#but actually his real academic title

[pagerunner-j]

Doctor Who, you may ask?

Dr. Brian fucking May, I answer.

(*not actually his middle name)

[humanmorph]

coworker just told me about drama at the employee meeting I didn't attend bc I had front desk shift & I'm not sure if I should be glad I wasn't there or sad I missed it

[chocolatepot]

Hi! Can you elaborate on "Fuck GRRM's committment to 'historical realism' without knowing anything about medieval social history"? I would love to know about what GRRM gets wrong about medieval gender roles, specifically.

So Cersei learns at an early age that she has no agency, her only value is producing heirs and is barred from traditional routes of power so she has to use underhanded methods such as influencing men with sex or using underhanded magical means. I would love an explanation on why this doesn't reflect medieval queen consorts and noble women irl.

Sure! The basic summary is: GRRM "knows" the things that everyone "knows" about the middle ages, which are broad stereotypes often reflective of a) primary sources that deserve a critical reading rather than being taken at face value and b) the judgements of later periods making themselves look better at the medieval period's expense.

As Shiloh Carroll argues, building on the work of Helen Young, “readers are caught in a ‘feedback loop’ in which Martin’s work helps to create a neomedieval idea of the Middle Ages, which then becomes their idea of what the Middle Ages ‘really’ looked like, which is then used to defend Martin’s work as ‘realistic’ because it matches their idea of the real Middle Ages.”

Since you're mainly interested in Cersei here, I'd strongly recommend a book: Queenship and the Women of Westeros: Female Agency and Advice in Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire, edited by Zita Eva Rohr and Lisa Benz. It's an excellent read and speaks to exactly what you're asking about. The tone of the book is very positive and non-judgemental when it comes to GRRM and his depictions of women on the whole, but I think some of this is rhetorical positioning to not seem like "mean angry academics jumping on fiction for not being accurate," as the actual content turns the reader to thinking about how much agency and power medieval queens had in different European societies and how little of that worked its way into GRRM's worldbuilding.

It's true that women typically didn't inherit titles and thrones in their own right, and that they were usually given in marriage for political/dynastic reasons. However, they weren't seen as brood mares whose only duty was to pop out sons: both queens and noblewomen had roles to play as household managers, counselors, and lieutenants, actively participating in the ruling of their domains and in local and international diplomacy (women in political alliances were not just pawns sent to a powerful man's bed, but were to act as ambassadors for their families and to pass information back and forth), and they had to be raised with an understanding of this so that they could learn to do it. Motherhood was very important, don't get me wrong, but it's a mistake to assume as pop culture does that a wife's foremost duty being to provide heirs for her family meant that she was ONLY seen as a mother/potential mother.

Catelyn is a great example of what was expected of women in these positions. But in the books, Catelyn is basically the only woman who inhabits this role, and the impression given is that she's exceptional, that she's just in charge of the household because she's so great at it that Ned allows her to be his partner, and that he listens to her advice because she happens to be a wise person in his orbit - and also that Ned is exceptional for giving so much power to a woman, because in the world of ASOIAF, it takes an especially good man to do this. In GRRM's view of the medieval world, realpolitik and the accumulation of power are the most important things, so men in Westeros are extremely unlikely to give up any authority to their wives, even though this is historically inaccurate.

Cersei, on the other hand, is supposed to be a more realistic depiction of what would happen to an ambitious medieval woman. There's a chapter titled "Queen of Sad Mischance: Medievalism, “Realism,” and the Case of Cersei Lannister" in the book I've rec'd, and it deals with why this is problematic extremely well. (This is the source of the quote at the top of this post.) In it, Kavita Mudan Finn argues that Cersei embodies pretty much every medieval trope for the illegitimate wielding of power by a woman. She underhandedly gets people killed for opposing her, she seduces men into doing her bidding, she advances her family's interests and her own at the expense of the realm. She's made sympathetic through fannish interpretation and Lena Headey's performance, but in the text she's an evil woman doing evil things. Even when she gets to be regent for her son - a completely legitimate historical position that allowed women to handle the levers of power almost exactly like a king - she continues to do shitty things and not be taken seriously because she's just not good at ruling.

But even before then, from a medieval perspective she had access to completely legitimate power that she didn't use: she'd have had estates giving her a large personal income, religious establishments to patronize (giving her a good reputation as a pious woman and people she'd put in high positions being personally loyal to her), artists and writers to patronize as well, power over her household, men around her listening to her counsel. That she doesn't have that is a reflection of GRRM either deciding these things don't really exist in Westeros in order to make it a worse world than medieval Europe and justify Cersei feeling she had to use underhanded means of power, or not knowing that they were ordinary and unexceptional because he has a good working knowledge of the politics of the Wars of the Roses but little to no knowledge of social history beyond pop culture osmosis, and, imo, little to no interest in actual power dynamics.

There are a lot of books I'd recommend on this subject. There's a series from Palgrave Macmillan called "Queenship and Power" and nearly all the books in it are THE BEST. Theresa Earenfight's Queenship in Medieval Europe is a very readable introduction to the situations of queens in European societies across the continent. She also has a book, Women and Wealth in Late Medieval Europe, that also addresses non-royal women's power. I'm also a huge fan of English Aristocratic Women, 1450-1550: Marriage and Family, Property and Careers, by Barbara Harris, which really emphasizes the "career" aspect of women's lives as administrators and diplomats.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[melancholy-of-nadia]

la la lost you (m) | cyj

title: la la lost you  pairing: yeonjun x f. reader  rating/genre: m (18+) ; fluff, smut ; rivals to lovers au; fake relationship au summary: choi yeonjun was simply just your academic rival, competing for honors at graduation during your senior year. however, when one of your (distant) friends’ brothers is getting married, your 3 guy best friends all have dates to the event except you. in order not to feel like a loser, you decide to call up the only other tolerable male you know: Yeonjun, to be your fake date. what will happen when a childish fake date scheme actually ends up turning into your first real relationship lasting an entire summer. it may ultimately.. not end well. warnings: fluff, smut, language, underage drinking, summer fling, riding, fake relationship, oral s*x, car s*x, multiple dates, overprotective yoonminjoon, cameos of other idols, cumming, kisses, partying, angst, eventual break up note: this is a prequel one shot to the 'love u lately' series. however you don't need to read that series to understand this one shot. honestly might be better if you haven’t read it! it will heavily focus on the mentioned previous relationship reader had with yeonjun before starting college (which explains certain events and character thoughts in the series) and well as the perspectives of yoonminjoon and their attitudes towards it as they were still struggling with how they feel towards reader, which is explored in 'love u lately' I hope my btxt lovers can enjoy this fic! (please note that this is about 15% unedited, so apologies for any grammatical errors in advances) total word count: 21.5k drop date: September 13th, 2023 12:30PM PST ao3 link | fic is named after NIKI's song La La Lost You (2019)

–

Daniel Yeonjun Choi.

You encountered him in your Honors English class during freshman year, and somehow, he's always been in the same AP or Honors classes as you.

On the contrary, Jimin’s only been in five classes with you throughout high school. So this opened up and lot of time for you to get to know Yeonjun. He has been a constant presence after all, vying with you for the highest grades in your shared classes. He’s also very blunt and teased you a lot, just out of pure enjoyment to see your reaction. If he couldn’t beat you in academics, he found other ways to torture you.

"Wait you didn't go to prom?" Yeonjun's voice cut through the classroom, drawing the attention of your AP Government class.

You let out a sigh, trying to deflect the conversation. "Can we drop that? We have a project to work on," you said, gesturing towards the thick stack of papers detailing famous court cases.

Yeonjun persisted, his curiosity apparent. "But why didn't you go?" His tone bordered on obnoxious, earning a laugh from Mark, who sat nearby. Mark knew he was enabling his behavior, but didn’t care.

From what you recall, Jimin went to prom with some girl you don’t know. You didn’t have a date, nor close female friends without dates to spend the night at the Grand Strawberry Hill Golf Course. Tickets were $50. You would rather spend the night bussing down tables at the cafe you work out and use that money on something else. The list goes on.

"I just didn't feel like it, okay? Plus, I had work," you replied, hoping to end the discussion.

Yeonjun's response was simple but cutting. "Lame."

You rolled your eyes at Yeonjun's comment, feeling the urge to defend yourself against their teasing. 

Mark chimed in, a mischievous grin on his face. "Come on, Y/N, you missed out on the highlight of senior year!"

"Yeah, Y/N, how could you skip out on the chance to dance the night away with the love of your life?" Yeonjun added, his tone teasing but playful.

You sighed, feeling slightly exasperated. "It's not that big of a deal. Just an expensive dance. Plus I don’t have a ‘love of my life’ anyway." 

You don’t. You’ve crushed on a guy here or there, but no one to actually feel compelled to be with. Wonwoo was cute though, but he transferred schools not long after you two fucked due to the Virginity Race. And no, there’s no correlation between what happened and him transferring.

Sensing that his comment had struck a chord within you, he stopped pressing on. 

“Anyway, so about the case study, should we do the supreme court case where…” Yeonjun sighed loudly, changing the topic to the assignment you had been so keen to work on.

He enjoyed seeing you get flustered, but not upset or sad. It was never his intention. That was because, maybe, somewhere in his little evil Virgo heart, he kind of liked you.

You don’t know when that seed of thought was planted in his mind. Maybe when you two had to do a Romeo and Juliet film project for Honors English class during your freshmen year? Or was it when you two were on the student council during junior year? He was just a side character in your life that would make big appearances here and there, but one thing you know for sure is that him becoming the main character in your life was due to one event. The event that truly kickstarted everything happened a week after this interaction.

The wedding invite.

“You’re inviting me to your brother’s wedding?” You say, dumbfounded.

“Yeah! You’re my friend after all!”

“Seokjin, I am the one who barely knows you out of the 4 of us.” You exclaim, making the other guys laugh.

The sun beats down mercilessly as you all sit outside In-N-Out, trying to seek refuge from the sweltering May heat. Namjoon, Yoongi, and Seokjin are enjoying a brief break from university life, having returned home for the weekend. They wanted to meet up with you and Jimin, who were already drinking milkshakes and scarfing down some animal fries before they arrived and joined you two.

Seokjin's mom had asked for Jin’s help in hand-delivering invitations for his brother's upcoming wedding. The ceremony is slated for the weekend before your and Jimin's high school graduation. She wants it to be huge, so she tells Jin to invite everyone and anyone he knows.

To be completely honest, you don’t know Jin that well. He didn’t even go to the same high school as you. It’s because your best friends’ parents go to the same church, Our Lady of Peace, as his parents. That’s how they all met. And eventually how you ended up meeting him/ There are these other guys in your extended friend group too, but you can’t remember their names right now.

As the conversation veers towards the wedding's details, you lean in with interest. "Where’s it happening at?" you ask, genuinely intrigued.

"Oak Creek Golf Club," 

"There? Wow, I heard that place is fancy!" you remark, a flicker of excitement igniting within you. "Wait, do we have to bring… a plus one to this?" The words stumble out awkwardly, earning you a questionable look from Jimin.

Jin's response is quick and jovial. "A plus one? You mean a date?" he clarifies, amusement coloring his tone.

You nod slowly.

"Yeah, you can bring a date if you want. My mom said the more the merrier! I know Namjoon is bringing Hyungseo—" Jin's words are cut off by Namjoon's interjection, his discomfort evident.

Hyungseo? Oh, must be another one of Joon’s flings, you think.

“Jin…” He warns the older man.

"It's not a secret, plus I'm sure they're bringing dates too, right?" Jin redirects the conversation smoothly, addressing you, Jimin and Yoongi.

Jimin jumps in with a sassy affirmation. "Yeah, of course we are!" he declares, nodding emphatically.

Yoongi's eyes dart to you, gauging your reaction subtly, causing a flutter of nerves in your stomach. With a nod, you confirm your attendance, feeling a surge of relief at joining in the banter.

 "Yeah! And I already have someone too!" you announce, met with a chorus of surprised responses from the three men.

“You do?” The three men question in unison.

You don’t.

You don’t even want to bring a date.

But if they’re bringing dates, then you must bring one or else you’re going to be the biggest loser there!

Plus, you already said you would bring one and if you don’t, you’ll be framed as a liar.

One major thing about this is that: You don’t want to get bombarded by random Korean aunties asking if you have a boyfriend or offering you their son who is in medical or law school to be your husband. You don’t want to get asked why you don’t have one either.

You just don’t. You never had time for it. 

Your parents drilled this into you since day 1 of preschool: Study hard. No boyfriend until college, and well, you followed through with that. Yup. We’re not going to talk about the “Amazing Virginity Race” you took part in last year with your three crazy best friends. You lost your virginity, but still, no boyfriend, right?

All you wanted was to be at the top of your class, and you are on track to be salutatorian right now. Jimin has had the valedictorian spot guaranteed since the first day he started high school, taking high-level classes meant for juniors. 

However, there was one man who poses a threat to your second spot among the top 10 honor students.

Daniel Yeonjun Choi.

Yet again another mention of this guy!

Despite your rivalry, you've formed an unexpected friendship with him, working successfully together on various school projects. There were a few times you would hang out after school with each other.. Well with some other mutual friends too.

Which is why… he is the best… and technically the only option you have.

To bring as a date.

“Daniel!” You call out to him as he walks out of the last period class you had together. He doesn’t turn around, distracted as he converses with Soobin and Mark, his close friends. But you know for a fact this boy can hear you. 

You call out to him repeatedly, but no reaction. You’re annoyed.

So what do you do? Keep following behind him waiting for a perfect moment to snatch his attention fully. You probably look like a creep, but that’s fine. 

You see him bid farewell to his two friends as he heads to his locker to put some books away. Now is your chance,

“Yeonjun!” And finally, he turns around, his eyes widen when you use his Korean name.

“Holy fuck, you caught me off guard with that L/N.” He scolds.

“And you didn’t hear me when I called out to you a thousand times before that?”

“No.” He smiles, which irks you, but you can’t let it be known. He finds this attractive, but you don’t know that yet.  “What did you want?”

“You remember that one time I helped you out by telling you the answer to the Calculus pop quiz and that you said you’d owe me a favor.” You pout your lips out, hoping he takes pity on you and hears you out.

“...Ugh. Can we save that for another day? I got dance practice.”

No, you cannot! Time is ticking. You’re going to have to be blunt.

"No! Look, Choi, I need you to-"

The pleading in the moment sounds very desperate and exasperated which you hope doesn’t–

"Need me? Sounds kinda erotic." The taller boy chuckles, and your face scowls, turning a heavy shade of red.

Dammit, that’s exactly what I didn’t want it to sound like!

"Huh? That’s not…You're gross! As if I would EVER do anything trashy with you!" You cross your arms, feeling impatient. You look away from him, seeing some of the passing students. Jimin’s supposed to meet you near this building and should be here any minute from his last class across campus so you can both go home together. You don’t want to get caught doing this. 

This isn't gonna work at this rate, and you don't have any more time for this. 

"You know what, never mind. I don't even know why I bothered to think of asking you. I should've asked Mark instead." You turn around, deciding to walk away from the situation. Maybe you'll take the L! You'll go to Seokjin's dumb brother's wedding by yourself like the loser you are while everyone else has dates.

"Hey, wait!" Yeonjun pulls your arm toward him, making you turn back around. You are now face to face with each other, which makes you suddenly feel nervous. "Alright. Fine, Princess, I'm listening. What is it?" He looks at you, finally with sincerity in his eyes.

God, I guess if he actually wants to listen now, then you'll say it. What could go wrong?

You tiptoe and lean in close to his ear, catching Yeonjun slightly off guard. "Okay. so I need you to be my fake date to my friend's brother's wedding."

Yeonjun blinks repeated, processing the request. After realizing he was frozen, he immediately goes back to his usual expression and smirks. "Well, well, well. Looks like someone couldn't resist the charm of Choi Yeonjun after all."

You roll your eyes, "Hell no. Please, you can be there looking all pretty, but I'd rather dance with a cactus."

He raises an eyebrow, "You sure about that? Cacti can be quite prickly, you know."

You huff, "Just shut up and play along. I need you to act like a decent human being for one evening. You owe me anyways, remember?" 

Yeonjun smirks again, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Decent human being? That's a stretch," he grins, clearly enjoying this. "But sure, why not? It's not every day someone gets to be in the presence of greatness."

You scoff, shaking your head, "Greatness? Please. Just don't embarrass me, okay?"

Yeonjun's grin widens, "No promises, sweetheart. But I'll do my best. After all, I owe you."

"Yeah, yeah. Just be ready to suffer through a night of pretending to like me," you retort with a wry smile.

"Oh, the sacrifices I make for you," he replies, sarcasm dripping from every word.

As you walk away, hoping to meet Jimin halfway you can't help but mutter under your breath, "This is gonna be a disaster."

Yeonjun's laughter follows you from a very short distance after overhearing you, "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

After Yeonjun agreed, you begin meeting with him regularly over the next two weeks leading up to the wedding. Your primary objective is to shop for outfits suitable for the event and to conduct some "etiquette" training. By "etiquette," you mean coaching him on how to handle questions from the guys or any of Seokjin's family members in a certain manner.

So this gives you guys a lot of time to get to know each other. 

You learn that he prefers to be called Yeonjun, as Daniel just feels like a persona he puts up in school. You learn that he lives with his aunt, uncle, and younger cousin at the Woodbridge Apartment complex. His parents wanted him to grow up in the US, so they left him here in their care and just told him to get through school and come back to Korea when he graduates college. He says that’s one of the main factors that has kept him motivated to keep working hard and getting into a good college. 

He gets to know you too. You tell him you live close to school, with your parents and younger sister for the majority of your life. You tell him about the business program you got into at a college where two of your best friends go. You tell him all your pet peeves, your likes and dislikes. 

And he listens.

“Bought these on my way here.” Yeonjun handed you a white bag, a small smile playing on his lips as he stepped into your house . You accepted it with a curious glance and opened it up, revealing an array of pastries nestled inside.

"Bread?" you asked, slightly surprised.

"Yeah," Yeonjun replied. "I remember you mentioning that you were craving Tour Les Jours the other day. So, I got you a custard bun, a blueberry cream cheese bun—"

You interrupted him, incredulous. "Wait, you remembered that? I just blurted it out randomly in the middle of AP Lit a few days ago because I was hungry at the time. You really didn't have to get me anything."

"Nah, it was nothing," Yeonjun said casually, settling down comfortably on your living room couch. "I had gone to drop off Soobin at his house, so it was just a quick stop."

"Well, then, we can snack on it later," you replied with a smile, feeling touched by his thoughtful gesture. “So about the Seokjin’s brother…” 

Things like that made your heart become a bit softer for him after all thus time.

During this time, Jimin was too busy with the girl he is seeing (a dancer, actually) or with dance practice sessions after school. So he didn’t know you were hanging out with Yeonjun instead.

But there were still days throughout the week that you would hang out.

You’re best friends after all.

The scent of freshly baked pastries envelops you as you sit across from Jimin amidst the cozy ambiance of his dad's bakery cafe. Textbooks and notes are spread out between you, but your mind is elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts of the impending conversation.

Jimin glances up from his notes, furrowing his brows as he studies your slightly giddy expression. "Hey, Y/N," he begins tentatively, "Is everything okay? You've been acting kinda weird since that hangout at In-N-Out."

Despite him not knowing what you were doing, he could still feel tha something was different about you.

You feign innocence, offering a casual shrug. "Weird? I don't know what you're talking about, Jimin. I've just been busy with stuff."

But Jimin isn't convinced, his gaze probing as he leans in slightly. "Come on, Darling, I know when something's up. You can tell me."

You maintain your facade of nonchalance, avoiding his penetrating stare. "Honestly, Jimin, there's nothing to tell. Just stressed about exams, that's all!"

"Fine, okay, be that way. But don't think I'll stop trying to figure it out." He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

You offer him a small smile, hoping to diffuse the tension. "I know you won't."

After a moment of silence, Jimin's curiosity continues. "So, about that wedding... Do you really have a date lined up?"

You pause momentarily from writing your final notes on a cheat sheet. "Yeah, I do," you reply casually. "You'll meet him soon."

Jimin's eyes widen with interest, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Oh, really? The Y/N who’s never had a boyfriend before got the courage to ask someone as their wedding date."

You offer him a playful shove, laughing softly. "Maybe the virginity competition last year changed me, but don't get too excited, Jimin. He's just a…friend."

In the back of your mind, you start to wonder otherwise.

Standing outside in your brown UO Samara Mesh Strapless Midi Dress, you nervously glance around, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. Namjoon's absence offers you some  temporary relief from your anxiety about being seen with Yeonjun. He stayed the night at Jin’s, so you’ll see him at the venue.

Suddenly, the sound of an engine draws your attention, and you turn to see Yeonjun's 1998 Red Subaru Impreza pulling up to the curb. It's not the first time you've laid eyes on his car, having been in it several times before when he’d give you a ride to your house or take you to his. But you can't help but admire the vintage charm it exudes every time you see it. It’s just so, Yeonjun.

As Yeonjun's gaze meets yours, he's momentarily struck silent, his eyes roaming over your dress. "Uh, ready for the show...sweetheart?" he finally manages to say.

A giggle escapes your lips as you saunter over to the car. "Oh, you know I was born ready." you tease, flashing him a playful grin as you slide into the passenger seat.

Feeling a rush of excitement and nerves, you hurry to find seats in the pews set up at the outdoor ceremonial venue at the country club, your fingers instinctively reaching out to grasp Yeonjun's wrists for support. As you settle into your chosen spot, you cast a quick glance around and realize that the place is packed to the brim with guests, the air humming with anticipation and excitement.

Your heart skips a beat slightly as you lock eyes with Namjoon across the crowded area. There's a flicker of recognition in his gaze, followed by a swift glance toward the person seated next to you—Yeonjun. His expression remains inscrutable as he studies the two of you, leaving you to wonder what thoughts are running through his mind.

A wave of uncertainty washes over you as Namjoon offers a hesitant wave in your direction. Beside him, Yoongi and Jimin turn to look at you and share a similar surprised, yet confused expression, their eyes briefly meeting yours before Jimin leans in to say something to Yoongi. You strain to catch a glimpse of their conversation, but the distance and the din of the crowd make it impossible to decipher.

A sense of unease settles in the pit of your stomach as you contemplate their reactions, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind. But with the ceremony about to begin, you push aside your apprehensions, focusing instead on Seokjin’s brother at the front with the priest, and his sister-in-law preparing to walk the aisle as the ceremony begins.

As you step into the wedding reception venue at Oak Creek Golf Club, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable introductions. 

“You good, Princess?” Yeonjun says gently, reassuring you from your nerves. You look at him, your eyes softening, “Yeah, just a bit of nerves, but I’m ready to get this over with.”

With Yeonjun by your side, you navigate through the crowd until you join your group of friends sitting at a large round table.

After greeting, you clear your throat nervously and gesture towards Yeonjun. "This is my date," you announce, hoping to break the ice.

Yeonjun stands beside you, momentarily speechless as he takes in the sight of your guy best friends and the other males at the table. Sensing his hesitation, you shoot him a subtle elbow, prompting him to snap out of his daze.

"Ow," he mutters, before regaining his composure and extending a hand towards the others. "Uh, hi, I'm Daniel Choi, but you can call me Yeonjun. Nice to meet you guys," he manages, his tone a blend of nervousness and politeness.

As the guys' inquisitive gazes shift between you and Yeonjun, they waste no time in launching into their interrogation.

Jimin leans in, his eyes narrowed with curiosity. "Y/N, what's going on? How did you end up bringing Yeonjun as your date?" He’s not shying away from the elephant in the room.

Jimin has been familiar with Yeonjun for a long time. They both are dancers, though Jimin does it competitively at school (and won competitions), while Yeonjun is a well-known dancer at your hometown’s community dance studio. Makes sense they would have crossed paths because of dance mutuals after all. Jimin has also he heard you complain about him and his teasing the last couple of years. He never paid him too much attention, until now.

You offer a practiced smile, reciting the rehearsed response you've prepared. "Oh, well, Yeonjun and I have been friends for a while, and when I needed a date for the wedding, he kindly offered to accompany me."

Jimin is immediately smelling that something is fishy. In his mind, he knows that you hate Yeonjun. Well, hate seems to be a strong word. More like, you have differences with one another.

Namjoon furrows his brow, his expression skeptical. "Friends, huh? I’ve never heard you mention him being your friend before. Weren’t you guys rivals?"

Shit. You know Namjoon knew him from being in the student leadership with him during his junior year of high school. He also heard Yeonjun ranting about you getting higher grades than you.

You shrug casually, masking your unease. "Well, you know how it is. Sometimes friendships develop unexpectedly."

Yoongi leans back in his chair, eyeing Yeonjun with a hint of suspicion. "Okay, so Yeonjun, how did you and Y/N become friends so suddenly?"

Yeonjun clears his throat nervously, his eyes darting between the three men and the others at the table overhearing their conversation. "Uh, well, you probably heard we had classes together over the years. And mutual friends," he begins, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "And, uh, we just hit it off, I guess."

Jimin raises an eyebrow, his gaze probing. "That’s funny because last time I recall, we were the only ones who were Y/N’s friends.”

He is right, you’re not really close to anyone else.

But Yeonjun does not know how to respond to that. Though he’s close to saying something sassy right back. But he knows it would be disrespectful, and he doesn’t want to cause any drama. You wouldn’t want him to start something with your best friends either.

There’s a brief pause as the guys absorb the answers Yeonjun spouts out during this interrogative ordeal, exchanging glances with each other. Sensing the tension, you interject quickly. "Okay! Enough with that. So, how about we grab some drinks. It's a celebration, after all!"

With a subtle shift in focus, the conversation veers away from the interrogation, allowing you and Yeonjun a momentary reprieve from their scrutiny.

You link arms with Yeonjun, guiding him towards the bar where champagne floats are being served, eager for a temporary escape from the intense interrogation. You sneakily grab two, worried that someone will say something about two underage teens drinking, but no one notices. You think no one cares. You hand one to Yeonjun, who only takes a sip of it but puts it aside as he remembers he’s driving you home tonight.

As you sip on your drink, you can't help but shake your head in disbelief. "I didn't think they would go off like that... I've never seen them do that," you remark, baffled by their sudden intensity.

Yeonjun glances at you and your drink and chuckles softly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, looks like your friends are more protective than I thought. Guess I'll have to watch my back around them," he replies with a sassy smirk, his tone teasing yet lighthearted.

You can't help but laugh at his response, grateful for his ability to add some humor into the tense situation. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve left the moment they started questioning you. It’s not worth the hassle to make up a favor.

As you and Yeonjun return to the table, you finally notice Namjoon and Jimin's dates seated nearby and decide to seize the opportunity to meet them. With a friendly smile, you turn to Namjoon and Jimin, gesturing towards their dates. "Hey, mind introducing me to your lovely companions?" you inquire politely.

Namjoon and Jimin exchange knowing glances before obliging. "Uh yeah of course, Y/N," Namjoon replies, gesturing towards his date, wearing a long beige spaghetti-strapped dress. "This is Hyungseo."

"And this is Shuhua," Jimin adds, indicating his own companion wearing a navy blue satin mini dress.

You offer warm greetings to both Hyungseo and Shuhua, engaging them in conversation as you exchange pleasantries. Though, they both seem to be reluctant to talk to you and ignore your efforts. It leaves you feeling offended. You just met them and they’re being rude already. The guys take note of their behavior, but don’t say anything.

They’re lost causes, you think.

Turning to the rest of the group to continue your socializing, you notice Hoseok, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jin accompanied by their respective dates. Their dates are fortunately, kinder than the other girls. You make your rounds, introducing yourself to each of them and exchanging friendly banter.

However, you can't help but notice that Yoongi is sitting alone, without a date by his side. Sensing his discomfort, you offer him a smile, silently acknowledging his solitude.

"Hey, Yoongi, couldn't find a date to save your life, huh?" Hoseok teases with a playful grin.

Taehyung chimes in, nudging Yoongi gently. "Come on, man, what happened? Couldn't charm anyone into accompanying you tonight?"

Jungkook adds with a smirk, "Looks like it's just you and the dance floor tonight, hyung."

Even Jin comments on it as he returns to the table after having to go help his mom with something. "Well, well, well, looks like the most eligible bachelor at the table is flying solo tonight."

Despite the teasing, Yoongi takes it all in stride, offering a nonchalant shrug and a smirk of his own. "Hey, I don't need a date to have a good time. Besides, who needs the drama, right?"

Maybe he’s right. Did you really need to be doing all of this just to prove some point? 

You continue your time, eating and conversing with your friends around you. The afternoon sunset changes to a night sky. Despite everyone having fun, drinking and celebrating, a part of you feels guilty for bringing Yeonjun as your “fake date”. You should’ve come by yourself or as Yoongi’s buddy. But you always feel the need to prove something, and feel dumb by the end of it.

The mood in your mind sombers, and you turn to Yeonjun and whisper in his ear. 

"I'm going to step out for a bit. You can stay here."

Yeonjun's concerned gaze meets yours, his brows furrowing in worry. "Hey, hey, something wrong?" he asks softly.

"Just feeling overwhelmed with the partying environment," you reply, attempting to brush off your unease. "Don't worry about—"

But before you can finish, Yeonjun cuts in determinedly. "I'll go with you."

You offer him a grateful smile, touched by his unwavering support, as you both make your way towards the entrance of the outdoor reception area. Finding solace in the quietude outside, you settle onto a bench next to a tree adorned with twinkling lights, the gentle rustle of leaves providing a comforting backdrop to your thoughts.

As you sit together on the bench, the soft glow of the lights casting a serene ambiance around you, you can't shake the feeling of guilt that weighs heavily on your chest. With a sigh, you turn to Yeonjun, your voice tinged with regret.

"Yeonjun, I’m gonna be honest with you. I've been feeling terrible about dragging you into this whole charade as my date," you begin, your words hesitant yet sincere.

Yeonjun's gaze softens, his expression filled with understanding. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize," he reassures you gently.

But you shake your head, a pang of guilt twisting in your stomach. "No, you don't understand. I feel like I've wasted your time, made you endure all of this just to satisfy some silly notion of mine," you confess, your voice laced with self-reproach.

Yeonjun reaches out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, listen to me. You didn't waste my time. I chose to be here and all those hang out sessions because I wanted to help you. I wanted to be by your side," he says earnestly.

You meet his gaze, feeling a surge of gratitude and warmth wash over you at his words. "But you shouldn't have had to endure all of this just for my sake," you protest softly.

Yeonjun smiles softly, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. "Sometimes, we do things for the people we care about, even if it means stepping out of our comfort zone. And honestly, being here with you, even in this weird setup, has been worth it," he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

Touched by his unwavering support and understanding, you feel a lump form in your throat. "Thank you, Yeonjun. I really appreciate everything you've done for me," you say, your voice choked with emotion.

Yeonjun gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Anytime, Y/N. Remember, I'm here for you, no matter what," he says softly.

In the serene ambiance of the evening, with the soft glow of lights casting a mesmerizing spell, Yeonjun shifts nervously beside you, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as he finally gathers the courage to speak up.

"You know Y/N, there's something I've been thinking about lately," he begins, his voice laced with a hint of shyness yet buoyed by his characteristic sassiness. "We’ve been hanging out a lot lately, and I honestly feel like it’s changed a lot about how we behave around each other.”

Your curiosity piqued, you turn to him, prompting him to continue.

"What do you mean?" you inquire, your voice filled with genuine interest.

Yeonjun hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty before he continues, his words tinged with a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

"I know I did this as a favor, but I liked hanging out with you a lot," he confesses, his tone sincere. "Getting to know you. Seeing you more often."

A warmth spreads through your chest at his admission, and you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his.

"Well I... I feel the same way," you admit softly, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. "Spending time with you has been... different. In a good way."

For a moment, silence envelops you both, the tranquility of the night amplifying your heart beating fast. You find yourself lost in thought. What would happen if you started to like Yeonjun? Would it even be possible to be together? You feel crazy for thinking this. Your freshmen year self would kill you for having this thought.

Maybe this is all just in your head. It’s too late to start something just as you’re about to graduate high school and go your separate ways.

But before you can gather your thoughts, Yeonjun's voice breaks the silence, his tone laced with a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings.

"I don't want this to end, Y/N," he confesses, his words tinged with sincerity. "I don't want to go back to how things were before. I actually think I’ve fallen in love with you."

What?

He also had similar thoughts as you?

You can't believe this. This is insane. I mean, you knew you were getting closer, but you never thought... you never thought he'd feel the same way. 

This is like something straight out of a movie. A rivals to lovers fic from Wattpad. Your mind is going a million miles an hour right now. What do you do now? It's like the whole world just shifted beneath your feet. 

But when you look into Yeonjun's eyes, you can see the sincerity there. It's kind of overwhelming. This was definitely not part of the plan when you set out to do this. I mean, how do you even deal with something like this? You’ve never dated anyone. But at the same time, there's a part of you that's curious, that's intrigued by the possibility of trying it. You’re 18 now, you studied hard and deserve to be in love.

This could change things for you.

But it’s not something you ever expected to happen in your life. Especially with Yeonjun.

As you grapple with the emotions swirling within you, you find yourself hesitantly voicing your doubts to Yeonjun.

"Yeonjun…I feel the same way but it just feels like... like it's too late." you murmur, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "If this happened way before graduation, things would’ve easier, but we’re just about to start college–"

But before you can continue, Yeonjun reaches out, gently taking your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

"It's okay, Y/N," he says softly, his eyes meeting yours with a steadfast determination. "I understand that things are different now, but I'm willing to try. I still have the rest of summer with you, and our colleges are somewhat close to each other. We can make it work."

His words wash over you like a soothing balm, calming the storm of uncertainty raging within your mind. Despite your fears and reservations, there's a part of you that's drawn to the possibility of exploring this newfound thing with Yeonjun, and stepping into something completely new in your life. A relationship.

As you gaze into his eyes, you realize that perhaps, just perhaps, this unexpected turn of events could be the beginning of something beautiful. Before you can dwell further on this realization, Yeonjun leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. At first, it's gentle, tentative, as if both of you are testing the waters. But soon, the kiss deepens, passion igniting between you as you lose yourselves in the moment.

Time seems to stand still as you both surrender to the intoxicating sensation of each other's touch. But eventually, you both mutually let go, the need for air becoming too urgent to ignore. With a shared understanding, Yeonjun suggests getting out of there, and you readily agree.

Taking control, Yeonjun grasps your hand firmly in his, leading the way as you rush away to his parked car. As you hurry along, you can't help but glance back at the entrance. You didn’t get to say bye to the guys and the bride and groom. But when you catch a glimpse of Namjoon and Yoongi witnessing your hasty departure with Yeonjun, your heart drops.

Oh shit.

Despite your immediate worries of your two best friends seeing all of that, you push it away once you arrive to Yeonjun’s apartment. 

The darkness envelops you as you step inside, the silence punctuated only by the sound of your breathing. Yeonjun explains that his cousin, aunt, and uncle are out of town for the weekend, leaving the apartment empty for the first time ever.

You can't help but tease him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Did you plan this, Yeonjun?" you quip, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Yeonjun responds with a smirk of his own, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Well, Y/N, I’m not supposed to kiss and tell," he retorts in a sassy tone, his playful banter sending a shiver down your spine.

With a coy smile, he takes your hand and leads you to his room, the tension between you palpable. He takes off his tuxedo jacket, placing it on his chair. As he pushes you gently onto the bed and gets on top of you, the rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, mingling with the electrifying sensation of his touch.

In that moment, as you lie together in the dimly lit room, the world fades away, leaving only the two of you lost in the intoxicating embrace of the night. You realize that perhaps, just perhaps, this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Are you sure about this though?” he asks you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips which are soon moving down to your jaw and neck. “If you don’t feel the same, we can end this. I’ll take you home sweetheart.” He leans into your ear.

You can’t hold back the whimper from the sensation his whispers give you. His hands pushes your dress out of the way, bunching around your waist and his long fingers dig into the skin of your ass.

“I think I made it clear I want this just as much as you,” you whisper back, pushing your hands under his collared shirt. You can’t help but marvel at the abs he has hidden under, muscles flexing beneath your palms. Yeonjun takes this time to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, fully revealing his torso to you.

Fuck, you’ve only seen this in his swim meet photos from last year, but never in person, and especially not like this.

“I want to see you naked too,” He grins pulling his hands away from your ass for a minute, pulling the zipper of the dress down and carefully sliding the strapless garment off you. You can’t suppress the shiver as the cooling air hits your heated skin, you feel like you’re blushing all over knowing he’s looking at you again.

“No bra? Fuck, you’re crazy,” Yeonjun groans dropping his face to your heaving chest, dragging his teeth and tongue over the swell of your breasts.

You grip the back of his head, fingers digging into his black hair as your other hand pushes between the two of you slightly awkwardly, popping the button of his slacks and tugging down his zipper. Pulling your hands away gently, Yeonjun moves down your body. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask breathlessly, trying to pull him back up but he shakes his head, a beautiful but dangerous smirk tugging at his lips.

Hooking his fingers in the sides of your black lace thong, he tugs them down your legs and removes them. You watch with wide eyes as he tucks them in his back pocket.

“Uh?! Y-Yeonjun?” 

“Call it a thank you for tonight. I survived your friends sending me daggers through the whole day, after all.” He winks up at you as he starts kissing and nipping his way up your inner thighs.

“H-Hey they so didn’t do that! G-Give them back to me or–” Your threat dies in your throat as Yeonjun pulls your leg over one of his shoulders. You can’t take your eyes off of him, his darkened eyes look up at you. It’s a lie if you say you never once thought about this sight. It was a nightmare for you at some point, but now, it’s reality. A good reality.

Yeonjun groans into you as his thick tongue drags through your wet folds, moving from your entrance to your throbbing clit and back again. Your body squirms as you grab his hair, feeling yourself sinking further and further into his bed as you roll your hips down into his face. Yeonjun growls as he sucks your clit between his plump lips. With one arm across your waist holding you still, the other moves between your leg. His two long fingers pushes into you, causing your back to arch, in an attempt to get closer to him.

In this moonlight shining through his room, his arms looked bigger than you remembered. Despite his tall and lanky-looking body, he’s definitely stronger than you previously thought. 

“F-Fuck Junnie!” you cry out, saying a new nickname for him in the process. The feeling is so intense as he starts thrusting his fingers into you, switching between scissoring and curling them against that sweet spot inside making your thighs shake.

Yeonjun groans once again as he feels your pussy starting to tighten around his fingers. He continues with faster movements, his tongue starting to flick back and forth over your sensitive bundle of nerves still trapped between his pouty lips.

Pulling away briefly, his tongue runs around his fingers pumping in and out of you. Your mind is beginning to get hazy. You’re so close, that you can feel the edge approaching.

“Tastes better than honey,” he groans low in his chest before sealing his lips back around your clit with renewed vigor, his tongue moving in time with his fingers.

“H-How the fuck are you so g-good at this?” You whimper as his fingers start digging into your hip, “So close, gonna c-come…. f-fuck!” You cry out as you feel the band holding your sanity together inside you snap, your pussy spasming around Yeonjun’s fingers as he works you through your orgasm. He moans around your clit, pushing vibrations through your body as you cling to his hair for dear life.

When you finally feel your body calm down, Yeonjun gently removes his fingers. He looks up at you with a smug look on his face. He’s teasing you. God, you can’t believe he just pulled an orgasm out of you. What the fuck. 

Also, why does he know how to do this so well? How many girls has he been with? 

“I can’t believe you’re teasing me because you made me cum,” You roll your eyes at him.

He climbs up your body once again and pulls you into a rough, but chaste kiss. It feels gross at first, but somehow intoxicating. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, yet it turns you on more than you thought it would.

“You ain’t seen anything yet, Princess,”

“Oh is that right? Show me what you’ve got then,” you smirk as your hand trails down his body, meeting his eyes when your hand pushes into his boxers. Yeonjun softly groans when your small hand wraps around his thick aching cock, tugging down his slacks and boxers until they’re around his knees. You start to pump his cock in your hand, loving the way his breathing picks up as his hands hold onto your hips. You feel so much power from doing this.

He leans over quickly to grab a condom from his bedside table and starts sliding it on until it fully encapsulates his dick.

“Are you ready?” Yeonjun asks through a moan as you pull him closer, hooking your leg over his hip. His thick cock brushes through your slick pussy, and with every roll of his hips, the tip of his cock nudges your clit.

“Yes please just do it already,” You say urgently, which makes him chuckle. His hand wraps around his cock as he eases inside of you very slowly. His other hands roughly grabs your ass as you cry out against his lips.

“Holy shit, Yeonjun…Fuck”

“God, you’re tight, can’t wait to fuckin’ ruin you,” He groans when your pussy clenches around him. He can’t take it anymore, you practically scream his name as he snaps his hips forward, neighbors be damned. Both of you cling to each other as he waits for you to adjust to his size. His lips press to your ear, his breathing ragged as he speaks. 

“You’re only gonna want me now, sweetheart and I’ll make sure of it.”

Your nails drag down his back creating angry red lines against his soft skin. You nod your head slightly foggy, filled with just Yeonjun. 

“Do it! Please, move. I’m yours,” you breathe against his lips, your sweaty forehead up against his.

“Love the sound of you being so eager, ” Yeonjun grunts as he thrusts his hips up roughly, causing you to cry out into his open mouth. His hands feel like they’re everywhere as his hips start thrusting up into you wildly, the snap of his hips slapping loudly against your skin. You can feel every inch of his cock, as his lips tongue and teeth explore your neck, sucking dark purple marks into your skin. Cupping your breasts roughly, his plump lips seal around a hardened nipple. His warm mouth feels so amazing against you while you feel your pussy clamping down around his cock for the first time. 

You haven’t had sex since you lost your virginity to Wonwoo, and this being your second time feels so amazing.

“Hold it,” Yeonjun grunts pulling you back from the brink of cumming. You stare at him with your lustful bedroom eyes and mouth dropping open as he fucks into you harder than before.

“I-I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I’m gonna pull out in a minute and I wanna see you bounce on my cock.” The way he growls those words against your neck makes you whine, desperate for release you know you’re not allowed. Fuck, the horny and desperate hormones are taking over the both of you.

Yeonjun pulls out after another hard thrust that makes your legs weak, stumbling away from you. He grins like a cheshire cat when you glare at him. Laying down awkwardly next to you, he starts pumping his cock in his hand as he watches you crawl towards him. Your back aches and stings, much like the rest of your body in the best way, but all you can focus on is Yeonjun.

To his surprise you turn your back to him, getting to your knees and straddle his hips and thighs. With your hands resting on his thick thighs, you lean your ass back, moaning as he teases the tip of his cock against your entrance. It slips inside you with not much difficulty and you can’t help but push back into him. You slowly lower yourself, letting your tight wet heat envelope him, until your ass is pressed against his groin and lower stomach.

“D-Didn’t know you have a thing for my ass,” You tease.

Yeonjun growls low in his throat, squeezing your ass roughly as you lift almost off his cock before dropping back down. 

“Not such a good girl after all are you?” He questions roughly as you start a steady rhythm of rising and falling on his cock, nails digging into his thighs.

You pause to roll your hips over him, loving the way your clit rubs against him.

 “N-No, it was a persona for me too,” you cry out as he slaps your ass hard, quickly followed by another harsh slap to your other cheek.

“Y/N, you’re so hot,” Yeonjun groans as you start bouncing again. He feels your pussy beginning to clench again as your slick leaks down his shaft and balls. You hold on when you start to feel him bucking his hips up into you. “Don’t stop, let go Princess,” Yeonjun says roughly catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

Pushing a hand between your legs, you rub harsh circles into your clit. Your throat is hoarse from shouting out his name. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut as Yeonjun thrusts up hard, and you cry out as you come, clinging to him wherever you can.

You’ve barely come down from your euphoric high when Yeonjun eases you up, a rough bruising grip on your hips. He takes control guiding you up and down his length until he finally comes with a moaning whimper of your name falling from his lips.

You're panting hard when Yeonjun finally pulls out slowly, helping you lay down next to him gently.

“Fuck, I love you” Yeonjun whispers aggressively as he goes in to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you. It takes a while for those words to sink in because you’re still in disbelief. When he pulls away he’s surprised to find you frowning.

“You okay?” he asks worriedly, his fingers brushing over the slowly forming bruises on your body. “Was I too rough,” he swallows hard, meeting your eyes. You shake your head.

“You mean you love me as a friend right?” you question nervously, just wanting to confirm that he actually isn’t playing with your heart.

You heard rumors that he kinda does this thing with a select few girls for fun. So you want to make sure if he is actually on the same wavelength as you.

“That’s what’s wrong?” He asks with a smile shaking his head and kissing you again. He grabs a blanket to cover your body with for warmth. 

You nod looking down at your fingers which are now linked with his.

“If it bothers you, Y/N, then yeah I can pretend I meant as friends but no. I meant it when I said I fell in love with you. I wish we could’ve done this sooner, but at least I didn’t wait any longer,” he chuckles, the blush on his cheeks brightening the more he speaks. “But it’s totally fine if you wanna chalk this up to–” You cover his mouth with your hand shaking your head.

You pull his lips to yours with tears in your eyes, feeling him smile into the kiss as a sigh of relief leaves his chest. “I’ve start to fall in love with you too,  if it wasn’t obvious the last couple of weeks we started talking more. I was so used to you being a flirty nerd, but this was very unexpected. I’m still speechless,” you giggle watching the smirk slip onto his plump lips.

“Funny how you said you’re never do anything trashy with me and look at us now,” he promises you as he gets up to discard the used up condom in the trash bin next to his bed.

You roll your eyes at him, “Shut up! Things change!”

They really do.

The next morning, Yeonjun drops you off at your home. Well, he drops you off at the street corner so you wouldn’t appear too suspicious. 

“I know you gotta study for finals this week before graduation on Saturday, so I won’t bother you. But text me if you need me.” 

You nod, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you look at Yeonjun. "Thanks, Yeonjun. I appreciate it," you say softly, your heart feeling lighter knowing he's there for you now as someone more than a rival, more than a friend.

Yeonjun returns your smile, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. "Anytime, Y/N. I'll be waiting for your call," he replies, his voice tinged with sincerity.

As you step out of the car and onto the sidewalk, you turn back to wave at Yeonjun, watching as he drives away. 

When enter your house, your very nosey mother folding laundry in the living room asks you about the wedding and where you stayed the night, you tell her you stayed with Kyeongmin, Namjoon’s younger sister. Before she can ask you anything else, you tell her you’re going to rest up and study for your finals in your room.

Once safely in your room, you let out a sigh of relief, grateful to have dodged your mother's interrogation. But as you glance at your phone, you see messages from Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin, all undoubtedly asking about last night's events.

Shit. It seems like you have some explaining to do.

You open Namjoon's message, feeling a pang of guilt as you read his words. 

Namjoonie [Saturday 12:01AM]: Hey, tiny! Sorry about making you uncomfortable by interrogating you and Yeonjun. Are you really dating him?

You take a deep breath before composing your response. 

You [Sunday 8:11AM]: “Hey, Joon! Yeah… I'm with Yeonjun…

You [Sunday 8:12AM]: It’s a long story. Let’s talk more after finals and grad are done? You’re going on Saturday, right?

You weren’t expecting him to be up at this hour, but when he responds not long after you send your text out, you wonder what happened after he left.

Namjoon [Sunday 8:12AM]: Wouldn’t miss it for the world :)

Namjoon has always been overprotective over you, but surprisingly, he’s being patient right now. Maybe the year in college has changed him. A part of you kinda hoped he’d react differently.

You responded to the rest of the guys similarly, and also receive responses that oddly disappoint you a bit.

June 3rd, 20XX [Saturday]

Finals week goes by in a flash. You pass all your finals with flying colors, and before you know it, it's Saturday morning. The graduation ceremony is at 4PM, but you're at the school gym at the crack ass of dawn to practice sitting in assigned seats and walking for the ceremony at the football field later.  With your status as Salutatorian, you end up getting placed in the very front, along with Jimin who is the Valedictorian and Yeonjun who sits in the 3rd spot.  The rest of the spots are filled by Daisy, Mark, Soobin, Denise, Stephan, Felix, and Kevin.

"It's really happening," you say out loud to no one in particular, but Jimin and Yeonjun look at you.

Jimin offers you a reassuring smile. "Yeah, it is. Can you believe it?"

Yeonjun chimes in, his usual playful smirk adorning his lips. "Well, I mean, look at us, top of the class and all."

Jimin eyes him suspiciously. It’s unlike Yeonjun to just butt into a conversation with you and Jimin like that. You’re afraid Jimin’s going to pounce on him, especially after likely hearing about what you two did at the wedding from your other best friends.

You chuckle nervously, attempting to redirect Jimin’s focus from him. "Well I barely secured this spot. Thank God you got an A- in AP Calculus,"

Jimin laughs a little too hard at your comment, and Yeonjun rolls his eyes playfully. "Hey, we’re all going to college and that’s what matters," he says, flashing a grin. 

You nod, feeling a sense of camaraderie with your friends. "Yeah, we are."

As the morning progresses, you go through the motions of the graduation rehearsal, listening to the instructions from the faculty and practicing your entrance and exit. After an hour and thirty minutes of practicing, you’re all free to head home and get ready.

"I'll give you a ride," Yeonjun suggests to you casually, however Jimin suddenly grabs your wrist.

"Nope, I'm taking her!" Jimin chimes in. "See ya!"

"H-Hey! Wait!" You protest, but Jimin drags you away to his used black porsche parked in the student parking lot.

You stumble slightly as Jimin pulls you along, caught off guard by his sudden decision. "Jimin, what's going on?" you ask, trying to keep up with his brisk pace.

"Nothing.” He groans, “Just want to take you to my place to get ready with me for graduation. We'll drop by your house to get your stuff."

You're taken aback by Jimin's sudden assertiveness but decide to go along with it, intrigued by what he has planned. "Uhh right! Sounds good?" you reply, trying to keep up with his energetic pace.

Jimin unlocks his car, and you slide into the passenger seat beside him. The engine roars to life, and you two exit campus, leaving Yeonjun there as he left with a puzzled expression. What Jimin did would be considered war against Yeonjun. But yet again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

The sun beats down on the football field, casting a warm glow over the sea of graduates seated in neat rows. As you sit among your classmates, adorned in your purple cap and gown, you can't help but feel a surge of nerves coursing through you. The anticipation builds as you anxiously await your turn to present your short speech as the Salutatorian of your class.

The field is alive with the buzz of excitement and anticipation, friends and family members filling the stands to witness this momentous occasion. The scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint aroma of flowers carried on the breeze, creating an atmosphere of celebration and achievement.

Your eyes scan the crowd, searching for familiar faces among the sea of spectators. You catch sight of your parents and sister sitting in the middle row, and then see Yoongi, Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook and Taehyung sitting right in front of them, holding flowers and balloons. Their proud smiles warming your heart and easing some of your nerves.

Suddenly, your attention is drawn to the stage where Jimin stands, delivering his graduation speech with eloquence and passion. His words resonate with the audience, his voice carrying across the field as he imparts words of wisdom and reflection on the journey ahead.

As Jimin concludes his speech to thunderous applause, you feel a mixture of pride and apprehension. It's your turn now, and you rise to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way to the podium.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. You don’t remember what you said, but you did deliver your speech with poise and confidence, sharing words of gratitude and inspiration with your fellow graduates. And it was well received, so that’s all that matters.

As the ceremony draws to a close and the last diploma is handed out, the graduates are instructed to move their tassels from the right side of their caps to the left—a symbolic gesture marking their transition from students to graduates.

With a collective movement, the sea of caps is adorned with a new arrangement of tassels, signifying the culmination of years of hard work and dedication. The air is filled with the sound of cheers and applause from family and friends, along with the joyful noise of celebratory horns and whistles.

As your eyes scan the crowd, you spot your guy best friends rushing to the field to meet you and Jimin. With wide grins plastered across their faces, they weave through the throngs of people, their excitement palpable in the air.

Yoongi is the first to reach you in a rush, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Well, well, look who's finally a high school graduate," he teases, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

Namjoon follows closely behind, his eyes sparkling with pride. "Congrats you two! You actually made it!" he exclaims, enveloping you and Jimin in a tight hug.

“With honors, too. You two are insane. Congrats you nerds!” Jin teased. “It’s called being competitive! And of course we were gonna graduate. We may have been gaming at times, but we still did our shit.” Jimin exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

Hoseok jumps in with his signature peppiness, practically bouncing on his toes. "Hey, I believed y’all could do it! Now, let's party!" he cheers, his enthusiasm infectious.

Taehyung joins the group with a mischievous grin, already planning the festivities. "Hey, hey, Jungkook and I’s high school graduation isn’t until 7 PM. We can't party yet," he interjects, his eyes still twinkling with anticipation despite the delay.

You smile at Taehyung's words, nodding in agreement. "Don’t worry. Jimin and I will definitely swing by your graduation and then we’ll party," you assure him, feeling the excitement building up again. The group chuckles, the prospect of double celebrations lifting their spirits even more.

As you bask in the joyous atmosphere, a pang of sadness washes over you as you remember Yeonjun. You quickly turn around to scan the crowd for him, but he's nowhere to be seen. Before you can dwell on it further, you're called out by your parents and surrounded by friends and teachers eager to congratulate you and bid you farewell. The momentary worry about Yeonjun is pushed aside as you immerse yourself in the festivities.

June 4th, 20XX [Sunday]

Despite the fact that you couldn't see him after the ceremony, Yeonjun shows up at your house the next morning. 

Your mom and sister are heavily caught off guard when they open the door because they've never seen him in their lives. Your sister rushes up stairs to wakes you from your slumber.

“Y/N! You need to go downstairs because there’s a pretty boy outside waiting for you with flowers!” She yells at you while removing your blankets.

You groggily rub your eyes as your sister's words register in your mind. "A pretty boy with flowers?" you mumble, still half asleep. For some reason, the thought of it being Yeonjun doesn’t click in your head. The first guy that comes to mind is Namjoon, but that wouldn’t make sense.

"Yeah, I've never seen him before," your sister replies with a curious expression. "He's, like, really handsome."

The fact that she’s never seen him before tells you otherwise.

Curiosity piqued, you quickly throw on a hoodie over your pajamas and rush downstairs to see who could possibly be waiting for you at your doorstep. As you descend the stairs, you hear the muffled voices of your mom and sister conversing with someone.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, you freeze in surprise at the sight of Yeonjun standing in your foyer, holding a bouquet of flowers. Your mom and sister look equally bewildered by his presence.

"Yeonjun?" you exclaim, blinking in disbelief.

"Hey," Yeonjun greets you with a sheepish smile, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "I, uh, hope it's okay that I came over. I wanted to see you."

Your mom and sister exchange incredulous glances before your sister nudges you playfully. "Go on, Y/N, talk to your mysterious visitor," she whispers with a mischievous grin.

You shoot her a grateful, yet awkward smile before turning back to Yeonjun. "Yeah, of course it's okay. I'm just... surprised to see you here."

Yeonjun scratches the back of his neck nervously, his expression sheepish. "Yeah, uh, I wanted to apologize for disappearing after graduation. I got caught up with my friends and family… and I felt bad for not seeing you, so I wanted to make it up to you by taking you out for breakfast."

You raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised by his sudden appearance but also relieved. "Really? Well, I could definitely go for some breakfast right now," you say with a smile, feeling the tension ease between you.

"Get changed and we'll grab pancakes from Stacks. My treat," Yeonjun suggests with a grin.

Your eyes light up with excitement. "Bet! Just give me a sec to get ready," you reply, dashing upstairs to freshen up and swap your pajamas for a band t-shirt tucked into your med-wash jeans before heading out for breakfast.

You spent the morning talking with Yeonjun and eating breakfast before he took you back home. You talked to him about things you want to do over the summer with you and things of that sort. It felt so weird to finally be in a relationship. You didn’t think it would happen, let alone with someone you used to call your rival. He wanted to spend more time with you, but you told him you had to meet with Jimin to help Yoongi and Namjoon pack up and move out for the summer.

You also told him that you were going to let them know about your relationship with him, which he was fine with.

Jimin came to pick you up not long after and he drove to their college, which would soon become the same place you’ll be going to 2.5 months from now. 

“Congrats on whatever you and Yeonjun have.” Jimin said once you got in the car.

“Did Namjoon and Yoongi tell you?”

“Briefly, but there’s a few little birds in the dance community saying that Yeonjun was talking about you. Obviously don’t know all the details so you better tell me.” He eyes you for a second before looking back on the road.

“Obviously, you’re my best friend after all.” You say, and then proceed to tell him how this all started, where you are now, your fears, your excitement.

Jimin only nodded in response and smiled at your enthusiasm. But his smile hid a bit of sadness behind it. Though yet again, you didn’t realize the full extent about that at this time.

When you both arrived at the campus, You noticed Namjoon and Yoongi were already waiting for you outside of the dorm building with a good chunk of their stuff, cardboard boxes piled up as tall as them. Though, you think that there’s still more of it inside their dorm. Jimin parked the car in the dorm parking lot and got out to start loading the boxes in his car.

“Seokjin’s going to use his dad’s truck to help us pack some of the stuff that won’t fit in Jimin’s car. We’re waiting for him too.” Namjoon commented as he walked toward your window and leaned against it.

“Good to know! I was telling him earlier that most of this shit won’t fit in his small ass sports car.” You joked, which made Namjoon chuckle at your jab towards Jimin.

There was a pregnant pause after when you realized you hadn’t really talked this casually with Namjoon since the wedding. From the look in his eyes you realize that he also immediately had this thought as well.

You had talked to him last night at your graduation, but it was mainly celebratory exchanges and nothing directly related to your personal circumstances outside of that. He remained mostly around Hoseok’s side last night at the group grad party as he taught Namjoon about djaying.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” You begin as you break the silence, opening the car door to get out and shake your legs from the discomfort of sitting down for an hour. “Things happened pretty suddenly and quickly. There wasn’t really much time to bring it up—”

“It’s okay, Tiny.” Namjoon cut you off, knowing you were about to go on an apology tangent. He knows you do that whenever you feel really bad about something. “We’re all grown up. We’re bound to get into relationships. So don’t worry about it,” Namjoon smiled, however, his seemed more genuine than Jimins’. You’re not sure what this means… You expected more push and pull from him, but he’s being more understanding than you anticipated.

Yoongi tells the both of you to come inside the building so you can help him bring the last of the boxes out of their dorm. When you get to their room, Namjoon continues his thoughts.

“As long as Yeonjun doesn’t break your heart. I’m cool with him, I guess.” He carefully words out, seemingly trying to convince himself about that last sentence.

Yoongi catches chase of what Namjoon is talking about and nods, “I agree with that. If you’re happy, then we’re happy. It’s important to support each other. We’re best friends after all.”

“Right, but you better not leave us behind or start ignoring us for your boyfriend, alright?” Namjoon boops your nose with his index finger before hoisting up 3 big boxes in his arm, making you flustered. Looking at his arm strength has made you question if he’s gotten more buff recently.

“Obviously. You’re my best friends! No matter what, I’d never be an ass to you guys just because I have a boyfriend.” you spoke so matter-of-factly to them, like even the thought of you betraying them was pure blasphemy. You wouldn’t do that to them. You’ve known them for years, and have shed blood, sweat, and tears together. “You’re always one of my top priorities.”

There was a glow on their faces from simply hearing those words from you. You didn’t know the implications of that change of complexion. You were just being honest.

But you didn’t have any idea how much these words would haunt you later on.

The first month or so of dating Yeonjun has felt like a dream. 

A long awaited dream that you’ve had for so long. After graduating, you didn’t have much to do for the next three months you’re still in town. During the summer, you’d usually work a seasonal shift at a cafe near your local community college, but they were cutting costs and hiring less staff than usual. Jimin’s dad offered you a job at his bakery instead, which you decided to take, much to Jimin’s dismay. You assumed it’s because he didn’t want his dad to work you to the bone, which you didn’t mind. You wanted to have some extra cash to pay for college, as well as your outings with Yeonjun.

Yeonjun didn’t seem opposed to it either. Well, that’s what you thought at the time. Right before your shifts ended, Yeonjun would come by, get an injeolmi toast or an Iced Americano and then pick you up from work when your shift ended. It was a little embarrassing that Mr. Park would see him come by often. He’d even start to question you about the boy. At some point, he began conversations with him, asking him if he’s Korean, what school does he go to, what his parents do, etc. Jimin’s dad found him interesting, and would tease Jimin to “be more like Yeonjun”.

“Be more like Yeonjun?” Jimin scoffed, but didn’t continue his thought after looking at you and then looking away to continue with his task.

After he’d pick you up, you’d go on dates. Sometimes, you’d have a picnic at the lake or walk around the mall and talk about work, your parents, and your best friends with him. Other times, you’d come over to his apartment and help his aunt and cousin make mandu. When you were lucky, the apartment would be empty and you’d take the time to have sex with Yeonjun in his room.

Once, you tried to do the same thing and invite him to your place for sex. Your parents and sister had gone 2 cities over to shop at a bigger mall, so you didn’t miss the chance to text Yeonjun to come over. You were nervous the whole time, fearing that your parents could come home sooner than expected or sometimes even worse, Namjoon or his family would notice that Yeonjun came over. But your horny self pushed those thoughts away and let it happen.

Losing your sanity slowly for this man. But other thoughts remained on the back of your mind. 

July 4th, 20XX [Tuesday]

The afternoon sun was already high, casting a warm glow over the town as you called up Yeonjun to see if he wanted to join you at Hoseok's barbecue pool party. He had invited you and your best friends a last week, but you wanted your boyfriend to come along as well. It would help him get more familiar with your friend group and maybe your friends.

Yeonjun said he’s be down and confirmed that he would drive. Namjoon and Yoongi texted you not long after your call ended asking if they could get a ride from you since they were planning to drink at the party. Out of habit, you agreed, but then realized you fucked up.

When Yeonjun’s car pulled up to your front curb, there was a brief moment of reluctance as he saw Namjoon and Yoongi waiting with you. "Hey…didn't know we'd have a full car," Yeonjun said, trying to keep his tone light.

"I’m so sorry about that," you replied, sensing a bit of tension. "But they need a ride! And we’re going to the same place so it'll be fun!"

Namjoon and Yoongi exchanged glances, also hesitant but willing to go along. "As long as we get there," Yoongi muttered, sliding into the back seat, followed by a silent Namjoon.

You climbed into the passenger seat, buckling in while feeling the weight of the unspoken tension in the car. Yeonjun's usual playful demeanor was slightly subdued as he started driving, and the ride to Hoseok's house was filled with polite conversation and forced laughter, rather than the easy banter you were used to. You wore a black bikini, but covered it up with an orange Hawaiian shirt and short shorts. Despite the cover-up, your cleavage was noticeable, and you couldn't help but feel the eyes of Yeonjun, Namjoon, and Yoongi lingering on you throughout the ride when you’d turn to talk to them.

Upon arriving, Hoseok's backyard was already buzzing with commotion. The smell of grilled meats and the sound of upbeat music filled the air. Hoseok, busy DJ-ing, was nodding to the beat of the music ashis hands deftly adjusted the controls. His parents and sister were in Korea for the month, so he had the house to himself, which meant the party was full of his college friends and alcohol, adding to the lively atmosphere.

Jungkook was the first to greet you, his smile wide and welcoming. "Hey! You’re here!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a quick hug.

“Of course! Would never miss Hoseok’s party!” you replied, feeling the party’s energy start to lift your spirits.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin soon followed, each offering their own warm greetings. “Looking good,” Taehyung said, eyeing your outfit with a grin.

"You’re playing with fire Tae, but thanks," you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you noticed him and the others sneaking glances at your attire.

Jimin laughed, clapping Yeonjun on the back. "Nice of you to bring our girl here safely."

"Our–?” Yeonjun said out loud without realizing, before he corrected himself. “Uh well, yeah, anything for her," Yeonjun said, his tone sounded off, but you didn’t try to think much of it.

The backyard was a lively scene, reminiscent of a typical college Fourth of July party. Brightly colored pool floats bobbed on the surface of the pool, people splashing and playing in the water. Tables were laden with a variety of foods: burgers, hot dogs, assorted fruits, and bowls of chips. Red, white, and blue decorations were everywhere, from streamers hanging from the porch to patriotic-themed tablecloths. Jungkook said he and Taehyung did most of the decor work.

People milled about, chatting, laughing, and dancing to the music Hoseok was mixing. Solo cups filled with various drinks were scattered around, and a beer pong table was set up near the garage, already attracting a competitive crowd.

"Grab a plate, y’all!" Taehyung called, waving you over to the food table.

As you approached, you noticed Yoongi and Namjoon heading straight for the grill, where Jin had gone back to. They started joking around with Jin, who was manning the grill, and soon the three of them were engaged in a playful banter about how Jin is so dad-like at times. Jin offered them some cold beers and they cracked them open.

Meanwhile, you filled your plate with a burger and some snacks and found a spot under a large umbrella with Yeonjun. He sat close enough that your knees touched under the table, and you could feel his gaze linger on you from time to time, sending shivers down your spine despite the warm summer air.

Sometimes, you wondered how Yeonjun felt being brought into this whole new world of yours. You were used to him hanging out with Soobin and Mark, and some of his other boys you realize you hadn’t met. And girls too. People from his dance community. You would like him to become friends with your friends, but does he feel uncomfortable here? You honestly don’t know deeply of his dating history to gauge how things must��ve been in the past for him. You turned to look at him, typing away on his phone.

“How are you liking the party?” You ask him, words leaving your mouth slowly. “It’s great.” He says simply, which makes you internally sigh in relief. “You truly have an interesting friend group, Princess.” He chuckles as he observes your friends playing an intense game of ninja across you two.

“I’m honestly not sure how I got stuck with these eggheads, but at least it’s been getting me out of the house and doing something for the last couple of years.” You respond, looking at the guys back.

The party continued to ramp up, with more people showing up, some familiar faces, as the day went on. Music filled the air, laughter was everywhere, and the smell of delicious food wafted through the yard. Hoseok, in his element, kept the energy high with his DJ skills, creating a festive atmosphere. You sit poolside, feet dipped in the water while watching your boyfriend and friends in the pool. Jungkook had convince Yeonjun to join them, which made him open up a bit than earlier,

"You’re not coming in the pool, Tiny?" Namjoon asked, nudging you slightly.

"Mmm," you replied with a coy smile. "Depends if I get a good enough reason to. Otherwise, I’ll chill here." "Oh? We'll give you plenty of reasons."

Just then, Jimin swam over with a mischievous grin. "You know, it's not a real pool party unless everyone's in the pool," he said.

Before you could react, Namjoon and Jimin each grabbed one of your arms. "Hey! Wait!" you squealed, but it was too late. They pulled you into the pool with a big splash.

You resurfaced, pushing your wet hair out of your face. The guys laughed, making you huff. "You guys are the worst!" you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

Yeonjun was about to swim over towards you, until Yoongi beat him to it, “Are you good, Y/N?”

You turned to see Yoongi offering you a hand. "Yeah, I'm okay!" you replied, reaching out to take his hand. With his help, you pulled yourself up to the edge of the pool, sitting there once again with your feet in the water.

"Thanks, Yoongs," you said, giving Yoongi a grateful smile. He nodded, his expression softening as he looked at you.

"No problem," he replied, his tone gentle. "Just making sure you're okay."

As you chatted with Yoongi, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was bothering Yeonjun as he stood in the pool with the others. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of uncertainty that you couldn't quite place.

You caught his gaze for a moment, and you could sense a fear lingering in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn't find the courage to voice. It made you wonder what was going through his mind, what thoughts were swirling beneath that calm exterior he often wore.

Despite your curiosity, you didn't push him to share. Instead, you offered him a reassuring smile, hoping to convey that you were there for him if he ever needed to talk.

As the night wore on and darkness settled over the neighborhood, the sky erupted in bursts of color and light as fireworks filled the air. You and the guys gathered in the driveway, lighting sparklers and watching in awe as the vibrant displays lit up the night.

Yeonjun draped his arm around you, pulling you close as you both gazed up at the dazzling spectacle above. The warmth of his touch and the closeness between you brought a sense of comfort, momentarily easing the worries that had been nagging at you earlier.

As you and Yeonjun watched the fireworks together, he leaned in close, his voice low and smug over the noise of the festivities.

"These fireworks are pretty impressive," he remarked, his eyes flickering with amusement as he looked up at the sky. “Illegal though, but beautiful.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his teasing tone. "Ha, well I think they’re okay, I guess," you replied, feigning nonchalance.

Yeonjun chuckled, his arm sliding casually around your waist. "Just okay? Come on, Y/N. They’re just as pretty as you."

You couldn't help but laugh at his flirty comment, feeling a warm flush spread across your cheeks. "You’re such a smooth talker, aren't you?" you teased, nudging him playfully with your shoulder.

He flashed you a cocky grin, his gaze lingering on you with a hint of mischief. "Hey, when you've got it, flaunt it," he quipped, his confidence shining through. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It was quick but electrifying, sending a rush of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. When you pulled away, both of you were left grinning like fools, unable to contain your laughter.

But amidst your shared moment of joy, you couldn't help but notice Yoongi's subtle glance from the side, his expression unreadable in the dim light. A fleeting observation, without time to question it more before Jin called out to you to join them in a sparkler fest.

August 18, 20XX [Friday]

More time spent together with Yeonjun continues to keep you busy throughout the summer, and progressively, you start seeing less and less of specific people. You don’t know if it’s intentional on either end, but that’s just how things have been going. 

“I’m taking you to Knott’s Berry Farm.” Yeonjun says, driving and continuing to look at the road ahead of him.

The slow spiraling of thoughts scatter for a moment as your heart skips a beat at Yeonjun's announcement. Knott's Berry Farm? You hadn't been to an amusement park since the eighth-grade end-of-year trip. The memories flood back, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of nostalgia.

"Seriously?" you ask, unable to contain the grin spreading across your face.

Yeonjun nods, glancing at you with a playful smile. "Yep, seriously. Thought it'd be a fun way to spend the day with you. I love this place too."

You can hardly believe your luck. Knott's Berry Farm is no doubt the most fun place to be at, and with its thrilling rides, delicious food, and vibrant atmosphere, you knew it would be such a cute date to have. 

As you continue down the road, you can't help but chatter excitedly about all the rides you want to go on and the treats you can't wait to try. Yeonjun listens with a smile, occasionally interjecting with his own thoughts and memories of the park from when he was in middle school as well.

You and Yeonjun wander through the park, you come across a charming merry-go-round tucked away in a corner. Yeonjun's eyes light up with excitement, and he suggests taking a ride together. You agree, feeling a flutter of anticipation as you approach the carousel.

Once seated on the colorful wooden horses, you exchange smiles and playful glances with Yeonjun as the merry-go-round begins to spin. The cheerful music fills the air, and you can't help but giggle as you rise and fall with the gentle motion of the ride.

"You’re such a kid!" Yeonjun teases, his laughter mixing with yours.

"Well, what can I say? I just want to be young forever," you reply, feeling carefree in this moment with him. You wave your arm out, feeling so free and liberated.

Is this the korean drama relationship you’ve always dreamed up. After all this time, it feels like you’ve finally achieved it. All these cute dates. A loving boyfriend who was once your academic rival. A summer romance.

Though, when you remember that it’s not just you and Yeonjun in this little world you’ve crafted together, reality hits and you recall the words that your best friends once said: “Right, but you better not leave us behind or start ignoring us for your boyfriend, alright?” 

And then enters a sense of guilt and doubt you’ve felt earlier. 

As the ride slows to a stop, you catch sight of Namjoon, who coincidentally is staring right at you off the ride. He’s with a group of people, you can’t tell at the moment. Your heart skips a beat, and a sudden wave of anxiety washes over you. You're not sure why you feel this way, especially around your best friends, but the thought of them seeing you with Yeonjun has progressively made you feel self-conscious. Why is this happening?

"Hey, isn't that Namjoon and the others?" Yeonjun asks, noticing your reaction.

"Yeah," you reply softly, unable to shake off the nerves.

Yeonjun looks at you with concern, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours. "Y/N, Are you okay?"

You nod, offering him a reassuring smile. "Oh, yeah. Just felt a little nauseous for a sec. Let's go say hi."

Together, you approach Namjoon who turns out to be hanging out with familiar faces like Jungkook and Jin. The other people in their party are unfamiliar to you, but you do see Namjoon’s fling and Jungkook’s fling behind him. 

Unease grows, but you try to push it aside. As you greet them with a smile and introduce yourself to the unknown faces, you can't help but wonder why being with Yeonjun in front of your friends feels so daunting.

You notice Namjoon's being a bit quiet, letting Jin and Jungkook excitedly converse with Yeonjun. You feel a pang of disappointment at the lack of words from him, but you try to brush it off, not wanting to make a scene.

“Jin hyung mentioned he wanted to come to an amusement park so he dragged us–” Jungkook is smacked on the back by the older man.

“You guys wanted to come with me voluntarily! So we brought some buddies. Yoongi and the rest of the guys hate theme parks.” Jin argued back, making you giggle slightly.

Namjoon offers a half-hearted nod while Jungkook and Jin give you bright smiles. Yeonjun stands beside you, his expression unreadable as he observes the interaction.

"Do you want to join us for some rides?" Jin suggests, breaking the awkward silence. "The lines don't look too bad today. The more the merrier right?" The other guys and girls happily agree.

"Yeah! Let’s do it Y/N!" Jungkook agrees, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

You glance at Yeonjun, silently asking for his opinion. He nods in agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Sure, that sounds fun.”

"Great! Which ride should we go on first?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the tension that still lingers between Namjoon and Yeonjun.

As you wait in line for the Ghostrider rollercoaster, you can't shake the feeling of tension between Namjoon and Yeonjun. Namjoon stands a little too close to you, pointedly ignoring Yeonjun's attempts at conversation and even the fling he’s here with. You exchange a concerned glance with Yeonjun, but he offers you a reassuring smile, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

You enjoy the thrill of five rides together, getting to talk to some of the college friends Jin and Namjoon brought along, as well as being silly with Jungkook. He reminds you a lot of Jimin at times, and it makes you miss him. You hadn’t seen him for sometime. 

Something else you’ve noticed during this little adventure is that Hyungseo has been trying to cling to Namjoon, however, he keeps kindly rejecting her advances. After some time, she sticks to a few of the other girls in the group, who she seems to gossip about you to. Jungkook’s fling (who you find out is named Tzuyu) is really kind, and probably the only girl to want to genuinely talk to you seeing how comfortable you are around Jungkook. And not in an overly-touchy way, 

After all the rides, the churning sensation in your stomach becomes too much to ignore. "I'm going to grab a water," you announce to the group, nodding towards the nearby concession stand. Yeonjun, Jungkook, and Jin nod in understanding, eager to continue their adventure.

“I can come with you,” Yeonjun suggests, but you shake your head slightly.

“It’s okay, Jjunie. Go join everyone else for another ride! I want you to have fun,” you assure him with a warm smile. 

“Yes, dear friend! Come join us on this quest!” Jin comments, pointing to the next ride, which looks like an insane rollercoaster.

Though he hesitates to leave you behind, he eventually nods and heads over to join Jin and the others.

As you wait in line to buy a bottle of water, Namjoon joins you, his expression unreadable. You sense his tension and decide to break the ice. "You didn’t go on the ride?” You ask.

“Nah, I’ve been feeling parched, so I wanted to grab something to drink,” he responds, his lips forming a straight line. Something is definitely amiss.

“Okay…” You reply before addressing the elephant in the room. "Hey Joonie, is everything okay?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

Namjoon hesitates for a moment before replying, "Yeah, why?" His tone is curt, and you can't help but feel a pang of annoyance.

"Namjoon, you've been acting weird towards Yeonjun all day… Plus, you aren’t hanging out with Hyungseo?" you finally confront him, unable to ignore the tension any longer. "What's going on?"

"Surprised you even remembered her name.” He chuckles “We’re just friends, nothing serious. I don’t need to be glued to her all the time.”

That sounds like a slight jab to you hanging around Yeonjun, but you’re not gonna say that.

“Ignoring my main question, I see.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Hey, I’m not being weird. I just… don't like Yeonjun, isn’t that fair to feel? I don’t trust him either."

You furrow your brows in confusion. "What do you mean? Yeonjun is my boyfriend, and he's been nothing but kind to me."

Namjoon shakes his head, his expression firm. "I know, but I’ve heard from Jimin and the shit his dance friends said. I have a bad feeling about him. I don't want to see you get hurt."

It’s actually interesting that he brings this up right now, because you realized, that despite you hanging out with Yeonjun often, you haven’t met those dance friends. You’ve talked about wanting to dance, but he says he’ll bring you there eventually.

You feel a surge of frustration at Namjoon's stubbornness. “Namjoon, I appreciate your concern, but I'm capable of making my own decisions. Yeonjun cares about me, and I trust him.” You take the time to sigh now, “Plus, How do we know that whatever rumors they say are true. Maybe it could be some jealous ex?’

Namjoon opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, not wanting to hear any more of his unfounded suspicions. "Fine, let's just enjoy the rest of the day, okay? We can talk about this later."

“No… I want to talk about this right now. I know you, Yoongi, and Jimin might be worried that Yeonjun could be using me or even seeing someone else, but everything is going amazing right now. He’s been the sweetest boyfriend.” You sigh, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, “I just want my best friends to get along with my boyfriend. Please.”

Feeling the depth of your emotions, Namjoon's expression softens, his concern evident in his eyes. "I understand, Tiny. I'm sorry if I've made things uncomfortable," he says, his tone gentler now.

There. He says it again like he did back in June. It feels like walking on eggshells.

You nod, appreciating his willingness to listen. "It's okay, Joonie. I know you're just looking out for me," you reply, feeling some of the tension ease between you.

Namjoon lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just want what's best for you, you know? And if Yeonjun truly cares about you, then I'll do my best to support you both," he admits, his voice tinged with sincerity, but also a hint of frustration. You don’t want to comment on that. You wonder if you were in his position, would you do the same thing? Maybe.

Nonetheless, a sense of relief washes over you, grateful for Namjoon's willingness to put aside his reservations for your sake. "Thank you, Joonie. That means a lot to me," you say, offering him a small smile.

As the day comes to a close, you bid farewell to the guys, exchanging hugs and promises to hang out again soon. With Yeonjun by your side, you exit the park, the vibrant lights of the attractions fading into the distance as you make your way to his car.

The silence hangs between you for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the engine as Yeonjun starts the car. Then, breaking the quietude, Yeonjun speaks up, his voice laced with uncertainty, "Namjoon doesn't like me much, does he?"

You turn to look at him, noting the furrow in his brow and the tension in his shoulders. Sighing softly, you reach out to place a comforting hand on his arm. "No! It's not that he doesn't like you, Jjunie," you assure him, using the affectionate nickname you've grown fond of. "He's just protective of me, that's all."

Which you initially thought wasn’t the case, but with time, you’re starting to see it come out.

Yeonjun nods, though his expression remains troubled. "I get that," he replies, his gaze fixed on the road ahead and recounting the many stories of your past with Namjoon that you’ve told him. "But I want him to know that I care about you too, and that I'll do everything I can to make you happy."

You offer him a reassuring smile, feeling a surge of warmth at his words. "I know you will, Jjunie," you say, squeezing his arm gently. "And I appreciate that more than you know." Yeonjun stops at an empty parking lot by the lake park by his place just to prove this simple fact to you. You're not sure when you ended up in his lap but you can't complain as you run your fingers through the waves of his hair. Pressed up against him in such a tight space. The flurry of emotions has goosebumps raising on your skin and he pulls away, panting harshly. Your foreheads are touching as you gaze at each other.

"I still can't believe you want me," he almost laughs in disbelief. "Is this real or am I dreaming?"

"Of course, you're not dreaming. I do want you. Always have. None of your other crushes ever want you?" You roll your hips as a test and Yeonjun’s low moan of your name only amplifies your confidence. "How could they when they weren't me?"

He slides his seat back, the sudden motion causing you to slam a hand against the window to try to steady yourself and avoid throwing your weight against him. But that's exactly what he wants. Using the momentum to cup the round cheeks of your ass under your skirt, he positions you right where the tip of his hard cock pokes against his jeans. You can feel him through the thin piece of fabric that is your already ruined panties.

"You're so wet, baby," he murmurs against your lips. "All for me, yeah? No one else, no other guy could soak your pussy like me, right?"

Even if it was a lie (which it wasn't), you can only agree because Yeonjun doesn't move an inch until a resounding yes leaves your lips. It's another scrambled blur as you fight to undo his belt and pull his jeans in the small space you have. 

Just like your love for him.

You let out a relieved sigh when his cock is in your hand and Yeonjun moans, throwing his head back. You'd moved down a bit so you could jerk him off easier, giggling at how he twitches when he feels the heat of your pulsating cunt leaking all over his thigh.

Then, once prepped, Yeonjun slides your panties to the side and prepares to roll a condom down on his length. He lets his head fall forehead and softly bumps your forehead with his as you attempt to sink down on his dick. He keeps his fingers splayed across both of your hips, bunching up the fabric of your short skirt so he can watch the way your puffy pussy lips part and wrap around the tip of his thick, hard cock.

And then eventually, after a series of thrusts, rolls, and moans of “jjunie” and “princess”,  you both reach orgasm.

Yes, this is the world you want to stay in. You don’t want this to end.

August 21st, 20XX [Monday]

The faint sounds of a video game’s battle music filled Yoongi’s living room, but none of the guys were paying attention. The controllers lay discarded on the couch, forgotten as they discussed a far more pressing issue.

"I feel like I'm gonna lose my mind," Namjoon groaned, throwing an arm over his face as he leaned back on the couch, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His frustration hanged in the air.

“Well, what can you do? She loves the guy and he seems to love her. We just gotta let them be.” Yoongi muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Yeah, and I found out that guy is really just a total dick! Are you really just going to ‘let them be’ while knowing that?” Jimin snapped from the other side of the room, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Taehyung, perched on the edge of the couch, chimed in, his tone more neutral. "Come on, he can't be that bad." He glanced at Hoseok, who nodded thoughtfully in agreement. Jimin, however, was having none of it. "Oh, he's that bad," he insisted, leaning forward with an intensity that had everyone’s attention. "Some of my dancer mutuals told me Yeonjun was completely head over heels for Y/N, but suddenly he's been cozying up to some of the college freshmen girls who just moved into the city for university. They go to the same dance center he trains at. If that doesn’t say something about him and a change in behavior, I don’t know what will."

"Maybe he's just being friendly?" Taehyung suggested, elbowing Jimin playfully. "Isn't he like that? Aren't you like that?"

Jimin shot him a glare, clearly annoyed. "You see, compared to me, I don’t act all friendly and even touchy with other people, especially girls, while I’m dating someone. That’s making it seem like I’m not interested in my partner, which is what Yeonjun’s showing.” “I thought you guys collectively agreed you wouldn't care about who she was seeing and wouldn't let it get in the way of your lives,” Hoseok pointed out, his voice calm but firm.

The pact. Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon made that to not let their feelings get in the way of your friendship with them, but they would also try to continue to support you in dating another man, even if it wasn’t them.

Emphasis on “try”, it wasn’t working. Hoseok had heard about this pact, but the other guys don’t know the details or extent of everything.

"I mean, we tried," Namjoon admitted with a heavy sigh, dragging his hand down his face. "But how can we just sit back and let this happen when we know he's... he's not good for her? She deserves better."

Yoongi's fingers drummed absentmindedly on his knee, his usually calm demeanor cracking ever so slightly. "Hoseok's right, though. We said we wouldn’t let this ruin things. But watching her with him? It’s harder than I thought. We don’t even talk to her as much as we used to. Even college had me feeling distanced."

Jimin threw his phone at the floor in frustration, stuttering. "B-But If Yeonjun’s messing around behind her back, we can’t just sit here and do nothing!"

The room fell into a heavy silence. Even the game’s background music seemed to fade into the distance. It was clear that the pact, once meant to protect their friendship and their feelings for you, was now a source of inner conflict when you’re with someone else.

Hoseok, who hadn’t been as deeply involved in the situation, finally spoke up. "So, what are you guys gonna do? Intervene and risk her getting mad at you all, or let it play out and see if she figures it out on her own?"

Yoongi’s eyes flickered with an emotion none of them could name. Deep down, he knew the answer to that question. And it wasn’t going to be easy.

Namjoon, staring at the ceiling again, said quietly, “Maybe Hoseok’s right. We’re the ones who need to figure out what we’re doing—before we lose her entirely. Let’s just let her be.” Yoongi and Jimin exchanged pained glances, both struggling to accept the decision they knew they had to make. Despite the knot tightening in their chests, it was clear that the only path left was to respect your choices. You seem to trust Yeonjun and Yeonjun seems to do that too, however with time, people’s true colors start to bleed through like the pages written in Sharpie ink. 

It’s only a matter of time before you’d see it too. That despite getting closer to Yeonjun, his spark would eventually flicker and dim.

And that’s what happened.

September 10, 20XX [Sunday]

Yeonjun drove you to campus for move-in day, his car filled to the brim with boxes filled with your things to move into college. Despite the conversations and silly banter you had with him throughout the two hour car ride to campus, something felt off about him. You couldn’t pin point it. Maybe he’s sad that you’re going to be apart for sometime? But his school is still relatively close enough for you to hang out on weekends. He’s being allowed to take his car to campus, so lucky of him.

For the stuff that didn’t fit in his car, you kindly begged Yoongi to add to his car filled with Jimin’s stuff. And he kindly allowed it. A win for you! 

You think back to when Yoongi arrived at your house to pick up your stuff, it had been the first time you saw him in over a month. He had cut his hair, styled it differently from the usually bowl cut style he’d sport. He looked… good.

Jimin had the longer bowl cut look, which he sat in the box trying to not get crushed by boxes. Namjoon stepped into the passenger seat, his hair short as well. It felt relieving to see them alive and well after some time. You hadn’t seen Namjoon since the amusement park date.

You’d thought you’d get to see them more often, but good thing is that you’ll be at the same school again.

“Thank you guys for helping Jimin and me move into our dorm,” you chirped, flashing a grin as you gave Namjoon and Yoongi a playful pat on the back. You walked beside them, rolling up a cart piled high with a ridiculous amount of boxes.

“Anytime, just for you,” Yoongi sang in his usual deadpan way, though the small smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

Namjoon chuckled, glancing over at the mountain of stuff. “You sure this is everything? Feels like you packed your whole life.”

You shrugged, grinning. "Gotta be prepared for anything."

Yoongi nods, smirking as he adds, “Yeah, just don’t forget who helped when it’s time to hang stuff up.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep that in mind. Decorating party at my place later, right?"

The campus had mostly quieted down by the afternoon, some students already attending some of the orientation/back to school festivities. Most of the freshmen had already moved in that morning, leaving the dorm halls a lot less chaotic. Jimin, who had been assigned to the same building as you but lived four doors down the hall, had already unpacked most of his things earlier. Yoongi and Namjoon, being sophomores, had moved into their dorm across the quad the day before, making them more than willing to lend a hand.

As you all approach the open door to your dorm, you see Yeonjun inside, standing in front of your roommate’s side of the room, helping unpack some things. His face brightens when he spots you. “Hey, Princess,” he greeted with a charming smile, lifting a small stack of books. “Where do you want these?”

You paused for a second, feeling your heart skip a beat at the sight of him in your space. "Oh, just put them on the desk for now," you said, trying to sound nonchalant as you wheeled the cart in.

Yoongi, walking in behind you, exchanged a glance with Namjoon. They didn’t say anything, but the tension was palpable. You could feel it hanging in the air between them and Yeonjun, though neither had the courage—or the willingness—to voice whatever was on their minds.

Jimin entered your room after finishing unpacking the major things he had boxed up in his dorm room, "Still can't believe we're neighbors now. You'll be crashing at my place in no time."

You laugh softly and punch his arm lightly. "We’ll see about that."

Namjoon, with his typical smirk, adds, "Don't let her get too comfortable, Jimin. She might just never leave."

“Haha, as if. I’ll be fine in the comfort of my own hut here, once I get everything set up, that is.”

As everyone helped unpack, the awkwardness lingered, though Yoongi and Namjoon seemed to make an effort to push through it. You couldn't help but notice their eyes occasionally flitting toward Yeonjun, especially when he got too close to you. And while Yeonjun remained his usual confident self, you couldn’t shake the feeling that even he sensed the underlying tension.

After a while, Yoongi cleared his throat. “Alright, I think we’ve done our part. Plus, I’m hungry. You guys want anything for a late lunch? I’ll go with Namjoon and bring it over to eat here.”

“Are you getting it from the dining hall or off campus?”

Namjoon chuckled. “We’ve got a Pizza My Heart right across the street at the university town center. I don’t think we should subject you to dining hall hell yet.”

You laughed. “Fair! Just get me whatever looks good, as long as it doesn’t have olives.”

“Okay, princess,” Yoongi teased sarcastically, earning a laugh from everyone—well, except Yeonjun, whose expression was unreadable.

“We’ll be back soon,” Yoongi added as he stood up, nudging Namjoon to follow.

Jimin stood up as well, stretching his arms. “I’m gonna be back. I need to grab my MacBook charger from Jungkook. He’s on the first floor.”

You nodded, “Alright, see you soon.”

As the others left, you were left alone with Yeonjun, and suddenly the room felt a bit quieter. You could sense the shift in the air, but decided not to address it yet. Instead, you turned to him and smiled. “Thanks again for all the help today.”

He smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, anything for you."

After setting up the bedding, you sat on your bed, cross-legged, while Yeonjun at on the floor, scrolling through his phone before going back to taking things out of your boxes. The energy in the room was quieter, almost unsettling, and even though nothing had really happened, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt… off. Maybe it was how distant Yeonjun had been, or how little he’d said since Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin left.

“So, are you going to rush for a frat?” you asked, trying to cut through the awkwardness in the air. He’d mentioned it before as a joke, but now that school was starting, you wonder if he was seriously considering it.

Yeonjun shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, some of the guys I know are rushing, so it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

You smiled, though it felt forced. “That's cool. I guess it’s like… a built-in social life, huh?”

“Yeah, and the connections, I heard, could be good for internships or something. I don’t know much yet, but I’ll figure it out,” he replied, his voice sounding unusually flat.

You shifted, adjusting the pillow behind your back. “I was looking into joining some clubs too. There's the Korean Student Association and Intramural Volleyball club that sound fun, and there’s also this creative collective for business students interested in marketing and branding. I think it could be a great way to meet people and maybe do something more hands-on.”

Yeonjun nodded, but you noticed his attention was drifting, like he wasn’t really invested in the conversation. That was when you felt the first pang of unease. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself it was just nerves from the whole “new chapter” thing.

“So, what do you think? Should I go for all? I know it’s a lot, but I kind of want to try everything.”

Yeonjun glanced up at you, meeting your eyes for a split second before looking away again. His jaw tightened a little, and there was this flicker of something in his expression—something you couldn’t quite read. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said, his voice strained, like he was forcing himself to sound supportive. “It’s… it’s really great that you’re finding your path.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, sensing the shift. He wasn’t being weird, not exactly, but something in his tone wasn’t right. It was like he was holding back. You weren’t sure whether to push him or let it go, but the knot in your stomach only grew tighter.

“Yeonjun, is everything good? You seem a little... off.” You laughed lightly, hoping to ease whatever tension was in the air.

He let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "I’ve just been thinking about some stuff.”

Oh.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like…” His voice trailed off, the words hanging in the air between you. The pause felt longer than it should have, and your pulse quickened. 

He stood up from where he’d been sitting on the floor, crossing his arms as he looked at you—really looked at you—like he was trying to brace himself for whatever he was about to say.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, and the dread that had been quietly bubbling up inside you suddenly spiked.

“Y/N…" His voice was serious, and when his eyes met yours, they didn’t hold the warmth you were used to. Instead, they were cold, distant, like he was already somewhere else. “Let’s break up.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process the words that had come out of his mouth. Did he really just say what you thought he said? “…What?”

“I think we should break up,” he repeated, this time with more conviction, like he’d already made the decision long before this moment. His tone was so matter-of-fact, so detached, it almost didn’t feel real.

You blinked, frozen in place. Your brain was scrambling to catch up to the situation, but all you could do was stare at him, disbelief washing over you. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not like this. You had just been talking about school, about clubs, about the future—things that felt exciting. You’ve been dating all summer, and you were about to start a new chapter together after years of being rivals. And now, just like that, he was ending it?

“Yeonjun…” you finally managed to say, your voice quiet and shaky. “Where is this coming from? We were just—everything was fine…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. We’re going to college, we’re going to meet new people… things are gonna change.”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut. “So… that’s it? You’ve been thinking about it for a while, and now you just… drop this on me? In the middle of you helping me move in to my dorm? Right before I start my first day of college tomorrow”

Yeonjun didn’t look at you, his jaw tightening as he stood there, silent. It was clear he had made up his mind, but that didn’t stop the confusion and hurt from flooding you.

Yeonjun looked down, avoiding your gaze. "I’m sorry, Y/N," he finally muttered, his voice soft but resolute.

You watched as he turned toward the door, his hands slipping into his pockets as if he’d already checked out of this moment. He was leaving. He was actually walking away.

You got off your bed, wanting to chase after him, hoping to somehow find out the real reason why. What he said can’t be the answer!

 However, because you were sitting cross-legged, your legs had fallen asleep, causing you to stumble and fall to the carpeted floor. You groan from the sudden contact, fists balling up.

“...After everything, you’re just gonna walk away, Yeonjun?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a mix of anger and heartbreak clawing at your chest.

Yeonjun paused for a moment at the door but didn’t turn around. The silence felt crushing, like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving only the hollow space between you. He didn’t say anything, just opened the door and stepped out, leaving you sitting there in a daze.

Namjoon and Yoongi walked back into your dorm building after someone from inside buzzed them in. Each of them held a pizza box from Pizza My Heart, the one right across the street, with paper plates tucked under one arm and little packets of crushed red pepper and parmesan balanced on top. They were deep in conversation about Yoongi's music, as usual.

"I’m kinda jealous," Namjoon admitted, balancing the pizzas as they headed up the stairs. "You get to fully dive into that and make it your thing. Already producing amazing music at your age too. I don’t even know what my thing is yet."

Yoongi had been producing tracks for people on a freelance basis, just because he fell in love with it. Thanks to you encouraging him in the past. Namjoon had wanted to do a similar thing, however, he doesn’t think he could be as great at Yoongi. Plus there were other things he wanted to do on his mind.

Yoongi shrugged, his casual confidence showing through. "You’ll figure it out, man. You’ve got time. It’s not like everything’s set in stone."

Namjoon let out a soft chuckle, but it was tinged with uncertainty. "I’m leaning toward doing work in writing or art conservation… I just love how it connects culture and history, you know? But I’m majoring in polisci like my mom wanted. It feels more... secure, I guess. Something to lean on if I don’t find my footing elsewhere."

Yoongi nodded, understanding but focused. "That makes sense. You're always reading up on political theory in your free time, so it’s not like it’s a waste either."

As they climbed the stairs, they reached the hallway leading to your dorm when Namjoon noticed Yeonjun walking in the opposite direction, clearly in a hurry. Something about his rushed pace felt… wrong. Instinctively, Namjoon called out, "Yo, Yeonjun!"

But Yeonjun kept moving, not even glancing in their direction. He usually wasn’t the most chatty guy around Namjoon, but he always acknowledged him. This time? Nothing.

"That’s weird," Namjoon muttered, looking over at Yoongi, who was already watching him with raised eyebrows. Yoongi sensed it too—something was off.

They quickened their pace toward your dorm room. As they approached, they saw that the door was slightly ajar. Namjoon’s heart skipped a beat, his fingers tightening on the pizza boxes. Why was the door open?

Pushing the door open, they stepped inside and immediately froze.

You were sitting on the floor, devastation clear in your eyes. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t make a sound. Your arms were limp, hands resting on your lap, and your eyes stared blankly ahead, as if everything around you had collapsed in that moment.

Namjoon’s heart sank to the floor, the pizza boxes feeling like dead weight in his hands. He didn’t need an explanation to understand what had just happened, but Yoongi was the one to break the heavy silence. “What… happened?” Yoongi’s voice was low and careful, as if even asking might shatter the fragile state you were in.

You didn’t look up, but your voice came out, flat and hollow. "He broke up with me."

Namjoon’s breath hitched. That was all you needed to say. He immediately set the pizza boxes down, shoving them into Yoongi’s arms without a word and rushed out of the room, determination in his steps.

What the hell, Yeonjun? Namjoon thought as he bolted down the hall. His mind raced, a mixture of anger and disbelief bubbling up inside him. How could you just do that? Out of nowhere?

Namjoon reached the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time as his thoughts continued to swirl. He barely registered his surroundings as he burst through the door and out into the parking lot, scanning the area for any sign of Yeonjun.

But he was already gone.

Namjoon stood there, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His mind replayed the sight of you on the floor, shattered, and the empty hallway where Yeonjun had disappeared. He cursed under his breath, staring out into the empty parking lot, feeling utterly helpless.

Upon returning to your dorm, Namjoon stepped inside to find you crumpled against Yoongi’s shoulder, your sobs tearing through the quiet room. Yoongi sat there, his arm around you, giving gentle, soothing pats on your back. His expression was calm, but his eyes were clouded with concern

Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung had shown up, standing a few feet away, clearly unsure of how to approach the situation. They exchanged worried glances, but didn’t dare say anything, afraid to make things worse.

Namjoon stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair in frustration before speaking. “He’s gone,” he said flatly, his voice carrying the weight of disappointment and anger.

You didn’t even look up. Your voice, fragile and broken, managed to slip through the tears. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. Namjoon could hear it in the way your voice cracked, in the way your body trembled against Yoongi. The room was silent, save for your quiet sobs, and the tension hung heavily between all of you.

Jimin stepped forward, kneeling down next to you. "Hey," he said softly, his tone as gentle as he could muster. "We’re here. You don’t have to go through this alone, alright?"

Taehyung, standing behind Jimin, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve got us now too.” He referred to him, Jungkook, Hoseok and Seokjin. “Whatever you need, just say the word.”

"Should we go hunt Yeonjun down and beat the shit out of him?" Jungkook chimes in, his tone was both serious and protective. “Namjoon hyung and I will take care of it!”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, momentarily startled by the boldness, but the hint of anger in his eyes showed he wasn’t entirely against the idea. “It wouldn’t be that hard to find him, right?” he added, cracking his knuckles.

A part of you almost wanted to say yes, let them go after him. Let someone else feel this rage, this betrayal, the way you were feeling it now. But would it fix anything? The thought of them confronting Yeonjun, of this turning into something more, twisted in your stomach. You didn’t want that kind of drama. You didn’t want to give Yeonjun the satisfaction of knowing he’d affected you this deeply.

“As satisfying as that might sound, we probably shouldn’t resort to violence.” Jimin glanced at you, his soft gaze almost apologetic, as if he knew this was far from enough to make up for what just happened.

A small, dry laugh escaped your lips, surprising even yourself. “I don’t think beating him up will change anything. But… I appreciate the thought.”

You were trying to keep it together, but every breath felt heavier than the last. There was a numbness creeping into your limbs, a strange feeling of disassociation. Like you were watching everything from the outside, seeing your friends rally around you, but not fully present in your own skin. How did it get to this point? Just hours ago, everything seemed okay. You'd laughed with Yeonjun, talked about plans with your best friends, even looked forward to your classes... and then, out of nowhere, he tore everything apart.

Jungkook still looked like he was ready to throw down. “It’s not fair that he just walks away like that! You deserve better!”

Better. You nodded slowly, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. You did deserve better, didn’t you? But for some reason, it felt like you couldn’t quite believe it. Like a part of you was still stuck on the idea that maybe you’d done something wrong, that you weren’t enough. You shook off the thought before it could take root. “I know. It just… hurts.”

It really does.

Yoongi’s hand stayed firm on your shoulder, grounding you. “You’ve got us. That’s what matters right now.”

Namjoon sighed, letting go of some of the anger building up inside him. “We’ll handle Yeonjun another way if we need to,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “But for now, let’s focus on getting you through this.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. They were trying so hard to help you, to lift you up, and you appreciated it more than you could ever say. But even with their support, there was an ache inside you that you couldn’t shake. A part of you felt so small, so foolish, for letting Yeonjun in just for him to leave like this. 

Jimin and Taehyung, sensing the heavy atmosphere, suggested playing games or heading over to Hoseok and Seokjin’s off-campus rental to distract you. They were trying to lift the mood, and though you appreciated their efforts, you weren’t quite up for it. You mustered a small smile, grateful for how much they cared, but the weight of your heartbreak still anchored you. The thought of how lucky you were to have them by your side helped, but it didn’t ease the pain completely.

As the afternoon slowly bled into the evening, you left the dorm with your friends to explore the campus before classes began the next day. You did your best to seem like you were okay, like crying it out and eating pizza had made you feel better. But even though you laughed at their jokes and joined in the conversation, you couldn’t fool them. They knew you were struggling beneath the surface.

In the days that followed, despite the distraction of your new routine, the heartache lingered like a dull ache. You kept busy, throwing yourself into unpacking, attending orientation events, and exploring the campus with your friends. But no matter how much you tried to move on, Yeonjun's sudden departure haunted you, lingering in your thoughts when you least expected it. Even surrounded by friends and laughter, there was always a hollow space where he used to be.

You tried to shake it off, but the sadness crept in, even more as classes started and the reality of college life sank in. You knew it would take time, but for now, pretending to be fine was the best you could do.

Your first year of college was supposed to be exciting, but much of it blurred together, like walking through a fog. The daily routines, classes, and dorm life all seemed to meld into one long stretch of time, where the only thing that truly stood out were small, vivid memories—those moments where everything suddenly felt in color. One of those was the day you met Ahn Hyejin, known around campus as Hwasa. It was a week into the semester when you finally worked up the courage to go to the Fall Club Fair and join a club. The guys wanted you to go check it out, hoping this would get you out of your daze. And it kinda did help.

You’ve never had a female close friend before. Usually girls would steer clear of you out of jealousy for being friends with Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin.

However, Hwasa was different. Hwasa was bold, unafraid to speak her mind, and had a way of making you feel like you were exactly where you needed to be. She didn’t care about the other guys, as she also had close guy friends too. She quickly became the friend you didn’t realize you needed. With her, you started feeling more like yourself again. Together, you explored the campus, hit up the best food spots, and even talked about bigger things, like what you wanted from life and what it meant to start fresh. Each step forward was a tiny rebellion against the lingering thoughts of Yeonjun.

Bit by bit, you immersed yourself in college life, finding comfort in new experiences, distractions, and laughter. Parties. Maybe a little bit of underage drinking in moderation, of course. Slowly, the weight of that breakup lifted, and you began to focus on your future, your passions, and the friends who were always there for you. In time, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, and the rest of the group became even more important to you. Their support, the inside jokes, and all the moments shared together filled the spaces that had once been occupied by the pain of Yeonjun leaving.

One afternoon in late spring, you found yourself sitting on the campus lawn with Yoongi, watching one of Yoongi’s band friends perform at the Spring Fling. Students sit around you two, while a gentle breeze swept through the budding trees. He was fixing the strings on his guitar, which he recently started to learn to play. He was lost in thought as usual, while you sat beside him, enjoying music and the warmth of the sun on your skin.

“You’ve changed,” he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

You turned to look at him, a bit surprised by the observation. “In what way?”

He glanced up from his guitar, his eyes soft but serious. “I don’t know... you just seem lighter. More like yourself again.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of his words. “Is that so? I think I’m finally starting to let that thing go.”

Yoongi nodded, strumming another chord. “It’s good to see. We were all worried for a while... after Yeonjun.”

At the mention of his name, you expected to feel that familiar sting, the one that usually sat in your chest whenever you thought about him. But this time, it wasn’t as sharp. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking down at your hands, “I was a mess for a while, but that’s life. I thought the relationship meant something bigger, but ”

“You weren’t a mess,” Yoongi corrected, his voice calm and measured, “you were healing.”

You took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. Healing. That’s exactly what it was. Slowly but surely, piece by piece, you were putting yourself back together. And in that moment, sitting beside Yoongi on the grass, watching the band play, you realized just how far you’d come. The fog had started to lift.

Spring had a way of bringing new beginnings, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were ready for yours.

But that was just the beginning of another story—the one you wouldn’t fully understand until much later.

–

A/N: thank you for reading! if you're be interested, please check out my 'love u lately' series focused on Yoongi x Namjoon x Jimin x Reader. happy yeonjun day!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ love u lately series masterlist

[angelkiyo]

haikyuu characters as romance tropes + songs in my playlist ❀

a/n - this was a thought i needed to get out..! i love music n i love haikyuu soooo. i also did a series similar to this but w actual one shots but tbh compiling them is smarter ngl. totally fw the spotify linked in my nav btw :0 — unedited drabble/thought piece

——“ they just can't reach her, princesita inalcanzable / le rompieron el cora, pero nunca se la perdió" (igual que un angel, 2023) - after years being your friend, getting friend-zoned for so long and finally getting a chance to date you, they're whipped and put you on a pedestal. they know all that you've gone through regarding relationships and would want nothing but your happiness. they're the immense green flag you need and would treat you with nothing but respect, sending you notes in class, and making you little bento boxes filled with their cooking, sending small poems that remind them of you but then again, you deserve it. you're as sweet as sugar and in their eyes, you're an angel on earth. they don't know when their feelings for you started, but when they finally confessed to you, it was the happiest they've felt. you've been their “other half” for so long that all your mutual friends have been telling you to get together, so imagine your friends' reaction when they see you and them on a date one random day, hand in hand and with your head on their shoulder as the two of you sat waiting for the bus back to your place.

best friends to lovers : kageyama tobio, BOKUTO KOTARO, ojiro aran, IWAIZUMI HAJIME, SHIMIZU KIYOKO

——"only like myself when im with you / nobody gets me like you” (nobody gets me, 2022) - both of you strive for excellence, only really wanting to achieve the best academically and on the court during gym class. it's obvious how strong your rivalry with him is, that even your friends jokingly tell you "just kiss already" when you already do. the two of you would be taking little secret rendezvous when you're supposed to be studying to be at the top of your class and staying up after his volleyball practice when everyone leaves. it felt thrilling as no one knew about your relationship (after constantly bragging that you didn't need a significant other). but once your grades began to slip, you couldn't risk losing the source of validation you've gotten to know for so long. you still had your ego and your pride to maintain, and he understood. he understood more than anyone which is why you felt yourself so emotionally attached to him. leading the both of you to enter an almost endless cycle of attempting a secret relationship while also trying to achieve validation from academic success.

rivals to lovers (and rivals again) : shirabu kenjiro, KITA SHINSUKE, tsukishima kei, sakusa kiyoomi, KUROO TETSURO

——"i burn for you / and you don't even know my name" (close to you, 2024) - after accidentally adding them on social media from quick add (due to mutuals from school), you find yourself in a predicament. you're from the same school and know of them, but know that you have never talked to them. you've never even interacted with them at all in real life. though, for the past few weeks, they're earned themselves the title of a talking stage, staying up until 3 in the morning sometimes, just to talk to you. you two would play valorant or whatever video game you’ve been wanting to play and last hours on video call, sharing playlists and being mutuals on everything. although, talking for so long caused him to be a little bold, flirting with you a bit. you're in different classes yet every time you have a break in class, you talk to them, sending snaps of what you do and so does he. so when you finally have your first date in person, you panic and in all honesty, he does too. what if you two don't get along? what if you thought he was weird? your first thought was that he's very handsome, that's for sure. though, it felt that all you really needed was to just talk as you've gotten past the digital barrier and had natural chemistry in real life.

online love : kozume kenma, SUNA RINTARO, miya atsumu, TENDO SATORI, terushima yuji

——"no one's ever good enough / i want a love like i've seen in the movies" (like the movies, 2021) - you met them at a barnes and noble during a regular day after school. you’ve always been a hopeless romantic, longing for love between the pages of a romantic comedy book or film. so when you bumped into them, books in hand, it felt like a spark between you two. the two of you ended up exchanging numbers to talk more, then meeting up and talking / hanging out in person (a date in your opinion). being in a relationship with someone else who also understood the want to fall in love “romantically” felt amazing. every time your school would have a game, you’d go and cheer them on from the sidelines, wearing his spare jersey. good morning texts, gift baskets for monthaversaries, huge love letters, and frequent dates felt too good to be true, and it was. you can always expect them to have heart eyes and only for you, as well as listening to your rants and theories surrounding different romance novels and films. especially your thoughts on the concept of the meet cute.

meet cute : AKAASHI KEIJI, yamaguchi tadashi, sugawara koshi, OIKAWA TORŪ, miya osamu, SEMI EITA

[fatesundress]

⭑ patience, please, and thank you. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops.

tags. rivals to … rivals with benefits? lovers? there’s no real animosity just #flirting so i don’t know, SMUTT minors begone, fluff that may be ooc to some but Not Me, reader literally learns archaic latin for this man, poor boy x rich girl trope if you squint, pureblood reader (and mentions of pureblood marriage politics), explicitly f!reader this time sorry!, fem anatomy, fingering, piv, tldr tom riddle would be turned on by the culminated tension of an eight-year-long academic rivalry.

note. i was 5k words into something else (that is probably better) before this came to me and would not go away so. here it is. don't know where all the smut is coming from. head empty

word count. 6.4k

The bell to Borgin and Burkes knells low and hollow in your ear as you enter, and there he is. Prim waistcoat and perfect hair, tucking books away with a wave of his wand. Far too pretty a thing for a dusty place like this, you think, and you smile with your head held high, pretending to take in the inventory as if that's ever been your reason for coming here.

“You mightn't consider leaving at all," Tom says, regarding you briefly before returning to his books, “if you're going to return this often."

“Oh, Riddle, but then what would you do without my company? Talk to the bones?"

“A tempting offer when considering my alternative.”

He leans against the counter to watch you as you make your way down the aisle, fingers jolting as they brush the shelves of dark paraphernalia, preemptively casting a locking jinx on a particularly nasty skeletal hand that grabbed you once last year.

“Is there anything you're looking for?"

“Nothing in particular,” you hum as you peruse, “Curiosities of your friendly competitors.”

“Friendly,” he repeats, like he’s tasting a strange flavour.

You smile with just enough polished barb that you hope it bothers him. “Most cordial. And I am nothing if not the dutiful volunteer for the task." 

It is an objective truth that you are good at many things. Tom is good at all of them and perhaps one more: being pushed significantly and never showing symptoms of breaking. You'd like to be the one to change that.

“I presume you intend to leave with something?" There's a challenge in his voice, clear as day, as he stands straighter, but — not bothered. Not bothered, just intrigued. His hands fold behind his back and his chin comes up, daring you to say a single snarky thing that isn't true — that you're here to taunt him. Not to buy a thing, and not to enjoy his company.

It was such a boring day before this. If he only knew, he might have a tad more sympathy.

“Breathe, Riddle — if you can through all the dust in here — I've plenty of money to spare; there’s no need to fret about me leaving empty-handed." You select a book at random to prove your point, waltzing closer to hand Tom four sickles from your coin purse.

You're pleasantly surprised to see him actually smile, the corners of his mouth stretching with only the slightest degree of mirth. He reaches out and takes the coins, setting both upon the counter before turning up his nose at the book in your hands. “It must be an enthralling read to capture your attention."

You smooth the cover over with manicured hands and shrug at the indecipherable title. “Well, I’m remiss not to have a clue. I believe it's in Latin."

He runs his hand along the book, thumbing the pages with a raised brow. “It’s a history text. Ancient Roman institutes of magic.” His gaze returns to you. “Will that be all?”

You roll your eyes. He would know a dead language — it's such a remarkably Riddle thing to do — probably just for the sake of knowing it. 

“Yes, if that's satisfactory enough that I may be permitted to walk the premises without causing offence."

“Of course. Though I do expect a review of it soon," he adds, “to know whether my time hasn't been entirely wasted."

“A review?" You laugh. “And I suppose you ask that of all your customers? Mind the matter of it being in a language I don't know; it would take me a few months for a crude translation at best."

“Only my best customers," he says with a small shrug, as if that isn't a completely arbitrary standard he's just pulled out of nowhere. “In that case, you've the better part of a year to read it," he adds, and the smile on his face is less thin, less restrained, more cocky.

You raise a brow, scanning over the words on the first page as if hoping something will stick out. It's all gibberish. “I'm being timed now, am I? I don't recall accepting the task."

"Do you not?"

You scoff. "Of course I do."

“Or perhaps I could translate for you?" he suggests, “It's really no bother for me."

You should be offended — he's eternally eager to see you fail — but your stomach flips at the premise of a challenge you haven't felt since you were in school together, and most importantly, you never fail. “Give me a date, Riddle.”

“I think by Christmas would be fair. Does that give you enough time, or shall I set it a bit later?"

“Christmas," you agree, shaking his hand with all professionalism you can muster (this is, after all, a very professional exchange), turning away, and smiling to yourself as the shop bell tolls again.

It’s only weeks before Christmas when it occurs to you that this isn’t even for anything. There’s no prize should you win, no one else is aware of it, it’s a great waste of time when what began as a passable weekend hobby has now drowned you in English-Latin dictionaries and histories of Ancient Rome. The shop surpasses last year’s sales and you’re dozing off into your mother’s pastry dish during the family celebration. Even your father telling a rather pitiful tale of his Polyjuiced visit to Borgin and Burkes can’t keep your attention when he drones on about how easily he fooled Mr Borgin into remembering the details of some spat twenty years ago. Your brain is in a half-scattered language. It tugs you to what might be the most depressing December 25th of your life if you’re forced to give Tom the gift of your failure.

So you double-down. Your social life is nonexistent. You’re three quarters through the textbook and dreaming about duelling Tom under the Arch of Constantine, and he wins, and he wins, and he wins each time. It only propels you more. You’re downing Invigoration Draughts like a drunkard with a cradle of firewhisky. 

And you do it. 

You finish the damn book, you think you might have actually fucking learned Latin with how deep the words have rooted in your skull, and you win.

You win, in your prettiest dinner dress, snow clinging to your hair, wrapped in a brand new coat as the shop bell tolls and you step inside.

You’re grateful you don’t say as much (which you were planning on doing — planning on slamming the door shut behind you and carolling your bloody success) because it’s Mr Burke at the counter this Christmas evening, not Tom.

“...Miss?” He regards you with perplexity behind the counter.

You blink, recollecting yourself and stepping forward to shake his hand. “Mr Burke. My family wished to extend their best wishes for the new year.”

“Quite a gesture," comes a familiar voice from behind you as Tom steps out from the staircase, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, like he’s just been out. He’s smiling. He looks disgustingly well.

You glance between the two men, and Burke bows curtly as if made aware of something he’d previously been warned of. “To yours as well, miss.” And then he’s off to assist the only other customer, an elderly woman in fur-lined green with so many glittering pins in her hair she resembles a Christmas tree.

“Riddle,” you say, facing him, unable to hide the triumphant grin that digs into your cheeks. You hand him the book, and atop it, your three pages of articulate, edited review.

“You made it. You read it," he acknowledges, though you doubt he’s surprised, and then nods to the stairs. “Come.”

You follow him up the narrow spiral into a short corridor, taking one look back at the old woman, now clasping a shrieking bauble you gladly turn away from. The door Tom opens is unlocked, presumably where he’d just come from, and — you feel a bit overwhelmed if you’re correct, but you have no idea what else it could be — presumably his flat.

When you enter, the door shuts behind you with an empty click of the latch. The room before you is rather sparse, a kitchenette in one corner, a cramped study in the other, with books upon books and scrolls stacked high on shelves along the dark walls. There's only the barest of seating, two armchairs beneath a dim desk lamp, a small table beside the fireplace, and… a bed, of all things, separated only by a thin divider and the courtesy of enough distance not to immediately draw the eye. You, of course, can't quite help it, gaze lingering on the tidy sheets and back to him.

It isn’t a thought you do well to dwell on. Too many directions for your imagination to roam.

“Well then," you say, hanging your coat at the door and trying not to display any overt anticipation as the parchment rustles in his hand, “Shall I just sit and await your evaluation?"

He raises a brow. “I was going to ask if you’d like tea. Do sit, though.”

Oh. Yes, right, you’re rushing things. Hospitality. Decorum. Consideration. You suppose Tom Riddle would extend those things for the sake of posterity if nothing else. “Something black, if you have any, please.”

The water comes to a boil quickly under the steady heat of his magic, and you’re sinking into a shockingly comfortable armchair taking in every shape and blemish of the room while you’re in it. You don’t have to guess that he doesn’t have many guests.

“Darjeeling,” Tom says as he offers you a steaming cup, “if that’s satisfactory.”

You resist a scowl at his mocking tone, placing the tea on a glass coaster and glancing purposefully at your work (your magnum opus, really) once more. “Perfectly.”

Tom notes your look with a smile, settling into the seat opposite yours. 

You take a sip of tea and lean back. “Do go on.”

“Eager,” he mutters, but begins.

He skims over the opening line before flipping the book open as if to be sure you haven’t made it all up, and then you think you probably could have made it all up if you wanted. Read one of the hundreds of magical histories of Rome that certainly existed — probably in your own shop, at that — and gathered much the same conclusion. But you did not. Tom must know you did not. 

The silence is thick as he reads, waned only by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional turn of a page. His brows furrow the way you always remember catching in school, like he's concentrating on a particularly hard puzzle, and you have to busy yourself with a nearly empty cup of tea to pretend not to notice the way his beauty is something almost delicate. Framed by firelight and the indigo gloss of the night shining in through the window, you imagine his hair mussed, his long eyelashes speckled with snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. You wonder about him in a nicer suit than this. You could buy him one, if you liked.

And then, at last, he looks up over the parchment, expression carefully measured. “I'm impressed.”

You put your cup down and you can’t help it. You're smiling. You're proud. His approval is like bottling the tail of a rainbow (which you’ve been told is possible), and it's a feeling that’s been absent from you for so long, it's never come from him — Merlin, you've always wanted it to come from him, haven’t you?

“You’re impressed?” you ask, as you love nothing more than to push. “Is that all?”

He loves nothing more than to keep his face impassive, but there’s a twitch there. Something you’re aware you can only spot because of how much attention you pay him. 

“I enjoyed your perspective on the Romans’ utilisation of firedrakes. It was well-thought.”

“Well-thought?”

“Quite good, yes.”

“Good," you say, grinning in the bulk of your triumph, “I suppose that means I win."

Win. You’re not winning anything but the implication that Tom is somehow losing. Still he does not break, and you think at seventeen he would have. At nearly twenty his smile just grows. “Have you ever done anything less?”

Is he pushing too? That could be fun.

“Oh, first year tribulations. Nothing since — you wouldn’t remember.”

“Hm, I do recall an unfortunate lesson with a matagot in Beasts, and that must have been, what—” He tilts his head as though to ponder it— “fourth year?”

You narrow your eyes. “Paid an ever-close watch on me, did you, Riddle?”

“As close as anyone else.”

“And by that you mean to say—?”

“Only that it’s a most fascinating custom, the matter of pureblood marriage. It was hard to avoid your name in a common room full of your particular politics.”

“Ah,” you hum, summoning the teapot from the kitchenette to pour another cup, “so my potential marital affairs are what drew your attention. And here I was thinking it was because I was the only person who could ever best you.”

He stops your tea mid-motion, and you still as he sends both the pot and the cup to the table beside you. “Can it not have begun as one and have become the other?”

“Well, your curiosity knows no end; I should be flattered by such multifaceted interest.”

“So you won’t mind my inquiring.”

“Whatever you wish, Riddle.”

“Upon the current status of your betrothal.”

You blink, and then laugh. “There is no betrothal. At present.”

“At present. Is it subject to change?”

“There’s always talk,” you offer, and it offers impressively little.

“Elaborate...”

“I don’t know that you’re in any position to be making demands,” you gibe, “considering I paid four sickles to prove you wrong and I haven’t anything to show for it but my pride.”

He smiles. “Not enough to sate your desire to make me grovel, it seems.”

“You? Grovel?” You gasp, fingers circling your knee idly. “What a fascinating concept… Wait now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

“Is that not what you came for?” he asks, and it’s odd to see him amused by the idea. You push and push and he just continues to take. “To prove me wrong? To puncture my pride?”

You shrug innocently, even though you’d just said as much. “I’m here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

He laughs, a warm, quiet laugh — more of a breath than anything — but true if you can read him at all, and that’s a bit alarming. “Of course. Near nine months of exhaustive translation all to bid me a nice holiday. It sounds almost like grovelling, doesn’t it? Wait, now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

You bite back your smile. Damn him. He’s never been funny before. That’s a problematic development.

“Fine.” Your legs are already crossed and now you’re crossing your arms too, and you look very reserved compared to his relaxed stature. “A match would, of course, need to be of good title.”

“Of course,” Tom says, without even an attempt at masking his amusement.

“And he would need to be rich.”

“Naturally.”

“It would help to be from one of the Sacred Houses.”

“I should not expect anything less.”

“And I suppose age is a factor,” you go on. You push, and push, and push. Tom is impervious. He takes.

“What age would do well?”

“Near enough to my own. For health, of course.”

“For health,” he agrees delightedly.

What the hell are you talking about?

“It would be preferable that he be handsome.”

“And of his character?”

“Most agreeable.”

“Docile?”

“Hm, docile, yes.”

“It is a long list.”

“I’ve been told I’m a difficult woman to sate. Far too prideful, apparently.”

Your fingers are drawing figure-eights on your thigh now, and Tom’s eyes flash briefly to the motion. You stop as though caught, and you aren’t sure why.

“A defamatory accusation,” he says quietly.

You wonder if his voice has always had that tinge to it: the gravel underlining his polish like the crack of the fire, and — that must be why it’s so warm in here, too. It has been that way since you arrived, hasn’t it? Such polarising temperatures between your walk in the snow to this, you must have only just adjusted… an hour after arriving. It’s completely logical.

“So there are talks,” you repeat, if only because you’ve blanked on all else.

“Well,” he says, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes you feel transparent, “I wish you all the best. If it at all helps, you can now add a moderate understanding of Latin to your list of virtues.”

You drape an arm across your chair to match his easy posture. (And how is it he manages to look regal and informal at the same time?) “My list of virtues? Elaborate.”

He shakes his head with a small smile and you point an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, ah, Riddle — I won, remember? And I indulged your inquiring regardless.”

His eyes narrow. “You do want me to grovel.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I don’t believe that’s the purpose of the day.”

“And that matters to you?”

He leans forward, looking over you as if your supposed virtues will reveal themselves upon scrutiny. It’s a bit offensive, really. You’d hope he could find more than enough with one glance.

He settles, after a long moment where you feel almost bare, on, “Your pride is agonising.”

It’s — not exactly what you were hoping for. Not quite grovelling, by any definition, but then, what did you expect from him?

“Excuse me?”

“Your stockings are ripped at the calf.”

“Riddle—”

“Your lipstick may have stained my teacup. It is a shade I’m rather fond of, but I do not wish to see a trace of it left behind.”

“Quite good,” you say through gritted teeth.

“And I should not be agonised — incautious and unfettered at a sliver of skin or the gesture of your mouth —” You realise with horror that he’s speaking through something constrained too — “and yet I am.”

It’s — is that a confession? Have you broken him? Have you won again? Your stomach flips and it doesn’t feel at all like winning. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s lost. In fact, he’s watching you intently, and at your lack of response, the constraint forming a taut line on his lips seems to slip back into something deliberate. Curious.

You recover to the best of your ability. “It is a short list.”

“Shall I go on?” he asks, and it’s an answer, too: no, you have most definitely not broken him. He looks a bit like he’s found a neat pathway to breaking you instead.

“I’d hate to debase you further.”

He leans in, and he might be about to stand, and that might be an irreversible thing to do. “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve painted the picture yet.”

Oh, you’ve painted the picture. You’ve painted a gallery.

“I find the image regrettable half-done. No point finishing it now.”

You do not.

“And besides,” you add, “I know my virtues.”

He smiles, and he’s half orange in the firelight and half blue in the night, green somewhere in the middle, and he should be condemned for being this beautiful. “Elaborate.”

You shouldn’t. “I’m intelligent.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“So I’ve seen,” he agrees, still leaning in.

“I’m good at my job.”

And then he stands.

It is an irreversible thing. Your heart lurches like it knows he’s going to do something that cannot be undone. Your heart lurches because it is a thing you’ve anticipated, quietly, on late nights in scrolls of Latin so you might be able to pretend to mistranslate them — you know, in your first tongue and any other, that you do not want it to be undone.

“Anything else?” he asks. You aren’t sure if you’re resentful of the proximity of his seat to yours or grateful for it, because it takes no time at all for him to be standing before you.

“I’m well-mannered,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you mean for it to. “Lettered in etiquette.”

“Etiquette," he repeats slowly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, and you don't quite know how he manages an intonation like that, but there it is, dripping with so much contempt you’re surprised he doesn’t fall over.

It wouldn’t be terrible if he did. He’d land right on top of you and put this little game to rest.

Instead he reaches a hand to your cheek — your hair — and brushes it like it’s an absolutely standard thing to do. He pulls away just the same. As if his hand is familiar with the shape of your face because it’s been there before. You'd definitely remember if it had.

“Of course,” you breathe, “patience and pleases and thank yous.”

“In all your manners, you might provide an example.”

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult. “I’d say I’m displaying great patience right now.”

“Hm.” His hands find yours where they sit on either arm of your chair, and his figure is blocking all light now. It shines on his shoulders, casts him like an aura. “That’s one.”

You look at his lips, and don’t bother to look away. You incline forward as much as you can when you’re caged in like this, until his breath is on yours and you can smell his cologne.

“Please,” you say, and for the challenge in it you don’t feel too humbled.

He is most obliging.

His lips just barely brush yours at first, and you did say you were patient — so you wait. The feather-light touch of them stills before it deepens, his hands pressing down on yours. Your open mouth. His tongue. You're kissing him, breathlessly and frantically and completely, and it is all you want.

Tom pulls back and you instinctively push forward. You will your eyes to open and he’s still right there — he hasn’t gone anywhere (what a deranged concern that is) — lips an inch from yours, and he’s smiling.

“That’s two.”

Oh. Oh, he’s an aberration in human variance. There’s something incredibly wrong with him.

There isn’t a way of turning gratitude into a challenge, you think. It doesn’t ask for anything. It appreciates. In this case it would more closely resemble worship. Thank you for your kiss, Riddle, I’d be nothing without it.

So you search to find a way around it that still gets you what you want.

“I’ll need a bit more than a lousy kiss if you want to see me grovel, Riddle." Your voice is a bit rough. You don’t know that your confidence lands the way it typically does.

But you came here to — what was it — puncture his pride? Push him until he breaks? You’ve already made it halfway, and you are, after all, very good at it.

And you suppose he wants to earn the third, because he scowls and then he’s kissing you again and this time his hands are on your face, and perhaps they are somehow familiar with the shape because they fit around you in some inexplicably whole way, like they were made for it. With your hands free, you’re carding your fingers through his hair, hoping for that vision of him you imagined earlier, with thick, messy waves and flushed cheeks.

Tom brings a hand to your waist and tugs you in, and you’re partly pulled from the chair by his insistence and overwhelmingly pushing to get out of it yourself, lips never leaving his as you stumble past the meagre divider to his bed.

The backs of your thighs hit the footboard and your knees buckle, gasping away from Tom’s mouth as you reach for the bedpost. His breath is heavy as his hand curves to the small of your back to keep you steady, your dress bunched in his fist, and there’s a heat in him pressed against you, like a match being held to kindling. And in the flash of fire when it finally strikes, everything in his eyes is clear, singularly focused, and he's pushing you to your back, splayed across his tidy sheets as he kisses you with bruising ferocity.

There's an urgency now to his movements that wasn't there before, and it's a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanour, but that feels like winning. That feels like breaking Tom Riddle, whittling years of practised constraint to… this. That draws the third: makes you nice and grateful like he asked, because no part of you wants his careful fortitude here. You want to ruin him.

He appears to want the very same from you, which wrecks the whole thing.

Your legs move to wrap around him and he stops you, one hand pinning you by the hip and then down, past where you think he’ll go, as he finds the hem of your dress and lifts it from your calf to your knee. He draws circles over the thinly-clothed skin and you can do nothing but lie there, panting a little, staring at him with less patience than you’d proclaimed to have. And then his fingers move upwards, and they’re drawing figure-eights, and you understand that if this isn’t a taunt, nothing is. He copies your earlier motions. He does not kiss you. His fingers trail higher and higher and they’re soft like the shadows framing his face.

Finally he finds the waistband of your stockings and begins to tug them down your hips, stopping when he reaches that sliver of skin revealed by a tear in the fabric, taking your leg and hiking it up so he can look closely. He smiles, finger sliding down the tear in such a precise, meticulous fashion you can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose. The moment does not linger when he pulls away, shuffling your stockings down the rest of the way so your legs are unclad before him, your heels already kicked off somewhere across the floor.

He watches your sharp exhale when he ducks down to kiss the skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you at his softness, another when you see his face, see his eyes go dark with want of you.

His constraint is back, and it’s fucking detrimental. The only silver lining you can find in it, and you hope to be correct (haven’t you been so far?), is that maybe that means Tom Riddle can be broken in litany. Maybe he amends his ruination now but you can carve it out of him again later.

“Come here,” you say, your voice ragged.

Tom frowns, one hand pursuing a dangerous path up the inside of your thigh. “And here I was under the impression you wanted me to grovel.”

“Oh,” you huff, “is that what this is? Not some feeble attempt at winning after I —”

You grip his hair as his fingers curl under the lace of your underwear, as he smiles at the dampness there, the way your argument dissipates beneath his touch. “Winning?” he derides, breathy to match your tone in a way that feels cruel rather than considerate. You nod even as your breathing accelerates and he lifts the skirt of your dress to rest over your thighs, his eyes darting between your legs and your own heavy gaze as if he can't decide which is more intriguing. And then he slides a finger across your heat and you think he’s made his choice. "Is that what you think I want?"

You blink, feeling a bit lost. "What else is there?"

“Will you thank me after this?”

Right. That. You swallow, head falling back on his pillow. “Doubtful.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, some kind of consideration that can only be answered by the movement of his fingers against you, slow as they seek to learn you.

You arrest the moan that rises in your throat, teeth clenching together as Tom climbs over you once more, his body keeping you in place to watch the sustained details of your expression as one of his fingers dips inside you. You hiss, and his gaze burns into you, his mouth parted with a degree of awe and you think perhaps this is the picture he painted — you, under him, eyebrows pinched together as your hands scramble for purchase on his chest, fighting to remain intact.

But then his thumb brushes up against your clit and you let out a sound — half a moan, half a mewl. Tom doesn't give you a second to recover as his lips come down on yours again, hard, desperate, like he's trying to inhale you. And you let him, you take the little bit of ruin he surrenders in the great expanse of yours.

Even if you could quiet your noises you stand to think Tom would feel them, taste them, bite down on them like he does your lower lip, a second finger coiling into you. Your hand smacks at his wrist, clutching his arm with such intensity you can feel every sinew of his movement as he works away at you. Your legs are trembling, pressing around his waist an act of simultaneous resistance and desperation as you push upwards for friction and conquest.

You find both. Undeniable hunger — how he groans softly against your open mouth, how the imprint against your thigh is hard under his trousers, how he wants you.

His ministrations only intensify when your hand searches for the buckle of his belt, gripping your jaw like he needs to watch you fall apart before you can find parity in your desperation. It isn’t an impossible wish; your mind is hazy at the push and pull of his fingers, curving where his thumb draws ceaselessly on the other side, and you think, as much as you’re able right now, that he could succeed. But you force your eyes open to the space where your hand is wedged between your bodies, yanking hastily at his belt and sighing into his shoulder as it unfastens.

His trousers are unbuttoned, unzipped, and you’re arching into him with laboured pants even when your hand slips past them to find skin you've never travelled before.

Tom’s motions stagger when your fingers brush experimentally over his length, and you suddenly understand his ardent focus. You can’t help but stare at the way his jaw ticks, a hiss parting through gritted teeth, and the fact that you’re doing this to him is almost enough to push you over the edge. You grip him in one hand, and his fingers move again like some act of defiance, tightening his hold on your jaw. And then you’re pumping slowly, carefully, the only way you think to with the intention of pleasing him. Of weakening him.

He turns your head so you’re gasping into the pillow, neck exposed for him to press his mouth to. His teeth and tongue are on you and your hand slips from him for a moment as you shudder. Fuck him. This isn’t enough. You won't lose like this.

You tug at his waistcoat now, snapping open the buttons until the last few are clinging on by cheap threads. You’ll buy him that suit, you think. One that you can shrug off as fervently as you like without worrying about tearing the seams.

Your removal of his shirt is not aided by the swelling fire inside you, how the attention of his fingers has remained steady through your squirming and it feels like it’s culminating to something fatal. Your fingers grow shakier but don't stop their pursuit until every button is undone and you can soothe their trembling by pressing your palms against the warm expanse of his chest.

And then they’re back in his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as he continues to chip away at you. You bite back moans and blink through your dizziness.

Tom stops, and it might be more devastating than if he hadn’t. Your body is taut, a fine, thrumming wire spared a moment before snapping.

“More,” is all you say, tracing the shape of him through his briefs.

“More?” he asks. There’s a small mercy in the rasp within in his voice, the uncertainty despite himself. “I suppose that means I win.”

“Win?” 

His gall almost, almost pulls you back to reality. But he’s — he’s pulling his trousers further down and your body, like some separate entity to your mind, is flush against him when he’s finally free of all obstructions. 

“Mhm,” he hums, and almost-reality dwindles away into fucking nothing — disappears before your eyes when he brings his finger to his tongue and tastes you.

You tear him back to your mouth with a sound that so desperate your humility shouldn’t be able to take it but that's all gone now. His lips are wet and swollen and you’re adjusting yourself so his hips are lined with yours, and your head rolls back when he positions himself against your core and stays there.

“I win,” you breathe. “Everything else is just—”

He moves, hands on your waist as he presses ever-so-slightly inside you. You clutch wildly at his arms, your eyes wrenching shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly. His thumb caresses your cheek as if any act of his acts of tenderness are at all actually tender and not depraved requests for your resignation. 

You shake your head. “It’s ju-just—”

He sinks further, unhurried, and you feel like crying, your body clenching around him as the pressure deepens.

“Just what?” he asks, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“Just… um, just…”

“Hm?”

“I win... s’just… cheating…”

You feel him smiling against your neck, and then he detaches his lips to observe you, nodding with false sympathy. “You win.”

And he shifts himself forward so he’s pushed to the hilt. 

It’s a lie. It’s a lie as Tom holds you against him, carving kisses into your skin that burn, as you shudder a moan into the thick, hot air, as he begins to move rhythmically inside you, your fingers digging crescent moons into his spine and dragging.

You don't win.

If you are steel honed over years, it’s this moment that you melt, and you think if you were to be fused again it would be in a different shape.

And you mean that. You honestly feel liquified when he splits you slow like this, rolling his hips as you cling to him for strength like he isn’t the thing shattering you. 

You rock to meet him, you bury your nails in his back, you rest your moans with your teeth in his shoulder — whatever you can think to make this fair. Make true to your word. You are going to break, it's true, but you are going to break Tom Riddle too.

“Fingers,” you mutter, far too much of a demand for the way it almost stumbles into a sob, but Tom makes a strained sound in the back of his throat as if it gratifies him that you want it enough to ask.

“Thank me,” he answers on a harsh exhale.

You bite at his collar, shaking your head, but your legs are starting to shake and you wouldn’t ask if it was something you wanted — you mask it as an order because you need it. Because you imagine what he’s doing now combined with his thumb on your clit and it’s enough to make your abdomen clench just thinking about it.

Instead one of your hands forsakes the sweet curve of his muscles every time he thrusts into you so that it can snake between your own legs, and you mimic his earlier ministrations just long enough to drive a moan from your lips before Tom’s eyes dart from your lips, the rise and fall of your chest, to the hand missing from his back.

He grabs it with a scowl, pinning one wrist and then the other above your head.

“Stubborn,” he hisses, and he buries himself inside you like it's something personal, persistent in his strokes when his fingers finally rub over you how you wanted.

And you know you’ve done it when his head falls on your shoulder and you feel yourself tighten around him. His grip on your wrists is punishing. His mouth on your shoulder is stringent. He’s hard and full inside you and his fingers slide against you in delicate, torturous contrast. You know because it all stutters a bit when you pull him into a kiss, when you know you’re about to plummet into oblivion and he’s gripping you through it like you might steady him — like you aren’t the thing shattering him.

When you do, it’s something visceral. You think you might be spinning, or floating — screaming, maybe — spilling ill-mannered expletives in strings with his name because your hands are still trapped under his and your body can do nothing else. What you know, undoubtedly, is that you’re coming down from it for a long time, in a haze when you manage to breathe the words into his ear. “Thank you.”

Tom breaks. It’s the most beautiful you think he’s ever looked; eyebrows cinched and pink mouth parted, hair mussed like you wanted, neck tense as he stills inside you and you feel every part of him let go.

Your legs are too weak to cling to him through it, and you just pant under him, blinking languidly and in awe.

You stay like that for a long time.

He leans in when he finally pulls out of you, kissing you like one form of contact must be replaced with another. It's the same with his hands. He sinks into the space beside you and releases your wrists just to cup your face instead.

Yours come up instantly and shamelessly to his hair, craving nothing more than to curl your fingers through the dark mess of it. You trace the sharp shape of his cheeks, too, like his did to yours, like you need to memorize the lines of his expression and the heat of his skin before the world outside seeps in and it all goes cold.

But you pull away and you can't imagine it will.

There’s something in his eyes that feels new. Longing like he’s shed all pretence of acting like nine years of treading the lines of this rivalry has ever been anything but a pathetic display, like he knows you've shed it too. It makes you catch your breath to think this is what it feels like to be desired by Tom Riddle; that you desire him all the same; all this time.

“You know,” you say, and your voice sticks dry to your mouth, “I still win.”

He shakes his head. He smiles. You want terribly to kiss him again.

“I’ll just have to find something else to best you in, won’t I?”

You pretend like you’re considering it and not just staring at him. 

“I think by Christmas would be fair.”

[centrally-unplanned]

I watched two documentaries recently that were very "2000's nerd culture" which I thought were very fun! In like a meta way as cultural commentary, of course, it is me after all. The first was Indie Game: The Movie, a 2012 documentary on the making Braid, Super Meat Boy, and Fez. It is a "creator-focused" documentary and in particular for the latter two games the film crew actually filmed them mid-production & release, which does make for some authentically heartfelt scenes.

So in a certain sense all eras of documentary will contain this, but the 2000's going into the 2010's was absolutely rife with a new wave of films, often supported by crowdsourcing funds like Indie Game was, primarily concerned with the self-legitimization of niche subcultures. By creating something cohesive, academic, and prestigious like a documentary, the film can codify the subculture as "real" and "worthy", and additionally lend credence to narratives about the subculture that have grown prevalent. And to be clear, this is not a criticism, even if there are parts that are - all meaning and identity is forged in similar ways. But for nerd culture in the 2000's, there was a particularly intense need for this process, because this was the era of nerdom going mainstream. That level of culture shift generated demand for all the above, which films like this aim to supply. There were lot of films of this type - we made a brony "documentary" propaganda film guys, nothing was exempt.

Indie Game is overwhelmingly the story of outsider artists bleeding and dying for their art, which will triumph above all odds. And it leans, heavily, into the bleed; at one point Phil Fish (creator of Fez), openly states he might commit suicide if his game fails. Much screen time is spent on personal sacrifice, financial poverty, the "doubters", etc. This is of course a classic tale for artists, but if I may be so bold that is something of an easy sell - emotionally, narratively - for someone writing the Great American Novel. It is maybe harder to sell if you are making this?

(Cover art by Bryan Lee O'Malley btw - very era appropriate!) How do we make "dude in hat solves puzzles" worth the Starving Artist life?

We do that by positioning these games not as games, but as paradigms. These games, by dint of being the independent vision of unitary creators, are making games that Big Gaming never could. New digital means of distribution are allowing artists to cut out the middleman of publishers, groups that corrupt the real vision of creators. And with no barriers to development, now anyone (maybe...even you?) can make games that can compete in the big leagues. Indie games through this lens are a different product than mainstream titles, and these creators are opening doors. And their suffering is going to be financially rewarded with success and money to boot! That is the narrative Indie Game is selling to its audience of gamers, to understand why the indie games they bought and loved are meaningful.

And to be clear, as much as I am about to deconstruct this, it isn't like totally false or anything. Starting in the late 2000's digital platforms like Steam, more accessible development tools like Unity (released in 2005), and so on did in fact make smaller games appealing to more niche markets more viable, and by virtue of their nicheness yeah they can do things big budget games maybe can't. These creators absolutely had passionate visions for their games, sacrifice for your passions is fine (not bashing that part here), hats off to them. Indie games in this era would absolutely "change gaming".

But not really in the ways this narrative wants them to, nor with the "meaning" people of the time expected it to have. For one, there is a conflict in this documentary of them wanting to highlight "bold new visions" and also wanting to highlight...popular indie games. This is Super Meat Boy, for example:

Yeah, never had a 2D platformer blob guy dodging traps before in gaming! "No see its retro" yeah retro to what, old games? Like those Nintendo made back in the 90's, which you explicitly mention in your documentary? You know, niche indie studio Nintendo? This isn't a bash, at all, at the game itself, but instead the idea that "AAA Studios would never"; they totally would, and always did. There has never been an era where the large gaming studios weren't also making creative games, but for this narrative they need to be propped up as static for it to make sense. And the actual niche indie stuff that big studios wouldn't touch don't sell well enough to justify being in this film!

And the idea of the "solo developer" is also, hm, let us say a bit sus. Not that these developers weren't solo or small teams, they were (though ofc a solo core creator will often have dozens of helpers on supporting roles that get sidelined in this "unitary vision" narrative); but that such a model is all that new? How big do you think development teams were in the 90's for so many classic games? The original Pokemon Red/Blue game had less than a dozen core developers (the total staff list, including American localizers, is ~30 people - Super Meat Boy meanwhile seems to have 16 for comparison). You wanna bring up the dev teams for PC-98 visual novels? They were made in an Akihabara cave with a box of pixel art scraps by like 6 people! You think those games didn't have "unitary creative visions"? Small gaming companies have always been a part of the ecosystem, getting niche titles funded & published using insane magic and pure luck. The "indie boom" is better seen as a change in the numerator.

Though what did change is that, by being self-published, development was approachable by outsiders in new ways. Though even then, this is a bit of a lie - Jonathan Blow of Braid was an industry veteran, and everyone here plays the "convention circuit" and networks with people like the PAX crew and Xbox representatives. But with the games being published by an individual over a studio, even a studio of a half dozen people, it is far easier for the audience to see the creators as "one of them". No office, no suits, just a man in his gamer den banging out his dream. That aesthetic is core to why this narrative was potent at the time, and why making a documentary to codify it was seen as compelling. It takes an already ascendant idea, polishes it, packages it as nonfiction, and then sells the idea back to the people who invented it. LIke so much media, to be clear! I always enjoy seeing it, it is the dialectic of culture in action.

I also find it very funny to see a documentary made in 2012 playing tropes that will become far more ~problematic~ just around the corner. Burnout and work-life balance - in a documentary where a developer, crying, discusses suicide if his game fails, to remind you - is pretty much never mentioned, and a successful game launch is absolutely presented as justifying endless crunch. You would never see that today. The only women in this documentary are wives and parents - which is very amusing, because the co-creator of the film is a woman! No one thinks gender is relevant to mention. Boy would that change in a few years.

Indie games today, of course, are just a segment of the gaming market. They are incredibly common now, so much so that most people lose money making them, people discuss oversaturation, big studio companies have "indie wings" to cover consumer preference ranges, etc. There is no magic in it anymore, it is just dev strategy. So yeah, very enjoyable as a representative time capsule in a strain of culture that is pretty much gone now! The Capital-R Romantic Era of indie gaming; what a time.

In the next post, we are going much more niche, so stay tuned for that. Or don't, I don't know you, and like this was a loooot of writing. Maybe i'll, idk work on that for the next one? ...I probably won't -_-

[glimmerlofsea]

Billy Hargrove x Reader

MASTERLIST

I'M ON YOUR SIDE

Warning : I don't know how to write it but the reader's father is very abusive, so a bit of violent? Kissing part (ehehe) but not too hot.

WC; 2,7k

#TALKISSA; Where Billy is attracted to you, who is a nerd but still maintains your title of popularity because of your intelligence and genius. You don't like the new kid, he always taunts you with your bookishness, until when he wants to irritating you he realizes that your face is puffy.

You are always the student with the title of 'the smartest' in class, but that doesn't mean that a bunch of girls there can bully you, in fact you have your own interests which actually make you more attractive when all the nerds in school are bullied. You feel bad for them, you try your best to help them.

You're in gym class, your clothes are wet and you're wearing shorts for gym class, because your clothes are wet from sweat—I know it's gross, believe me—you decide to take off your clothes at the gym, luckily that day you were wearing a white tank top.

Because you felt yourself being watched, you looked in a direction that supported your instincts, that's where you saw the new kid who was looking at you with a sly smile, you always hated him, how he acted bossily and all his arrogant attitudes. You fake a smile and throw up your middle finger before going to get your backpack.

You still felt his gaze, but you didn't care, because gym class was the last subject in your class. You decided to take a shower when you got home.

When you get home you get ready to go with your father, mother and brother for a family dinner at a restaurant not far from your house, where your extended family visits Hawkins for the holidays, even though that is a bad choice for enjoying their holiday.

Your father isn't always abusive, maybe there will come a time when he will punish you when you get bad grades, you think it's normal since you don't achieve what he wants, but slowly you feel like it's out of bounds, you push yourself to get greater in your academic achievements.

Because you are the only girl when many of your cousins ​​are boys, you want to prove to them that you are not just a joke as they say. But unfortunately, at dinner, your aunt, your cousin, and even your uncle tried to bring up the topic of you getting bad grades.

You feel uncomfortable but try to smile,

"Let it go, Y/N. And Frank, aren't you pushing your daughter too much? C'mon, man, you know women can't be anything." Your uncle, Tom, said to your father, you looked at your uncle sarcastically, he looks down on women too much, isn't that right? You haven't liked Uncle Tom for a long time, he always looks down on you.

"And Y/N," Tom said then shook his head while chuckling, "What are you actually trying to achieve? Look at John, he's not even trying but is already being targeted by several big CEOs in Atlanta."

John smiled proudly at you who was showing your flat face, oh, John, if he knew how much you wanted to punch him in the face.

"That's what differentiates me from John, Uncle Tom. What I'm trying to achieve is my real effort, not John with zero effort and then proudly showing his fucking smile." You said without the slightest smile, Tom looked surprised by your words, while Aunt Mary clenched her jaw and held her son's chest so he wouldn't get hurt hearing your words.

"Y/N." Your father warned you.

You looked at him, "What? I'm just telling the truth."

"Apologize." Press your father.

You chuckled, "Why am I sorry? I didn't—" Your father who sit right next to you immediately slapped you, a gasp came from many family members including your older brother who initially didn't pay attention, "I didn't raise you to being a disrespectful bitch."

You held your cheeks and looked at your father with your lips quivering, "Do you understand, Y/N Y/L/N?" You hesitate to answer, but you nod slowly, “Yes, Father.”

You tried to hold back your tears, you didn't want to be embarrassed again, especially by your own father,

"Apologize."

You looked at Uncle Tom, Aunt Mary, and John, looking at them in turn, "I am sorry for my impudence."

"You better be, kid." Uncle Tom replied.

The rest of dinner didn't go well, things became tense when you guys saw an atmosphere where your father slapped you, your mother was there, but she really didn't do her job as a mother. All she thinks about is the money from your father's work, she wasn't even there when your first period came.

You are just silent, you feel like no one is on your side, or even support you.

Landon, your brother? He is second to none with John who immediately got the job without looking at his grades.

You hate being yourself who is thought to be incapable of anything and can't be anything. They should clear their minds, aren't even your aunt and mother furious when the men in their family degrade women like that?

You hated your father, but at least he wanted you to be something to be proud of, just to be proud of, not to be raised with the love and sincerity you need.

You spent the whole night crying, your father didn't forget to teach you a lesson, usually he would lock you in the basement all day without food and drink because of your rude words like a child not being taught, but this time it was different, because when you're having a family dinner that night he was quite drunk, he slapped you several times on your cheek. Leaves redness that will last until morning.

Your mother? She went out with her friends with the money your father gave her, Landon just stayed in his room playing games without thinking one bit about his future.

Sometimes you think Uncle Tom was right, why are you doing all this? If in the end you can't achieve anything or can't become anything.

Since that night things got chaos, you kept getting distracted while taking a test.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

You heard a teacher calling you, you turned and caught Mr. Cravil walked towards you, with all the energy you had you tried to smile, your energy was almost drained from crying all night, "Yes?"

"What happened? Several teachers complained that your grades had dropped drastically. And even I, as your homeroom teacher as a Mathematics teacher, was surprised by the change in your grades." Obviously Mr. Cravil when you pay close attention to his words.

You sighed, you knew you messed up, you really had no motivation, “Sorry, Mr. Cravil.”

"No, no, don't apologize. I'm just reflecting this drastic change, you know? You can always tell me at any time."

It wasn't like the teacher's request was lewd, but Mr. Cravil is sincere, he really concerned you, not only you, he really cares about his students.

You weakly smiled, "Thank you, Mr. Cravil."

After that you go to the bathroom.

You look in the mirror, staring blankly at yourself then you wash your face with water, all the make up comes off, the cuts caused by your father starts to show, he really gets maniacally mad when he hears that your grades have dropped. Of course he already knew since he said he had a stalker to monitor developments at your school.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, you shed tears, looked at yourself in the mirror and uncontrollably punched the mirror with your bare hands. You wouldn't have thought that the mirror would crack in one punch from yourself who you feel is getting weaker every day. But you are relieved, even though the blood is dripping from the bones of your hand.

You took a breath and covered your face with your hoodie, then you grabbed your backpack to rush home. Or wherever you felt safe since 'home' doesn't feel safe anymore.

In the corridor you hear some gossip from the girls at school,

"I heard she's pregnant..."

"She's pregnant so her grades have dropped..."

"She's a mess."

You closed your eyes and took your headset from your trouser pocket to not hear the words that haunted your mind, you don't need it, you really don't need it right now.

When you come out of the school corridor, you think it's over, but someone appears in front of you, Billy Hargrove with his trademark smile that makes all the girls crazy but you,

Someone pulls your hoodie that covering your head, you try to control your anger,

You looked at Billy, at first he smiled like a psychopath, but seeing your face which had several cuts made him lose his smile, "Hey, Tommy, hook me up with a fresh cig."

"What? Come on, Billy, I thought we were gonna hassle this girl—"

"Just bounce, dude. Quick." Billy replied.

You still had your locks on Billy, “Fuck off.” You were about to leave but he held your hand, you winced a little when he accidentally touched your bleeding hand bone, Billy, who realized that his hand had traces of blood, immediately lifted your hand, after he saw it, you immediately pulled your hand back and pulled up your hoodie.

"Fuck. Off." Press you once again then leave in front of him.

He really isn't holding you back, why? Because he was trying to understand what happened. What happened? A perfect girl experiences something like that in her life? And oh, how he hated the cuts that dimmed your face.

He always pays attention to you, always, when you flash the biggest smile he's ever seen, when you don't hesitate to defend a nerd who is being bullied by Tommy, or when you smile proudly in class when you get the right answer and get a plus. What he thinks when he sees you is the only light that brings beauty and happiness to this city full of cows.

But when he saw your condition just a few minutes ago? His world seemed to be turning upside down and his brain not too immersed in thinking.

You decide to go to the supermarket to treat your wounds, followed by going anywhere that at least brings you peace.

You return home at night, of course your mother won't be there, she always goes and comes back as she pleases. You thought your father was asleep, but it turned out that when he entered the house he was holding an alcohol bottle in his hand, he slammed it hard, making the glass bounce onto your leg, making your leg scratch and you wince.

Your father grabbed you and dragged you, "You ungrateful child, this is the first and last time i saw you come home at night, understand?! You have to learn, bitch! Don't be a whore as you like!"

"Father, please! It hurts. It's—" You cried, no matter how tight your father's grip was, maybe a few strands of hair would fall out the next day, "Please, I'm not being a whore or even a slut out there."

Your father threw you harshly into your room, "Crap. Have I ever exposed you to lies, Lady? I raised you well so that you wouldn't be like your mother who only knows about money and becomes a prostitute every night!" Your father cupped your chin and held it tightly, making you sob, "But you're no different from her."

You were still struggling with your breath, when your father locked your room you knew it was going to be a hard and bad week.

You leaned yourself on the edge of the mattress and hid your head in the knees of your feet, crying uncontrollably, you hated your life. Why bother living if throughout your life you are not treated as a human being? Not even once in your life.

While you were crying, you heard a sound from your window, you looked at the window and saw Billy appear at your window and enter your room. With you looking towards the door, hopefully your father didn't hear it. You stood up with all your strength, but were still unsteady on your legs, which were injured by scratches from the alcohol bottle.

Billy approaches you,

"What are you doing? Billy, get out." You said frantically as you wiped your face and tucked your hair behind your ear which was sticky to your face from your tears.

“I know this sounds stupid but I'm worried about you, Y/L/N.” You closed your eyes in frustration, this was simply an unwise and downright stupid choice.

"Y/N, tell me what's wrong. You're a complete mess and—"

"Exactly!" You screamed and whispered at the same time, you caught your breath and held back your tears, "Exactly, Billy. I look really messed up and with you here? It's really going to be even more messed up. Please, leave. Before my father realizes you're even here."

Billy touched your cheek without your permission, but his hand was warm, making you relax for a moment because your body had been freezing all day, "Is this because of your father?"

You looked at him and nodded slowly.

"Y/N, who is that? Are you talking to someone!? Fucking brat, I'm going to kill you."

You panicked when you heard your father scream, you let go of Billy's grip and pushed his body slowly towards the window, "Leave. Now."

"But-"

"Oh God, please, Billy!" You said in frustration, you really depended your life on him, "Please,"

Billy had heard the word 'please' a thousand times in his life while fucking girls in Hawkins, but this time? This sounds different. As if a girl's life depended on him.

"Okay..." Billy finally said it, "Just call me? Make sure I know you're okay. I wrote my number in your biology book."

You nodded quickly, feeling panicked because the sound of the door lock had started to beep. When Billy started to go get his profit, your father didn't catch anyone, so you were safe and he didn't leave any scars behind.

Several weeks have passed, things are still the same but better. Since that night you could say you spent more time with Billy, nothing romantic, but you just touched when Billy said that he would protect you, you were flattered and laughed a little at his stupidity in saying it.

And he always says he will always be beside you, will always dry your tears when they wet your face, and he will even risk his life just to take away the darkness that is in your life. You really wish you could do the opposite for him too.

You both share the same experience, an abusive father and feeling unwanted. But it feels like you need someone like Billy, he's not that bad actually.

And here you are, you are sitting on the hood of Billy's car while he is lying on the hood of his car, believe me, you are the only girl he lets sit on the hood of his car. He feels like you are another part of him, and you are truly like a treasure to be protected, at all times. You sometimes feel that Billy is your real father, not Frank.

You were sucking on the ice cream Billy had bought you moments before, you two were just spending time staring at the stars at night.

Billy woke up from his sleep, and you looking at his direction, you quickly finished your ice cream so you could rest your head on his shoulder. It was silly but Billy secretly loved it when you depended on him.

"I like midnight." You said.

"Yeah?"

You nod.

"Especially when spending it with me, right?" Billy asked with a smile that made you laugh and pull your head from his shoulder.

"Oh, that smile. I really want to keep it in my pocket." Billy said, you smiled, "Then keep it."

"Can I?"

You nodded, "On condition that you buy me another ice cream."

Billy rolled his eyes, "That's your third ice cream, Princess." He always calls you princess since right now you are the most valuable thing he has.

Now you roll your eyes, "There are not enough words for ice cream."

Billy chuckled, "There's something on your lips."

You looked up at him and traced your lips, "Really? Where?"

"Let me wipe it." He replied with a crooked smile.

"Sure-"

Before finishing your words he kissed you right on the lips, hell, what a really nice move. When he felt you didn't reject him he started to deepen the kiss and placed his hand on your thigh while his other hand landed on the back of your neck. You ran your fingers down his chest.

When you broke the kiss you chuckled, “So sneaky.”

Billy smiled and kissed your forehead, “I guess that's my new title, isn't it?” You just roll your eyes.

He got off the hood of the car, then offered his hand for you to reach as you got off the hood, and you gladly accepted, "Let's go back, okay?"

You nod.

With him, all you feel is sincerity and love, what you need most to live are these two things. With him, no one is pressuring you to get good grades, and you really need a 'Billy' figure in your life, at least occasionally in your life. You were happy that night he admitted to your room. And you hope Billy feels otherwise.

Author Note : I don't know but when I wrote this I was too immersed and became emotional... while listening to the song it was as if I really got into the character... maybe a little out of context from Billy's attitude, but let me play with my own imagination. I hope you guys like it!

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Horatio Hornblower:

a. “He is the wettest soggiest boat man who hates being on a boat and hates his life but is actually very good at being a boat man and fighting Frogs. He canonically invented the shower and has a lot of other boat men hose him down every day. He has so much sexual tension going on with Lieutenant William Bush.”

Arthur Wellesley:

"So, I saw that you had no propaganda for the Iron Duke himself and thought that should be corrected, because I cannot let this man go unloved.

He is the ultimate sexyman. I don't really get that title or the requirements but I do know this man and he is the ultimate in Regency-era sexiness.

Field Marshal Sir Arthur Wellesley, First Duke of Wellington, whose full list of titles merits its own Wikipedia page, he had so many (including Prince of Waterloo of the Kingdom of the Netherlands), was so well known for his debonairness that he was often called "the Beau" or Beau Wellesley.

Our dear Duke with his eyes of "a brilliant light blue," is quite the underdog made good. The fourth son of an Anglo-Irish aristocratic family, he was a bit of a loner as a child, whose star was eclipsed by the academic success of his older and younger brothers. Yet he had a remarkable talent for the violin, which as we know from Mrs. Jefferson is quite a good quality for a man to have. As a young man he was considered extremely good humored and drew "much attention" from female society. The Napiers of Celbridge thought he was a "saucy stripling" and he was also considered quite mischievous. Yet he also had a rich inner life, reading and contemplating the great philosophers of the day.

Yes, we know about his military victories in the Peninsula (the position of Field Marshal of the British Army and the accompanying baton were created for him) and his success at Waterloo, but he was also both romantic and a ladies' man. (I could go on about the military success but that's not really what this is about, is it?)

Want the romantic side? He fell in love with Kitty Pakenham while a lowly aide-de-camp in Dublin but, with no real position or prospects, was laughed away by her brother when he sought to marry her. In a fit of pique he destroyed his violin and turned firmly toward progressing his career. Over a decade later, after he had made something of himself in India, he learned she hadn't married, supposedly because she was still pining for him. Reader, he married her, despite thinking she'd grown ugly, and got two children from her in less than two years. I'm not kidding, this man was virile. They married in April of 1806, their first son was born in February, 1807, and their second son was born in January 1808. Although he wasn't sexual faithful to her, Wellington wore an amulet she gave him for over twenty years, and was still wearing it when he sat with her on her deathbed. When she was surprised he still wore it, he told her if she'd just bothered to check in the last twenty years, she'd have found it. Despite surviving her by twenty years, the Duke never remarried.

Now, please don't think badly of him for the lack of sexual fidelity. It was the Georgian era. Sexual fidelity was not a part of marriage in high society. Men didn't sleep only with their wives and some wives could be quite happy with that (for one, it's much easier not to have one pregnancy after another when your husband is sleeping with someone else). Not that women weren't also sleeping around. Which brings me to one of Wellington's more… interesting conquests: Lady Caroline Lamb, wife of William Lamb (the future Second Viscount Melbourne and Prime Minister). Why do I know that name, you ask? The OG pixie manic dream girl, Caro's much more notably known for her affair with Lord Byron. After that particular bit of nonsense, she was in Brussels with the rest of the English aristocracy during the 100 Days/post Waterloo. She and the Duke supposedly slept together and she took his cloak away as a souvenir.

Who else did the Duke liaise with? Well, there were the usual flings with actresses and singers, such as La Grassini. As previously noted in another post on this tumblr, he was noted as a stronger, better lover than Napoleon by another of their mutual lovers. Wellington also was a client of Harriette Wilson. He visited her when she was in Paris after the Duke of Beaufort bought her off, though this was before Beaufort stopped paying her, prompting her to publish her memoirs. She canvassed her old lovers, including Wellington, to see if they'd pay her not to be in them. Wellington send her a note in return saying "Publish and be Damned." Something about his succinct dismissal of her is just so hot.

Oh, want a bit more of Wellington being a bad boy? In 1829, while Prime Minister, he got into a duel that still is commemorated almost two hundred years later. King's College, London, was set up while Wellington was also advocating for Catholic Emancipation and this led to Lord Winchilsea publicly insulting Wellington's honor to the point that the Duke (who'd never dueled before or supported dueling generally) called him out. They went to Battersea Fields and settled the matter with pistols. Wellington won and Winchelsea apologized. King's College celebrates "Duel Day" every March.

Even better, want to read about Elizabeth Bennet and the Duke being witty and falling in love? Complete with scenes of the Duke showing he knows what to do with his cannon? Then let me recommend the third variation of An Ever Fixed Mark, A Dalliance with the Duke. I dare you not to vote for him for all eternity with that portrayal in your head."

[solecize]

fic preview: save the date | san x reader

from middle school walls to lecture halls, choi san was your ultimate nemesis that, for most of your life, fought to do everything better than you. even worse, there was no escape from him when your older sister and his older brother were childhood sweethearts, disgustingly in love. years later, the inevitable wedding bells had now come around the corner for them and as her maid of honour, you had one goal: making sure nobody fucked up the wedding. specifically, you were not going to let san, the best man, fuck up the big day.

unfortunately, when the ring goes missing less than twenty hour hours before the wedding, you have no choice but to work with the said best man who you drunkenly slept with days before the wedding - yes, the same one that you hated for over a decade - to track down a ten thousand dollar ring. starting from midnight, it's a race against the clock for you and san to go on the wildest chase of your life to, well, save the date. 

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: san/female reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. non idol au, epic rom com, academic rivals, childhood enemies to lovers, fluff, slight angst 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. foul language, violence, blood, mention of drugs and drug use, general substance use (smoking and drinking), y/n and san get stranded in a foreign city together after embarking on adventure where they almost get scammed, jumped, etc., assigned seats on an airplane trope, unrequited pining, san gets a glo up after coming back from the military, more to be added 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. n/a 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. tbd.

  being entrusted with the role of maid of honour meant a lot of things to different people, but it was different for you. you happily accepted the title for your sister’s wedding with one main goal in mind: making sure that no one fucks up the big day. specifically, making sure that choi san did not fuck up the big day. 

  unfortunately, with less than twenty-four hours before the wedding due to ring for your sister and san’s older brother, you realized that you were the one that fucked up.

  if someone were to tell you that you ended up dodging a robbery, lugging around a broken e-scooter, outrunning a rabid wild animal, and losing your phone the night before your sister’s wedding, you would have asked them what drugs they were on. and given a year’s worth of stress in anticipating and planning and fittings, you’d likely even ask them to share some. the worse part was that, you’d actually fucked up forty-eight hours before your sister’s wedding and the night you were currently having was just the cherry on top.

  but, that is where you found yourself in a foreign city with no money and no idea how to get back to your hotel at four in the morning. the only thing you could do was stare at choi san, still in his clothes from the rehearsal dinner earlier that night and was preoccupied with nursing his bruised knuckles. 

  san was not a smoker, but he leaned against the wall of a closed coffee shop with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “you think this is all my fault, don’t you?” he grumbled, finally meeting your sharp gaze.

  this was not even the beginning of the story, though. the real beginning of the story begins in middle school circa 2012, when your first ever crush ruined everything before anything could even happen by simply opening his mouth. 

  choi san was the transfer student that all of the girls in your year whispered and giggled about. you only caught a glimpse of him on the first day of school when you could barely make out his face at the school assembly. 

  “he’s so freaking cute! did you get to see him, y/n?” 

  your best friend at the time jogged up to you at lunch and by this point in the day, you’d heard from nearly all your classmates about the mysterious new kid. you were a bit exasperated, feeling as though you were missing out.

  you shook your head. “no. i think i saw the side of his face, but that’s it.”

  “look at his instagram,” she swooned, tapping on her phone until his profile came up.

  you would never admit it aloud, but you thought your heart skip a beat. “that’s what he looks like? oh my god, he plays basketball, too?”

  that pretty much sealed the deal for you. without shame, you pulled out your own phone to follow san on social media, since it already looked like he was gaining mutuals from other people in your school. everyday from then on seemed to be a game of “can you spot your crush” at school and you got the closest when you lingered a little bit too long after gym class, long enough that you left as soon as basketball try-outs for the boys team began. 

  it was 2012 and nothing else mattered to you except crushing over choi san from respectable distance, gangnam style, one direction, and reading all of the hunger games books. it was like this for the first couple months at school, until you and san finally encountered one another.

  you heard from others that san was incredibly bright and academically gifted, so you were hoping that, he too, would join robotics club. it felt like a dream when your wishes came true and san walked into the first meeting of the season.

  “you’re totally staring at him,” whispered yeosang on this day, to which you elbowed him for. yes, you were definitely staring, but he could have just chose to keep his mouth shut.

  you’d avoided directly speaking to san for the first few meetings, just out of nerves alone. eventually, the club’s first major competition was to come around the corner and the club had to brainstorm their plan. 

  as one of the returning members from the year prior, you expected to be met with respect and have your opinions be considered important. the faculty supervisor had even told you that he had hopes for you taking over as captain in the next year, after the current leader, hongjoong, graduates. 

  “i can take charge of the programming team,” you offered, as hongjoong went over the challenge announcement of the competition.

  that was the moment everything went wrong.

  it looked there was no opposition, until you heard a chuckle from the other side of a room. you were confused, not recognizing the voice. spinning around, you saw that it was san and your heart dropped.

  “you? do you even know how to code?” his eyebrows were raised. 

  your jaw could have easily hit the floor, as you narrowed your eyes at him. “what?” was all you could say.

  “you’re a girl, there’s no way you should be in charge of programming.”

  that year, there were only three girls in robotics club, which was an improvement from the two the year before. it was you, who was the only female member with experience in the club, and then sunyoung and yena. 

  sunyoung never fucking spoke, she never even made eye contact with anyone. she kept to herself and was never going to speak up, but you knew that she was the highest ranking student in your year and had skipped an entire grade. you couldn’t believe sunyoung let that slide. meanwhile, yena always insisted that she was “one of the boys” and was the kind of girl to talk your head off about how she hates taylor swift. you might’ve even heard her murmur in agreement to what san said.

  “are you a fucking idiot?” your thirteen year old self snapped at san, eliciting gasps from around the room. 

  of course, your foul mouth came from none other than your headstrong older sister and at the same moment you began forming a life-long hatred for choi san, she was a couple blocks away at the high school, falling in love with choi san’s older brother during chemistry class. it was a classic high school love story, meeting as lab partners and experiencing first love in between shelves at the library. 

  one day, when your sister happily skipped into your room and sang that she now had a boyfriend, it had been weeks since you already declared san your nemesis. from what you remember, she was so head over heels for her lab partner that it was nauseating - she had to have been, since she was now marrying him over ten years later. 

  “he has a little brother your age, you know,” she said, later the same night. “goes to your school, maybe you’ve met him.”

  the two of you were relaxing on your bed, as your sister scooted closer to show you pictures of her new and first-ever boyfriend on her phone. you raised an eyebrow at her, wondering who she was talking about. 

  “maybe. what’s his name?” you asked.

  “san. choi san.”

[nyashykyunnie]

//Solo Leveling yume

Introducing: Geum Seul-ae!!! Jinwoo's silly mage girlfriend.

Trope: Strangers to Friends to Lovers.

About Seul-ae ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

Age: Same age as Jinwoo

Height: 152cm/5'0

Birthday: 04/09

Mbti: Infp

Rank: A-rank (She Reawakens to S rank later on)

Affiliation: None

Type: Mage

Title: Lady of Bloodied Petals, Her Highness of the sea

Powers: Sacred Primordial Sea, Botanokinesis

Regression ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

Job: Freelance Artist, youtube vlogger><

♡ Seul-ae is one of those cute cozy youtube vloggers who don't share their face and voice on the video. She often posts about her art process + daily diaries as well as showing off her cute outfits<3

♡ Her content is mostly: draw with me, ootd, mundane life things, cooking, walking in parks and taking pictures of flowers or anything she finds pretty

Personality ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

♡ She's a very lovely and sweet girl, though she is very insecure and anxious. Seul-ae stutters in her words a lot and gets tired of conversations easily, leading her to tend to attempt ending conversations without the other person noticing. Of course, she is still polite and very attentive, she just gets drained very very fast.

♡ At first sight, people always mistake her as cold and distant but she is actually a sunshine type of girl. She just has a poker face most of the time^^;;

♡ Seul-ae often imitates people out of fear that she would offend them. She observes how the other people act and tries her best to blend in so that she won't be bullied. Her real personality is quite eccentric in a way that she can't talk about things she loves such as whales and sharks. She often suppresses that side of her so that she can avoid being an outcast. She used to be one of those weird kids who got bullied in elementary and got shaken to the point that she became a people-pleaser. Seul-ae is only comfortable with people she is close to and most especially Jinwoo. He is her safe space.

♡ Seul-ae is not an academic achiever, she is in fact very academically challenged and only has average grades of C and D minus her art subjects. She hates studying anything except for marine life in which she can get heavy detail in.

♡ In her hunter days, Seul-ae was known as one of the kindest and most warm hunters there is. She has fans whom she often interacts with kindly and respectfully. Though she doesn't work with any guild, high ranked hunters like Choi Jong-in often invite her to assist in their raids and she helps willingly even offers to not get paid^^.

Love Story with Jinwoo ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

Their ties go way back to elementary. They have heard of each other but never really interacted. But from what Jinwoo knew, she was one of those eccentric and obnoxious girls who have such loud voices during recess. In middle school, she was known for her absolute avoidance of feminine things. In senior high where they officially meet as classmates, Jinwoo was shocked to find how much Seul-ae had changed in a not good way. She became a loner but was still polite and respectful. He even noticed her having anxious episodes and often avoided conversations with anyone. However, Seul-ae was well known for her artistic capabilities and often won in art contests, which she doesn't really seem to be proud of.

After graduating, they never met again until his E-ranked days. Seul-ae hasn't awakened yet, but when she saw how much Jinwoo suffers trying to work, she offered him what little money she had. Seul-ae often visits Jinwoo in his odd jobs outside of hunting and gives him free food to eat out of kindness. They lose touch for a bit since Jinwoo keeps disappearing. But after a year, Seul-ae became an S-ranker after experiencing double awakening who is also now well beloved, and Jinwoo followed right after her, ascending as shadow monarch this time.

Seul-ae was extremely happy to have met Jinwoo again and wouldn't stop talking to him enthusiastically which he found adorable. And eventually, the two started to date. They didn't really hide it nor did they announce it.

When Jinwoo regressed, he approached Seul-ae in senior high and courted her again before returning her memories with him.

Their trope is just sunshine x sunshine protector<3. I love this trope a lot heheh.

Their Emojis: 🐈‍⬛🪼

[collywobbles-n-whatnot]

Extra Extra! (various yandere x reader)

Trashy Journalist! Reader x Rich nepo! Yanderes

You were a journalist (if you can even call yourself that) for gossip rags, infamous for getting the scoop no matter the danger. So when the opportunity comes along to go to the exclusive Hail Mary college you take it. Your contact set you up with a fake identity and background to make sure you’d fit in just so. This was the school for the elite and a last ditch effort of parents to straighten out their kids before handing over the keys to the kingdom. While being higher education this place much more reflected high school with its strict class requirements and uniforms. Most people haven’t even heard of it — it’s not even google-able, that’s how exclusive this shit is. Cracking this case wide open would mean you and your parents would be set for life. Little did you know that this would change your life forever but not in any way you could fathom. 

There was Clayton, one of the first friends you met when starting. He focused on sports and shared his American snacks with you. It was hard to smuggle that sweet sweet red 40 but it was worth it. Soon he asked you to come to his games, he played as many sports as he could get his hands on and excelled in all of them. Practically, wrote the book on golden retriever energy. The sexy southern drawl made sense since his family were frackers in the oil trade. Games turned into study sessions, into movie nights, into sleepovers. He was just a touchy guy, it’s not like it meant anything. It was hard to get the scoop on others without blowing your cover with him all up in your business, but he was protective in an older brother way that felt useful for now. 

You knew Hendrix before you even met him. Somehow even though he was just about as old as you, he had already reached rock god status. He always knew a way to sneak out of class and a new place to hide a flask. Not to mention you could throw nearly any instrument at him and he could bang out a melody that could make a secret service agent cry. That isn’t the only banging he’s fond of either. His extra circulars included Carmen, Tiffany, Pauline, Brooke, etc… He even tried to sway you the second time y’all bumped into each other. In a low moment you might have let it happen a time or two but that was the end of that. He was okay with putting an end to it as long as being friends was still on the table. Hend was a little gossip and loved to talk shit with you so you kept him around. 

Arthur took more time to ware down than you’d like to admit. He began as your tutor in just one subject and then he realized that you were utterly useless in nearly all of them. Letting a dweeb like you under his care fail would besmirch his good name so he set aside a couple hours every day to go over the material with you. He was an academic at heart, a real old money type. Doesn’t need to try for much of anything and can just skate by knowing he is better than everyone else. You were the first person not afraid of his title, when he tore into you- you’d give it right back. The study sessions got longer and eventually branched out from the library. Sometimes it was a cafe in town or a bookstore, maybe your dorm or his. 

Brayden was a loud personality tolerated by few at this school. He was new money and not worth anyone’s time. That is, except yours. His wealth may only go back a generation or two but his tree still has some bad apples and questionable soil. The good news is that he’s really actually brilliant! Unfortunately, he’s also spoiled beyond belief. He wants what he wants when he wants it. He texted you, like a lot. Memes, texts, u up?’s, anything and everything. He was clingy with a capital C. He’s always leaving little gifts around for you. A little robot that dances for laughter, a watch that doesn’t tell time but shows various pictures of him like a slideshow, even a camera disguised as a teddy bear. You failed to understand the inner machinations of his mind but couldn’t help but respect it, weirdness and all. 

Haruki actually walked you around your first day and stuck around ever since. He was an extrovert if you’ve ever seen one. Despite his minimalist and conservative clothing style it didn’t stop you from noticing the crazy ink he had all over his body. The tattoos peeked out around his neck and wrists even though he tried to cover it up as best as he could. He would have to try a lot harder if he wanted to hide the fact that he was primed to take over the yakuza for his father. It was hard to imagine this guy drawing blood, he was just so down to earth and chill. While his family was clearly suspect it seemed like he planned on doing things his way and while you can respect it, it doesn’t make for good ratings. When you tried to pull away he would always pull back just a little harder. 

Liam was just a normal guy. It seemed that the fame and riches didn’t effect him at all. His family had a generic generational wealth of one patriarch using the last’s money to create a business and passing it down, wash, rinse, repeat. While this appears like a dead end, there’s a sort of edge to him that keeps you coming back for more. He knows the secret passage ways in the school and takes you through them regularly. Sometimes to get extra dessert from the mess hall after hours or to over hear a conversation in the den, he was a real one and usually down for just about anything. And I mean anything. It definitely bothered him that he didn’t have any particular skills or any real motivations but you were supportive in a way he wasn’t used to. It never really mattered if he tried because there was no real winning or losing. You were his rock in his uncertainty. 

Your English professor preferred that you call him by his first name, which then he clarified that he wanted the whole class to because if it were just you that would be weird and not appropriate. Anyway, Lysander was tweed jackets and Oxford shoes. A typical round glasses wearing teacher. He helped you out with a point or two on a test and sometimes you have tea with him at his house just off campus. You helped him find his lost cat one evening and he found your company preferable to the silence (which wasn’t usual for him). The more times you visit him the more you get the feeling that he’s hiding something though. You have a radar for this of course. It’s not something he wants anyone to know, which meant you were going to do anything in your power to find out. He was of humble origins like you but a story is a story nonetheless. 

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

20 minutes of my life I'll never get back. 🤦‍♂️

I must be a glutton for punishment because I actually watched Kinsey Schofield's 20 min interview w/Valentine Low. May this rant save you from making the same mistake:

Valentine Low & Kinsey Schofield just reminded me that the British press is in desperate need of a grief recovery workshop to let go of their palace manufactured PR image of Sparry, "the CONSERVATIONIST," and accept the REALITY: Sparry has ALWAYS been a member of the lost boys who never intend to grow up. He loves drugs, perverted soho house sex play pens, and living a secret lifestyle in San Francisco, CA. As we saw in the South Park Documentary, Sparry has always wanted to be left alone so he can just bang on his drums all day.

The British media needs to accept that they never knew the Sparry aka Prince Harry. Much like Fergie & Andrew: The Meghans are two (2) intellectually below average individuals who married in haste. Both their academic & professional work histories indicate that these two (2) immature adults, lack even the basic skills necessary to function in society without the help of a PR "machine" whose job is to clean up their messes and repeatedly rebrand them into more acceptable members of polite society. It's past time for Valentine Low and other UK journalists to admit that they never really knew Sparry. All their Diana goodwill should now be invested into the future of the BRF (the family of Prince William)

No amount of hoping for the best or "covering up" for Sparry's misdeeds can transform the moral rot in his character. They bought and sold the PR image manufactured by the palace. It was the paparazzi & other "undesirables" who had the misfortune of observing the REAL Sparry. They watched him mistreat drivers, security, staffers, etc long BEFORE he was seduced by MEgain.

V Low believes Sparry flew a helicopter! 😳 Come on! Too many REAL service members have spoken out about Sparry's military character and performance and there's nothing good about it.

Sparry, like his wife is also a liar and a bully. He's not intellectually bright, he never was... He even bullied his grandparents before the "spectacle," he bullied Meghan's father...we heard reports about seeking a left wing wife and his interest in living in the US----all before MEgain.

Low also thinks Sparry loves his children. Has Valentine Low ever seen the invisibles? No. He's transferred a PR image to a couple of never before seen kids and their so called father. A so-called "father" who is willing to destroy his brother's children (and the innocent children of other couples) through the spread of destructive lies, has zero interest in the REAL wellbeing of anyone's kids, least of all his own.

As for the Wife: her ability to earn a college degree as an American teenager/young adult without even the offer of an ACADEMIC scholarship means that she too is mediocre and overrated. Her university commencement program states that she was a candidate for a degree in "communications" NOT some whip smart area of study like biochemistry or engineering! 🤦‍♂️

As a university student, thanks to her dad's brother (mike), she spent a measly six (6) weeks in Argentina on an exchange program (paid by her father) until she failed an exam that would have allowed her to apply for (real) jobs in the States. An intellectual or any hard worker would have studied until she passed the test. Not Rachel Meghan Markle. If no one was willing to make an exception for her low marks, then she would whore her way up a series of ladders until she found someone dumb enough to give her a platform.

No, this is NOT a "smart" couple. This couple is a cautionary tale about how Water seeks it's own level: Sparry's mother and teachers did him a disservice, just as MEgain's father did her a disservice: SPARE the rod & SPOIL the child

Kinsey believes that MEgain is "smart" because she achieved a Duchess title. (What does this tell us about Kinsey's IQ. 🤦‍♂️😳)

MEgain became a "Duchess" because she was a professional "seductress" employeed by Markus Anderson & Soho House. Everything this couple achieves is smoke & mirrors based on TRANSACTIONAL relationships where they bully & harass anyone standing in their way.

They don't even possess good work ethics, let alone above average IQs. Please call a spade a spade (or in this case a spare a spare) and stop gaslighting the public about what Sparry could have done had he not been involved with the wife.

We watched the wife verbally abuse KP staffers over bereavement flowers and feckless Sparry stood by in AGREEMENT. Wicked queen Jezebel 2.0 and traitorous king ahab 2.0. Let them go!

[agaypanic]

Enemies to lovers with Chase: he’s obviously a bionic genius but after being enrolled in school he develops a rivalry with the smartest girl in school and he’s constantly competing with her until they get partnered for a project and realize how much they actually like each other.

Swear Not By The Moon (Chase Davenport X Reader)

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Summary: Being a man with bionic super smarts, Chase excelled at everything and was always ahead of everyone. When he first started going to Mission Creek High, he unknowingly became rivals with you, the smartest girl in school. When you have to work together on a project, you realize that Chase Davenport might not be so bad.

A/N: the davenport siblings each have their own room bc (can’t remember if its canon but i dont think it is) i feel like after starting school, they’d get real rooms in case they had friends over and whatever. title inspired by romeo and juliet dialogue teehee. idk if this is giving good academic rivals but i tried lmao

***

It was completely unintentional, Chase constantly competing with you at school. He had bionic super smarts, so it was inevitable that he would climb to the top of the food chain. Academically speaking, of course. 

But before him, you dominated everyone else around you. You had for years. So when Chase Davenport waltzed in and suddenly became the best academic student at Mission Creek High, you felt an intense need to put him in his place.

Because of your high placements, you shared all of your classes together. One AP or Honors class after another, you had to see that stupid grin on his stupid face as he got a question right or corrected a teacher’s mistake. Not that he saw, because he was too busy putting his nose in books, reading chapters ahead of where the class was in the curriculum.

You figured the only way to beat him was to study your ass off. You already devoted a lot of your time to your studies, but that felt like child’s play compared to now. You had your lunch in the library, sneakily taking bites of food so the librarian would see you eating. As soon as you got home, you’d study for at least an hour. Sometimes, you’d even do some reading in the morning before you had to leave the house for school.

Chase finally seemed to notice you when one of your teachers posted the results of your latest tests. He was bewildered to see that someone had scored one point more than him. He looked around the class to try and figure out who it was, and when he saw you smirking at your grade, he knew it was you.

The silent competition between the two of you didn’t stop. Now that Chase was aware that you were rivaling him, he doubled his efforts, no matter how much teasing he got from his siblings. 

Then, one day, the rivalry wasn’t so silent.

“Davenport.” You greeted him with a single word, not even looking at him. 

“L/n.”

The two of you stood next to each other, looking at the grades you and your classmates got on a recent midterm. You lifted a finger, letting it scan over the names until you got to Chase’s.

“One hundred percent! Very good.” You mused, and you could see him smirking out of the corner of your eye.

“It was nothing.” He said with a shrug.

“Now… what did I get?” You asked yourself quietly, moving your finger until you got to your name. You both gasped, you with feigned surprise and him with disbelief. “One hundred and one percent! Wow.”

“How did you…” You finally turned to look at Chase, smiling innocently at him. His mouth hung open slightly, and you couldn’t help but lift his chin to close it.

“Mrs. Roberts told us there’d be a chance for extra credit. I guess you should’ve been more thorough.” The pleasure you felt from seeing Chase’s reaction made the grueling hours of studying immensely worth it. “Better luck next time.”

You walked away, a bit of a pep in your step now. Chase stared at you until you were out of sight, and then he sneered.

“Oh, it is on.”

***

For the rest of the year, you and Chase battled to be at the top of your classes. Extracurriculars just made the fight more intense. You’d win first place at the local science fair, he’d win first place at a debate championship. When one of you placed first, the other grumbled with their second-place trophy and swore they would win gold the next time.

You were actually excited for the end of the school year. The little rivalry you had formed with Chase Davenport was starting to wear you out, although you’d never say that out loud. Especially to him. 

But before the school year could end, you had one more project for your history class. This time, you would be paired off with a classmate, and you’d have to work together to create a presentation on a specific era, highlighting important figures and events of the time.

“Please be someone good.” You muttered to yourself as your teacher read out the list of partners. Eventually, she got to you.

“Y/n L/n and Chase Davenport.”

You froze in your spot, not paying attention as she continued listing people before going into more detail on your project requirements. Your eyes darted to Chase, who was already looking at you. You couldn’t help but sneer at him. The one person you had a strong distaste for, an academic enemy, was now your partner on a month-long project that would greatly affect your final grade.

How could this go wrong?

“So…” The teacher gave you the last five minutes of class to talk to your partner. Chase stood next to your desk, looking down at you. “Do you want to go to your house or mine? For the project.”

“I don’t care.” You answered while packing your belongings into your backpack.

“How about my place then? We can go today after school.”

“Fine by me.”

***

You knew that the Davenports, their father to be more specific, were wealthy. But that information didn’t make you any less stunned when you saw the mansion at the end of your slightly uncomfortable and awkward walk with Chase. And you were even more taken aback when you walked inside. Sleek designs, attractive decor, and a beautiful view out of windows that made up an entire wall.

“We can go to my room,” Chase suggested as you took in your surroundings. “I have a lot of desk space there.”

“Okay.” You replied. You figured that the very least you could do was try to be civil with Chase. After all, this was an important grade, and you’d have to work with him for a whole month.

Chase pulled a stool to his desk for you to sit on while he settled into his desk chair. You took out your notebook and a pen, flipping to a blank page. Chase did the same.

“Do you have any ideas?” You asked, tapping the tip of your pen against the paper.

It took a while, but you eventually settled on the Elizabethan era. Considered a golden age and famous for different creative ventures such as theater and literature. It would be easy to fill a presentation with quality and interesting information. The two of you brainstormed different topics to bring up, writing them down in your notebooks when your pen suddenly stopped working.

“Damn.” You muttered, scribbling in the corner to try to get the ink to reappear.

“What’s wrong?” Chase asked, looking up from his paper to see you drop your pen in your bag and look around for a replacement.

“I ran out of ink.” You sighed in frustration, unable to find another writing utensil. You pulled your bag onto your lap for a closer look. “I swear I had-”

You cut yourself off when Chase’s hand came into view. He held a pen, waiting for you to take it. After a moment of hesitation, you grabbed it, setting your backpack down on the floor.

“Thanks.” You said, looking at the pen for a brief moment before getting back to writing.

***

Wanting to get as much useful information as possible, you decided to go to the library after school the next day. You didn’t know what Chase was doing, but you hoped that he would put as much effort into this as you were. 

You headed straight for the classics section, knowing that Shakespeare was prominent during the time period you and Chase were looking into. You’ve had to read a few of his plays for different English classes, but you were eager to read them again.

Searching the bookshelves, you soon saw that Shakespeare’s plays were on the top shelf, which you could reach without a step stool. There were a few scattered around the library, but a quick glance showed that there wasn’t one in your section. You went to the next book aisle, hoping to find one.

“Y/n?” Chase’s voice startled you. He was in the next aisle, seeing you before you saw him. Although surprised by your presence, he offered you a polite smile. “What are you doing here?”

You had to tell yourself to hold back a snarky response. Although you didn’t care much for Chase inside of school, that didn’t mean you had to be a bitch to him outside of it. Besides, he was being pleasant to you. It confused you, but you decided not to ask him about it.

“Same as you, I’m thinking.” You finally say, noticing some books about English history stacked in his hands. “I’m looking for a stool to get the books I need.”

Spotting one at the end of the aisle, Chase grabbed the stool, balancing the small pile of books he had in one hand.

“Where’s your books?” He asked, waiting for you to lead the way. It stunned you a little that he didn’t just give you the stool or let you grab it yourself, but you decided not to overthink it.

Back in your section, he set the stool down where you needed it. Instead of saying goodbye and leaving, Chase stood by the bookcase, watching you stand on the footstool.

You started grabbing books, becoming more excited with each title you looked over. Now, having your own stack of books, you looked down and tried to carefully lower yourself to the ground.

“Careful,” Chase murmured, and you felt the warmth of his hand hover against your back. He didn’t touch you, but his hand stayed close until you were stable on the ground. “Don’t wanna, you know, ruin the books if you fall.”

You rolled your eyes before looking up at Chase, not realizing how close you were to him until now.

“Thanks.” You said a bit hesitantly.

“No problem.” He responded. The two of you stood in silence, not knowing how to continue. You wondered if you’d keep having moments like this with him. No glares or sour thoughts. Just a bit of silence caused by some friendly action. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow?”

“What?” You asked, not expecting the question.

“For the project.” Chase clarified. 

“Oh. Sure, I think I’m free.”

“Great.” Chase smiled at you. “See you tomorrow then.”

***

You don’t know what was happening to you. It had been two weeks since you started working on this project with Chase, and he was gradually becoming the only thing on your mind. Sure, you thought about him often before this. But those thoughts were always accompanied by feelings of annoyance when he’d get a higher grade than you or disgust when he’d give you his signature smirk of condescension. 

What you felt now was something hard to describe. It was something warm and enjoyable, but as enjoyable as it was, it made you slightly dread seeing Chase because you didn’t know what the feeling meant. 

He didn’t even have to be around you for you to feel it. The other day you remembered that you still had the pen he let you borrow the first time you worked together. Looking at the pen and thinking about the memory made you smile, which you covered with your hand as you wondered why the small object got such a reaction out of you.

Suddenly remembering where you were, you pushed thoughts of Chase and the pen and how he was starting to make you feel out of your mind. You had to focus.

You were sat on Chase’s bed, supposed to be rereading Romeo and Juliet until you got distracted by your thoughts. Chase was at his desk, skimming through a history textbook. You played with the edge of the page you were on, about to return to reading, when Chase looked over his shoulder at you.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re still reading that.” He said, leaning back in his chair, deciding to take a break from studying. “Big, old-timey words. Thought that’d be too strenuous for you to handle.”

That was another change you noticed. You still poked and teased at each other. But lately, when Chase would do it, your cheeks would grow hot from some kind of feeling that was entirely unlike the anger and annoyance you usually felt.

“Very funny.” You deadpanned, yet you couldn’t help but smile a tiny bit. “I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word ‘strenuous.’ Considering your size, you’d think your brain would be just as tiny.”

Chase kicked at your leg, rolling his eyes as you laughed. 

“You’re hilarious.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Seriously, though, I don’t know how you’re not bored of that by now. Especially since you’ve read it before.”

“It’s considered a classic for a reason, Chase.” You said. “I mean, I obviously have problems with the story, like the age gap and the suicide without really checking if Juliet is dead. But you have to admit that some of the writing’s nice. Beautiful even.” You shifted into a more comfortable position. “I mean, listen to this. ‘O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.’” Before you could continue, Chase interrupted you.

“‘What shall I swear by?’” He recited, standing from his desk chair and moving to lay down on his side, a foot or two away from you. You looked at him with a questioning look. 

“Since when could you recite Shakespeare?”

“I dunno, just can.” He answered with a shrug. “Keep going.”

You looked at him curiously for a few more seconds before turning back to the book.

“‘Do not swear at all; or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I’ll believe thee.’”

“‘If my heart’s dear love-’”

“‘Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say ‘It lightens.’ Sweet, good night!’” You paused to catch your breath, and you felt Chase’s eyes on you. Either you were crazy, or he was slowly inching closer to you. He looked at you expectantly but patiently, and you took another deep breath before returning to the page. “‘This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast!’”

Chase was even closer to you now, using his hands to keep himself stable as he raised from his laying position. Without meaning to, you leaned forward, closing the already shortening distance between you.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’” Chase’s voice was quiet, but the words rang in your ears. You must have imagined it, you must have, but you could’ve sworn that for a second, his eyes were on your lips instead of locking with yours.

“‘What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?’” You recited softly. But you started to have a feeling that this was becoming less of a recitation and more of something else. Some kind of confession, you secretly hoped, disguised as casual quoting of someone else’s words of romance.

“‘The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”’

“‘I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: and yet I would it were to give again.’” As you spoke the words, you realized that they indeed rang with truth. 

Chase was now fully sitting up, and your breath hitched when you felt his hand snake around you to cup the back of your neck. You dropped the book in your lap, gaze fully fixated on his.

“‘Wouldst thou withdraw it?”’ Chase asked, using his other hand to hold your cheek, thumb sweeping over the bone. “‘For what purpose, love?’”

“I like when you call me that.” You whispered, too overwhelmed by his hands to continue reading the play.

“That’s not the line,” Chase responded, smiling before pulling your face to his and kissing you. 

It was soft at first, as if you were both scared the other would realize they didn’t want this. But when that passed, the tension from the past two weeks, honestly the past year, made you hungry for each other. It wasn’t long until you were straddling Chase’s lap, book and project long forgotten. Chase’s hands trailed down your body, squeezing your hips before pulling away just enough to speak.

“So…” He started, needing to catch his breath. “Am I the god of your idolatry?” 

You giggled, slapping his shoulder before wrapping your arms around them.

“I’m surprised you know how to pronounce ‘idolatry.’” Chase squeezed your hip once more at your teasing before kissing you again.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Do you think Percy Weasley could have gotten on with your version of Tom? Like, obviously they'd need a situation to get past Tom's general Tom-ness, but Percy did do 12 OWLs (also where'd you get Tom's OWL scores I can't source it) and I feel that he gets a hilariously bad rap in canon for just... wanting to learn things and not be poor.

What's the Deal with Tom's OWLs?

Your second question first.

There is no source, we don't know canonically anything about Tom's coursework and scores beyond that Dumbledore said he did very well.

We gave him 13 to put him ahead of known canon characters like Barty Jr. and Percy and make him a super special boy (who to be fair would then be remembered for his overachieving mad academic prowess that turned out not to matter at all).

It's one of those things we made up in fics so as to be able to write stories in which we needed such a detail on hand.

Would Percy Get on with Tom

With mine and @therealvinelle's version? (see here)

No.

I actually think Percy gets the short end of the stick much of the time. As you note, even before he made the great betrayal of expressing doubt regarding Dumbledore, he was generally disliked by Ron, Fred, and George at least and when the split happened between Percy and the Pro-Dumbledore family it felt weirdly as if Percy had been excommunicated until he learned to admit he was wrong.

But that doesn't mean he gets along with Tom either.

Tom as a schoolboy would likely view Percy much the way Fred, George, and Ron did. He'd ask himself "who is this ponce with the over-inflated ego and need to please?" (never mind that Tom is doing the same thing himself, save that Tom excuses himself because "I am poor and Muggle-born" and no, Percy being poor doesn't count).

Tom would chafe at Percy's entire personality of unironic overachiever.

That Percy then does go on to get positions like secretary to the Minister would have Tom despising him on principle.

Tom as an adult would likely think that Percy's surprisingly reasonable and ambitious for a Weasley but would think nothing of his life/trials and tribulations and would probably just find it funny the complete ostracizing of Percy (to be fair a bit in both directions) over agreeing or disagreeing with Albus fucking Dumbledore on every batshit thing the man has ever said.

But Tom would not feel any personal connection with Percy and if ever in conversation with him would probably be very disinterested.

... And if they were to be trapped in a conversation with one another, I imagine Tom would still think to himself "who is this ponce with the over-inflated ego and need to please?" (nevermind that Tom at this point is a stylized Dark Wizard who sometimes refers to himself in third person by the fancy title he's given himself).

As for Percy, if he got to know Tom on any real level, he'd think he's fucking nuts (which he is). If he knew him on a superficial level--he'd either be a heated academic rival he distantly respects but wants to beat or if the man's older then an authority figure he wants to impress.

You said it yourself, some drastic thing has to happen to get past Tom's Tom-ness. And I just don't see what that drastic thing would ever be.

Just because Percy doesn't deserve his reputation among the family or Harry for that matter does not mean he and Tom Riddle would be buddies.

(Though it sounds like you really want this, anon, so you should just write the fic.

(gif credit by @franzias-cave)

(Also, as a caveat, I love this insistence that overachieving nerds must sit at the same lunch table and like each other. That that quality is alone that the stamp of friendship must be placed upon you both.

"You both took so man O.W.L.s!" - someone's grandmother at a Christmas party.)