him back.

Aaron easily could have leaned down and kissed you. He knew that.

But instead he said, “do you want coffee? I brought the coffee beans you said you liked and a grinder.”

You could have pushed further but you didn’t. “I do, yeah. I probably need to change for the day anyway.”

After you awkwardly scrambled away from him, you sat in the bedroom on the bed for a couple of minutes after undressing down to your underwear to stew on what could have happened. Why didn’t he kiss you? You could have sworn he was going to but stopped himself. Why was he forbidding himself from something he wanted, that he could have enthusiastically?

When you did finally reemerge (dressed of course), you smelled the coffee perking in the coffee pot provided by the cabin owners.

“Did you sterilize that thing?” You asked him worriedly, sending a look to where he was leaning against the counter, texting on his phone.

“I did, don’t worry,” Aaron reassured you, looking up at you from his phone with a smile, “I know how you are about sterilizing kitchen items.”

“I am not risking a brain eating amoeba even for you, Hotchner.” You sat down at the kitchen bar with a sigh.

Stealthily, you scanned his outfit- a brown and orange plaid flannel shirt, rolled up to the forearms, and khaki pants. God forbid he wears jeans even away from the office, you smiled to yourself.

“Apparently everyone at the office is making bets about why I went on leave.” Aaron slid his phone into his pocket as he began pouring coffee into a mug.

“What are the reasons given by them?”

“Morgan is saying that I sprained an ankle and didn’t want to risk mandatory leave. Rossi says I’m finally gaining my wits and letting loose for a weekend and getting ‘shitfaced.’ Garcia is saying I’ve eloped and went to Paris. Emily and JJ have decided not to bet but are keeping up with the money.” He placed the mug in front of you on the bar. “Prepared just the way you like it.”

You sipped it, holding the mug with both hands. “This is perfect.”

“As many times as I’ve picked up your order from the cafe, I ought to know it by heart.” He picked up his own mug and sipped on it, his strong hand wrapped around it as though he could crush it, and you felt something filter through you. The curvature of his hands, the strength evident in the veins and his fingers- but the way they were holding the fragile mug, carefully and cautiously picking it up and placing it down again.

The way his lips rested on the rim, his throat gulping slightly with every drink- there was something so vulnerable and intimate about watching him drink, even though you’ve seen each other drink a million other times. And yet, you began feeling a little green.

Aaron lowered his mug to look at you.

“You look like you’re a million miles away. Not to mention you’re staring.”

“Mm? No, um… I’m okay.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He was a profiler. Why bother hiding anything from him.

“I’m jealous,” you blurted.

His eyebrows raised until his forehead wrinkled. “Jealous?” he asked.

It was like a floodgate opened.

“I’m jealous of the coffee mug because you willingly put your lips on and take tender sips from it. I’m jealous because you wrap your hands around it protectively. I’m just… downright envious of the way you hold it, Aaron. Because I know you refuse yourself me.”

After you had said it, you covered your face with your hands. This cabin was way too small for such a confession.

And yet, you felt his hands, still warm from holding the coffee mug, tug your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Aaron said softly, “you’re… right that I refuse myself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re young. I’m so much older than you, I would be holding you back. I have a lot of baggage, for crying out loud, I don’t want to haul that into your life just for you to…” his voice trailed off. It struck you.

“You’re afraid of me leaving you.”

“I know you’re ambitious,” he admitted, “and you should be with someone equally as ambitious. I’m in the phase where I could retire from the FBI to be home with Jack. I’m in my career because it’s… it’s my passion.”

“You’re still thinking about Haley,” you said softly.

“Yes,” Aaron admitted, “I won’t lie and say that what all happened with Haley doesn’t affect how I go forward with relationships.”

“I’m not so ambitious that I can’t appreciate a good man, Aaron. That’s not to say I would quit my job or my pursuits for you, but I don’t think you’d want me to either.”

He took your hands in his. “I wouldn’t. I like you just as you are. You and your work drama, the way you’re so finicky about certain things but carefree in others- driving you to the mountains may have been the highlight of the trip because as soon as ranges came into view, your nose was stuck to the window, and I’m almost certain you’d still see your nose print on the glass. The way you adore people and the little things in life… I’ve never been able to master that, but it comes so effortlessly to you.”

The revelation hit you like a nerf bullet to the forehead out of nowhere. “You notice those things?”

“I do.”

“You know… the drive up doesn’t have to be the highlight,” you said a little teasingly.

“And what are you suggesting?” A small smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m suggesting we either get this out of our systems and forget it ever happened, or we start something that we can’t finish without one of us breaking our heart.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron said quietly.

You didn’t have to think before you pulled him closer by his unbuttoned flannel, and your lips wavered half an inch away from his. His eyes flitted down to look at your lips before gazing into your own eyes.

“I’m so sure,” you said breathlessly.

That was the only cue he needed before he closed the distance between you, his lips landing on yours softly before they sought your lips like he was scouring for water in a desert. His arms pulled you out of the bar stool and onto your feet, his hands settling on your back on and around your waist. The old man had it in him, anyone would have to admit it.

Not too old for surprises, apparently, as he gripped you and hoisted you onto the counter. You squealed a little, and you could hear him chuckling. Your hands went to his shoulders, and your legs hooked around his waist.

His hands held your face on either side and pulled you in closer. If he could inject himself into your skin, you know he would.

You playfully nipped, pulling his lip between your teeth and sucking on it, eliciting a groan from Aaron that made you grin as you continued kissing him.

Your tongues waltzed together in intricate circles, and you felt his hands ease to your bottom as they splayed out to support you.

“What do you think you’re doing,” you murmured. He grinned like a cat who got the milk.

“I’m about to take you to the bedroom, and we’re about to make love. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

“Carry on,” you said lightly, your lips against his neck as he toted you to the bedroom.

It wasn’t long before your back hit the mattress as he laid you down carefully.

“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” you quipped with a smirk as you looked up at him. Aaron chuckled as he tugged off his flannel and threw it to the side.

“I have to be at least a little fit to be in the FBI. Besides, I’m not that old. Now, Rossi…”

“You are not about to mention Rossi before an intimate moment,” you interjected, half incredulous and half amused.

“Sorry, sorry. But point being, I’m not exactly ancient, and my muscles haven’t completely disintegrated.” His T-shirt was soon discarded, and flung it to who knows where.

Your eyes roved over his muscles, and the sight of them made you want to salivate. He wasn’t what most would consider “ripped,” but his muscles were defined while also having a little bit of a tummy. You wouldn’t change a thing about him.

“They haven’t disintegrated,” you agreed with a small smile.

Aaron leaned down over you. “Do you mind if I relieve you of your clothes?” He asked teasingly.

“Be my guest,” you murmured lazily.

He took his time, pulling your sweatpants down and disposed of it, tugging off your baby tee shirt next. You could see him visibly gulp as he studied your bra and panties.

“Now, before we go forward…” his finger was hooked on the waistband of your panties, playing with it, “are you sure you want this? Absolutely sure?”

“I’m absolutely sure, Aaron, I swear.”

“At any time, if you want to stop, please tell me,” he said earnestly, “it’s absolutely necessary for you to know that we can stop if you don’t want to go any further. I don’t care how far into it we’ve gone, if it’s any less than enthusiastic then we timeout.”

“You’re precious, you know that?”

Aaron almost looked horrified. “You better tell me this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this from a partner.”

You nibbled on your lip. “You’re just very thorough about it. Usually a simple “uh huh” suffices.”

“Sweetheart, like I said, I want nothing less than enthusiastic consensual sex. It’s just important to me.”

“Then you’ve got it,” you smiled up at him.

His hand fished under your back to unhook your bra, and when he pulled it away from your chest, you swore he was in awe like some people are of a sunset.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful, baby,” he said breathlessly.

You felt yourself flush and it traveled well into your chest area, and he chuckled, amused, as he kissed the nipple of your left breast, feeling the heat against his lips.

“You’re adorable when you blush like that,” Aaron said warmly.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and freed you of them. The cold air hit you and you squirmed, but he surged into action, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. The noises he made, almost sounds of desperation, turned you on almost as much as his mouth on your breast.

His hand began kneading your other breast, and you breathed heavily.

“Fuck,” you muttered, a shot of lightning down your back, “you’re so good at this.”

Aaron moved away from your nipple and smirked at you. “Oh, do you mean that I’m… experienced?”

“Shut up and suck a tit,” you groaned, your hand going to your face in embarrassment as he chuckled.

“Did you really think I missed that earlier?”

“Not really, I was just hoping.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

Your hand went to your clit, and you began rubbing it in soft circles with your index and middle fingers, and Aaron resumed sucking your breast, transitioning to the other one. Of course you’ve masturbated before, but the combined sensation of him on your nipples and your own fingers was sending you over the edge as you lifted your hips to ride them, moaning in his ear.

When you felt that sweet release, your head tilted back, and you relaxed. Honestly, you could have slept, but Aaron clearly had different ideas.

“My turn, pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin?” You asked in surprise.

“Listen, I was trying something,” he said a little defensively, “but the point being that I want to make you feel good. You’re already so wet.”

He took your hand, pulling it away from you, and he sucked the cum off your fingers, his larger hand engulfing around your hand. He finally pulled your fingers out with a loud “pop.”

“Sweet- just like you, actually,” Aaron said smugly.

“And I’m sure you’ve got a sweet tooth in your head somewhere,” you replied as you watched his head approach between your thighs.

If only you could tell the version of you that had seen Aaron at the barbeque and thought he was handsome “for a man his age” that eventually his black hair would be seen bobbing between your legs with his tongue delving into your pussy. That version of him that had been wearing his brown quarter zip, looking down at you while your dad introduced you two. Who would have thought?

And fuck, that man was talented with his tongue. Was tying cherry stems with your tongue mandatory in the FBI? If it wasn’t, it should be. But otherwise- that G-Man knew his way around the G-Spot.

He made your insides feel like they had been melted down, sitting low in your stomach as the coil tightened. If this was just his tongue…

Aaron lapped at your depths, making those same desperate noises he had been making earlier. You moaned, your hands searching for something to grasp, and they found his shoulders. Your hold was so strong, it left red marks behind on his pale skin.

Your own guttural noises, some you hadn’t been sure you ever made before, melded with the sound of the wet noise of him eating you out, and you were suddenly so glad that you were in a cabin on a winding road.

“Aaron,” you said breathlessly, your chest heaving beautifully, “I’m ready, I think I’m ready for… for you.”

He lifted his head up at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, although… um… I didn’t bring lube.”

“Mhm… What about protection?”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Well… to put your mind at ease, I’m clean, I just got tested a few months ago as part of a physical, and it was after I broke up with Beth. I haven’t… had sex since we broke up.”

“I’m clean too.”

Aaron kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good.”

“Is it… do you think I could…”

He kissed from your belly button up to between your breasts. “Say it with your words, darling.”

“Can I ride you? Please?”

“Far be it from me to withhold pleasure from a princess,” he said smugly. You flushed.

“I’m not a princess,” you protested weakly, not even sounding convinced of your own statement.

“You absolutely are. You’re my princess, at least.”

“Then do the princess a favor and remove your bottoms,” you said coyly.

With a laugh, he stood up from the bed and began unbuckling his belt, and slipped off his pants. You hadn’t taken him for a boxer guy, but you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised. The outline of his dick was visible through his boxers, obviously hard, but when he slipped them off, your mouth gaped a small bit.

You saw the size of his shoes and his nose, you knew what the chances were of him being well endowed. But you didn’t ever really think you’d get to see for yourself. He didn’t look like he was too big, but he certainly wasn’t too small- not terribly long, but certainly girthy.

Absent-mindedly he stroked it, smearing the precum on the head. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Aaron, if you put this off one second longer-“

“Patience,” he stifled a laugh as he laid down on the bed beside her, his hands patting his thighs in a beckoning motion.

You moved to straddle his thighs, and carefully, you lined his dick up with your entrance, and sunk yourself onto it, inch by inch, taking deep breaths as he stretched you. When you fully sheathed him, he groaned as he held your hips, his hands splayed to support you, and your hands on his chest with small soft splatters of hair under your palms.

“Baby, you take me so well,” Aaron breathed. You clenched around him and he groaned again, his head tilted back.

Every time you moved your hips, every time he felt your ass bounce even slightly, he felt he had to fight from finishing right then and there. He truly wasn’t as young as he was, but… you had exceeded his expectations.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, his hold on your hips tightening as you rutted against him.

Your face held sheer determination, but Aaron could see when you were hitting a sweet spot by the look on your face- your eyes would glaze over slightly, and your lips would fall agape. He wished he could capture your likeness and hang it up beside the Mona Lisa- it was art, a wonder of the world.

“Baby, make some noises for me,” he urged, “I need to hear you.”

Your breasts heaved, and you whimpered as you moved up and down on his dick. His hips bucked, and you squeaked at the sudden shift.

“I’m almost there,” Aaron warned you apologetically.

“That’s okay,” you said in between panting.

True to his word, he painted your walls with his cum, and you felt like you were so soaked.

At one point, you stopped bouncing and thrusting, and panted, looking down at him and him looking up at you for what seemed an eternity, his dick still inside of you.

You slipped off of him, and rolled over to lay beside him. He pulled you against his chest, spooning you from behind.

“We really need to clean up,” he murmured against your neck, “but… I could lay here with you for so long, darling. You feel so right in my arms.”

“Ditto,” you said lazily.

Despite the urge to not get up, you both cleaned up and did the usual post sex hygienic stuff. You guys dressed again, and you sat in his lap on the couch, his arm circled around your waist.

“Mm… pretty good for an old man, wasn’t it?” Aaron teased you.

“Shut up, cradle robber,” you muttered, though a wide grin was on your face.

He pinched your thigh as he chuckled.

You both fell silent, the only sound coming from the AC unit whirring on. But there was a tension of a different kind between you two now, a silent undertone of questions.

“Aaron…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said slowly.

“If we could DoorDash Taco Bell?”

Aaron’s face visibly fell and you chuckled as you kissed his cheek. “It is getting close to lunch, but I’m joking. What do you think I’m thinking, hm?”

“The… the ‘what are we’ question.”

“Maybe I was thinking of asking if you would be my sugar daddy,” you said with a straight face. He rolled his eyes, clearly caught on to your sense of humor now.

“It…” he paused. “I know there’s a large age gap between us. But you are… I can’t imagine not being intrigued by your mind. You’re intelligent, and beautiful, and…” Aaron’s eye somehow meandered to your lips, “one of the sweetest women I know. And I would be honored if you would consider being my girlfriend.”

“There’s no consideration needed. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“And my job… my job doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. Obviously this is a relationship we would have to take one step at the time,” you reminded him, “but I understand your job takes you away sometimes. I understand that your situation is unconventional in a way.”

Aaron kissed your forehead. “Did I ever tell you you are so sweet? When you’re not being a snark, that is.”

You blushed, remembering him calling you sweet earlier, after tasting you. “Perhaps once or twice?”

“And Taco Bell?”

“Live Mas, baby.”

“I don’t remember the terminator ever saying that.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that DoorDash would probably take forty minutes to an hour to deliver to you- you had checked this morning. But… What could you guys possibly do to pass the time?

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #dbf!hotch

[vampzity]

𝘼 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚

Pairing: husband! San x f! reader

Genre: fluff, nudity w/o smut, husband au, valentine’s day series, mini idol au, one shot, pet names (angel, princess, baby girl), LOTS of flirting

Synopsis: It’s Valentine’s Day, but not just any Valentine’s Day.. it’s your first as a married couple with your beloved husband, San. You had the entire day planned out and what you wanted to in celebration of this special day, or so you thought. San was not just one but two steps ahead of you and your game plan. He knew exactly of your plans for him, and decided to turn it around on you.

Now Playing: POV - Ariana Grande

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! There’s a lot going on in my personal life- I couldn’t tell you guys how excited I’ve been to write this one shot… it was literally haunting me!

Yeosang’s Pt. Masterlist Mingi’s Pt.

You lay on your bed, practically suffocated by the covers that wrapped around your body. You felt a pair of soft paws pass through your legs, soon pushing at your head to wake you. You yawned widely, eyes closed as you lifted the covers to let the furry animal under them with you. You heard a small purr as the animal nuzzled against your chest, resting its head under your chin.

“Good morning, my sweet Byeol.”

You pet her softly, eyes still closed as you didn’t want to accept the fate of it being morning so soon. Your eyes fluttered a bit as you continued to yawn a bit more, poking your head out from above the covers. To your surprise, your dearly beloved wasn’t there.

You poked your head out a little more, looking around the room. Nowhere to be found. Glancing over to the nightstand, you realize his glasses are gone as well. You raised an eyebrow suspiciously, shrugging slowly as you sat up in bed to stretch your limbs. Byeol tip-toed from under the covers and sat on your husband’s side of the bed. You stretched your arms and back, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the morning sunlight shining in the room.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you froze. You looked over to the door, seeing your husband standing there with a towel, a basket of miscellaneous items, and roses. He beamed a soft smile at you, his glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

He walked over to you, placing the items on the edge of the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face, leaning in to plant a soft but warm kiss on your forehead. Your face flushed a light red, ears turning hot with it. San hovered over you, pulling your chin up to meet his eyes as you sat in bed below him.

“Good morning sleepy head. Ready for your princess treatment today?”

You stood there, completely at a loss for words as your face now turned a dark red. Normally, you’d wake up early every morning to feed Byeol and make San breakfast for the day. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Acts of service were simply how you showed your affection to him, and that’s exactly what you wanted to do today but heightened. Unfortunately for you, San beat you to it.

He walked away from you, grabbing the box of miscellaneous items to hand over to you. In the box were different kinds of soaps you adored, bath bombs, and scrubs that made your skin glow. An entire bag of Epsom salt sat in the corner of the box and made you grin slightly, as San knew how much it helped your feet when they were sore.

You smiled at the box, feeling love fill your heart with joy as you accepted the gift. Looking back up at San, he smiled at you holding his hand out for you.

“Well, c’mon. I already have a bath ready for you with warm water. Today, I spoil you and you cannot interfere. Understood?”

You looked at him, completely speechless at his words. An entire bath was ready for you? Whatever happened to your plans for him today? It was such a sudden change of events for you, that you weren’t sure of how to respond to his offering.

“But, San. You ca- Shhh.”

He placed his finger against your lips, cutting you off to shush you. He smirked, leaning in to bring his face only a few inches away from yours.

“What did I say, princess? I’m spoiling you today.” He backed away from you, grabbing your hand to pull you out of bed. “I’ll do whatever you want today, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your special treatment.”

He walked you towards the bathroom, closing the door behind you two. The tub was covered in rose petals along with other flowers. Different honeycomb scrubs rested afloat as a soothing aroma of vanilla and lavender filled your nose. Curtains rested on the windows, allowing for a darker room only lit by small candles laid about.

He let go of your hand and stuck it into the bath water to make sure its temperature was still warm for you. Humming pleasantly, he turned back to you.

“Still nice and warm for you.”

Your cheeks flushed red as he once again, moved hair out of your face to admire you. He moved out of your way and walked towards the door, allowing you the privacy to relax and rewind without him there. However, a quick thought hit your mind. A devilish one at that, and it was indeed something that he wouldn’t expect from you.

“Sannie?” He turned his head to you, raising an eyebrow as it was rare that you ever used his nickname with him.

“You said you’d do anything I want right?” His head nodded softly, turning his entire back to face you as he began to cock his face to the side. He meant what he said, but he wasn’t as positive about you taking such a vague request seriously. You looked down at your nightgown, smirking slightly as you met eyes with San once again.

“Undress me.”

San’s eyes widened as you gave him a smug look. His face immediately shot red with nervousness, feeling the room turn hot. A few seconds passed by until you grew impatient, so you grabbed San by the arm and pulled him to you, placing his hand on the strap of your gown.

“Do it,” you mumbled, feeling your heart beat out of your chest.

San gave you a soft glare, kissing your shoulder softly. He pulled your straps off your shoulder, as your arms slipped out of them. The nightgown fell to your ankles, revealing you only in red underwear. San’s eyes widened at the sight of you. Sure, he has seen your body plenty of times, but it still shocked him at how bold you were compared to your normal shy self. He continued to give you small pecks along your neck and shoulders, soon planting a kiss against your hand.

He pulled your body to him, his hand resting underneath your chin as a soft kiss was shared between you two.

"Is there.. anything else that you want me for, princess?"

You blushed hesitantly, shaking your head no to the young man. He smiled, letting go of you and making his way back towards the door. He picked up Byeol, who stood at the door frame and turned to face you once again.

"Take your time. I'll be making breakfast for you."`

San closed the door, allowing you to be alone for some time to gather yourself. You sighed happily and removed your underwear, stepping into the warm bath water. You allowed the water to engulf you as you soaked. It was relaxing, soothing even. You felt refreshed and felt like yourself again, especially after the week you’ve had.

What seemed like a few minutes soon turned into 30 as you heard a few knocks on the door. You perked up, seeing Byeol make her way through the door only to be followed by San’s head.

“How’s my baby girl doing? Feeling relaxed enough?”

He walked over to the counter, placing a warm towel and fuzzy robe down. You tilted your head at him like a dog, confused as to what his mind was thinking. He came and kneeled by the tub, petting your head softly as he kissed your forehead. You smiled, your eyes meeting. You nodded to his question.

“I am, Sannie. Thank you.”

He stood up, walked back to the door, and opened it. As he did so, the fresh smell of breakfast hit your nostrils. Bacon, pancakes, eggs. Smells that made your stomach growl with hunger and tastebuds eager.

“I left some clothes for you on the bed. Try them on for me, will you? Then come eat breakfast with me.”

His eyes beamed through the lens in his glasses as you nodded once again, permitting him to leave the bathroom. You looked at Byeol, who snuggled herself on the mat. She was always so precious to San, but it gave you warmth in your heart to know that you were just as precious to him.

Getting out of the tub, you dried off with the warm towel San had brought for you and wrapped the fluffy robe around you as your feet dipped into your slippers. Opening the door, Byeol made her way out with you following behind. As San said, there were a pair of clothes laid out for you on the bed, nicely placed so they wouldn’t wrinkle. It was a pink turtle neck paired with a pleated denim skirt. You smiled at his choice of fashion, as San always went out of his way to buy you the cutest clothes.

You removed your robe, grabbing some undergarments to wear before putting the outfit on. Without looking in the mirror yet, you slipped on knitted white socks to match and smiled, pleased with the outfit. Before you could get up to admire it, a small knock interrupted you.

San cracked open the door, peeking his head through to see what you were up to. Upon seeing you, he paused, feeling his heart skip a beat. He invited himself into the room, his eyes refusing to turn away from you as your face turned red.

“You look beautiful, baby girl.”

Turning your head away from his gaze, San made his way torward you. As you sat on the bed, his arm reached out to the side of you as he hovered over your figure. He stood above you as he leaned in closer to kiss the side of your neck fondly. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he placed his other hand on your upper thigh, slowly bringing it up. He continued to peck at your neck softly.

“San—”

He pulled away, his eyes meeting your flushed face. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him this morning, as he knew you weren’t always one for displays of affection. However, today he just felt so much love towards you. He wanted to kiss you, hold you, love you, touch you. There was no end to the overflowing amount of adore he felt towards you today that he could not resist.

He pulled you over to the mirror to see the outfit on you as you stood in complete awe. You smiled, hitting a small pose as San stood behind you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your temple softly.

“I told you. An absolute angel.”

He pulled your hand, allowing you to follow him into the dining room. Different plates of food were placed on the table, from bacon to assorted fruit, to fluffy pancakes, and even some white toast. Your eyes widened in awe seeing the glorious amount of food in front of you. He pulled out a seat for you, gesturing for you to sit down. You took a seat and San pushed the seat in, placing all your favorite foods in front of you so that you could indulge yourself. Smiling, you grabbed a piece of bacon, biting into it happily.

“Mmm, so good.”

You sat at the kitchen table, curious as to why San had left you alone for a moment. You were full from all the breakfast he had made and yet somehow, he managed to eat your leftovers with his food. It was only 11 am and San had already spoiled you so much on this special day.

You heard footsteps approach you as San appeared in your sight of vision again. He was holding a blindfold in his hand, giving you a slight nervous feeling in your stomach. He smirked softly, coming behind you and leaning next to your ear.

“I have a surprise for you, princess.”

Your face turned red as you felt his warm breath hit your neck. He kissed the top of your ear, placing the blindfold around your eyes and tying it lightly. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat, guiding your walking with his own. You held out your other hand for balance, curious as to what surprise was awaiting you.

You both came to a stop. San let go of your hand and came behind you, allowing you to feel his presence brush by you so you weren’t startled. He untied the blindfold, letting it fall on its own into his hands.

Before you, were dozens of rose petals laid against the ground. Heart-shaped balloons covered the ceiling in various areas from red to pink. Candles lit the room up, as San put up darker curtains to set the mood. As you began to walk into the room, you realized more rose petals covering the bed and a small lingerie set sitting nicely on it. You blushed as your breath hitched, San coming up next to you.

“I know you don’t like to reveal yourself, and that’s okay. So, don’t feel pressured to try it on, k?” He squeezed your hand reassuringly.

You eyed the sight, nodding quickly. It was a light pink baby doll set. The spaghetti straps had small butterflies sewn to them. The sides of the lingerie were a sheer pink, and the body’s middle was simply laced with butterflies and flower patterns. A baby pink hem wrapped around the middle of the gown, small ruffles hanging off the cups of it.

You walked over to it, picking it up. You looked up at San as he gestured to the bathroom for you. He gave you a warm smile and you blushed once again, feeling the heat inside of you.

You walked over to the bathroom with the set, closing the door behind you as you went to change your clothes. San waited for you patiently by the window, petting Byeol as he gazed out into the streets. He felt his heart thump louder and louder as he waited for you to come out. He has never felt this nervous for you before, it was a new feeling. Even though he’s seen you in all your beauty thousands of times before, this time was different for him. It was the first Valentine’s as a wedded couple and he wanted to make sure everything went in your favor.

“Well, how does it look..?”

San turned his head to see you standing by the bed shyly. Your hands clasped together as you looked down at your feet, feeling slightly insecure. He admired how nicely the lingerie hugged your figure, how perfectly it enhanced his favorite features about you.

San walked over to you until you caught his feet meeting your own. His hand slowly made its way under your chin. He lifted your head to meet his eyes and smiled at you subtly. You felt your cheeks warm up at his actions, not sure of what to do. He took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand.

“You look stunning, princess. Exactly what I envisioned.”

He kissed your forehead softly, picked you up bridally style, and placed you on the bed. You sat there confused, following his body as he walked across the room to take off his hoodie. He had a simple white tank top under, giving you a full show of his broad muscles and shoulders.

You felt butterflies in your stomach as he made his way towards you, smirking with every step he took. He hovered over your body on the bed as he stood and his hand came up to caress your cheek.

“Remember what I said earlier?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke, feeling caught off guard by his sudden question. You stood silent, feeling your body continue to melt under his control.

“I’ll do anything you want today.”

He pulled his hand away from you and climbed onto the bed, his body now hovering over you. Your knee brushed against his member, making you close your eyes in embarrassment.

“Tell me, princess,” he laid a soft kiss against your neck, soon making his way down to what was exposed of your chest.

“What do you want from me?”

divider creds: @cafekitsune

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I did hehe🤭 Was literally giggling and kicking my feet writing this. Again, sorry for such the long wait!

Taglist: @skzline @evidive @kittykat-25 @amuromio @xoxkii @losrpark @classyrbf @sundaybossanova @owmoiralover @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog @honeyhwaaa @mingisbbokari @scarfac3

*comment to be apart of future taglists!*

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez atiny #ateez oneshot #kpop #atiny #fluff #ateez fluff #—♡vampzity #ateez san #choi san x reader #choi san #valentines day

[kennahjune]

Trauma bond? No. Bro bond.

Was having Steve and Lucas bro bond thoughts that accidentally turned into Steve whump.

…

Steve and Lucas bonding over sports more than anyone realized they ever would.

Like yeah, everyone knew Steve played basketball and was on the swim team in high school; that was practically his entire personality for a bit. But they never realized how much he actually /liked/ the sports.

Until he was geeking out with Lucas over a new play they’d thought of.

It was odd for them all to see Steve so excited. They watched on from their seats on the front porch steps. Eddie and Jonathan each had a beer, the both of them sharing a blunt with Argyle. Nancy and Robin sat on the steps below them, watching on while Steve and Lucas payed them no mind from the driveway.

It was almost comical— how the moment Lucas showed up on his bike Steve was up in an instant. After confirming it was indeed not a code red, Steve was quick to join Lucas. Especially after being told it was basketball related.

Steve had kicked his own beer over in his haste to get up.

Now Steve and Lucas were in the driveway, the garage door down (to prevent damage to the cars) and the Harrington’s basketball hoop out. Both were blissfully unaware of the eyes following them. Well, the eyes following /Steve/, it was more like.

Circling back the earlier thought; they’d never seen him to engaging in something. So excited. So…happy.

Which was really sad to think about.

“I’ve never seen him so excited over something,” Nancy said, speaking everyone’s thoughts.

Well. Except Argyle’s, it seems. “Nah, man. He gets like this anytime he starts talking about sports. We were watching a soccer game on TV last night and he was like— totally freaking out! Waving his hands around and talking a mile a minute.”

He took a puff of the blunt and passed it to Eddie, unaware of how he just tilted everyone’s worlds.

“Wait—“ Eddie took a drag and his voice was strained while he kept in the smoke “—he actually talks to you about that shit?”

Argyle hummed and looked at Eddie oddly. Eddie blew the smoke out and held Argyle’s eye.

“Yeah dude. All the time. Might help that I played volleyball back in Cali but— really, I just like hearing him talk. And I think he likes talking. He talks a lot.”

Argyle was getting extra talkative now, his sentences becoming shorter and more frequent. That’s how you knew he was high enough to not care.

“He’s never really been that talkative,” mumbled Robin, a sudden kind of dread settling uncomfortably in her chest.

Argyle shrugged. “Maybe you don’t talk about what he likes to talk about. He likes talking about sports. And romance books. He reads a lot of romance books.”

Well isn’t that something, Eddie thought. Steve Harrington likes to read.

(It brought up a distant memory from high school, from Steve’s sophomore year and Eddie’s junior year. Back before “King Steve” meant “jackass”.

“Well well, looky here, fellas! King Steve is gracing us peasants with his presence.” Eddie called mockingly to the young man sitting at the table in the library.

Steve— only 15 at the time, not 16 for another couple of months— looked up from his book with furrowed brows and a pout on his pretty pink lips. A pout that 21 year old Eddie would come to love.

Steve hadn’t done to much in the interaction. He more or less sat in silence while Eddie went on and on about something he couldn’t remember now.

When Steve had gotten up from the table, he doggy-eared his page (like a monster) and tucked the book under his arm. Eddie saw the title only briefly, “Forever Amber”.)

“Do we really never talk about his interests?” asked Jonathan to the sky, his head tilted up while he blew the smoke away.

They all startled when a series of shouts and laughs came from Lucas and Steve in the driveway. Eddie looked over in time to watch Steve pull Lucas in for a hug where they both patted each others backs aggressively. Eddie’s seen the guys do that at games. Some kind of weird bro-hug.

Eddie continued to watch when Steve bent down to pick up the rolling basketball. Eddie’s mind went other places quick enough when Steve pulled his shorts up a little higher. Robin smacked his calf.

“Seriously, you guys never talk to him about sports?” Argyle asked, flabbergasted. And I suppose he had every right to be. These were some of Steve’s closest friends. His boyfriend and his best friend! And they never got to listen to Steve rant about a particular basketball game from high school? About some specific swimming stroke and how it helped him win swim competitions?

They were seriously missing out.

Robin hung her head in shame and thought about it, her eyes misting over the more she realized that— yeah, she never talked to Steve about sports. Let alone his other interests. (Did he have other interests? That fact that she had to ask this question made her want to cry and hug Steve.)

Robin picked her head up and propped it in her hands. She looked on with everyone else as Steve and Lucas cheered about something or other.

.

Steve tossed Lucas the ball in the driveway. He bent himself at the knees and placed his hands on his thighs, breathing heavily.

“Alright, Sinclair. Hit me.” he smirked.

He and Lucas had been tossing the ball back and forth for close to an hour now, both excited to get this play right. Lucas dribbled the ball three times on the ground quickly before he set into motion.

Steve cut him off to the left, but Lucas swerved to the right so fast he nearly toppled himself over. Steve turned and jumped in front of him just in time to body slam him slightly. Not nearly as rough as he could’ve been, holding back because they were outside on concrete and Steve wasn’t going to be responsible for a concussion.

The ball rolled away into the grass, unnoticed while Steve gave Lucas a hand and pulled him up.

Lucas was taking heaving breaths, and for a scary moment Steve was worried he’d slammed him too hard and knocked his lungs around. It’s possible. That’s why Steve himself had an inhaler in the drawer closest to his bed.

But then Lucas was laughing, and soon Steve was to.

“Dude! How’d you do that? I’ve never seen anyone move like that man!” Lucas praised over his heavy breathing. Steve chuckled and took his own deep breaths.

He clapped Lucas on the shoulder, grabbed the ball, and steered him towards the porch. “Plant your feet next time.” He felt a ping of anger and sadness at the words, but tramped it down.

It was only when he’d reached the porch with Lucas that Steve realized they were alone outside. Had everyone gone inside? Did sports seriously bore them so much that they just up and left? The thought made something bitter churn in Steve’s gut.

Whatever.

He led Lucas through the door and dropped the basketball on the porch by the door. It was muddy and his floors were going to remain white for as long as possible thank you very much.

They both left their shoes by the door and traveled to the kitchen, Lucas talking about how fast he’d ducked and wanting to know what Steve meant by planting his feet. Steve agreed to another playing session the next day with a grin. It was nice to have someone who enjoyed what he did.

He tossed Lucas a bottle of water from the fridge and made sure the kid drank it all. They sat with each other at the counter for a minute, Steve idly sipping his water and listening to Lucas’ still heavy breaths.

“Damn, I still can’t catch my breath man.” Lucas laughed lightly.

Steve smiled and set his water down.

“Wait here, don’t do anything stupid.”

Lucas gave him a two finger salute as he walked off upstairs. Steve was sure to avoid the living room and was quick to grab the aforementioned inhaler from his drawer. He jogged back into the kitchen and sat next to Lucas one more.

“Ok, so I’m assuming you know what an inhaler is.”

Lucas nodded, staring at the inhaler in Steve’s hand oddly.

“I don’t have asthma,” Lucas said matter-of-factly.

Steve chuckled. “And neither do I. But there are times where you get knocked around too much or too hard, and it can rattle your lungs. I found that out the hard way when I was 14 and had my first asthma attack. My lungs had rattled so much they got trapped between my ribs and my mom had to take me to the hospital.”

Lucas winced. “Seriously? How the hell did you manage that?”

My dad got a little too rough, Steve thought. But decided against saying that, obviously. He smiled and shook his head. “Not important.”

Steve uncapped the inhaler and gave it a good shake. “Ok, I’m assuming you know at least a little about using one of these but one things for sure, you’ve gotta fix your posture.”

Lucas immediately straightened his back.

Steve went on explaining about how curling into yourself like that basically compressed your lungs and made breathing harder.

He held the inhaler to Lucas’ mouth and instructed him to breathe in and hold it for as long as he felt he could before releasing slowly.

Lucas did as instructed, and after no more than two puffs Steve instructed him to simply keep his back straight and take deep breaths through his nose and to release slowly through his mouth.

Lucas left on his bike a few minutes later with a few snacks and an extra bottle of water in his bag. Steve told him to talk to his parents about getting him a medical inhaler if he planned to stick out basketball for all of high school. Steve knew how aggressive those kids could be, and while it wasn’t always necessary it was helpful.

When he closed the door behind Lucas he went straight to the living room.

Where apparently everyone had relocated.

“Uh.. hey?” Steve waved pathetically. He had really no idea what to do with the 5 pairs of eyes on him.

“Ok? Um— seriously why are you all looking at me like that? It’s fucking freaky.” Steve curled in on himself a little, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders.

Robin was the first to shoot out of her seat on the couch. Steve was given no warning before he was engulfed in a hug.

“Oh? Ok—“ He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “What happened, Robs? You alright?” he asked from where his face was tucked into her neck.

She nodded, but it was obvious something was wrong.

When Robin let go she dragged Steve by the wrist to the couch and sat with him. He looked at everyone else settled in the living room and raised an eyebrow.

“This isn’t like— an intervention or something, right?” he tried to joke. Argyle seemed to find it funny at least. Steve smiled at him where he sat on the floor by the coffee table.

Then there was an arm wrapping around his waist from the side Robin wasn’t pressed against and Steve wasted no time leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“What’s up with you guys, huh? You’re quiet and it’s scary. I don’t like it.” Steve muttered the last part under his breath and more to himself. But Eddie squeezed his hip reassuringly.

“Nothing’s up, baby. How was everything with Lucas?” Eddie asked. Steve barely gave himself time to pause before he answered, “Good. He’s been moving a lot faster lately.”

He bit his tongue against the slew of words he wanted to spill about everything they’d done in that hour they’d been outside. Instead he said,

“Sorry. Totally ditched you guys for the ball.” He chuckled, trying to take the weight of the words off some. Eddie tutted.

“Don’t apologize, Steve. You looked like you having fun.” Came Nancy’s unexpected reply. Steve’s head shot up to look at her before traveling back to Argyle, who gave him a vague “go on” gesture with his hand.

“Uh..” He pulled his eyes back to Nancy. “Yeah, had a lot of fun. Um— you guys alright?”

Jonathan groaned and Steve watched Nancy hit him on the arm. They had a whole argument with their eyes before Nancy deflated. What the hell?

“Steve.” Jonathan started. Steve flinched slightly and didn’t relax when Eddie squeezed his hip.

He braced himself for the laughs, the jeers. Them telling him they didn’t care that he had fun and that they had to go.

“We’re sorry.”

Steve blinked. You’d think an apology that sounded so heartfelt would lower his inner walls a bit, but it only served to raise them higher. Because—

“What the fuck? Why?”

Jonathan rubbed the back of his head and let Nancy take the lead this time.

“For brushing you off.”

Steve blinked, his inner walls no longer rising but not lowering either.

“For not showing that we cared whenever you started talking about your sports and things.” Was Robin’s add-on from beside him.

Steve flinched and made to get up but remembered he was kind of held down by both Robin and Eddie.

“So this is an intervention? Guys it’s fine, seriously—“

“No. It’s not. Stop talking for a second and let us be sorry, sweetheart.” Eddie’s grip tightened again and Steve tried to find comfort in it like he normally did, but he was so uncomfortable right now it was unbelievable.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been apologized to. Not like this. Not with such sincerity.

It scared him, honestly.

“We’re sorry we didn’t bother trying to show interest in anything you did even though you always made sure to show interest in ours,” was how Eddie finished.

“Even with all the teasing you add in.” Chuckled Jonathan.

Steve found a bit of the comfort he was searching for.

He cleared his throat. “Um ok— so—“

“Not done.” Demanded Nancy.

Steve shut up.

“We’re sorry that we made fun of your interests and maybe made you feel like you couldn’t share your thoughts and feelings with us in fear of getting ridiculed.”

And good God if that wasn’t right on the money.

Steve swallowed against the tears that threatened to mist over his vision.

He laughed quietly instead. And maybe he looked like he was going insane but Jesus Christ— he couldn’t take this right now. He was not expecting a fucking apology after an hour of playing basketball.

What the fuck has his life turned into?

“Ok— done now?” he asked. And when nobody spoke up against him he continued.

“So um— thanks? For the apology? I guess— I guess I just don’t understand. Why are you guys apologizing when you didn’t do anything wrong?”

That got him a chorus of groans that made him curl into himself more. He hung his head and pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer, a nervous habit he’d developed in middle school.

“Steve.” Robin gently said. “We have every reason to apologize and fucking grovel.”

Steve wasn’t given a single moment to protest.

“Sweetheart, what did you do yesterday when I was talking about my campaign?”

Steve looked at Eddie funny. “Dude I don’t know— I think you started talking about it while I was cooking?”

Eddie nodded. “And then you told me to hold on while you put the lasagna in the oven so you could give me your full attention.”

Steve blinked dumbly, not quite getting it.

“That’s the bare minimum, Ed. You were talking about something you really liked so I made sure you knew I was listening.”

And oh wow. It just dawned on him.

“Exactly, honey. None of us— except Argyle, apparently— have been giving you the attention you deserve even though you give us yours no matter what.”

“Steve you listened to me drone about types of cameras and film last week for three hours and didn’t complain once. I know for a fact that shit was boring to listen to because I’ve been told so by both Will and El numerous times.”

Steve stared at Jonathan.

“Ok, sure. But I don’t see— I don’t get— I don’t care that you guys don’t listen to me. Sports are complicated and yeah sure it kind of hurts when you scoff as if it doesn’t mean shit—“

Eddie’s grip tightened considerably.

“—but it— I get it. You guys aren’t obligated to listen to my shit. I listen to you guys because I want to. Because I like hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. Like Nancy and that new article for the school paper about the different recipe for the meatloaf that makes it taste like dirt, apparently. Or how Polaroid cameras actually date all the way back to like— 1948. Or—“

“But that’s the thing, Steve.” Nancy cut him off. “You listen to these things and remember them because you want to. Because you’re a good friend and good friends listen. We—“ he waved her hand around to all of them “—have not been good friends.”

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat while Nancy continued.

“The fact that you remember my exact words of calling the meatloaf dirt just proves that. Because we had that conversation, what? A month ago?”

“Three weeks ago.” Me mumbled uselessly.

Nancy sighed.

Robin sat up and took Steve’s face in her hands. “Stevie. We love you. So let us.”

And just like that, Steve was engulfed in a giant group hug.

He didn’t realize how much it’d affected him before now. How being scoffed at and made fun of— even if it was playful— hurt him so much that he’d just stopped talking about things.

When they pulled away Eddie kissed his forehead and Robin kissed his cheek. Steve giggled at the sudden affection.

…

Bonus:

The very next day, Steve saw the change.

Saw the change in how Eddie made sure to ask him about what he was cooking and then let Steve explain the process of a breakfast casserole. How Eddie simply smiled and even engaged with questions as if he was really interested. And maybe Steve didn’t completely believe he was interested, but that was ok. He’d come to his senses eventually.

Then at work Robin made a point to let him choose what they put on the TV for the day and didn’t even complain when he chose the Breakfast Club.

He was scared that they change would last no more than a week. That after some time they’d all go right back to how it was before.

But then a week passed. And two. And three. And then months we’re going by where Steve was allowed to rant and talk and argue about things like cooking and baking and basketball and soccer and volleyball and so much more because they would listen.

And then a year passed and it was April and it was his birthday and when he was surrounded by everyone— the kids, the older teens, even the adults— he opened a present and looked down at the book in his lap.

“Forever Amber”.

Steve will never admit to the tears that he cried that day.

…

Probably gonna do something like this with Lucas and the kids cause I love Lucas ❤️

Here’s that lol:

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #lucas sinclair #steve gets his appreciation #steve harrington whump #steve has his own interests #his world doesn’t revolve around everyone else #let him be happy #and silly #steddie #hurt/comfort #but not really #cause I’m shit at angst #lucas and steve having a bro bond over sports and doing the weird side hug things #bro bond #cause I’m kind of obsessed

[crljhnn]

The older Jefferson

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x fem!Reader

Summary: After Rowley announces that his older (half-)sister, who lives quite far away and has never met the Heffleys, is going to visit him over the break Susan invites his family over for dinner. Her not being what Rodrick expects, he starts crushing, which results in him trying to impress her - failing horribly.

No physical description; No use of y/n

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: None

A/N: Hi, just a quick warning that English isn’t my first language and that this is also the first time I’ve ever written a longer text in English that isn’t a school assignment. I also don’t fully understand Tumblr yet, which makes me honestly a bit anxious to post.

[This and a gender-neutral version are also posted on AO3]

“Why haven't you ever mentioned that you have an older Sister?” Rowley and Greg were sitting on the Heffleys living room floor - Rodrick occupying the whole space on the couch - playing a video game. Well, Greg was. It was a single-player. He promised they would take turns, but by now Rowley had been over for about two and a half hours and hadn’t even had the chance to touch the controller yet. He gave up on asking and settled on just watching about 45 minutes in.

“I talked about her before. Multiple times actually.” That is true. Rowley looks up to his sister a lot “Also, she is technically my Half-Sister. She’s been living with her Dad for longer than I remember. Normally we are the ones flying over to visit during summer break, but she hasn’t visited since she was a little Kid, and after her school schedule finally allowed it, we thought it would be a good idea if she, for a change, came here instead.”

“It sounds like you two get along great!” Mrs. Heffley walked in, holding a laundry basket under one arm while carrying Manny with the other.

“We do! I can’t wait to show her my room and have her around for the entire break! I have so much planned out already, it's gonna be so much fun! Best summer ever!”

“That sounds lovely Rowley, I wish Greg was so excited to hang out with Rodrick, but they just won't get along.” Susan sighed, throwing a pitiful glance at her two oldest, who simultaneously let out a laugh hearing this.”

“Yeah, never gonna happen.” Greg says, “I would rather spend the whole summer in school than voluntarily hang out with this idiot.”

“My Sister is actually around the same age as Rodrick.” Rowley buts in. Greg doesn’t understand how this is relevant, but it probably adds to his mother's yearning for her two oldest sons to get along. Rodrick lets out a laugh hearing that.

“I can’t wait to meet them. Just imagine an older, female version of Rowley. That’s actually fucking hilarious!”.

“Watch your language! Also, I'm sure she is wonderful.” Gregs Mom loosens her lecturing stance, turns around, and smiles at Rowley “I would love to have you and your family over for dinner sometime. It has been a while since I’ve seen your parents and I would love to meet your sister.”

“That sounds great Mrs. Heffley. I will ask my parents as soon as I get home!”

That brings us to about a week later, when the Jefferson family, including their oldest daughter, is standing in front of the Heffleys House, ringing their doorbell.

Rowley has been telling you all about his best friend Greg for years, which made you somewhat excited about finally meeting him. However, you can’t say that the picture your brother painted is entirely positive, finding him rather irritating in many of the stories you were told over time. You aren't too mad though, assuming it is normal for young, teenage boys to act like jerks every once in a while. Not everyone can be such a sweetheart as Rowley. Overall you're glad your brother managed to maintain such a long-lasting friendship.

And then there was Rodrick. You've heard rather interesting stories about him as well. In the beginning, you found those quite amusing, that was until you realized that Rowley was genuinely terrified of him. Not the best first impression someone could make on you. Influenced by seeing your younger sibling grow up to be such a sweet and genuine person you tend to be a bit protective from time to time.

You hear some hushed voices from inside, and you can identify one of them as female, reminding someone to behave. Then the door opens and a woman, who you assume to be Mrs. Heffley, kindly smiles at you. Your suspicion is confirmed a second later when she introduces herself and shoos you into the house, before continuing to greet the rest of your family.

Crossing the threshold you can now see a man standing slightly behind Greg's mother. He introduces himself as Frank, making quite a kind impression on you. Then he leads you into the living room to meet his sons.

The two older ones hardly even notice you at first, too occupied with arguing and rowing with each other.

“Boys!”, their father speaks up, successfully catching their attention. Rather comically their gazes fall from their father to you, their eyes widening and their mouths dropping open. You were not what they expected. While Greg looks just shocked, you would describe Rodricks state as mesmerized.

He recovers fast, pushes Greg off of him, stands up, and puts on what he hopes is a charming smile. Extending his hand he starts to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m-”

At least he tries to.

“Rodrick. I know. My brother has told me one or two rather interesting stories about you”, your smile is sharp. He gulps, his confident smile turning sheepish, cursing Rowley in his head. You are not what he expected and you are definitely not anywhere close to being a female carbon copy of your, in his eyes, embarrassing younger brother.

He normally wouldn’t consider himself the kind of person who has a type, but from now on, if someone asked, he would probably revert to describing you. You were just ethereal, everything about you was attractive to him. The way you walked, talked, and carried yourself, but also your clothing and hairstyle. Your pretty face just rounds up your whole appearance, making you all the more alluring.

He had to get on your good side. While a family dinner, especially with Greg present, may not be the best opportunity, he could ask Rowley to put in a few good words for him. That kid was easily influenced (or intimidated). Still, making the best possible impression over dinner wouldn’t cause any harm either.

You turn to the other boy who has been silently watching the exchange. Now that your attention is on him he starts feeling nervous as well. Your expression, however, turns a bit more friendly.

“And you must be Greg.” he nods. You introduce yourself and lastly say hello to Manny who is sitting on the floor playing with some figurines. By now the others have entered the room, causing Susan to start leading you all to the dining table.

You’re seated between Rowley and Greg, across from Rodrick, which results in quite frequent eye contact. On one side you really want to intimidate him a bit. This could maybe make your brother's life a bit easier, at least for the time being. On the other side, you do want to make some conversation, maybe throw in a bit of (family dinner appropriate) flirting or at least find out if he’s single.

It’s really hard to hold a grudge against someone who is entirely your type.

While you’re conflicted, Rodrick, on the other hand, is sweating. Nervously fidgeting in his seat. You didn’t seem as irritated with him anymore, if the eye contact was anything to go by. Was this his chance to redeem his shitty first impression? He cursed his brain for failing to come up with something cool to say.

Since when is it so hard to talk to girls? Is it getting hotter in here? What impresses girls? What does he normally brag about? His band! That’s it. Now he just has to bring it up somehow. Maybe he can bribe Greg to ask him about it. No, that’s too risky, he can’t count on Greg to not fuck this up. He is just going to casually bring it up ‘I’m in a band by the way, pretty sick huh?’ ‘Do you like music? Cause I’m in a band’ No that’s stupid everyone likes music… ‘Which kind of music do you listen to?’ That’s good, he should bring up the topic of music first, that’s a normal conversation topic. After that step two is to bring up the band. That’s easy, he got this.

Now he just needs to wait till your attention is on him again and then he can smoothly lead the conversation in the desired direction. He has to calm down, he can do it.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m in a band!” He speaks way louder than intended, his voice is squeaky, and in the middle of the sentence he has the most embarrassing voice crack imaginable.

Silence.

The sole attention is now on him. All he hears is Greg's snickering which causes him to kick him under the table.

“Ow!” That was not Greg's leg. He looks up to see you looking at him with a questioning expression.

That’s it. He fucked up. His chances were already low, but he still managed to shrink them even more, making them most likely completely vanish. Great. His ears were ringing, all he can hear is Greg's quiet laughter in the background.

“I'm sorry I didn’t mean to kick you, I-” he starts his apology but loses track of what he is trying to say when he sees your expression change. You're clearly trying to suppress a smile, but it's not working at all.

“You’re adorable.” Rowley chokes on his food, and Greg's laughter abruptly stops

“Rodrick? Adorable?” That’s it. Greg gives up on ever trying to understand girls. How can his stupid older brother embarrass himself like that, then kick the poor girl under the table and still be perceived as adorable by her, especially since she is so much out of his league?

Rodrick however, was still not functioning properly.

“So that band, is its name by any chance Löded Diaper?”

“Yeah.” He is proud of himself for speaking at an appropriate volume without stuttering. “How do yo-”

“I saw your creepy white Van in front of the house. What’s up with that, kidnapping little kids as a side hustle?” You are still smiling, and with your stupid joke you somehow manage to relax the atmosphere a bit, the adults going back to their conversation.

Rodrick too is now smiling, looking at you with an expression you could only describe as lovestruck, even though you just insulted him.

He is contemplating making a joke about how the space in the back could be quite useful for more than just trapping kids but decides against it, fearing to make it awkward again. Getting nervous about taking too much time to come up with an answer he instead lands on “No only kidnapping pretty girls like you.”. As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets it, realizing it's in fact not a funny and flirty thing to say, but honestly rather creepy.

At the end of the evening, Rodrick has messed up flirting with you multiple times, however, it’s his luck that you find his desperate attempts to look cool to impress you weirdly endearing. Not that he realizes that. Calling Rodrick confused, questioning why you were still talking to him, would be an understatement.

He certainly doesn’t know how he can have messed up so many times and still end up finding a little note with your number on it in his pullover hood after you left.

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #fem!reader #diary of a wimpy kid #fluff #first meeting #oneshot #x reader #reader insert #fanfic

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi I’ve seen your obey me and twisted wonderland works and it made me wondering about Levi and Idia since both of them are otakus

Hope your having a nice day

Yandere Leviathan Vs Yandere Idia Shroud

Having both of these introverted and otome loving boys to look after

If you introduce them the right way they’re sure to get along

“Idia this is the supercool gamer Levi and Levi this is the ultimate gamer genius Idia!”

“...Hi…”

“H-hello…”

“...”

“...”

“...so I hear you have games that actually pull you in?”

“And I hear you built an entire system?”

Sooner then you’ll realize it these two are going to be getting along just fine

While you might have to give them a little push 

They’ll be fast friends

“Now for the first test of the anywhere-anygame-apparatus begins!”

“Ah~if this works this is going to revolutionize our teams stats!”

They’re sure to get themselves, yourself, and the entirety of the house involved

Because their such good friends it’ll be a surprise when the one they’ve been gushing about turns out to be the same person–you

“So…it’s come to this…”

“Alas I knew a man of such taste would yearn for my love interest.”

“Aye, this means we can only do one thing for our friendship to continue.”

“I agree…”

“PvP!” “PvP!”

From then on they’ll be going through a series of quests and duels as they fight over the right to nervously mull over how to get your attention

It gets intense for them

Leading to all sorts of chaos that drags everyone into their shenanigans

But eventually a time will come that in the heat of their ‘battle’ that they realize their biggest mistake

Leaving their flag—you unguarded

Letting their brother and classmates take up your attention

Unanimously they decide wiping out the competition and then fighting each other are the way to go

“Now we need to discuss our strategy against the enemy. As otakus we’re clearly had a disadvantage.”

“I agree…the place is brimming with flashy extroverts just waiting to make moves on them.”

But between the two of them plus Ortho’s innocent assistance they’re a force to be reckoned with

So don’t kick up too much a fuss when they excitedly invite you to play with them

It’s certainly not to distract you while they ‘accidentally’ terrorize the others with a new game or invention

“We can be civil….for now.”

“But the time will one day come when we’ll have to defeat one another.”

“Yes…but until then I’ll need your help on this chest.”

“You know it!” 

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere obey me #yandere obey me x reader #yandere obey me shall we date #yandere harem #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere leviathan #yandere obey me leviathan #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia shroud x reader #yandere idia x reader #yandere idia x reader x yandere leviathan

[ironunderstands]

Yapping about why I love Aventio and what I feel makes it a great ship 

(If you hate it I urge you to read this, because you don’t have to agree with me, but I want you to get where Aventio shippers are coming from at least)

I’ve just really wanted to talk about why I love Aventio because the people do not get it like I do and GODDD ITS SO GOOD WHEN DONE CORRECTLY UGHHHHH

Also this is gonna be VERY stream of consciousness I do not have a plan besides dragging you through my brain so enjoy the ride.

I guess the best place to start is the fact that Aventurine and Ratio are my two favorite characters in the game. Like even if they have no interactions with each other ever and might as well be from different pieces of media I would ship them, because I like seeing characters I like interact and the fun police cannot catch me. That’s a really shallow personal reason though and I feel like the rest I have will be able to be appreciated by others.

GOD THE DYNAMIC IS SO GOOD RAAAAAA

Two emotional constipated dumbasses circling around each other like black holes trying desperately to deny and run from their feelings when they have both fallen hard. The lack of acknowledgement of feelings on both ends is TRAGIC and it makes me want to rip my eyes out in a good way, let’s start with Ratio.

Unfortunately my glorious king Ratio has been mischaracterized to hell and back but we will get to that (and the Incorrect Reasons Why People Hate Aventio) later. Instead I will go over his actual character; a deeply insecure, intelligent man who desperately wants the rest of the galaxy to come to the realizations he has long since stumbled upon, but has been so isolated from his peers from such a young age that he’s doomed to fail in literally every social interaction he has and be misunderstood by both the audience in universe and irl (the autistic coding isn’t helping him either).

Ratio is tragically misunderstood again, both in universe and by the audience, which is why it means so much that Aventurine Gets Him. Aventurine pushes his buttons, tears down that literal cold marble facade masking the deeply silly and caring man beneath (this man bathes with rubber duckies in the privacy of his own home 😭), and that scares the shit out of Ratio. People aren’t meant to see through him, Ratio acts rude not just because he believes it’s the best way to help people, and because he believes he himself is mundane and the conclusions they come to should be their own, not his.

No, it’s also because on some level Ratio is afraid to be vulnerable around people. As much as he pretends like it doesn’t affect him, Nous’s rejection has hurt and haunted Ratio for his entire life. And I do mean his entire life, even in high school he had already set up a strict routine for himself, something commented on by his teacher, Ratio has quite literally always been striving for some sort of perfection and the fact that he cannot achieve it kills him.

Moreover, the guy just grew up way too fast, he didn’t have time to develop social skills. We see it in that afformentioned relationship with his teacher, in which they recommend Ratio (who is again in high school) to be moved up to college level stuff and transferred due to his success. He has quite literally never been able to just relax in a environment of his peers, Ratio for some reason we don’t yet know has always been dedicated to constant improvement and that leaves no room for dealing with failure.

On some level, he knows this too, that he can never be perfect. Ratio is part of the Mundanites in the Intelligenica Guild for a reason, he doesn’t just see himself as mediocre because he believes everyone is and that’s ok, but also because he looks down on himself for being too mediocre for the Genius Society, being too mediocre for Nous’s acknowledgement, being too mediocre for anything.

Which is tragic because Ratio is very accomplished and he is very smart, and his character stories aren’t even told from his pov, but rather in the style of documentaries and letters (his professor) and other works on his well acclaimed life. We don’t ever get to see how Ratio really sees himself, just the tiny cracks in his marble facade that let the real man behind the character shine through.

Because that’s what he’s playing 90% of the time, a character. Whether it be at the Herta Space Station in which his real goal was to uproot the researchers blind worship of the Genius Society, or in Penacony in which he plays up the arrogant, narcissistic scholar both people in universe and irl make him out to be, both to serve a goal bigger than himself. 

Sincere moments from Ratio are RARE but god are they beautiful, his conversation from Screwllum in 1.6 and his note to Aventurine in 2.1 will forever haunt me in the best way possible. If you want to understand Ratio as a character, yes read his character stories, but just watch that damn scene with Screwllum it is phenomenal. He cares so much and is so, so bad at expressing it, he drives me nuts, Veritas Ratio the man you are. 

And the thing is, it seems like he’s always been playing a character and doesn’t know where the real him ends anymore so he just sticks to the way people perceive him a lot of the time. Like as a kid he was constantly striving to be the best so he missed a lot of necessary developmental shit, and as an adult he’s a celebrity so it’s hard for him to attach himself to others anyways because society and his students will hound him for it.

And then you throw Aventurine into the mix, and oh boy does shit get interesting.

Veritas Ratio, perfect “unfeeling” Veritas Ratio and the one person who gets him well enough to push all his buttons and expose the vulnerable underbelly he thought he hid so well. On a fundamental level, Ratio understands this, which is why he doesn’t bother with the alabaster head, as pretending the real him is just as unfeeling and uncaring is easier.

So he brushes off Aventurine’s jests as if they are an insult to his very existence, he can’t look in Aventurine’s eyes when he “betrays” him because his poker face would break, he leaves as soon as he’s done talking because lingering would allow the weight of their conversations to sink in. Part of it is because for pretty much all of Penacony, up until the note Ratio gives him, Ratio is acting, trying to play up the role of the arrogant, unfeeling scholar to make Sunday buy the betrayal plan, because to Sunday this behavior is signs of a bad relationship between the two (honestly the fact that the audience also interpreted it this way makes me mad like did yall seriously not pay attention, but also happy because if even the players were fooled that means Sunday buying it is believable). 

However, even if it feeds into his insecurities, Aventurine knows that false facade and loves tearing it down. It’s very telling that the second time we see Ratio really freak out (the first being at Herta Space Station) is at the suggestion that he came to narrate Aventurine’s demo not because of knowledge or respect for the show or whatever, but because he genuinely likes the guy. What makes it even better is that Aventurine is the one who suggested it, and already figured out the excuses Ratio was going to use to deny it. Ratio can fool everyone else in the galaxy, but he cannot fool Aventurine, and on a fundamental level that is what makes their dynamic work, because Ratio knows Aventurine in the exact same way.

Aventurine can shove away people who care about him, out of distrust and fear that they will leave him like his family did. He can believe he’s unloveable and a person so detestable that even the actions he performs in order to stay alive condemn him to hate himself as much as the rest of the galaxy hates him. But, Ratio doesn’t see him that way.

Aventurine doubts his intelligence, if he has really earned anything he’s done and in his voiceline about Ratio, doubting if Ratio even sees him as smart or worthy. However, Ratios voiceline about Aventurine is about how he believes Aventurine is smart and worthy, and that his doubt will be his downfall if he doesn’t come to the realization that he isn’t worthless. 

Ratio knows Aventurine’s one weakness, the one thing that could stop him; himself. That’s why he gives him the note urging him to stay alive and keep on living because ultimately Aventurine will only ever fail if he gives up. And The Note Is Enough, Aventurine walks into the event horizon of a black hole, confident he can return alive on the other side because someone cares about him, BECAUSE RATIO CARES ABOUT HIM, and wants him to live on even if Aventurine doesn’t feel that way towards himself.

In the metaphorical and literal manifestation of the meaningless of the universe, in the face of overwhelming nihility, Aventurine survives because someone loves him, and with that love he’s strong enough to brave even that. 

Even if they can’t admit it out loud, these two deeply, deeply care for one another and trust each other perhaps more than anyone else in the narrative. The betrayal plan would have never worked if there was not mutual trust, Ratio wouldn’t have gone to Penacony in the first place if he didn’t trust Aventurine, and Aventurine wouldn’t have asked him to come if he did not trust him. We don’t just see this trust between Aventurine and Ratio either, and Jade and Topaz both trust him with their cornerstones, but ultimately it’s Ratio who’s physically with him the whole time, risking his life alongside him for the sake of their plan. 

As much as people like to ignore it, lying to the Family members, to Sunday, is extremely dangerous and puts Ratio’s life in danger as much as it does Aventurine’s. Ratio is not an irrational person, he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t have faith Aventurine would succeed, he would not have done if he didn’t think he would return. They have absolutely faith in one another and it’s beautiful. 

Aventurine’s first constellation is named “Prisoner’s Dilemma” for a reason. A social experiment in which two prisoners are captured and separated, if they sell the other one out and remain silent, they go free but the other remains in jail for 20 years. If they both sell each other out, they get a sentence of 5 years. 

But if they both remain silent, trust the other, they even if they physically can’t communicate and don’t know what the other says, they get the best possible outcome, only one year in jail each. It requires a sacrifice on both ends, they both still have to go to jail, but only for a year, and only if they trust each other completely, as if the other sells them out they will be in jail for 20.

The prisoners dilemma relies completely on trust, and it’s the exact situation Aventurine and Ratio face in the Penacony quests. Aventurines doubts if Ratio’s betrayal was real or not, even if he set it up himself, and Ratio worries about Aventurines survival, if continuing this plan will end well. “You can’t expect a featherless bird to take flight” isn’t just Ratio chastising Sunday, he’s genuinely worried that this plan will put Aventurine at too much of a disadvantage to continue on. 

But they both trust each other, and if just like in the Dilemma neither come out completely unscathed (although it’s much worse on Aventurine’s end), they ultimately achieve their goal. 

God is it sweet and corny in the best way possible 

I want to kill this fandoms perception of stoic, emotionless Ratio because once people realize he’s actually the corniest mf ever is the day I sleep easy. He makes statues of himself doing Jojo poses, he plays chess versus himself, he named himself Veritas (truth), he loves rubber duckies, he literally sits in a bathtub couch, and Aventurine breaths and he gets flustered.

Ratio so deeply silly, chronically corny, it’s a crime he needs to be locked up someone stop him. 

And Aven brings that out of him. His teasing reveals the goofball trying so desperately to disguise himself as a serious scholar. Ratio is very smart of course, but that only makes his silliness better, as you watch this absolute genius of a man behave like a tsundere schoolgirl. 

It’s not like Aventurine is some paragon of seriousness either, he’s the one teasing Ratio, fucking around even in a serious mission. Yeah it’s partly because he wants Sunday to think he’s incompetent, but it’s also because Aventurine genuinely is having fun, enjoying himself before the serious part of the plan kicks in, and the meantime he does that by messing with Ratio.

Their dynamic of Aventurine messing with Ratio, and Ratio trying desperately to pretend like it doesn’t affect him is as hilarious and heartwarming as it is tragic, and that dichotomy is why I love them so much. It’s fun and it hurts so so much because their interactions being this flavor of silly leaves almost no room for the sincerity they both desperately need from one another. 

AND GOD I NEED IT TO HAPPEN. RATIO MENTAL BREAKDOWN SCENE PLEAASEEE LET HIS WALLS CRUMBLE PLEEEEAASEE PLEASE PELADE PLEASEEEE EPLES DOLS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 

They’ve gotten closer and closer and closer and soon something’s gonna snap because they are so close yet so distant and if something doesn’t change the tension is just gonna boil over AND I NEED IT TO HAPPEN. I need more Ratio scenes I need more interactions with him I need him with his guard down I need him to profess out loud that he cares about Aventurine I need him to break please he needs it, it would be so good for him. It doesn’t even have to be from Aventurine, just Ratio snapping and revealing the fucking mess he is under his facade and not being rejected by the people he cares about for it is enough.

I honestly doubt it will happen in the story though, as much as I want it to. Although Aventurine’s character demo somewhat changed my mind against this, I feel like hoyo is like “ok they get the vibe between these two we can move on” and the shippers are left to extrapolate how this relationship would go beyond what it is now. As much as I want a breakdown scene for Ratio in general, it probably wouldn’t happen in a while but devs if you are reading this PLEASEEEE. 

The only time Ratio ever gets slightly out of his element is with Aventurine but I need it to go further because god it would be interesting.

Well I’ve deemed that enough yapping about why I love Aventio (for now 😈) so let’s talk about why people hate the ship and why most of the reasons behind it a fucking stupid. (Massive disclaimer of course you can dislike it it’s just a lot of the “oh it’s a horrible ship and anyone who likes it sucks” shit isn’t grounded in reality in the slightest and I’m tired of the slander)

“Ratio was racist to Aventurine”

Now this is a spicy one because if this post was made in 2.0 I would 100% agree with you (during that time I shipped a non canon version of them in which that did not happen because how dare u do my boy like that hoyo). However 2.1 changed a lot and I mean a lot, and basically reframed the 2.0 quests for everyone.

Essentially, Ratio and Aventurine were both acting in that argument scene, making the things Ratio said to Aventurine not how he really sees him, and actively something Aventurine wanted him to say, so you cannot blame him for what he said. I’m not even joking or exaggerating, retrospectively it quite literally does not make sense if you view it in any other way, and honestly even with just the knowledge of 2.0 the scene doesn’t make sense if played straight, so let’s get to why.

a) Ratio and Racism do not mix fundamentally. Ratio is a person who believes that everyone deserves and education regardless of background, that it is a scholars duty to help others achieve that, and no matter who you are, you are capable of intelligence, learning and becoming the best version of yourself, and that those qualities are just limited to geniuses.

THIS AND RACISM DO NOT MIX. “Oh yeah education and improvement is possible for everyone except this specific group of people for some fucking reason!!” Like not only would this scene being serious contradict Ratios entire character, the man who believes people should not be judged for their educational background judging Aventurine for his educational background (that’s actually what the Sigonian upbringing line meant, it was mistranslated in the EN version)??!?!! Make it make sense.

Moreover, half this perception also come from the fact that hoyo made the incredible writing decision of naming Aventurines planet after a slur for Romani people, so unfortunately literally anytime its name, Sigonia, is brought up you’re essentially saying a slur. It’s much worse in the CN version, in EN it’s not obvious at all, because our version of the slur (it starts with a g and ends with a y that’s all the hints you’re getting), doesn’t look like the version of the slur that the name for Sigonia was derived from, which is partly the source of this misconception as I’m pretty certain most people assumed Ratio (and by extension Sparkle) said a slur elsewhere in the conversation when in reality them referring to Avens ethnicity/background/planet IS the slur.

Anyways terrible writing decisions aside, Ratio supposedly being racist doesn’t just contradict his core motivation, it contradicts his job. He’s a scholar, for fucks sake, and racism is inherently illogical. Mmm yes I’m gonna base my identity around finding truth for myself and I will believe government and social propaganda about specific groups of people! Very logical, very scholarly, we all clapped. 

So yeah, doesn’t make sense on a character level, to the point that in 2.0 I concluded that they must be using Ratio as a plot device in that scene to deliver some of Aven’s backstory to the audience due to how OOC it was for him 😭. However I wasn’t necessarily wrong, Ratio was delivering some of Aventurines backstory to AN audience (not just us), and he was behaving OOC in the 2.0 scene, but it was on purpose.

b) The betrayal plan 

Aventurine forms a plan in which him and Ratio pretend to betray one another in order to sneak the Aventurine cornerstone into the dreamscape by replacing it with the Topaz stone (red herring + black hole scene dialogue implies she and Jade are there for other reasons) and the Jade stone (perfect dupe). 

Now this betrayal hinges on Sunday, their main antagonist buying it, actually believing that Ratio would betray Aventurine on a mission as important as Penacony, and it requires Sunday also buying that he is winning the whole time, that the loss of the cornerstones was somehow a fumble on Aventurine’s end rather than something he planned all along. 

So, they stage the 2.0 conversation. Ratio yells at Aventurine for losing the cornerstones, something which was part of their plan the whole time. He then insults Aventurine’s background allowing Aventurine to reveal key details of his past that Sunday would not have learned otherwise, which he uses in the trial against Aventurine. Seriously, Aventurine only found out he was the last Avgin when he became a Stoneheart, do y’all think Sunday summoned that info with his mind or something during the trial (like do you guys genuinely think Sunday read his wiki or something)

Moreover, Ratio not only insults him, but portrays Aventurine as useless, disposable to the IPC because he is apparently already sentenced to death. Why does he do this? Well, so Sunday feels confident enough to do the same to Aventurine. Seriously, sentencing an IPC member, especially a high ranking one to death is a risky move, even for someone as convicted as Sunday, he would need the confidence to do so and learning Aven might already die would give him that ability. 

Because well, it doesn’t matter that much if he’s already going to get disposed of in the near future. I also think the IPC plans to use Aventurine’s “death” as leverage against the family because they were pleased to hear of his death sentence according to Dr. Ratio, meaning a) he likely did not have one from them at the time, although in the past he was sentenced to death and b) even if Aventurine succeeded in getting the cornerstone his seeming loss in the rest of the conversation wasn’t actually a loss at all, getting sentenced to death/“dying” at the very least was part of the plan all along as the IPC could still use it as leverage if things went south.

Continually, Ratio treating Aventurine in the exact same sh1tty way the rest of the galaxy does perfectly slots him into the arrogant, uncaring scholar role, which Sunday knows are some of the most easily manipulated people in the galaxy, considering he tries to bribe Ratio with knowledge about Stellarons it seems he bought this idea hook line and sinker. Sunday isn’t even subtle about it either “I heard you and your companion haven’t been getting along lately” where did he hear that from? Ratio didn’t tell him, and even though we know Sunday was 100% watching the two of them on their little adventure pre-meeting him (the bird and hound statues) that scene hasn’t happened yet so where did he get that from?

Some other interesting proof for it is that the Final Victor lightcone likely depicts Aventurine trying to convince Ratio of this plan of his, the events of which must occur  pre-Penacony for several reasons, the least of which being that we just never see it happen on Penacony which if you think it did we would see it. Moreover lightcones are canonically condensed memories and the Final Victor lightcone released in 2.0, meaning it’s the memory of something that happened before then. 

All signs point to the 2.0 scene, the one people use to paint Aventio as toxic being staged. And I have so much more evidence for this, (Ratio would never agree to go without a plan, Aven clearly formed his pre-Penaocny, so much of the plan like Ratio opening the cornerstone box, which he can’t do up until the betrayal as it’s in Sundays possession, rely on him arriving knowing how to do so, the time discrepancies, the complete 180 in personality Ratio would have to do to go from distrusting Aventurine to putting his whole faith in him, etc), but I will reupload one of my old slideshows to elaborate more on it. Basically the one thing that people use to say it’s toxic is not true and is in fact a greater show of the trust between those two. 

“The shippers are all weird and racist” 

Now this one actually has some truth to it because yes there are some incredibly fucking weird Aventio shippers and I do not blame yall for disliking them.

HOWEVER, most Aventio shippers are normal and hate that shit just as much as you guys do. Like do you realize most shippers also really like these characters and have something insane called morals so they don’t automatically excuse racist fujoshi goobers just because they are making content for their favorite ship. Trust me someone doing that pisses me (and most other Aventio shippers) off significantly more than people who hate the ship. Also free Ratio from this shit man poor guy is getting mischaracterized as a slaveowner by his fans and haters 😭

And like guys, have you ever been in a fandom before, like ever? Weirdos are always gonna be weird and it’s not Aventio’s fault they are this months victims. For a fun little example of how gross other fanbases can be, one of the most popular Overwatch ships on ao3 is Genji Shimada X Hanzo Shimada WHO ARE BLOOD RELATED BROTHERS. THERES LIKE 300+ FICS OF IT, SHIMADACEST IS LITERALLY A TAG ON THERE. I WAS IN THE TRENCHES SEARCHING FOR GENJI HANZO ANGST FICS (Hanzo killed Genji it’s complicated doomed siblings will always get me) AND HAVING TO COMB THROUGH THOSE ABOMINATIONS IN THE PROCESS.

Like please I’m relatively new to fandom culture but yall cannot be acting like this is weird for fans to do, it’s weirdo behavior but it is not unique to the HSR fandom or even Aventio. And even if understandably this makes you not like the ship, don’t paint the people who enjoy it as being the people who do this kinda sh1t. It’s not our fault peak gets tainted by miserable creatures ok, let normal ppl have their harmless fun and stop lumping people together into a monolith. 

?????

Well that’s it that’s all the “valid” reasons people have for hating Aventio, at least the ones I can remember. Everything else is just personal opinion and not at all an objective reason.

“They’re so sibling coded!”

Anyways again obviously you can still dislike it not everything is for everyone, I really just wanted to make this post to demonstrate why I and many others like it, and why the reasons people use to say it’s problematic are incorrect. Feel free to call it mid, block it whatever I don’t care, just don’t harass shippers for having some harmless fun, because the characters aren’t real but the people who like them are and in doing so you are really just being a jerk for no reason. If you somehow hate Aventio and read this the whole way through I congratulate you on your ability to actually listen to other people, and regardless of whether you changed your mind or not I respect you for doing so anyways. Thanks for reading and I would love to hear your thoughts. 

#Hsr #honkai star rail #dr ratio #aventurine #aventio #raturine #ratiorine #golden ratio #tags for reach bc I need ppl to read this sorry #Also apologies to the Genji/Hanzo shippers for catching strays yall tend to mind your business and tag ur shit #So I can’t blame you that much for it even if I find it gross bc if I don’t wanna see it it’s very easy to not see it #I just wanted to give an example of how the hsr fandom is not unique in its weirdness #Ppl are horrible at tagging shit in this fandom #The next time I read an Aventio fic w surprise dubcon I’m gonna die #Anyways I hope you enjoyed reading bc this was sm fun to write #Aventio is peak we all cheered #aventurine hsr #dr ratio hsr

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Broke His Heart Cause He Was Nice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: the games are over now and Peeta finds out your relationship was all an act

Masterlist

It was the day you were finally set to arrive back home in District 12 after completing your victory tour for winning the games. You’d been anxiously waiting for this day and wanting nothing more than to trade the makeup and tight dresses for your boots and own bed. The train was running late, ironic considering how fast it was, and you were too anxious to sit still. You noticed a pathway near the train platform and longed to be alone with your thoughts in nature.

“I’m gonna take a walk while we wait for the train.” You announced. Effie sighed and shut her compact mirror before looking at you.

“I suppose that’s all right. But don’t go too far. We board in 15 minutes.” She reminded you. You nodded and started to walk away when Peeta stood up.

“Can I come with you?” He asked. You gulped and forced a smile before nodding your head.

“Always.” You told him. He smiled back and walked beside you as you headed down the walkway together. Your hand bumped against Peeta’s as you looked up at the trees around you. As soon as he slipped his hand into yours, you felt tremendous guilt fill your stomach. You were yet to address the nature of your relationship now that the games were over. You had blurred the lines so much between faking a relationship for the camera and navigating your true feelings for Peeta that you had no idea where you stood now. Peeta saw the uneasy look on your face and let go of your hand to walk ahead. He picked some flowers for you and handed you the bouquet he had arranged.

“For you.” He blushed as he presented them to you.

“Oh.” You smiled in surprise. “Thank you.”

Peeta returned the smile before continuing to walk down the pathway. You watched him as he walked, feeling like the distance between you was matching the distance you felt inside.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to be back in District 12 tomorrow. I really didn’t think we’d ever see it again.” Peeta said as he continued to stroll along the flowerbeds.

“Neither did I.” You admitted, making Peeta stop. He turned around and looked at you for a long time, making you uncomfortable in the silence.

“What do we do once we get back?” He asked as he earnestly stared into your eyes. He looked just as lost as you were and you wished you could give him some answers.

“I guess we try to forget.” You answered, making Peeta’s eyes soften.

“I don’t want to forget.” He said quietly. You stared into his eyes as you guilt built up and up until it threatened to spill out your throat. Before you could say anything more, you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey. There you two are.” Haymitch said as he approached. “You guys should be proud of yourselves. I’ve seen a lot of victory tours but I haven’t heard crowds cheer like that in years. You really sold the whole star-crossed lovers who survived with the power of love thing. Especially you, sweetheart. Keep it up exactly the way you were playing it.”

“Thanks.” You said immediately as your entire face burned in embarrassment. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peeta’s look of confusion. Haymitch had no idea what he had just done and was too drunk to realize it. He patted your shoulder with a drunken smile and stumbled back to the train.

“What’s he talking about?” Peeta asked as soon as you were alone. You opened your mouth to answer him but found yourself speechless. You knew this moment would come eventually, you just didn’t think it’d happen before you even got a chance to go home.

“What was he talking about? What are you keeping up?” Peeta asked again when you took too long to answer. You looked into Peeta’s eyes and stumbled over a few broken sentences as tears filled your eyes. You didn’t even know why you were crying, you just felt full of emotion over the fact that you knew Peeta’s world was about to shatter. You had grown an immense fondness, even love, for him since the start of all of this and you knew he was about to hate you. Before you could confess the truth, Peeta put it all together. He took a step back from you as his hand went over his mouth.

“Oh my God. It was all an act, wasn’t it?”

Peeta whispered. “The way you behaved in the games wasn’t real. Waking me up with kisses, feeding me, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. You were just pretending, weren’t you? You did it all for the cameras.”

“Not all of it. Some things were real.” You promised him. “But Haymitch and I knew that if I played up the romance, we’d get more sponsees. And it worked. We did.”

“You and Haymitch had a plan? And you didn’t tell me?” Peeta shouted. He was usually so soft spoken that hearing him yell made you stumbled back in surprise.

“We never officially made a plan.” You tried to explain. “But after I kissed you and we were sent food, I realized that Haymitch was telling me that that’s what we had to do to get sponsors. So I kept doing it. And we kept getting sponsors.”

“I should’ve known.” Peeta shook his head. “I should’ve known you didn’t just happen to fall in love with me.”

“Peeta.” You said tearily as you watched his heart break. You knew he’d be upset, but this was harder than you thought.

“I knew it was too good to be true. You never actually felt the things I felt. You were just playing a part.” Peter said quietly as he wiped his eyes.

“You’re the one who started the romance plot anyway, remember? Why are you mad that I kept it up?” You folded your arms, angry now that he wasn’t seeing your side of things.

“Because I didn’t know there was something to keep up. I didn’t know you and Haymitch had a secret plan behind my back. I was just dumb enough to believe I could actually trust you. How stupid am I?”

“You’re not stupid, Peeta. And you can trust me. You have to understand that I wanted to tell you about it but I couldn’t. There were cameras everywhere. If I told you, everyone watching would’ve known it wasn’t real. I had to keep the illusion. And that meant keeping it a secret from you too.”

“Wasn’t real.” Peeta laughed sadly. “Illusion?”

Your anger subsided for a moment when you heard the pain in his voice. Your choice of words had just thrown salt in his wounds. You stopped trying to win the argument for a moment and realized that you had a right to be angry, but so did he. You walked over to him and cupped his face to make him look at you.

“Peeta, there were so many times I wanted to draw the curtains closed and block the rest of the world out and just be with you. I swear, I did. But we didn’t have that choice. If things were different and we had gotten together in a normal situation, maybe I’d know where my feelings lie. But I don’t, Peeta. I’m sorry.”

“I thought things were going to be different now. I thought something good had come out of the games.” Peeta said as he stared at the ground.

“Things are different.” You insisted.

“Yeah. They definitely are.” Peeta wiped his face and turned away from you so you couldn’t see him cry.

“How can you be mad at me for this? We were strangers before the game. I wasn’t thinking about romance. I was thinking about saving our lives.”

“I know that. In my heart, I know that. I just can’t get it through my head yet. God, I can’t believe you were acting.” Peeta said and stressfully tugged at his hair.

“I know this is upsetting to hear but I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I thought you were acting too.” You protested. “I assumed you knew we had to play up the romance for sponsors and that’s why you kept kissing me and saying the things you did.”

“No. I didn’t know. I was never pretending.” Peeta snapped, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was never one to be quick to anger, so it surprised you that you were having such a hard time getting him to calm down.

“Putting on the act got us both out, okay? There is no other circumstance where we would’ve both come out alive. This was the only way.”

“I know that. I’m sorry. I just wish I knew sooner.” Peeta sighed and sat down on the ground. You looked at him for a minute before looking around and behind you. You wished there was someone, anyone, to tell you what to do in this situation. You wish you had a script or some cards form Effie telling you what to say. Peeta was just sitting on the ground, staring into space, and you had no idea how to bring him back. No one had ever been mad at you in this way before and you didn’t know what to do. Realizing no one was coming to help, you walked over and sat beside Peeta. You could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry but it wasn’t exactly working in his favor. He turned his face away from you and he quietly sniffled.

“If there was a way I could’ve told you, I would’ve.” You said as you placed a hand on his back. Peeta nodded his head and wiped his face before giving you a sad smile.

“I believe you.” He said. You returned the sad smile and rubbed small circles on his back. Peeta stared off into space again while you stared at him. You let silence sit between you for a long time until you broke it.

“Were you really never pretending?” You asked quietly. You saw his mouth tug into a slight smile as he shook his head.

“Never. I meant every word I said.” Peeta said, sounding almost proud. You smiled a little when you thought of all the kind things he had said about you in the cave and how you now knew they were true.

“How much was fake for you?” Peeta asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you now with those puppy dog eyes of his and it made you feel ten times worse.

“I don’t know, Peeta.” You sighed. “I don’t remember every little detail.”

“I do. What about our first kiss? Real or not real?” He asked with a certain desperation in his voice. You cracked a smile in surprise and looked at him.

“Real. I couldn’t bear listening to you talk about dying, so I kissed you to shut you up.” You told him, making him smile as his face turned red.

“I have a feeling you’re forgiving me.” You chuckled and pointed at him, making his smile drop.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “The kisses when you got the broth the first time. Real or not real.”

“Not real. I’m not really the type to wake someone up with kisses.” You said sheepishly.

“I guess I always kind of knew that about you.” Peeta admitted. “What else was fake?”

“When I asked you about your crush on me when we were in the cave. I was trying to get us to have some kind of grand emotional moment because the kisses weren’t cutting it anymore. I needed to go bigger.” You admitted.

“Oh.” Peeta’s face fell. “You didn’t really want to know?”

“I really wanted food.” You confessed. “And I honestly thought you made that story up because you were hungry too. Did your dad really want to marry my mom?”

“Yeah. And he’s not thrilled I told that story, by the way. Apparently it was really quiet in the bakery that night.” Peeta said, making you genuinely laugh for the first time in a while. Peeta couldn’t help but smile when he heard you laughing but wasn’t done with the questions.

“When you said I didn’t have any competition, real or not real?” Peeta asked a a he looked into your eyes.

“That was real.” You replied, and you meant it.

“What about Gale?” Peeta asked, sounding like he didn’t believe you. You looked Peeta up and down

“He’s not your competition.” You laughed like it was silly, making Peeta smile.

“He’s not?” He asked hopefully.

“He’s basically family. I think if something were to ever happen between us, it would’ve happened already.”

“Hm. Good to know.” Peeta blushed and looked away again.

“Any other questions?” You asked him. “I really do want to make it up to you. I’ll answer anything you want.”

“When you said I walk too loud…” Peeta asked and trailed off.

“Real. Very real. You were so loud I wanted to kill you.”

“We could’ve avoided all this if you had.” Peeta muttered, making you laugh again. Peeta laughed as well and looked at you for a moment.

“Did you try as hard as you did to save my life for the romance plot?” He asked quietly as if fearful of the answer.

“No.” You said immediately. “I did what I did because I couldn’t handle the thought of you dying. I still can’t. I almost broke a steel door down when they separated us after we won. You were the only thing on my mind. That was the moment for me when I realized I wasn’t acting all that much. I love you deeply, Peeta. I know that for certain. I’m just not really sure what kind of love that is yet.”

Peeta looked into your eyes for a while and eventually, he seemed to be satisfied with your response. You knew he understood where you were coming from even if it hurt him to know the truth.

“I’m sure what my love is.” He said after a beat of silence. It wasn’t reproachful, more like a passing thought. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you to know it too.

“Could you wait for me? Until I figure it out?”

“I will.” Peeta nodded, making you smile on relief. He smiled too and the faintest blush crept over his cheeks. He looked out into the distance for a minute and a comfortable silence settled between you. He then turned to you and leaned in for a long, slow kiss. Just in case it was his last time for a while getting to do such a thing. It was your first kiss without a single camera present and you felt that familiar hunger sensation in your chest that left you wanting more. When he pulled away, you wanted him to do it again.

“Are you any closer to figuring it out?” He asked completely serious, making you laugh. You stared into his eyes and truly could not imagine your life without him.

“You know what?” You cracked a smile. “Yeah. I am.”

Tag list 🏷️

@sarcasm-and-stiles

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark whump #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark fanfiction #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 7 ⬅ch.6

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. nightmares. wc 3.2k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | this chapter got me feelin some typa way

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ghost struggled to come to terms with his feelings towards you. he knew he had grown to like you, but what did that entail exactly? was he interested beyond friendship? and even if he was, he couldn’t act on his desires – a lieutenant can't get himself involved with a subordinate medic. and the fact that you were often on his team meant he was your direct superior half of the time… things could get messy extremely fast. 

he also liked to tell himself that you wanted something he couldn’t offer. a relationship – romantic or platonic – he had an unrelenting habit of closing people out.

so ghost decided he should avoid you. not entirely, that would be impossible , but he had to shake you from his thoughts. he needed time to wipe out the memory of you pressed against him in that closet. of the way your hands felt wrapped around him on his motorcycle. the fear that coursed through him as he watched you run into that burning house. 

he thought of you often, and he fucking hated it . 

he thought back to the day he spoke to you before thinking: “ you’re the one who told me to let people in. ” you had properly scared him when you ran into that flaming building. that’s when he knew he had let you slip into the cracks of his shell without even realizing it. 

i’d sooner kick your ass off my fuckin’ team if it meant keepin’ you safe. from leavin’ me. 

he had immediately regretted the words. he told you he’d kick you off the team if it meant keeping you from getting yourself killed – aka – leaving him. 

he ran a hand down his scarred face as he looked in the bathroom mirror and sighed. he was worried you’d get the wrong idea. granted, he meant exactly what he said, but admitting that to you was a new level of danger simon wasn’t accustomed to. becoming acquainted with his teammates was one thing, but letting you in was a whole different story and he didn’t know why. he didn’t know why he started to crave your presence, ever since he had you bandaging him up after he was shot weeks ago. you had been different… you were still radiating hope. this shithole hadn’t crushed your soul yet. you reminded him a bit of soap. 

he grabbed the sides of the sink and stared at his reflection, disgust rising in his throat. why, of all people, did it have to be you? why couldn’t his cold, dead heart beat for someone outside of this line of work? or even better, for no one at all . 

i’ve neva had a lil’ crush on my lieutenant, actin’ like this is all a big fuckin’ game.

his own words clogged his brain. god, there was no way you’d forgive him for being such an ass. and maybe that was for the best. 

he went over all the reasons he needed to pry you from his thoughts: your relationship would be forbidden; he’d hurt you; you’d probably hurt him; you’re too young for him; he has no fucking idea how to navigate a romantic relationship. all solid reasons to him.

then a stupid, careless thought popped into his head. maybe…maybe he could just get you out of his system… but were you the type of girl who could do sex with no strings attached? simon didn’t want to admit that he’d certainly be the one who’d get attached, so he scratched that off his – lacking – list of options with the rationale being that you’d probably get hung up over him.

all these logical reasons, and he still couldn’t shake you. he was fucked . 

it was late and simon had a meeting with price, a quick debrief on the whole hassan situation. he kept his outfit light, sporting just a long-sleeved black shirt, black sweats, his combat boots, mask, and gun strapped to his hip. most of the barracks would be asleep by now unless soap had somehow convinced gaz to play another round of poker. 

ghost walked the halls, stealthy in the shadows of the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. it was a natural part of his gait now: to blend in and be silent. 

he stretched his arms over his head as he sauntered down the corridors. he heard a strange noise echo down one of the halls and he halted. curious, he changed direction and started to walk down the right corridor towards the sound, hearing the noise more clearly now. it was coming from one of the rooms. 

it sounded like… crying. someone was sobbing and whimpering in distress. 

ghost’s first reaction was that someone was hurt, in trouble, but as he edged towards the door, he realized it sounded more like someone having a night terror. 

he slowly pushed open the door that had already been left slightly ajar, letting the faded light slip into the room, and spotted you on your tiny, smaller-than-a-twin sized bed. he cursed at himself when he realized it was your room he was walking into uninvited.

but that moment of doubt slipped when he heard you begin to cry, whining in your sleep. he made it over to the side of your bed and said your name softly, not sure what else to do. 

when you didn’t respond, he rubbed the back of his neck and tried again. “ come on. wake up .” he attempted to be quiet, he didn’t want anyone to hear him and come snooping about, finding him in your room… at night… in the dark. wanting to prevent that, he quickly went to your bedroom door and shut it before going back to your side whilst muttering curses. his hand came out, softly resting on your shoulder, and he gently shook you. “wake up,” he tried again. 

he clicked on the light by your bedside and felt his heart twinge when he looked back at you. the lamp created a terrible yellow glow, but that didn’t disguise the tears you had streaming down your cheeks. 

he leaned over you, his body getting precariously close to yours, and he gave you a harder nudge. this time,  you finally opened your eyes. the tears continued to pour down your face and you hiccuped a tired sob out. ghost tucked some of your disheveled hair behind your ear on instinct. “ you’re okay ,” he said faintly. 

“ghost…?” he saw your lips quiver as you sat up, realizing you weren't alone in the room, and you reached for him, almost colliding with ghost’s head, wrapping your arms around his neck. he jolted upright a bit in surprise, pulling you with him. his arms hesitated, but after a few moments, they found a spot around your waist like his body was familiar with this. 

he could feel you crying into his neck and his hand on you tightened, pulling you flesh against him. 

“please don’t tell anyone,” you mumbled against him. 

ghost was oblivious to his hands as they began to rub circles on your back. “why would i tell anyone?”

you pulled away, your hands still clasped around his neck, and looked at him. ghost gulped. your eyes were red and teary but that just made them that much more vibrant. you had tear marks down your cheeks and your hair was all over the place. his chest tightened momentarily. he desperately wanted to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but he refrained by tightening his grip on you instead.

your eyes shifted down in embarrassment. “just… will you keep this between us? please.”

it hurt him to think that you either thought so lowly of him to worry that he might use this against you, or because of the fact that you didn’t want anyone to know you were struggling. 

a pang of hurt spread through ghost before quickly subsiding. did you think he was the type of person who would casually gossip? fuck , of course you did. you were probably worried he’d throw this back in your face in the future. he had done nothing but diss out insults and begruding remarks at you since day one. has he ever said a kind word to you? he was trying to remember, but your face so close to him made it hard. 

ghost thought about his own nightmares that plagued him and how he hadn’t told anyone either. he kept it to himself. knowing that feeling, he nodded at you in an unspoken promise: this was between the two of you, and the two of you only. 

you released your arms awkwardly and ghost set you back down so you were sitting on your bed. that's when he realized you were only in a tank top and sleep shorts – skimpy ones at that. he averted his eyes quickly, though he desperately wanted to linger on you. 

“sorry,” you said. ghost couldn’t see, but he figured you’d be blushing. “this is so embarrassing.” you buried your face in your hands. 

“it’s not,” he said finally. 

you looked up at him and gave him a mirthless smile. “it is. i can’t believe i still get nightmares like a kid.”

ghost’s hands slipped into his pockets, unsure of what else to do with them. “i get 'em too.”

you shied away from his gaze. “you don’t have to say that.”

“i wouldn’t lie jus’ t’make you feel better.” he didn’t know why he had to say it like that, but he was relieved when you gave a small laugh, even if it was breathless. 

“yeah, well it seems more appropriate for you.”

he tilted his head in a quizzical manner. 

“ i just mean that you have been in combat… i can’t imagine the horrors you’ve seen… things you’ve done…”

“jus’ cause you haven’t killed people with your own hands, doesn’t mean you can’t have things that haunt you.”

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. your intention wasn’t to get ghost to comfort you – he was probably wishing he had never walked into your room right about now – you were simply embarrassed and wanted to gloss over the situation, but it came off as self-deprecating. it figures he wouldn’t let that slide. 

ghost shifted between his feet. you felt your face warm as he stared down at you sitting cross-legged on your bed. 

ghost opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “would you stay with me?”

oh my god. you waved your hands in front of you frantically. “no, sorry. i don’t know why i said that. i–i’ll just go bother soap. don’t worry about me,” you said all at once as one long slur of words. you can’t believe you just asked your lieutenant that, especially now that he knows about your ‘lil crush’, as he called it. he’d certainly think you were obsessed or reading things wrong. 

to much of your astonishment, ghost gestured his head forward, indicating he wanted you to scoot over. you clumsily did, your shoulder now against the wall. 

the room was small, just one bed with a mattress – the other cot was barren, your roommate situation up in the air at the moment – and there was no chair. he only had one option if he was to stay with you.

a pang of annoyance coursed through ghost. what could johnny do that he couldn’t? he thought to himself in challenge. and so he settled in beside you, his legs stretching across your bed. it was a tight squeeze with his formidable frame and your tiny ass bed.

you felt your whole body heat up, his shoulder against yours as he squeezed into the small space. 

ghost was doing precisely the opposite of what he had just lectured himself on. 

“you don’t have to…i didn’t mean to–”

“jus’ close that mouth of yours and go t’sleep,” he said coolly, though his skin was burning where you leaned against him. 

you were propped up on your pillow and you both laid there in silence. ghost wanted to say something – to tell you he was sorry. to tell you that he is only an ass because he doesn’t know how to control his emotions. but the words evaded him. and that was probably for the best. 

you weren’t sure how you were going to fall asleep with ghost now at your side, keeping you on edge. but after only a few minutes, your eyes grew heavier and fluttered shut against your will, your head lulled against him as sleep overtook you. his presence reminded you that you were safe. 

he felt safe . 

simon cursed under his breath as he felt himself smile when you leaned into him, your body falling into a slumber. he knew better than to allow this. he pushed his mask up slightly to rub his mouth and chin, itching to get away from you, and touch you, all at the same time. 

you woke in the morning, alone in your bed, your blanket tucked around you, and the smell of ghost lingering on your sheets. 

days had gone by and you and ghost had been successful in ignoring one another. 

you stood in the training room, plenty of other soldiers around you, either working out on a machine alone or in pairs. you stood on a training mat and huffed. you had decided to keep practicing your combat skills for the chance that another mission would pop up. you wanted to be prepared. only having the skillset of a medic wasn’t cutting it for you anymore. not after what you went through. what if one of the other men hadn’t been there to save you – i.e. ghost.

you were stretching your arm across your chest when hands wrapped around your waist and lifted you up off the ground. a burst of giggles left you as soap spun you around before plopping you back down. you turned to face him. “can i help you?” you teased. 

“actually, thought maybe i’d help ya train for a lil bit. if ya wanted,” he offered. he wore leisure workout clothes and had already set his water bottle down beside the mat. 

“you don’t have to. i’m sure you’d rather–”

“let me stop you right there, lass. i'm offerin’ because i want to. quit second guessin’ yourself.”

you gave him a faint smile. he was right. soap was always right – but you would never tell him that. it would just get to his head. 

“alright. fine, then.”

he grinned and began to stretch. 

thirty minutes must have gone by and you were drenched in sweat as soap pinned you to the mat time and time again. 

“i thought you woulda improved since last time,” soap teased. 

you playfully rolled your eyes and brushed your hands against your sweats, getting ready to go again. “it’s not my fault! i’m trying!”

“well, whatever percent you’re givin’ it, double that.”

you scoffed but smiled brightly at him. you had been so caught up in the moment, you never noticed when ghost had came into the training room. there were multiple soldiers scattered around, so even if you had been paying attention, you still might not have seen him.

he wore gray sweats today and a tight black shirt. a sight you would have got choked up over.

“arms up,” johnny commanded. 

you listened, setting your hands and arms in the correct position that he had shown you earlier. then soap launched at you, and you tried to dodge his attack, side-stepping swiftly. but soap was lithe and nimble. he hooked his arm around you and pulled you to the ground and you let out a yelp. 

you landed on your back and looked up at soap breathlessly. he was nestled between your legs that were bent at the knee. his hands were on either side of your shoulders. 

“now what’re you gonna do, lass?” he teased. 

you smirked and attempted a move he had demonstrated earlier and that you had used when ghost pinned you in this position. you squeezed your thighs around soap’s waist and tried to roll your body. you felt soap go limp, allowing you to more easily roll him underneath you – if he hadn’t, you likely wouldn’t have had the strength to maneuver him. 

soap smirked as you landed on top of him, straddling his hips and giving him a self-assured, satisfied look. 

“don’t look too cocky. i let you move me.”

you rolled your eyes and huffed. “soap,” you whined. “how am i gonna learn if you do that?”

soap’s hands lingered on your hips, both of you blatantly unaware of how intimate you may have looked right then. 

“you’re half my size, lass. so unless you wanna bulk up, yer never gonna be able to move me.”

you shook your head. he was right. 

“i jus’ want you t’know how to execute the basics for now. know t’motions. don’t worry bout anything else.”

“ugh,” you sighed. “you really had me thinking i could best you.”

soap chuckled, and in a lazy motion, he pushed you off of him so you fell to your side on the mat. “never gonna happen, love.”

you pursed your lips and begrudgingly accepted his hand as he hoisted you up. 

ghost was sat across the gym, leaning on his spread-out knees, twirling a knife in his hand as he watched you and soap. you hadn’t felt it, but his eyes were on the two of you the entire time he was in the training room. there was fire blazing inside ghost as he watched you and soap all over each other.

soap was squeezing his water bottle into his mouth, walking towards ghost. “hey, l.t.” he called. ghost’s eyes flickered away from you – who was currently collecting your things to leave – and looked up at soap. he gave him a grunt as a greeting, but that was all. 

“what’s got your panties in a knot?” johnny asked, scratching his scruff as he eyed which machine to work out on next. 

ghost’s hand clenched his knife, his eyes tracing your figure as you left the gym, completely unaware of his presence. he should talk to you , he thought. things had been left… uncomfortable between the two of you. were you friends? did you still think he hated you? were you actually interested in him? could you forgive him for being a jerk? did he even want you to forgive him? were you still embarrassed about him finding you crying in your room?

ghost stood against his better judgment, wanting to follow you out of the gym, but before he could take his first step, gaz appeared beside you, draping an arm across your shoulders, and walking with you out the door, both of you laughing at something he said. 

“fuckin’ hell,” ghost muttered to himself. he slid his knife aggressively into it’s sheath above his sweats and decided to take his frustration out the only way he knew how: overworking his body. 

johnny watched as simon approached some equipment and jumped up to the pull-up bar and began heaving himself up and down with what looked like he was exerting no effort at all. the way he was going at it so hard made johnny wonder if he was okay. 

“ghost,” soap called.

“leave it, soap,” simon replied with a grunt, wanting to drown his inability to digest his own emotions in a workout. he’d rather clear his mind with needless violence, but this would have to do for now.

chapter 8 ➡

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