#in school bc she was never given the chance. or it could also be bc she had pica so she might have lead poisoning or something)

[bunnyb34r]

AHSGDGDGDGDG my mom just said she didn't know that autistic people knew they were different 😭 ma'am....

We were talking ab masking and how my cousin thinks we BOTH have a nervous laughter tic, but it's just that my brain mirrors people in social interactions and that I'm like "oh she's laughing, smile and laugh too" internally bc I have a hard time reading when something is actually supposed to be funny opposed to me THINKING it's funny and being WRONG.

Like agdgdgdgdgdg yes we KNOW we're different. Obviously not every single autistic person will know/knows yet, but yeah finding that out is a common experience for autistic kids especially. Might not know WHY they're "different" from their peers, but generally it's known that shit isnt lining up the way it should.

[ja3yun]

Stretch it Out | P.SH

instructor!sunghoon x ballerina!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mirror sex, pet names (sweatheart, good girl), bad ballet references bc idk what i'm talking about, slight mention of self doubt, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 7.4k REQ: ballet intructor!sunghoon helping ballerina!reader stretch and you know where the rest leads to 😼 a/n: hi! i took this request and shuffled it around to make it this! hope this is okay anonnie and i am also so sorry for the late posting of it! i've been working on so much lately and with my little break i didn't do much writing. as always, comments, reblogs, and likes are all welcome!

Applause echoes through the spacious studio as one of your fellow dancers finishes receiving her critique from Mrs. Yang. Her routine was strong, though it seems she needs to work on her turnout - something you hadn't noticed. Perhaps it’s because your nerves are clouding your perception; after all, it will be your turn once she's finished.

The Annual Exhibition is less than two months away, and this will be your first time presenting your completed routine for approval in front of an audience - especially Mrs. Yang, who is more than just an instructor to you; she’s your role model, the person you’ve looked up to throughout your entire ballet journey.

Throughout your high school years, you dedicated your evenings and weekends to ballet school, working tirelessly just for the chance to apply to the National University of Arts and audition in front of Mrs. Yang. For months leading up to this moment, you poured everything into perfecting your pliés and pirouettes. Blisters marred your feet, and exhaustion settled deep in your bones, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was proving yourself worthy.

“Y/N, you’re up,” Mrs. Yang’s voice echoes through the studio like a haunting ghost. 

Following her words, you get up and shake off any nerves you have, all too aware of the impact performing badly will have; she could cut you from the exhibition or tell you to scrap the routine entirely, and both of those are not an option for you.

Now, as you step forward to take your place at the centre of the studio, the weight of the moment presses down on you. Every muscle is tense with anticipation, and your heart races as you prepare to dance.

The music begins, and you launch into your routine. At first, the nerves are overwhelming - each movement feels too stiff, too calculated. But as you glide into an arabesque and sweep through a series of pirouettes, something shifts. The familiar rhythm of the dance takes over, and your body begins to move almost on its own, flowing through each step with a grace you didn't know you possessed.

You’re hyper-aware of Mrs. Yang’s presence, of her eyes following your every move, but instead of faltering, you find yourself sinking deeper into the performance. Each développé stretches to its fullest extent, each sauté feels lighter than air. Your breathing steadies and the tension in your muscles transforms into power and control.

As you close the final sequence with a grand jeté, landing with a precise yet delicate touch, you can feel the room holding its breath. You finish in a graceful reverence, chest heaving but mind calm. In this moment, all the hours of hard work, the pain, and the sacrifices feel worth it. You've given everything you have.

But as you glance at Mrs. Yang, it doesn’t look like she’s as satisfied with your performance as you are. Her face is stoic, unreadable, but you’ve been in her class long enough to decipher even the subtlest of her expressions. The slight raise of her right eyebrow sends a wave of dread crashing through you. That’s never a good sign. Her eyes cling to you with the intensity of an unwanted gaze, leaving an uncomfortable knot twisting in your stomach.

She remains quiet for a few minutes, the silence stretching unbearably as though she’s gathering her words. When she finally speaks, her tone is clipped, measured. “It’s good, modern, and meets the criteria.”

You brace yourself, knowing that a ‘but’ is coming.

“But,” she continues, and you wince slightly, “you are not sharp enough. I mean seriously, Y/N, how many times do I need to pull you up for this? Do you not want to improve?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t want to disappoint her. You gave everything you had in that performance, even though it was just a run-through. But it’s clear that it wasn’t enough.

You bow your head, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Yang’s irritation sharpens. “Then for the love of God, can you listen to me this time?” She stands up, her movements precise and deliberate as she walks over to you. Her voice is firm, tinged with exasperation. “This exhibition is crucial to your future career. It’s what sets you apart from the others, and yet you seem to lack such basic skills. Even the first years are forming lines better than you.”

Her words slice through you, each one a reminder of the standards you’ve failed to meet. The sting of her tone is almost unbearable, but you know deep down that it comes from a place of faith. She nitpicks because she sees potential in you, potential she wants to help you realise. Each six-month review she’s had with you, she’s made it clear that she believes you can make it far in this world.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yang,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Apologise to yourself, not to me.”

A chorus of snickers drifts from the edge of the room. You glance over to see a group of girls, giggling and holding in laughter, their eyes full of condescension. The sound pierces through your already fragile self-belief, making you shrink into yourself, every snicker chipping away at whatever confidence you had left. Doubt begins to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You start questioning whether you’re truly cut out for this, whether all the sacrifices you’ve made have been for nothing.

Before you can spiral too deeply into your own thoughts, Mrs. Yang’s fingers press firmly against your cheek, gently but insistently turning your face to meet hers. “You can’t do this on your own, so I’m assigning you a coach.”

“But you are my coach,” you reply, your voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, but I don’t have time to give you hours of one-on-one training,” she says, rolling her eyes as if that statement should be obvious. She strides back to her seat, preparing to evaluate the next girl in line. “I have someone in mind. They’re very fluid and pointed in their gestures. They should whip you into shape. I’ll book you an out-of-hours studio for the foreseeable.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what she’s just said. Sure, she’ll still be your instructor during scheduled lessons, but this means that on top of your gruelling 12-hour days, your endless rehearsals, and the constant pressure to perfect every move, you’ll now have to spend extra time with a new coach.

It’s overwhelming. The thought of adding yet another layer of intensity to your already packed schedule makes your head spin. Your body, already pushed to its limits, protests at the idea of even more hours in the studio. Your heart sinks as the reality of the situation sets in. How will you manage it all? How will you balance the expectations of not one but two demanding mentors?

You want to succeed, to rise to the challenge, but a part of you is terrified that you’ll crumble under the weight of it all. The path ahead, already steep and treacherous, has just become even more daunting.

As Mrs. Yang calls out the name of the next dancer, you force yourself to step aside, the familiar sting of exhaustion settling into your bones. 

You can only hope that this new coach makes it worth your while.

_____

The long day of classes has left you drained, every muscle aching with the residue of endless rehearsals and critiques. The last thing you want to do is spend more time in the studio, yet here you are, trudging down the empty hallways of the performance centre with your gym bag slung over your shoulder. The familiar scent of rosin and sweat lingers in the air, and you can't help but feel a pang of dread at the thought of more practice. Your mind buzzes with the memory of Mrs. Yang’s words earlier this week, her disappointment, and the pressure of living up to expectations weighing heavily on your shoulders.

As you push open the door to the studio, your eyes fall on an unfamiliar figure - a boy standing with his back to you. He’s tall, strikingly so, with broad shoulders that taper down into a lean, athletic frame. His dark hair is tousled, falling just above the nape of his neck, and he’s dressed in loose joggers and a fitted white tank top that highlights the sinewy lines of his muscles.

You hesitate in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by his presence. The studio had been booked for you, and the last thing you want is a confrontation with a stranger. You clear your throat softly, hoping to catch his attention. “Um, hello?” you say timidly, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope that a gentle approach will encourage him to leave without any fuss.

The boy whips around at the sound of your voice, and your breath catches in your throat. His face is nothing short of breathtaking; sharp, elegant features softened by a small, almost shy smile. His eyes, a deep, captivating brown, seem to sparkle with quiet intensity as he takes in your appearance. For a moment, you’re struck by how impossibly beautiful he is, like a sculptor’s masterpiece brought to life. He seems too perfect, too unreal, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze.

“Hi,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He’s still studying you, and you can’t help but take the opportunity to do the same, noting every detail of his flawless face - the way his lips curve slightly upwards, the sharpness of his jawline, the softness of his eyes.

You blink, trying to regain your composure. “I don’t mean to be rude,” you start, hoping to keep your tone polite, “but my teacher booked me this room for a few hours.”

He raises an eyebrow, his small smile never fading. “Four hours to be exact, yeah. She also booked you…me.” The confusion must be evident on your face because he adds, “I’m your coach, Sunghoon.”

“You?” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you instantly regret how incredulous you sound. The last thing you want is to offend him, but the shock of the situation has thrown you off balance.

“Yeah, me. Why?” His tone is still light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, and that sends you into a mild panic. You quickly shake your head, trying to salvage the situation.

“No, no, I’m not trying to say anything negative,” you stammer, holding up your hands as if to ward off any misunderstanding. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you around the performance centre, let alone the ballet corridor.”

He nods, seeming to understand your confusion. “That’s because you’ll find me in the sports centre.”

You take a moment to size him up, your mind racing as you try to figure out what sport he could possibly play. He’s too lean to be a rugby player, his legs too slender to be a footballer, but he’s tall enough to be a basketball player. You consider the possibility of him being a rower or maybe a gymnast, but nothing quite fits. He’s a mystery, one that piques your curiosity.

As if reading your thoughts, he interrupts your internal questioning. “I’m a figure skater.”

The revelation surprises you, and you can’t help but blurt out, “Oh.” You pause, trying to piece together why a figure skater would be chosen to coach you in ballet. Placing your bag to the side of the room, you turn to him again. “So why are you coaching me?”

“Why can’t I?” he counters, his tone holding a subtle challenge that makes you feel slightly defensive. “Mrs. Yang said you’re having trouble looking elegant and punctuated in your movements. Skaters have the same problem.”

You nod slowly, but a part of you is still sceptical. “But you guys have ice and skates. I have a wooden floor and ballet pumps.”

A laugh escapes his lips before he quickly covers his mouth, a look of apology flashing across his face. “Sorry, it’s just…what does that have to do with anything?”

You frown, still not entirely convinced. “You guys have blades to move you. I have to coordinate my legs to move me. You guys can think about fluidity and movement.”

He crosses his arms, his expression becoming more serious as he regards you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? We have to balance on a tiny blade and have every chance to slip or crash from a jump.”

His words hang in the air, and you suddenly feel a bit foolish for your assumptions. Of course, figure skating requires immense skill and precision - maybe even more so than ballet, given the added challenge of balancing on ice. 

“Okay, fair point,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. You also hate it when people underestimate the skill and energy it takes to perform ballet, and yet here you are doing it to him about his own sport. 

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze. “I know you were expecting some ballet genius to help you but our arts are similar. It’s about control, balance, and grace,” he explains. “On the ice, every movement needs to be both powerful and delicate. The same applies to ballet. You need to find that balance between strength and elegance. That’s where I come in.”

You nod slowly, beginning to understand his perspective. The way he speaks, the passion in his voice, makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might actually work. “And you think you can teach me that?”

“I know I can,” he says confidently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If you’re willing to put in the effort, that is.”

There’s a challenge in his words, one that you can’t resist rising to. You’ve always prided yourself on your work ethic, and you’re not about to let anyone doubt your dedication.

“I am,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze with determination.

Sunghoon starts the session by having you go through your routine. His eyes are sharp, missing nothing as he watches you move across the floor. You’re acutely aware of his presence, the way his gaze seems to weigh on your every step, every turn, every jump. It’s unnerving at first, but you push through the discomfort, focusing on executing each movement with precision.

When you finish, he steps forward, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re good,” he says, and the praise sends a warm flush of satisfaction through you and a blush to your cheeks. “But you’re too tense. You’re overthinking every move, and it shows. Ballet is as much about feeling as it is about technique. You need to let go a little.”

You frown slightly, not entirely sure how to do that. “Let go?”

“Yeah,” he says, moving to stand beside you. “Your muscles are too tight, your movements too calculated. It’s like you’re afraid of making a mistake, so you’re holding back.”

You look down at the floor, his words hitting a little too close to home. You’ve always been afraid of making mistakes, always felt the pressure to be perfect. It’s something that’s been drilled into you since you first started dancing, and it’s hard to shake.

He must sense your hesitation because he steps closer, his voice softening. “Hey,” he says gently, and you look up to find his eyes full of understanding. “I get it. But if you keep holding back, you’re never going to reach your full potential.”

There’s something in his voice that makes you want to trust him, something that makes you feel like maybe he understands you in a way that others don’t. You nod slowly, taking a deep breath as you try to let go of the tension in your body.

“Good,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Now, let’s try something different.”

_____

For two hours straight, you push your body to its limits, executing each movement with precision and determination. Sunghoon’s voice fills the studio, giving you sharp, pointed instructions that you follow without question. But as the minutes tick by, the atmosphere begins to shift. The calm, encouraging demeanour he started with fades, replaced with a growing tension that seems to coil around the two of you, tightening with each correction he makes.

“Extend more,” he snaps as you move through a series of arabesques. His tone is snappier now, the softness from before replaced with something harsher. “You’re still too stiff.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on stretching every muscle to its fullest, making sure each line is as precise as possible. But no matter how much you try, his dissatisfaction only seems to grow.

“Again,” he commands, his voice laced with frustration. You try to push your discontent down, channelling it into your movements, but the more you try, the more his critiques seem to cut through you.

“You’re losing focus. How are you going to perform on stage if you can’t even manage this in practice?”

The sting of his criticism hits you deep, and you can feel your confidence waver. Are you really that bad? You’re hitting the moves correctly, focusing intently on your lines - the very aspect of the performance Mrs. Yang had criticised you for. You’re doing everything he’s asking, so why is he still so frustrated? Shouldn’t he be pleased that his coaching is starting to take effect?

You execute a pirouette, landing with precision, but the instant your foot touches the ground, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air. “No,” he says sharply, shaking his head. “You’re not following through. Where’s the energy? The intention?”

“I’m trying!” The words slip out before you can stop them, frustration bubbling over. Your chest heaves with exertion, and you meet his eyes, desperate for some sign that he understands how hard you’re working, how much you’re giving.

But his expression remains hard, unreadable, and that only fuels the growing tension between you. “Trying isn’t enough,” he snaps back, stepping closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to do more than just hit the moves. You have to feel them. Right now, you’re just going through the motions. There’s no passion, no fire.”

His words cut deep, and you feel a flare of anger mixed with hurt. “I’m doing exactly what you asked,” you retort, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “I’m focusing on the lines, on the form. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” he says, his frustration palpable, “but you’re missing the point. It’s not just about form; it’s about bringing the movements to life. Right now, you’re nothing more than a marionette, moving because you’re being told to, not because you’re actually feeling the dance.”

The comparison stings and you can feel yourself reaching boiling point. You’ve been working so hard, pushing yourself beyond what you thought you were capable of, and yet here you are, being told that it’s still not enough. A part of you wants to shout at him, to tell him that he doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much pressure you’re under. But instead, you swallow the words, letting the irritation simmer beneath the surface.

Sunghoon’s gaze softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make you feel the weight of his expectations even more acutely. “I know you can do better. Mrs. Yang told me you’re one of her best students,” he says, his voice gentler now with the content, though no less intense. “That’s why I’m pushing you. I need you to push yourself. You’ve got so much potential, but something’s holding you back. What is it?”

His question hangs in the air, heavy and probing. For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Why are you holding back? Is it the fear of failing? Fear that you’ll never be good enough? Or maybe, deep down, you just don’t believe in yourself.

The silence between you stretches, thick with hostility. Sunghoon steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming, the heat radiating off him nearly suffocating. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, a challenge flickering in his eyes, daring you to shatter whatever invisible barrier is restraining you.

He’s so close now that you can see the tight set of his jaw, the way his eyes blaze with a fire that sends a shiver down your spine. The frustration is palpable, a tangible force crackling in the air, making it feel electric, charged with something both exhilarating and frightening.

With a firm but gentle touch, Sunghoon places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror. He steps in behind you, closing the space between your bodies. “Look at yourself,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “See how tense you are?” His large hands slide down from your shoulders, tracing the line of your body. “Every muscle is knotted up. You can’t perform at your best unless you loosen up. Stop overthinking. Just…let go.”

Your eyes meet his in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then, almost instinctively, his fingers press into your sides, firm and commanding, gliding up your waist and torso with deliberate slowness. The sensation sends a wave of heat through your body, and your breath catches as he lifts your arms, stretching your upper half with a fluid motion that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Feel this,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, sending another quake over your body. He holds your wrists above your head with one hand, the other pressing into your lower back, making you hyper-aware of the heat emanating from him. “See how good that feels?”

Using his knuckles, he circles the bottom of your spine, dissolving any knots and doubts from it. You resist the urge to moan but your eyes roll to the back of your head as you push your hips into him, aching for more of his magical touch. Out of all the massages you have ever had, this tiny glimmer of one beats them all.

His breath spreads over your skin, and his fingers tighten slightly around your wrists as he holds you in place. Once you bring your eyes forward, he locks in with yours in the mirror. His piercing stare is intense and your heart quickens, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. 

“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, the smirk plastered on his face as he feels you grinding onto his growing boner. He can see you wanting to let go in the reflection of your eyes as well as the neediness in your breaths, giving him all the consent he needs to take this further.

As he releases your wrists, his hand trails down your shoulders and back to meet the other. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your top, firm yet tender. His fingers glide along your spine, coaxing your body to arch into the movement, a soft sigh escaping your lips. His touch is skilled, knowing exactly where to press and where to ease, melting away the tension in your muscles, leaving you pliant under his hands.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, the edge in his voice betraying his awareness of the effect he’s having on you. The connection is almost too intense to bear. But you can’t look away, drawn to the magnetic pull between you. He slides his hands over your sides and across your lower abdomen, fingers digging slightly into your muscles, the pressure both soothing and intoxicating as he massages your belly and hips.

You instinctively begin to lower your arms, the proximity making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. But his grip tightens around your waist in warning. “No, keep your arms up, sweetheart,” he says, his tone demanding, the instructor in him resurfacing.

Resting his hand flatly on your stomach, his fingers spread as he pulls you flush against him, your back meeting the solid expanse of his chest. The contact makes you acutely aware of every point where your bodies touch, your heart hammering in your chest as your breath catches. His hands linger at the waistband of your leggings, before slowly, his hands dip down, fingers brushing against your skin, exploring with deliberate, teasing slowness. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, your skin tingling under his touch.

His hands move lower, the anticipation building with every inch he covers. You can feel your muscles trembling, your arms still stretched above your head as he asked, but the effort to maintain the position becomes increasingly difficult with every passing second.

His fingers find your folds, slipping between them with an agonising slowness that leaves you gasping. The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively moving with his fingers, but he’s quick to remind you of his control. “Keep your arms up, be a good girl and listen,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a quiet authority that leaves no room for disobedience.

The smirk on his face is unmistakable as he watches you struggle to comply, the tension between following his instructions and giving in to the intoxicating pull of his touch almost unbearable. His fingers continue their slow exploration, teasing and tormenting you with a skill that leaves you trembling, your resolve weakening with every passing moment.

Impulse begs you to let your arms fall, to collapse into his embrace, but his gaze holds you in place, that smirk still playing on his lips as he watches you battle with your own desires. The contrast between his command and the sheer pleasure he’s coaxing from your body is dizzying, leaving you on the edge of surrender.

Yet, despite the intense need coursing through you, you force yourself to keep your arms raised, stretching above your head, the effort only adding to the thrill coursing through your veins. His fingers move with deliberate intent now, pressing deeper, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body that make it almost impossible to think, to breathe.

Sunghoon’s fingers expertly play with your pussy, two of them circling your sensitive nub with a maddening precision that leaves you dizzy. “Do you feel how exhausted your arms are?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of smugness, as though expecting an answer despite your obvious distraction.

Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind your lids, a kaleidoscope of fleeting lights against the darkness. The burn in your arms is a sharp contrast to the way your hips instinctively move, undulating in perfect sync with his skilled fingers. It's a delicious torment—the strain in your muscles somehow amplifies the pleasure coiling low in your belly, turning every sensation sharper, more intense.

Suddenly, his lips are on your neck, a gentle press of heat that sends a shiver cascading down your spine, threatening to unravel you completely. The warmth of his mouth on your skin is your undoing, and before you can stop yourself, your arms give way. You collapse forward, hands scrambling to find purchase, seeking him instinctively as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded. Your fingers dig into his arms, nails biting into his skin as you cling to him, desperate for stability in the storm he's unleashed within you.

"See how loose you feel?" His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a hot, teasing caress. "How your body wants to move on its own, to give in? That’s how your performance should be."

As if to punctuate his point, his fingers slide inside you, the sudden, intimate invasion tearing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hips buck against his hand, craving more, driven by the need he’s ignited in you. His other arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, anchoring you to him as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm, each stroke designed to push you further, closer to the edge.

The atmosphere around you thickens, every breath heavy with the electric tension between you. The heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, an overwhelming presence that consumes you, making it impossible to think of anything but the here and now. The scent of him - musky, intoxicating - fills your senses, making you feel lightheaded, dizzy with desire. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your lower back, a solid reminder of his own need, adding fuel to the fire already burning within you.

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, more urgently, more demanding. "Even your pussy is so tight," he murmurs, his tone more observation than criticism. "Do I need to open this up too?"

Your laboured breathing is your only response, mingling with the slick, rhythmic sounds of his hand moving inside you. The coil of pleasure in your core tightens with every thrust, winding tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you feel like you might shatter from the intensity of it.

Your hands clutch at his arm, desperate, seeking something solid to hold onto as your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that sends your vision spinning, a raw, needy moan escaping your lips. The feeling of his hard length pressing against you, coupled with the masterful way his fingers work you, has your entire body humming with sensation, alive with the need to surrender to the pleasure he’s offering.

Sunghoon’s mouth returns to your neck, lips brushing over your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he sucks, sending another jolt of arousal through you. "That’s it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, rough command that vibrates through you. "Let go. Feel it. This is how you should be."

His words wrap around you like a spell, breaking down the last of your restraint. Your body moves with his, falling into the rhythm he’s set, lost in the heat and desire pulsing between you. Every stroke, every touch, draws you deeper into the abyss of pleasure, until all you can do is let go and let him guide you.

“Fuck, Sunghoon,” you manage to mewl, your voice trembling, breathless, as you throw your head back, letting it rest against his chest.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through you, adding to the fire already blazing in your veins. His lips trail up to your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, a playful, teasing nip that sends another shiver racing down your spine. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and desire. His fingers curl inside you again, hitting that spot that makes your entire body jerk in his hold, another gasp torn from your throat. “You like this, don’t you? You’re such a perfect student, so eager to please.”

All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill over. He hums appreciatively, his hot breath brushing against your ear, the sensation sending another ripple of pleasure through you. “Good,” he purrs, his voice low and commanding, like the instructor he is. “You’re a quick learner when you want to be. You respond so well to guidance.”

Without warning, his hand shifts, thumb finding your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips jerk involuntarily. Your vision blurs, stars dancing before your eyes as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one pulling you deeper into the sensation. His fingers move with expert precision, relentless in their pursuit of your release, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

In the mirror before you, Sunghoon’s eyes lock onto you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he relishes in watching the pleasure contort your face. "You’re moving perfectly, not overthinking, just feeling how you should," he murmurs, almost to himself, pride evident in his voice. 

Just as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, he slows his movements, dragging out your pleasure, keeping you suspended on the edge. You whimper with need, the desperation in your voice only making him grin wider. His lips brush against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that sends your brain into orbit. "You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Be a good dancer and let go, show me how well you can perform."

It’s not a question; it’s a command. And with one final, skilled stroke, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiralling into a climax that tears through you, leaving every atom in your body shaking with intensity and your muscles instantly tensing, just to relax once again.

As the tremors subside, you feel his hands shift, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings. “We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a hint of something dark and promising in his voice. Slowly, he pulls them down, the fabric dragging against your skin, heightening your sensitivity. “You’re still tight,” he observes, voice low, almost thoughtful. “We need to work on that.”

He positions himself behind you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air against your bare skin. Pushing his joggers and boxers down to his thighs, he lets his hard cock spring free, your body shielding it from the mirror in front of you, but as he drags it along your folds, you get a sense of the thick, long shaft he is about to impale you with.

His hand moves to your hips, guiding you, adjusting your stance, and your hands find home on the mirror in front of you, fingers splaying across the cool glass. “Arch your back,” he instructs, voice firm yet gentle, as if this were just another rehearsal. “Relax into it…let me in.”

With a measured, almost calculated precision, he enters you, the sensation of him filling you completely making you gasp. In the mirror, your reflection catches your eye, your mouth falling open as you watch him disappear inside you. “Oh god,” you moan, the image of your bodies coming together, the way he stretches you, only intensifying the sensation. “Sunghoon…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. “Look at yourself,” he commands softly, his breath hot against your ear. “See how your body opens up when you let go? When you stop fighting and just let the movement happen? That’s how you get perfect lines.”

His pace is slow at first, methodical, every thrust a deliberate stroke meant to coax your body into submission. Your eyes lock onto your reflection, the sight of his hips moving against yours, the way your skin flushes with arousal, captivating. “Fuck, your pussy is sensational,” he breathes, a hint of strain in his voice as he pulls back slightly, only to push deeper. “Almost as good as your allegro.”

You let out a broken moan, your gaze flicking between his intense expression in the mirror and the way his muscles are contracting in his arms as he firms his grip on your waist, focusing on pounding into you with fervour. “Sunghoon… more… please…”

Each movement of his hips is like a masterclass, each squeeze from his hands and twitch of his cock only making your body ache for more. “Don’t hold back,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you closer. “Let your body respond to mine.”

Your eyes widen as he leans forward slightly, the angle allowing you to see more of him in the mirror, his jaw tightening with every thrust. “Feels so good,” you manage to gasp out, your voice breathy, desperate as you push back against him, trying to take him deeper. “Please, don’t stop…”

The mirror reflects the sheen of sweat forming on your skin, the way your body arches into his touch, how every line of your form matches the rhythm he’s set. Your body moves with his, every thrust pushing you closer to that edge again, every word sinking deeper into your mind. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers finding your clit once more, adding that extra layer of stimulation that has your legs shaking. “That’s it,” he coaxes, voice rich with approval. “Give in to it. Let your body move the way it wants to…the way it needs to.”

“Sunghoon… oh, god… I’m gonna-” Your words cut off in a whimper as his pace quickens, the pace he sets becoming more intense, more demanding, each thrust designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs into your neck, his gaze flickering up to meet yours in the mirror, watching how your breath fogs up the glass in front of you and your fingers claw down the flat surface in an attempt to grip onto something tangible. The sight of you coming undone in the reflection only seems to spur him on, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigour.

“Sunghoon, I-” you try to speak, but the words dissolve into a moan as he thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur and stars dance before your eyes, the bell of his cock kissing the sensitive spot inside your walls.

“Show me,” he commands, his voice like a conductor’s baton, directing the crescendo. “Show me how beautifully you can fall apart.” 

Sunghoon’s arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body back against his chest. The new angle allows him to thrust even deeper, the motion sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his cock searing itself into your memory. You feel completely filled by him, the sensation overwhelming as your reflection quakes, your body obeying every demand he silently makes. Your muscles clench around him, and as your head falls back against his shoulder, you cry out his name.

The mirror captures every detail - the flush of your skin, the arch of your back, the way your mouth opens in a silent scream as another intense climax rips through you. This one is even more powerful than the last, leaving you utterly undone, your body shaking in his arms as he holds you steady.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, your eyes lock onto the mirror once more. You see yourself as Sunghoon sees you raw, vulnerable, but also strong, capable of surrendering and finding beauty in letting go. For a moment, all you can see is the perfect dancer he’s crafted, the one who’s learned to trust the rhythm and fall apart beautifully.

Chasing his own release, he begins to buck his hips in a fast, sharp manner, aware that two orgasms on your end could make you extra sensitive. Your pussy milks his cock as he cums deep inside of you, his nails scratching your hips and down your ass, as he moans out your name, chanting it like a hymn during confession. 

His chest heaves against your back and he kisses anywhere he can on your neck and shoulders to ground himself in the present, bringing himself down from his high.

As he slowly slides out of you, his arms never leave your body, keeping you close. He gently lowers you to the ground, sitting you down and holding you against him. Your body feels like jelly, completely spent, but his embrace is comforting. He presses soft kisses to the back of your head, his breath warm against your damp skin.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice tender, full of pride.

You tilt your head back slightly, looking up at him with a small, exhausted smile. "I don’t think I’m supposed to be this relaxed when I perform at the exhibition," you manage to say, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.

Sunghoon chuckles along with you, the sound vibrating through your body where you're pressed against him. He shakes his head, brushing a few strands of hair away from your sweaty face. "No, you should have some feeling in your bones," he agrees, wiping the moisture from your brow with the back of his hand. "But do you see how, when you let yourself do what your body wanted, you felt a million times better?"

You nod, the memory of the intensity still fresh in your mind. "Yeah…I did. It felt different…freer."

"Exactly," he says, his eyes softening as he gazes at you. "That’s how ballet is supposed to be. You can’t bring emotions to an audience if you’re too busy concentrating on getting the next move right."

"But Mrs. Yang always talks about perfection," you counter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She says, ‘You need to be perfect to achieve perfection.’ She repeats it all the time."

Sunghoon sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "It’s the same for us," he admits, his tone tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "Every skate has to be better than the last, or else you’re a failure." His voice carries the weight of someone who’s heard those words too many times, who’s internalised them and yet knows there’s more to the story.

"But perfection isn’t something you learn from a textbook. It’s not something you can force." He pauses, looking down at you, his expression thoughtful. "You need to find your own colour, your own style. That’s where true perfection lies - when it comes from within, not from trying to meet someone else’s standards."

You hold his gaze, the truth in his words sinking in. For years you have tried to live up to Mrs. Yang’s expectation that you lost your real love for the art. Or maybe, not lost the love, but rather buried it under the weight of being perfect. 

"But…what if I never find it? My colour."

Sunghoon’s lips curve into a small smile, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "To be honest, you’re better than most. You’ve got the skill, the technique, but you’re holding yourself back because you’re so focused on being perfect." His eyes bore into yours, sincere and encouraging. "You need to let your posture breathe, stop worrying about being flawless, and just…dance. That’s what’s holding you back - then you’ll find it."

His words resonate deeply within you, stirring something that’s been buried under layers of self-doubt and external expectations. "So I just need to let go?"

"Exactly," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "Let go, trust yourself, and let your body move the way it’s meant to. Just like we did there."

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your shoulders lift just a bit. "I’ll try," you whisper, the words carrying more determination than you thought possible.

Sunghoon smiles, a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it nearly makes you melt. "That’s all anyone can ask for," he murmurs, his voice reassuring.

You nod, feeling a newfound resolve build within you. As you sink deeper into his embrace, the world around you seems to blur, leaving behind the certainty that you’re ready to let go, to embrace the dancer you’ve always been meant to be.

After a moment of quiet, Sunghoon pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, grounding you. "How about we get you cleaned up, and then we run through it again?" he suggests, his tone light yet purposeful.

You smile, the idea of starting fresh with this new perspective sparking a sense of excitement in you. "Yeah," you agree, your voice steady. As Sunghoon helps you to your feet and fixes your outfit for you, you feel your heart burst with determination and adoration, both for ballet and the man in front of you.  

You’re going to have to thank Mrs. Yang for this by giving the most passionate performance at the exhibition.

Maybe Sunghoon can keep coaching you until then. You do need to work on your flexibility after all…

---

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve @heeseungsbm @star-hoon @heelee-01

[too-deviant]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour 

notes:  speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild 

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well. 

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours. 

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it. 

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss. 

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster. 

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty. 

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse. 

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp. 

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got. 

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery. 

It was cute. 

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley. 

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over. 

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan. 

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name. 

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow. 

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.” 

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.” 

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.” 

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion. 

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.” 

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.” 

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly. 

“And that?” 

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did. 

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face! 

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered. 

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp. 

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill. 

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day. 

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go. 

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked. 

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.” 

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response. 

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes. 

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet. 

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable. 

But you really needed to pee. 

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door. 

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke. 

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!” 

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up. 

“Be quick.” 

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed. 

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan. 

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence. 

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.” 

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour. 

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.” 

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.” 

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t. 

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater. 

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be. 

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off. 

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion. 

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe. 

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything. 

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.” 

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse. 

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?” 

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.” 

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on. 

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation. 

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow. 

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

[ssivinee]

✧Wounded Heart✧

Part 1 | Part 2

BEBE! Bada Lee x F Reader: You've always been known as the smartest student in school, while Bada was known as the campus heartthrob and player. She decides to take advantage of her situation, but puts your heart on the line along with her passing grade.

Word Count: 9.2k

TW: Slight self harm

Note: This is the longest fic I've written so far😮‍💨. I felt so evil writing this, but I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THE ANGST😈. ALSO, please check out my new rule. If not, it just warns blogs with no pfps and reblogs. I have a high chance of soft-blocking you, as I may get shadowbanned bc Tumblr can't defer you from bots.

Character Vision Board

You were never one to gain any attention from anyone. Frankly, you liked it that way.

Known as the most reserved yet nerdiest student in school, you were never called by your name. How could anyone put a name to your face when no one knew what it was. People had only given you the title of top student in university.

Most people knew of your existence, but by always wearing your oversized hoodie over your head, glasses, and mask, you kept your identity a secret amongst your peers. You survived high school like this, so being in your final year of university and still being able to maintain it was a breeze.

It was a regular Monday morning, and you sat in the library before classes, trying to freshen up on your Physics lesson yesterday. You woke up at 6 a.m. to get ready, showered, and ate breakfast with an energy drink before heading out to the library. That was your daily routine, the loner lifestyle, if you will.

As you typed away on your computer, the buzz of other students started coming in waves at 9 a.m., hitting the clock. That meant it was time to head to your first class. After multiple hours of classes, hand-cramping notes, and sitting in the back of every subject, you headed to your favorite class, computer science. For some reason, your brain was highly advanced in this area, making it enjoyable.

30 minutes go by, and just sitting in the back of the class, a tall, nonchalant figure walks in. You visibly see your teacher's face contort as she rolls her eyes at the student. The notorious Bada Lee came in late once again. You believed she began to do it on purpose at this point, as she stopped giving excuses for her tardiness by the second week.

The thought certainly loitered in the back of your mind. You never understood why Bada was the way she was. This was one of the few classes with several options, so if you wanted to avoid taking it, you had multiple other choices. Yet, even being late every day, she showed up and did the work.

Maybe not to the best of her abilities, but she still did it.

There were a few things to note about Bada. She was captain of the school's basketball team and had a distasting reputation. The campus player and heartbreaker. It felt as though, every week, there was new drama surrounding a girl whose heart got broken by the tall student, and it always made you want to roll your eyes every single time. Never understanding why these girls chased and chased, even when knowing their situationships wouldn't be the way it was from their fantasies.

Nearing the end of the class, everyone was getting ready to leave, but the Professor stopped anyone from going further. "Before you leave, I want to discuss the upcoming midterm project."

She pulls up the presentation on the board and explains, "This project requires you to make an updated website for the school. The requirements will be posted online by the end of the day, and I will assign you a partner for this. The highest grade will have their website be used as the new official website for our school. This will be due a month from now."

Everyone becomes surprised and happy at the prize for their upcoming trials. Your professor begins to list the names, and she gets to you, "Baek Y/n... and Bada Lee." Your heart sank instantly at those words.

You grumble with your head down. Out of all the people in the class, you got stuck with the one who'd rather mess with a girl at any chance she had. 

Bada sits in her seat, brows furrowed. Who the fuck was Baek Y/n?

Bada knew almost everyone, but she'd never heard of that name. That's when the Professor lets everyone go, and she sees a girl walk up to the teacher. You wore the gigantic hoodie, and Bada couldn't see your face, but with all the gestures you gave your teacher, you seemed like you weren't pleased about something. When she hears you huff in annoyance, and your eyes meet hers while leaving, she sees anger bubbling behind them. 

Bada gets up, confused, and heads over to the teacher. "Professor Min, who was that?"

"That was your partner Baek Y/n. You've heard of the top student before, right?" Her eyes double at the older man's words, and her face becomes extremely happy. She would undoubtedly be using this to her advantage.

"Now, don't think of trying to get the girl to do all the work, Bada. I'm allowing you to bring up your grade with this project." She nods furiously before heading out to tell her friends the news.

She sees them over at their school's common room, and her friends, Aiki, Noze, Lee Jung, and Emma, give her weird looks like Bada grew three heads. "Now, why is she cheesing now?" Aiki asks, and the taller girl replies with a smack to her arm.

"You guys won't believe who my partner is for my computer science project."

The four girls looked at each other and began naming several popular girls. Bada rolls her eyes at her friend's antics. "Well, you wanna tell us? We named like half the girls already." Noze says.

"Baek Y/n."

...

"Baek, who now?" Lee Jung looks at her in amusement, but your title shocks them, "Top Student." Their eyes grow wide. The group looked around the room to see if they could find you. "Her name is Baek Y/n?" Emma confirms, "She's in my class, so I'm pretty sure that's her name."

"Well, if you don't ace that project, she must hate you." Lee Jung jokes, making Bada think, "Truth be told, she didn't seem too happy about being my partner either."

"We wouldn't be happy either." "Can't blame her."

They kid around, but Aiki tells the girl, "You better stay on her good side. I'm sure if you don't do the work, she'll find a way to ensure you don't have a shared grade." "True, she's always been partnered with smarter kids, so she's never had an issue, but knowing you? You’re gonna need to play nice girl this time, Bada."

Bada scoffs at Emma's words, "She'll do the work by herself whether she likes it or not. Besides, I'm on everyone's good side." She shows a cocky grin, but Emma and Lee Jung specifically can't help but doubt her. "I don't know about this one. Doesn't seem like an easy girl to get through."

"Nah, have some faith in our girl," Noze says, patting Bada's hip. "Wanna bet on it?" Bada says, with pure confidence backing her up. "I get her to fall for me, and you owe me a month of doing all my assignments." Lee Jung smirks at the girl, "Deal."

"So when are you gonna start?" Noze asks as she eats her chips. "Not sure. Definitely not tonight, though. I'm seeing Redy after practice." All her friends roll their eyes at the girl's name, finding her ignorance ever so bothersome.

The next morning, you find yourself in the same spot as usual and have begun the project already. Bada finds herself looking for you on campus and figures, where do all nerds hang out? 

The library.

She makes her way over, and as she enters, she automatically finds you in the corner of the large hall. "Hey there, partner," She greets, and you look at her dead in the eyes, "What are you doing here?" Your tone ached in annoyance.

"Come on, don't be like that. I want actually to try on this project."

"Fine. Let me ask you this first. Why are you even in computer science?" You were straightforward, your serious demeanor never fading. Bada is surprised by your daring question but never trembles, "I just thought it would be interesting." An irked scoff is heard from behind your mask, "Yeah, right," was said with an eye roll. Well, this is gonna be harder than she thought.

"I'm being serious. I wanna earn the grade as well." She whines slightly, and your eyes cry disgust. "Give me your number, and we can work on the project at my house after basketball practice." You grumble and slouch in your chair, and Bada, unconsciously,  finds the position adorable as your oversized hoodie collapses on your body, "Sure," is all you mumble, not wanting any more trouble than there already was.

Bada grins as you write your information down on a purple post-it note and shows her excitement when you hand it over to her. You sat there as she left the library, wondering what she had planned for you. It wasn't like Bada to talk to nobodies to "do work." Yet the sooner you had this project done, the better you took her words with a grain of salt, hoping she was being at least a little truthful with her words.

You weren’t one to trust many people’s words, particularly from individuals like Bada, but you knew it had to be done for the sake of your grade. A hefty sigh leaves your body, and you try to go about your day without going too deep into it. During your last period, you feel your phone buzz and read an unexpected message.

Bada Meet me after practice at 5 PM at the gym. I’ll give you a ride so we can work on the project.

The recurring disdain takes over your face again as you read. You hate that you even had contact with the girl, so you just leave her on read as you remind yourself about the meeting. You would just have to wait for her, deciding to go to the school's garden as you let time pass. On the other end of campus, Bada stares at her phone in dismay, “Did she just leave me on read?” She mumbles to herself, and her fellow co-captain hears the uncommon words from the latter’s mouth. “Someone leaving the queen Bada on read? You don’t hear that every day,” Haechi tells the girl, and Bada sneers at the comment. “She’s just playing hard to get for now. Trust, she’ll fall for me by the end of the week.”

“Who is it anyways?” Haechi questions. “Baek Y/n,” she simply states, and the other’s eyes widen. “Like top student Baek Y/n?” Bada looks at her in confusion, “You know her?”

The latter shrugs, “We went to the same high school. She’s a sweet girl,” she adds, and Bada’s curiosity grows. “Sweet? Do you even know what she looks like?” “Nope, but if you care about your grades, she’ll notice and help you, even if you're struggling.” 

Haechi was one of the few popular students in university who focused on her grades, so her statement wasn’t so out of the blue. “Know anything else about her?” Haechi briefly considers the inquiry, “She really likes energy drinks, from what I remember. She always drank the blue Monster cans.” But there was a slight hesitation in the co-captin’s voice.

“I know how you are, Bada, so I’m aware I can’t stop you from your plans, but try not to do too much damage to the girl. She’s too precious to be broken by someone like you,” Haechi tells her, and despite the brutal words, Bada doesn’t take it to heart, almost shoving it out of her mind.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

The practice continues for hours before Bada notices your small figure sitting on the bleachers, waiting for the little time left. She jogs her way over to you with a bashful smile, “Hey, let me just change, and we can head out.” You just nod, wanting to get out fast, but Haechi’s familiar face has your eyes smiling. “Y/n-nie! Long time no see,” she opens her arms, and you gladly hop down to hug her. Bada watched the interaction, not knowing how to react to this side of you. You looked overjoyed to see the girl, and she may not be able to see your face, but the new energy made her feel a sense of loss.

She didn’t understand why you favored Haechi but not her. They were both tall, popular basketball team captains and had similar recognition in school. The only thing Haechi had over Bada was her straight A’s in classes. Was that the thing that would get you to like her? Bada grumbled at the concept. She wasn’t failing or anything, or else she couldn’t play on the team, but ALL her grades were not close to par with Haechi’s, not even a little bit. When her attention returns to the two of you, she sees you handing a new water bottle to Heachi, who thanks you. “You two seem close,” she tells them, and her co-captain looks at you almost with cherishing eyes. “Y/n’s the best man. Helped me a lot throughout high school,” you wave your hands in denial. “Heachi, you did your best in high school with or without my help. You’re hard-working,” your voice appears in a softer tone. Bada wanted to roll her eyes hard, but she left you two to change.

Bada wasn’t jealous, but maybe being narked was the better way to express her feelings. The girl was the type of person to feel better and superior to everyone else, so the fact that Haechi was already on your good side had her deep in her cycling thoughts. She needed to work hard to get this version of you, and not just with the project.

When she finishes, she tells you to go with her, and you hug Haechi before leaving the court and going to the parking lot with Bada. As she drove, she tried to make some conversation. “You started the project, right?” “Yeah.”

“You might have to teach me a few things so I can actually help.” “Sure.”

“You like computer science?” “Yup.”

That. That was the substance you gave Bada after every question. It made her want to jump out of the moving car, her ego bruised by your one-word replies. She stops trying after 10 minutes, letting the silence overwhelm you two, and you couldn’t have been any happier with the lack of sound. The car pulls up to this large mansion, and you try to hide your awe. This house was huge. Probably being able to hold the capacity of 200 students. “Come on in,” she invites with the large open door. 

When you entered, your eyes marveled at the marble architecture, the classical aesthetic being the prominent feature of the house. Bada then leads you to the living room, where you sit timidly on her couch. “Do you want anything to drink?” She asks you as your eyes still wander the house. “Um, I’m ok.”

“Well, let me just change before we start,” you nod, taking out your laptop and notebook, trying to get a bit comfortable for your peace of mind. You pull up the empty website domain with only your school's colors and a sleek banner that takes up a decent amount of the screen. After 10 minutes, Bada returns with gray basketball shorts and a tight wife beater as her top. Your eyes go up and down her figure before focusing on the monitor.

You were honest, and as much as you didn’t understand Bada’s playgirl mentality, you did understand her appeal to the female population in school. Her tall figure, the varieties of colors she’d use on her long hair that cascaded all the way down to her waist, and the hats she wore to hold a sense of mystery were the perfect formula for the way to a girl’s heart.

“So what should I do?” Bada says, sitting beside you, which had you scoot in the opposite direction. “We can split the parts. Professor Min already put up the criteria for the website. I can do the harder stuff like navigation, school history, subjects, majors, and minors.” You tell her as you view the recent handout your professor had put up. “That’s too much, no? All I’d have left is the decorating, department information, and help desk information. Why don’t I help you with the major and minors?” You look at her with bewildered eyes, “You sure? A lot of coding and linking goes into that?” The taller one nods confidently, “You just have to teach me, and I’m sure I’ll be able to do it.” You nod with some hesitation.

“How about we start brainstorming the website's theme, and we can start with the project next week?”

“Sure, but why next week? My practices always end at 5-6 PM, so we should have time.” You shake your head, “it’s not because of you. I'm just gonna be busy with the school council this week.” And Bada looks at you in surprise, “Your part of the school council?”

“Yeah, but I’m just the secretary. Since the sports events are around the corner, I have to oversee everybody and their work,” you explain. Bada feels the admiration brewing inside her. She was aware of your hardworking nature, well, everyone was. You were the top student for a reason, but this put you on a different playing field. On top of your multiple studies, you did your due diligence as a prominent figure on their school council.

“Well, why aren’t you the president?” You scoffed, following a pity laugh, “Bada, I can’t lead anyone to save my life.” She stares at you, not understanding your point, and you take notice. “I might be smart, but that doesn’t mean I have leadership skills.”

“Maybe I can help you,” the tall girl shrugs. She thought she was a good captain for her team, so with that credit, she could give you pointers. “It’s fine. I like my position. I get to help everyone.” The two of you let the time pass as you continued to work on the project before ending the night.

The next few days, you had a lot on your plate. You were running around the school, ensuring all the projects and events were being set up properly, writing reports, and then reporting to the president and vice president about overseeing.

During this time, Bada rarely saw you in class, and she thought about how busy you’d be. You weren’t lying, huh.

But on a Thursday afternoon, you watched the gym setup and saw Bada’s little group chilling on the bleachers. Another student, Doyoung, walks in with papers stacked in his hands. It was all the papers you needed to sign and read through, but a basketball flew in his direction before he could reach you. His head throbs as he drops the papers, and you see Bada’s groupies laughing as Bada yells, “Sorry, Do-ah, the ball slipped out my hands,” she says as she collects the ball and returns to the bleachers. You ran over to the boy, helping him get the papers and helping him up. “Doyoung? Are you okay?” You help the boy up, and he stares at you, dizziness coating his face. You glare at Bada, who catches a glimpse of your raging eyes, and she realizes her fuck up in an instant.

“Come on, let me take you to the nurse,” you say as you grab his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Shit,” Bada says as she watches the two of you leave, you having the stacks of heavy paper sticking out of your bag. “Looks like your timing is off this time,” Noze teases, and Bada thinks she has to make it up to you. She ran out of the gym, trying to catch up to you. She found you settling Doyoung on the nurse's bench as you explained what happened, and to avoid punishment, she waited for you to leave the office before she could talk to you.

Walking out, you make eye contact with the basketball player and scoff at the sight. You tried to walk past her, but she stopped you, pulling your arm, “Y/n, wait.” You rip your arm away, feeling grossed out by her touch. “Did you feel cool?” You bluntly ask, and Bada is taken aback at your tone. “No, that’s not it-”

“Then what is it, Bada? It doesn’t take much to be nice, but it sure does take a lot of energy to be as rude as you.” The disappointment felt like knives to Bada’s heart. It felt like the same judgment she got from her parents, and now you were saying it to her? It made her want to suffocate six feet under. “I just wanted to be funny. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I’m sorry,” she mumbles as her head hangs low. “That apology shouldn’t be for me, asshole. Apologize to Doyoung,” you tell her, leaving her where she stands as you are still much to do. “Doyoung-ah, just text me later when you get home,” the younger boy nods, and you return to your busy day.

“Dude, I apologized to Doyoung yesterday, and she still hasn’t texted me anything about the project,” Bada tells her friends as she paced back and forth. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Aiki says, and Bada looks at her in distress. “It’s a big deal 'cause I need that A to play in that prelims.”

“Maybe give her something to make it up to her?” Lee Jung suggests that Bada’s eyes grow at her words, remembering Haechi’s words. “The blue Monster,” she gasps, and her friends look at her weirdly as she runs off campus. Bada went to the convenience store, buying a can of Monster energy drink, some cookies, and an egg sandwich. It was early morning, so she knew she’d find you in the library at your usual spot.

Instead of being on your laptop this time, your eyes never left the papers you read and signed. Not even noticing her presence, Bada drops the bag lightly on the desk and pushes it in your direction. You look up, see the girl’s sorry face, and check the inside of the bag. “What’s this?”

“My apology to you for being a dick. I also apologized to Doyoung yesterday, so I’m in the clear.” You roll your eyes and sigh heavily, “Why are you like this, Bada?” Now she was confused, “What do you mean?”

“You're capable of being nice to people like me, so why can’t you do it to others?” Because other people won't help my grade, Bada thought. “I’m not sure,” Bada acts, trying to look ashamed. “But I know I’ll try my best to change,” she says, that confident smile taking place on her face again. 

So, during the next few weeks, you worked with Bada. She did her best to show you the better version of herself. Yes, she was acting initially, but as time passed, she got comfortable with the routines. She attended classes earlier, paid attention, participated, and even studied. The week after the altercation, Bada had asked you to tutor her in certain subjects, and you gladly accepted, liking the direction of her change.

So, the two of you sat in her home on a Friday afternoon after school, and you were working on your chemistry assignments. You had become comfortable in the setting after working at her home a few times. “Y/n-ah, help me with this long-ass formula. It's confusing.” You giggle at the pout on her lips and check the screen. “The prefix is hepta- and check out the periodic table for the names.” You point to the table of chemical symbols, and Bada begins to understand the list of prefixes on the coffee table.

You continued your work and studied the current topic you guys were on. Bada looked at you, wondering, “I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, but why do you always wear a mask?” You pause, not expecting the surprise question. “It just makes school go by faster. Drama-free too,” you express, and Bada rolls her eyes. “But it’s just you and I here.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it makes my life easy,” you state. “Look, tomorrow, when you come over for the project, come without the mask, please?” You look at her in confusion, wondering why she was pressing on so much. But seeing her giving you puppy eyes, you reluctantly agreed, “Fine.”

“Great! Now help me with this question, please?” You laugh at her struggle.

The next day, you woke up to prepare for the long day. You took a shower, did your everyday skincare, and ensured you looked presentable. You were much more alert about your looks when you didn't wear the mask. You wanted to feel confident and ensured you did when applying the lip oil and putting your hair in a high ponytail.

You took an Uber to Bada’s place and rang the doorbell. When Bada opens the door, she takes in your appearance. You were out of your uniform for once, and the hairstyle displayed your small face clearly. Bada looks at you fondly, not expecting such a pretty girl to hide behind the mask daily. Even with the glasses on, your eyes looked large, and your heart-shaped lips colored bright pink. The tall girl couldn’t pull her eyes away from your lips. They looked too juicy not to kiss.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should I just stay out here?” Bada shakes her thoughts away and moves to the side. “So you were hiding this the entire time?” She asks as she pats your head, and you swat her hand away. “You practically begged for this.”

“And I’m not complaining,” She continues, staring at you, “go to school like this man.” “Okay, it was one thing asking me to come to your house like this, but school? Never happening.” You tell her, settling your bag down on the couch. “Wait, we should work in my room today. My parents are gonna be home today.” 

She leads you into her room, the cool gray walls blinding your eyes. You observe your surroundings, surprised to see the clean room. She puts your bag on the office chair and lets you sit on her bed. You began to talk about what you’ve done on the project, but as you talked, Bada wasn’t even concerned about your words, focusing on your body more. Your outfit made Bada want to have you moaning underneath her, chest rising up and down as you begged for more.

“Bada?” You check on her worryingly. “Yes?” She whispers, still not staring at your face. “Have you done the majors and minors?” “I finished the majors, but I’m still working on the minors,” she tells you, clearly still entranced. “Can you show me?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” She shakes her head and takes her laptop out, showing the work she had completed, and you were visibly pleased with the progress. “This is actually really good. Nice job,” your validation had her heart swelling as your grin held a tint of pride. “Maybe you can finish up the minors today? Just so your work goes by faster.” She nods and checks out all the work you’ve done as well. “You finished all of these? That fast?” She stares at the screen, astonished by the amount of stuff you did the past two weeks. “Anything that needs to be done on a computer, I can do in a quick flash,” you joke, but it holds some sincerity. “I’m trying to be like you, girl,” She comments, and you laugh.

“Let’s do this so we don’t have much left to do next week.” With those words, the two of you worked the entire day. By the next time you checked the time, you realized the hours passed quickly. “Damn, it’s already 4 PM?” This also makes Bada check her phone, “Oh, your right. You want something to eat?” “I wouldn’t mind that actually.”

The two of you enter her kitchen, and Bada heated up some leftover Chinese food she had left in the fridge. Once you guys were eating, Bada tried to get to know you more, finding your presence comforting. “So, Y/n, why do you work so hard in school?” Your mind malfunctions at the question, unsure if you should be honest with the girl. “Um~,” you start, slowly picking at your food. “It’s mainly for my mom. My dad left us for his other family when I was five, and she raised me all by herself. This is the only way to give her a good life after everything she has gone through.” Your voice said with a hint of sadness, and Bada watched your pretty face fall. You wiped away the slight tears that formed. “You’re a good person, Y/n. Never forget that,” She tells you, and you find your heart racing at the words. Bada never had this effect on you, but her words of encouragement made your day.

She was about to continue the conversation, but another tall, more mature woman walked in the room, eyes looking cautiously at the sight of you. “Bada,” she called your partner's name, and you look surprised at Bada’s figure. She straightened herself up, fixing her appearance slightly. “Mother.”

“Who is this?” The older woman’s hand points over in your direction, and before Bada can answer, you decide to try and please the stern woman. “My name is Baek Y/n mam. I’m Bada’s partner for our computer science project. It’s nice to meet you.” You bow at the woman, and her eyebrows raise at your politeness. “Good manners, proper style, pretty face, excellent speaker,” her mom states, as her gaze moves around your body. “You should be more like this, Bada.”

“Mom, not in front of her, please,” Bada’s voice goes small, and you regret speaking up. “What? It’s true. Instead of basketball, you should be a model student. I should thank your teacher for partnering you up with this young woman.”

“I don’t know how we failed to raise you. This is how you should’ve turned out,” The older woman goes to your side, using her two hands to present you as if you were a presentation. Bada’s feelings were in a whirlwind. She wasn’t sure if she could be mad at you, her mom, or just the world. Her mom wasn’t even wrong. You were perfect in every way, and she was the disappointment. Two different worlds were crossing paths, and she was beginning to wish she was partnered with another individual instead of you.

Your eyes grow at her mother’s harsh words, and you shake your head, moving away from the woman. She wasn’t even aware of Bada’s new changes and efforts the last few days, but she belittled her daughter.  “Madam, with all due respect-”

“Y/n. Don’t,” The tall girl tells you, with a stern voice, her breathing going shaky. “You right, mother. I’ll do better,” Bada says, head hanging low as she walks past the two of you. “What a dramatic girl,” You hear her mom telling herself, and you do your best not to ridicule the woman. “I’ll go check up on her,” you bow and run up to Bada’s room, finding the door shut. When entering, her back was turned to you as she sat on the edge of her bed. You were about to reach out on her shoulder but halted when you heard the sniffles as they gradually grew heart-wrenching. You rush to Bada’s side without any reluctance, pulling her into a hug. The warmth engulfing Bada had her break down instantly, never having anyone hold her as you did. Your eyes teared up at the sounds of her hyperventilating, her grip on your shoulder becoming tighter. 

You then thought this was such a common occurrence for Bada. She put up this facade in school, wanting the attention of other women, and finally understood where it all stemmed from. Bada just wanted to feel loved and longed for, but with a household like this, it felt so hard to even ask for. She shouldn’t even have to ask. It was her mother, after all.

“Bada, you’re doing your best. Don’t let your mom’s words take that away from you.” You whisper as you rub her back, “If you ever want to talk, you can always talk to me.”

Bada begins to calm down at your words, the shakiness in her voice fading away. “Thank you, Y/n-ah.” She whispers, leaving her head on your shoulders. She wavers and asks, “Can you come to my game on Friday?” 

“Of course. I’ll be your personal cheerleader,” you quip, in a shot to make her feel better, which works when a cheesing smile forms on her face. “You’d only cheer for me?” “Maybe for Haechi as well,” you tease, and she hits your arm with a pout. “Okay, ouch. I’ll cheer for you only, damn. No need to get violent on me.” Bada laughs at your words. 

You try to stray from the topic, but you can’t help but ask, “Does she talk to you that way all the time?” Bada sighs, “Yeah, basically every time she’s home.” The lightbulb in your head flickers when she says, “My house may not be as extravagant as yours, but how about we work on the project on my house on Tuesday? I’ll send you my address, and you can come over after practice,” Bada’s eyes shined at the proposal. “I’d be honored.”

So the following Tuesday, you come home and relax on your bed before deciding to take a shower, feeling the stickiness of your sweat getting to you. You changed into a large baby pink shirt and some pajama shorts. Deciding to get a head start, you started your other assignments before Bada could get there. You worked on your easy English paper as you waited for the time to pass and heard the doorbell. Your eyes checked the time, and seeing 6 PM, you already knew who it was. You open the door to find Bada changed into gray sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and one of her iconic hats covering her head. “Well, Miss Bada, welcome to my humble abode,” you say, welcoming her in. Bada’s eyes roam around, taking in the simplicity of the house, finding it shocking as she took a liking to it. “It feels… homey,” She mumbles, and you pat her shoulder. “I have more space in my room. Let’s work there.”

Bada’s eyes wander to your exposed thighs when going up the stairs. They looked so thick and plump. Bada, never realizing the build of your body, wanted to grip your thighs until they were turning red. Once you let her into your sacred space, Bada sees the tiny potted plants you kept, shelves full of books, your desk looking organized, and your twin-sized bed and pillows wrapped in a light purple set. 

“So I have the navigation and research of the school's history. I might leave that research for next week to work on other subjects today.” Bada nods, settling on your bed and opening her laptop, “What other assignments do you have to do?”

“I’m trying to finish my English paper and then study for next week’s Chemistry exam.” “CHEM EXAM?” Bada yells, startling you into a jump. “Yes, Bada, chemistry exam.” Bada rubs the back of her neck, “Can you help me study?” You smile at her, “Of course.” The two of you finished the topics you agreed to do today, and Bada explained that she only had the decorating left. “Y/n?” You hear a voice coming from downstairs, and you smile, “Yes, mom?”

“Did you and your friend eat yet?” Bada is bewildered at the foreign voice. Your mom knew she was here? “We haven’t yet!” You voice out as you put your hair up in a messy bun. “Come down and eat. I made some mandu and kimchi jiigae,” Bada’s eyes brightened at the names of the food. You giggle at her face and pull her into the kitchen with you. Bada makes eye contact with your mom, and the woman gasps. “Y/n, you didn’t tell me how beautiful your friend was.”

“Mom, stop~,” you whine as you give her a welcoming hug. Bada smiles at your relationship with your mom. It is the exact opposite of what she was used to. “Let me help you with setting up the table?” Your mom handed you the plates and utensils, “get comfortable, Bada. You’re about to eat some of the best food ever,” You tell the tall girl, trying to tease your mom, who laughs at your comment. “Come on, sweaty, sit down,” Your mom tells the basketball player as she puts both dishes at the center of your table.

“How was school you two?” Bada almost chokes on her first bite of food as your mom asks, not used to the motherly love. “Oh dear, here, have some water, darling,” Your mom pours a glass as you pat Bada’s back. “I’m sorry. Um, school was alright, thank you for asking,” Bada says, mumbling, and you smile pityingly at your mom. “Same mom, nothing new.”

“That’s good!” She finishes, letting you all eat in peace. “Have you rested this past week, Y/n?” You grin at your mom’s question, “You know I try and stop doing work an hour before I go to bed, Mom.” “That doesn’t count.”

You sigh, “Don’t worry. I plan to go to Bada’s game on Friday, so I’ll take a break then.” Your mom gets excited, “Really? Good luck with your game. I hope you guys win!” Your mom was joyful, even with what had happened in the past, which made her your hero. “I hope we win too, Ms. Baek,” Bada gives an appreciating smile. “Oh, please call me mom. Any friend of Y/n can call me Mom. She rarely has any friends, so,” Your mom whispers her ending statement, and you roll your eyes at her. “Can we not expose Y/n? Thanks,” You say, pointing to yourself. The two smile at your gesture, and Bada teases you, “She’s not wrong.”

“Look at what you started, Mom!” 

After you ate and studied with Bada, it was already 9 PM as you walked her out of your house. “You’re mom is the sweetest person on Earth,” Bada says, a sense of peace taking over her as she held the bag of food your mom had packed for her. “I know,” you giggle, knowing how your mom was. She accepted everyone and anyone as long as they treated you and her kindly.

“Thank you, Y/n. You’ve been helping me so much recently, and I don’t know how to pay you back,” she says, bringing you into the tightest hug. Your chest pounded, feeling a new overwhelming feeling of emotions. You knew that you and Bada had become closer in the past few weeks, but now you blushed at her touch, making you nervous.

There was no way you were starting to like her, right? You believed Bada was changing for the better. She had stopped flirting with so many girls, focused more on school, and acted as a more proper captain for her team. That’s what you thought, at least.

It was Thursday morning, before Bada’s game, and she was chilling on her hour break with the rest of her friends. “How has the project been going?” Emma asks with genuine interest. “It’s actually really good,” She simply states, and her friends stare at each other, unsure of how to go about her answer. “You remember our deal, right?” Lee Jung asks the taller, reminding her of her words two weeks ago. “Of course, I do,” Bada’s words felt like a harsh smack to the face. Her statement simmered in her mind like she was lying to herself.

Bada knew she was changing, and whether she would like to admit it or not, the thought scared her. It was because of you and only you. She was never meant to go this deep or even this far with your friendship. She couldn’t help herself, though. She shared tears with you, personal issues her friends didn’t even know about, and even bonding with your own mother. Feeling like a brand new person, Bada felt liberated and accomplished. Lately, she thought she could stick up to her parents, defending herself from their judgmental words. Last night, during their family dinner, Bada’s mother and father had some words for her again. “Bada, your grades better be good this semester, or you’ll be sent to military school.” Her father tells her in an eerie, monotone voice. Bada looks at them, sensing betrayal. “Do you guys even love me?” “What kind of question is that?” Her mom gazes at the girl, the cold look never leaving her gaze. “You haven’t even noticed the effort I’ve been putting in the last few days. Everything I do is never enough for the both of you.” Bada’s parents were taken aback at their daughter's sudden outburst. “Maybe if you were putting this much energy before, we wouldn’t have to say anything to you,” her father points out. “It’s because of that Y/n girl. I should thank her for you.” Bada grumbles at the authority, not wanting to hear the same crap repeatedly. “I understand I may not have been the best child. Trust me, I know. But maybe if you two showed even the tiniest bit of compassion and love, I wouldn’t have turned out this way.” That statement had both her parents shut up, letting her words brew in their minds.

“Bada,” she hears your voice, pulling her out of her thoughts, and everyone looks at you. Your eyes looked at them weirdly as they looked surprised at your presence. “Are you free on Sunday? I have things to do on Saturday, but we can probably finish the project by the end of this week.” She smiles at you, “No problem, we only have a little to go anyways. It shouldn’t take that long.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you wave off, and Bada’s friends sat there, frozen at the exchange. “That might be the first time I’ve ever heard her voice,” Aiki says, hypnotized by your sweet voice. “I might have to snatch her up from you, Bada.” Noze kids, but Bada looks at her with stone-cold eyes, “No.”

Her friends sit there, unknowingly triggering something inside the tall girl. “It was just a joke, Bada, chill.” Lee Jung tells her as she shakes her head.

Emma looks at her, eyes growing at the assumption, “Are you falling for the girl?” Bada instantly looks at her like she’s crazy, “I just want to finish this project before you guys try anything,” she says, saving herself. 

Being oblivious to Bada’s words, you were excited about her game tomorrow. Your outfit was planned. You had snacks and a Gatorade for Bada to drink during her match. Since Tuesday night, Bada had been running on your mind constantly, and you weren’t sure how to handle your feelings. It was the first time you were hardcore crushing on someone, and this project made it challenging to contain your emotions. Her presence, attention, and beauty had you fixated. Since this was a first for you, you wanted to slow it down, trying to navigate it as you went.

So when game day finally came, you wore your hair up in a sleek ponytail and wore an extra jersey that Bada had given you with the number 22. You paired it with some simple Air Forces and ripped baggy jeans. Keep up the mysterious facade. You had your black mask covering the lower half of your face. Everyone stared at you as you sat on the court, wondering what your relationship was with their school’s basketball captain. You only kept your eyes down, not enjoying the amount of attention you were getting. 

Bada comes out from the locker room in full uniform and her eyes find your body, and an unconscious smile takes over her face. You looked adorable in the oversized jersey, and Bada just wanted to run up and hug you, but the game was starting soon, and the team had to warm up. 

You space out, but the loud blaring of the alarm shocks you out of it. As a book-believing student, you weren’t familiar with the rules or how the sport worked, but Bada made it worthwhile. Bada was noticeably agile and had a massive amount of stamina compared to everyone on the court. As you watched and cheered after her every shot, a blonde girl noticed your attire. A scowl and a look of disgust replaced her cheers. You weren’t even aware of her, focusing on the tall girl the entire time.

When half-time took place, you handed Bada the drink you had prepared for her. Smiling at your gesture, she thanked you and sipped as their coach spoke to them. 

The game started again, and as the timer was hitting the last few seconds, the score stood at 86-87, the score slim to the tee. Your heart beats anxiously as you watch Bada maneuver through the court. Haechi had passed the ball to her co-captain, and at 5 seconds, Bada had taken her chance at a three-pointer, and everyone held their breath as the ball spun around the rim. So when the ball fell in at the last second, all your school's students jumped and cheered at the epic finale. Bada looks over at you again, seeing your proud eyes on her. She blew a kiss at you, and you giggled as she celebrated with her team.

“Hey,” you hear her voice and turn around to see her sweaty figure, as her cheesing grin never leaves her face. “Wait for me at the parking lot? I’ll give you a ride home.” She offers, and you nod, pulling down your mask, not wanting to hide your thrilled face. “You were amazing out there, Bada.” The sincerity of your voice made Bada weak to her knees, and she felt giddy inside. “Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” You nod, leaving the gym to the parking lot, where you wait, sitting on a bench. When Bada watches you go, she feels the butterflies in her stomach and stands there terrified. The girl started falling for you, the feelings piling up since your first study session. This couldn’t be happening. Bada’s pride wouldn’t let it happen, so she had to do something about it fast.

20 minutes had passed, and Bada still hadn’t come out. Worrying began to fill your mind. You kept checking your phone every minute, and the same anxiety overtook you. You decided to look for her, which honestly didn’t take long. You turned the corner of your school's building. You saw two figures holding each other tightly as they enthusiastically made out with each other.

Due to the darkness of the night, you squinted at the sight, but as it became clear, your heart broke into a million pieces, feeling like it was now dust. It was Bada and another girl. They pull away from each other, breathing heavily, and you hide behind the corner you turned from. “What about that other girl?” The unfamiliar voice asks. “What other girl?” “The girl wearing your jersey?” You swallowed lightly, your chest becoming heavy in your current position. “She’s no one, baby. Don’t worry about it. She was just a little bet.” You hear her, and you sob in silence, walking away from the detrimental scene that just occurred right in front of you.

You sit at the curb, staring at the stars, and laugh at yourself, “You’re so stupid, Y/n. So stupid,” you mumble, the tears getting harder to contain as Bada’s words repeat in your mind. Of course, you were just a bet for her. You were just another girl added to her collection, and it made you fall into despair. She cried to you and opened up, yet you were just another girl. You hit your head lightly in frustration with yourself. “Y/n?”

You jolt up from your spot, wiping your staining tears away, and turn around to find Haechi, who looks at you worried. “You okay?” You nod with a deep breath and huff, “Yeah, just feeling down right now. No biggy,” you try saving yourself, but the cracks in your voice tell the girl otherwise. “What are you still doing here-” She was about to ask but realized what may have happened since she saw Bada walking out with some blonde student from her Physics class. Haechi’s face was now painted sorrowfully, engulfing you in a hug. Her touch had triggered the waterworks again, and you were now crying again, breaths getting weaker when each tear dropped. “I’m so fucking stupid, Haechi. I hate her. I hate her so much,” the tall girl rubs your back, letting you release your anger and sadness. “Don’t say that Y/n-nie, you’re the smartest girl in school. Bada is just… ruthless.” Haechi states, some rage hiding under her voice. She had warned Bada, and the captain still went against her word. “I’m like every other girl, Haechi.”

The tall girl pulls away, shaking her head furiously, “No. No, you’re not. Come on, let me take you home.” You nod, too tired to say anything and sit in Haechi’s car, taking a nap on the way home as you wasted so much energy.

Bada was now trying to look for you everywhere, not noticing how long she took, keeping you waiting.

Bada Y/n? Where are you?

She waited for a response, but it never came. She began to worry but let the win of her game control her mind. An hour later, she was home, and you just got back to her.

Y/n-ah😚 My mom wanted me to go home early. Sorry.

Bada sighed in relief. At least you were safe at home. She was about to respond, but you texted her again.

Y/n-ah😚 About the project, don’t worry about it. I’m finishing it tonight and sending it to Professor Min tomorrow morning.

The tall girl furrows her brows.

Bada Are you okay?

Y/n-ah😚 Splendid.

Safe to say, Bada was terrified at your one-word answers. She felt back at square one, but little did she know she wasn’t even close. Not anymore.

The next time Bada saw you, you were both in school, and she approached you with your favorite drink. “My payment for last week,” she says, handing the drink to you, and you dismiss the interaction instantly. “I’m good,” you tell her and just walk away. Bada stares at you in confusion and is about to go after you but sees you standing at Haechi’s locker. From afar, her co-captain seemingly handed you a blue Monster can, and you hug the girl, thankfully. The interaction had Bada bothered and angry. You took Haechi’s drink but not hers?

She would talk to you about it one way or another, but she couldn’t find you the entire day. The fact that you didn’t have computer science today didn’t help the matter. So Bada decided to talk to you at your house. The rain began to pour, but it wasn’t stopping her from finding out what was wrong. She rang the bell at your gate, unsure if you were home, but when you opened the door, a glimmer of hope sparked until you spoke. “Go home, Bada.”

“What?” “I said go home,” your monotone voice made her want to hide. “Y/n, talk to me, please?” “Why should I?” She looks at you in shock. “What happened?”

“You wanna know so bad?” You walk up to the gate, anger fueling your eyes. Not even caring about the pouring weather. “Somehow, me being the smartest girl in school means nothing when it comes to you.”

Bada didn’t say a word, not knowing where this conversation was going. “Congrats, Bada, you made the top student in school look like the most mindless person in the world.” Bada’s eyes widen, “what do you mean-”

“Oh, don’t act stupid.” You groan and look at her with eyes of disgust. Bada sunk into the thought. She was back to square one. “I seriously don’t understand-” “You don’t understand sucking off another girl’s face while I waited for you in the parking lot? God, when I thought there was progress in your thought process these past few weeks, but I guess I was wrong.”

That’s what froze Bada, her heart dropping at the statement. You saw and heard everything. Bada only wanted to beg for forgiveness right then and there, but she knew she had no right to. It's not like you were gonna accept it anyway. “Y/n I-”

“Just save it, Bada. You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it. I’m just another girl, right? Or what was it you told blondie? A bet?” Bada had no words to save herself, wanting the ground to swallow her whole in shame. “Forget about it, Bada, forget we were ever friends.” You left the conversation at that, slamming the front door behind you. That’s when you broke down. The crying just couldn’t stop, kneeling on the floor of your home as the dreadful silence filled your ears as you heard the heavy rain and thunder pouring outside the windows. For once, you hated the silence. 

The next day, Bada wanted to try and apologize again. She looked and looked, not finding you anywhere on campus. She then looks for her second-best bet and sees her standing with her friends. “Haechi!” Bada runs up to the girl as she waves her friends off. Her co-captains eyes held frustration, and it told Bada she also knew the situation. “Do you know where Y/n is?” “Why? So you can break her even more?” Bada knew to expect this, but she wasn’t expecting to be cornered by the girl who shoved her into the lockers.

“I fucking told you, Bada, but what Bada wants, Bada gets, right?” Haechi’s pointer finger drilled into her chest, and the captain winced in pain. “I-I wanna make it right.” “Too fucking late.”

Bada’s body ignores the pain at her words, “What do you mean?” Haechi looks at the girl whose eyes began to water slightly. “She’s leaving for the States. The school gave her an internship for 5 months.” Bada’s world crumbles, and she takes out her phone, sending you multiple messages.

Bada Y/n, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. It was a mistake. I was stupid. I was falling for you, and I was scared. Y/n?

Bada’s tears were uncontrollable as they fell, reading how her messages weren’t sending. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Bada was now beating herself up in the middle of the hallway. She was hitting her head hard with her fist, pulling her hair harshly, and everyone who saw looked at her in worry. Haechi was shocked at the girl’s actions, seeing how bad she genuinely felt. She did her best to pull Bada’s arms away, and Bada slid down to the floor, blubbering as Haechi did her best to stop the girl from hurting herself. “I’m so fucking stupid, Haechi.” Her teammate didn’t know how to respond, just holding Bada’s arms down as she cried her pain away.

A/n: SHIT IS INTESNE RN DAM.

Tag list: @chipswsauce @nimixe @yooqui @eeeetaetterswife @efyyylee @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog

[wooahaes]

feel me

pairing: non-idol!han x gn!reader, some non-idol!felix x gn!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending. slight fluff.

word count: ~21k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mutual pining that’s fully believed to only be one-sided by both parties. temporary relationship with felix. heartbreak. no communication at one part after jisung ghosts reader for almost three weeks. big brother-figure chris having serious talks with reader. fluff in certain parts, though. food mentions. hyunjin is kinda ready to throw down at one point tbh.

daisy’s notes: title origin from the golden child song bc the lyrics kinda fit haha <3 anyway rewrite of this old thing!! also sorry felix but if u get the sequel fic i'm thinkin of... u will be happy <3

Most people looked at the friendship you had with Chris and assumed that he was your best friend. The two of you had grown up down the road from one another, after all, and that had been why you ended up befriending one another. His family all knew you by name and knew all of your favorites (because Chris had learned them first and made sure everyone knew them), and they all watched you follow Chris around like a duckling when you were small. Pictures of the two of you littered the walls of both your childhood home and his, all from vacations your families had taken together. Plus your parents always made enough food for Chris on any given day, since he always found his way over for dinner at the most random times. If anything, Chris was family to you now, the big brother you never had (and, occasionally when he was being a little overly affectionate, he was your big bother). Before college, Chris Bang was one-hundred-percent your best friend…

Until you met Han Jisung on the first day of freshman orientation.

Sure, the reason you came to this school was partially because you knew you’d have a friend in the area (you liked the literature program a lot more), but things changed the day you met Jisung. The two of you had been a little wary of the other people in your group, all bragging about how they wouldn’t let anyone stop them from the party life they were craving. On one hand, you kind of admired the tenacity that took… but on the other, they were the rowdy bunch out of all the groups that were around. Even though you weren’t much of a party person, your annoyance at the time firmly came from the fact you were sinking so much money into this school—even without the financial aid and scholarships you’d managed to get. Partying was fun, but denying everything in favor of it? You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

And, apparently, neither could Jisung. He’d been separated from his friends, all in the same orientation group without him, and looked a little lost. You quietly moved your chair over to him after you grew annoyed with two people hardcore flirting with one another and ignoring the poor orientation leader who was just trying to tell you all about the general education program. He’d looked up at you, and you introduced yourself to him quietly—trying not to catch the attention of your orientation leader. She was too busy waiting for the novelty of it all to die down for a minute so she could do her job, so… Why not take the chance to introduce yourself to him?

He’d gazed at you for a moment behind his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose a moment later. “Han,” he’d said in a quiet voice. Then he cleared his throat, speaking a little louder, “I’m Han Jisung. Music management and music composition major.”

Already, you were impressed by him. Chris was in the music program himself, and you’d heard about how rigorous it could be at times—especially with the heavy course load that came from both programs. Chris had gone into it because he was… Well, he was Chris. Chris who was on the swim team and in the theater and the band and somehow found time to do community service, too. Jisung was a stranger to you in all the best ways, someone who already intrigued you. When you told him your own major, he had nodded along, no push to question your future career.

“Is that what you like?” He’d asked instead. “Books?”

It was one part of what you liked, at least. You nodded. “Do you love music?”

He’d smiled at you, and it was as if he’d become a different person for a moment. “It’s my passion,” he’d said, voice clear and bolder than before.

That had been what the two of you ended up talking about until your orientation leader managed to get control of the group again. She’d finally been given the go-ahead to give you a tour of campus, and you noticed that Jisung had decided to stick with you near the back of the group. He never said anything then, the two of you opting to listen to your leader instead, but you saw the tiny smile on his face when you were walking through the music floor of the arts building. Once you were released from your schedule for the day, he’d kept glancing at you, as if unsure of what he was about to do. Then he finally stepped up, holding up his phone.

“My friends and I are getting coffee off campus,” he said. “Do you want to come?”

That had been the moment that solidified the two of you as friends. You had happily agreed, exchanging numbers on the way as he told you about his friends. There was Felix, who he said was a sweetheart. Everyone loved Felix, and you’d eventually realize in time just how true that was. Hyunjin could be charismatic, although sometimes he could be a little sharp-tongued with people. Apparently, he and Jisung once hated each other before getting over their school rivalry—you’d never understand it, but everyone swore by it. And then there was Seungmin, who was witty and funny in all the best ways. The group seemed to accept you into their circle pretty quickly, and you honestly contributed that to Jisung…

Who you very quickly learned was incredibly funny in his own right. With the orientation group and with you alone, he’d been quieter. Polite and sweet as he could be. Yet you saw the way he loosened up over time when with his friends, genuinely funny and a bit louder with them. Maybe that was why you would end up clicking with him so well: he was versatile, conscious of the mood and finding a way to fit it well. You saw the way he seemed to naturally return to a quieter state when on his own, and you were happy to match that energy any day. 

When you returned to your dorm that day, Chris had been waiting for you. He’d watched you part ways with your new friends and decided to celebrate by squeezing the life out of you.

“You’re making friends!” He giggled, and it suddenly reminded you of the loving way your step-mom always treated you. He swayed with you, never letting you go. “You’re growing up!” 

This was definitely something he was reporting to your parents. Not that you cared: his family asked for you to look out for him, too, and you fully intended to follow through on the request. He’d already been giddy when you showed him your acceptance letter and announced you’d picked the school (he’d nearly squeezed the life out of you that day, too), gushing about how he’d have to introduce you to Minho and Changbin. That was why he’d been waiting for you that day, actually: the four of you were getting dinner together, Chris’s treat. The two of you had decided to call off any embarrassing stories (both of you had plenty of ammunition, the same way that both of his siblings had even more on you both), and you’d spent that dinner realizing just how much love you had for Chris.

That was why you had agreed to live with him come sophomore year. Regardless of whether he was being a brother figure or a bother figure, you’d agreed quickly when he gave you his clearly premeditated offer of taking the open room in his apartment. His old roommate had just moved out, and Chris apparently told him he “already had someone interested” when he brought the topic up to begin with. So he helped you carry your boxes into the apartment and the two of you enjoyed your takeout that night, giddy to be close once again. He’d invited Minho and Changbin over that night, too, to toast to your first day of living with Chris. It was at that point that you decided to introduce Jisung to them, inviting him over, too. 

Things came together from there. Minho recognized Jisung from a photo that Felix had shown him while he (and Hyunjin) were sitting around before dance practice started. Seungmin ended up getting pulled into the group through association with the rest of you, and it was you and Seungmin who pulled Jeongin into this circle. He’d been in your general education classes, and he seemed to get along pretty well with Seungmin. Seungmin introduced you to Jeongin, and you introduced Jeongin to the group, and everyone seemed to fit together in this sweet way. Even with all of you having friends of your own, you always seemed to come back to one another when times were rough.

By some stroke of luck, Hyunjin and Seungmin ended up moving in a few doors down from you and Chris. Despite Seungmin’s very vocal complaints (always made with love… you were pretty sure, at least), both of them seemed glad to have familiar faces nearby. The two always seemed to drop in when Chris was making dinner, always telling some story about their own lives. You realized that your stories almost always had Jisung and Felix in them after Seungmin pointed it out to you one night.

When did you start spending so much time with Felix? Jisung was naturally there because he was your best friend (officially now: the two of you had matching beaded bracelets you’d made for one another just to rub it in). But Felix…

Chris had picked up on how quiet you’d grown that night. But he waited to bring the topic up until one Saturday when the two of you were alone. He’d passed you the bowl of popcorn he’d made once before throwing himself onto the other end of the couch. “So. You and Felix...” 

You rolled your eyes. Your love life had always been pretty off-limits as a topic to anyone but Chris, and he was fully going to take advantage of that, wasn’t he? He’d given you a few much-needed days to figure out how you felt, and they were… Well, far from platonic. Felix was sweet as he could be, and you’d become so, so endeared to him when he started showing up to your apartment with baked goods. Everyone loved Felix, and you weren’t sure when your love for Felix became more than what it was before. Long before senior year, that was certain: every time you tried to pinpoint a beginning, you found yourself moving it further and further back to something else he’d done.

“I’m just curious!” Chris chuckled. “You always deny feeling anything for Jisung—I should have known it was Felix the entire time!”

Despite having the urge to, you didn’t roll your eyes that time. Your feelings for Jisung weren’t important. Not when he was your best friend, and having them would jeopardize that. Han Jisung did not love you the way you’d begun to love him, and you were more than happy to ignore that crush. It’d go away eventually once you stopped fantasizing about what a relationship with him would look like. And if it didn’t… Well, you’d figure that out when you came to it.

“You should go for it,” Chris said, shifting so he was slightly closer to you. “Felix is a good kid! He’s nothing like the last guy you dated—”

Oh, not this shit again. There was a reason you hadn’t dated in a while, and Chris was too aware of it. He’d been ready to get into a fist fight and call your friends as back-up. “Christopher—”

He ignored the use of your birth name, “I mean it. That guy was gross, and you deserve better than someone who thinks you should move in with them after a few weeks because living with a guy you aren’t dating is ‘weird.’” 

That had only been part of the reason you dumped the guy. You’d never told Chris any other parts because you knew what he’d say. Your ex hated Jisung because of how close the two of you were, and you weren’t going to date some insecure loser who thought he could control who you hung out with. He’d always been “fine” with the rest of your friends (begrudgingly so), but he’d targeted Jisung for some reason. Jisung was always too close to you, or he was too soft when around other people, or he was “obviously” in love with you and you were too blind to see it. If you’d let him take Jisung out of your life, you knew he’d eventually move on to someone else. It’d be Jeongin, and then Felix, and then Hyunjin… It had taken a while for you to realize it and accept it, but it was just a gateway for him to control you and your life. When you ended things with him, you told him he needed to grow the fuck up because you’d never ask him to do the things he was pressuring you to do. 

When you told Jisung that same day that you broke up with him, he’d watched you curiously for a minute. When you didn’t cry or say anything further, he smiled at you and asked if you wanted to celebrate. Jisung had treated you out for dinner that night, telling you about how he’d always thought you could do better. That guy hadn’t respected you enough to trust you, and all he could do was hope that he would eventually change for the better. It wasn’t your job to fix him, after all. You’d only left out the part where he said Jisung was in love with you: he didn’t need to know that, and  you didn’t need to hear him laugh it off as the joke that it was.

“I mean it.” Chris had moved closer to you when you never spoke up again, one hand squeezing your shoulder. “Felix is like a little brother to me. I think if you want to ask him out… The two of you would work well together.”

Maybe he had a point. But… “I thought I was your sibling.”

He rolled his eyes, moving back into his spot at the end of the couch. “Ask Jisung for help. You said they’ve known each other since high school, right?”

They have. They ended up rooming together their freshman year, and you’d almost always be spending at least a little time with Felix whenever you went to spend time with Jisung. He’d always be studying or on his way out, but he always made a point of hanging back just long enough to say hi to you and chat for a moment. Chris had a point, then. If anyone could help you, it would probably be Jisung.

(You wouldn’t know that Chris regretted the suggestion once he saw the way Jisung looked at you. He’d held his feelings to his chest for three years, and the mask slipped once when he thought no one was looking. The soft way he smiled at you, the tender look in his eyes when he heard you laugh… Chris would have taken the moment back if he could.)

Which was why you ended up in the MinSung apartment a few days later, sitting in Jisung’s computer chair. When you asked him for help, he’d agreed all too easily, saying something about how Felix did keep calling you cute. While he claimed to not know for sure (which you suspected was a lie), he’d been up front with you when he said he thought Felix might feel something toward you. Feelings in their vaguest form, but still something to give you genuine hope.

Minho had waited until you left to step into the doorway of Jisung’s room. “You’re an idiot.” 

Minho was the only person Jisung admitted his feelings about you to. He’d already picked up on it long ago, seeing the looks that everyone else seemed to not notice, and outright asked him about it. He never understood how no one, outside of himself, knew about the affection Jisung harbored for you. He’d never been all that subtle about it in Minho’s eyes, always so lovingly doting on you. He saw the way you clearly cared for Jisung, too. When he’d quietly asked Chris once whether you felt something for Jisung, he’d said you denied it every time. But while Minho had his dumb moments… He knew you were lying. You had the same loving look on your face whenever you looked at Jisung, dreamy-eyed and oh-so-tender when you engaged with him. You gave Jisung a safe place to hide when his anxiety was too much, always willing to leave with him and get him the space he needed. 

Surprisingly, Hyunjin called him the next morning, just to tell him the same thing Minho had said: you’re an idiot. Hyunjin always somehow seemed to pick up on Jisung’s feelings, too, but eventually believed him after he denied it enough times. You were Jisung’s best friend: was it really fair for him to love you so much when all you ever saw him as was a friend? 

It wasn’t. So he told Hyunjin to mind his business, causing the short-lived spat that the rest of the group heard about in the vaguest terms. Hyunjin had argued with him about it, saying that pushing you toward Felix was cruel to everyone involved. Jisung knew Felix liked you, though, and now he knew that you liked Felix. If Jisung was the only person to get hurt, he could live with it. Maybe he’d turn it into a song if he really needed to. It took a few days, but Hyunjin finally agreed to keep his mouth shut now that he’d spoken to Felix and confirmed that Felix genuinely did like you as more than a friend. If Jisung knew that you were genuine, then Hyunjin could live with it as long as Jisung took care of himself.

It wasn’t your fault that Jisung had fallen in love with you. He agreed to Hyunjin’s terms, and decided that he could live with the heartbreak if you were happy with Felix. Felix was a good person, always so loving and warm. He would treat you the way you deserved, loving you openly and affectionately. All it would cost Jisung was one heartbreak in exchange for your happiness. 

And for you? He would do it without hesitation.

One month into the semester, Jisung had already done a few things for you. Jisung went out of his way to ensure that you and Felix would sit together when given the chance, casually finding ways to move next to Hyunjin every time. A few weeks later, he’d casually dropped the fact that you were wanting to get into gaming more when the group was together, and you’d been confused until you saw the way Felix lit up at the topic. He’d immediately offered to let you join him and his friends, talking about free MMOs that you could play. All too easily, you managed to make conversation with him, talking about how you lacked experience with stuff like that… but you did have a Stardew Valley farm with Chris that the two of you worked on whenever you both had free time.

“Oh, really?” His eyes had been twinkling, head resting in his hand. “Maybe we could make a farm together.”

All too easily, he’d given you butterflies. “I’d like that,” you said, heart racing ever-so-slightly now. 

“Actually…” He averted his gaze for a moment, his pretty freckled cheeks turning red. “Our show is opening in a few weeks. If you want…” He paused, looking up to realize the others were still there, “I’d, um, I’d like it if all of you could come. I can reserve a couple tickets for opening night, but…”

You’d agreed, already planning to make sure your schedule was clear that day. The group had always planned to come support Felix on one of those nights, guaranteeing that he’d have his own section clapping loudly for him once he was taking his bow… but that quickly turned into something that would happen on a later night. You’d taken Felix up on the offer for an opening night ticket, and managed to convince Jisung to come with you. If Jisung was with you, you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself… and Jisung agreed, saying he’d watch the show twice to come with the others later. You had work the other day, after all: it all worked out in a way, right?

Right. Which was why he was standing in a flower shop with you, looking at premade bouquets. For the past five minutes, you’d been debating between a bouquet of sunflowers and yellow roses, frowning to yourself as you tried to pick which one best suited Felix. Jisung found himself staring at pale pink peonies. He’d looked up flower meanings once when thinking about you. If he was going to confess, he would have bought you a bouquet. Pink peonies meant something like deep appreciation, and he could easily spin it into his appreciation for you as his best friend. Would he ever be able to face you and not feel his heart flutter? Maybe one day he would, if he was lucky.

When he looked at you again, you were still deep in thought. He could hear you mumbling to yourself. Roses were too forward, too strong to be just a ‘friend’ thing—even if you were trying to impress Felix. And sunflowers felt… A little cliche knowing Felix. Everyone gave Felix sunflowers on his birthday if they were going to give him flowers. Jisung looked at the other bouquets, only to find one of yellow tulips. You looked up as he approached you with them in hand, the shyest smile on his face.

“You said you wanted to give Felix something pretty, so…” He held them up. “If roses feel too strong… Then why not these?” The paper crinkled underneath his grasp, and his heart was racing even now. This wasn’t meant to be romantic, so why couldn’t he calm down?

You’d lit up, accepting the bouquet with him. He felt the way your fingers brushed against his own when you accepted them, looking down at them. “Do you think he’ll like them”

“He’ll love anything you give him,” Jisung said, gaze softening. If it was from you, it’d be special. His hands rested over your own for a minute, and you met his gaze after a moment. “Hey… Would I lie to you?”

Other people might have. Some people might have tried to sabotage their best friend’s happiness, but Jisung could never do that to you. Not when you meant so much to him. He loved you too much to do anything that might hurt you, that would destroy your happiness. Even if he didn’t love you, you were still his best friend, and that meant he needed to treat you like one. Best friends didn’t destroy best friends like that.

“No,” you said, drawing the bouquet back. You smiled at it again. “Thanks, Jisung. If you wanna wait outside, you can. I’m gonna see if they can put a little ribbon around it when I pay—make it look cuter, y’know?”

His heart leapt at the idea. Of course you’d be cute like this. He wished that it could be him that you were buying flowers for, but he’d accept getting to see you this happy. “I’ll be waiting.”

The bell above the door jingled as he left the shop, taking a few steps away before leaning against the brick wall. With a sigh, he let his shoulders slump. This shouldn’t hurt so much, but the ache in his chest seemed to show no sign of going away. He could put aside his feelings for you, though, if it meant he could see you smile. The soft look in your eyes when he reassured you only made him feel more complicated inside. You weren’t his to give away, so why did it feel like he was losing a part of himself the more he went along with this plan? In the back of his head, a little voice kept telling him to find an excuse to go back to his apartment. A forgotten assignment that he’d overlooked, or reading he needed to do for class… But that meant abandoning you, even though Felix really wanted you to come see him tonight. Not Jisung. Jisung was coming to see him in a few days, so why bother staying?

Again, the bell chimed, and out you stepped, bouquet in hand. The brown paper that once had been wrapped around the flowers was exchanged for white tissue paper, all bound together with a bright, sparkly gold ribbon. It would fit Felix perfectly, all sunshine-y and pretty, and it was only now that Jisung realized you were wearing blue. Felix’s favorite color. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? If you were in red, then Jisung would have noticed right away, wouldn’t he? His mind wandered for a moment: would you have bought flowers for him if you were coming to see him perform? Hell, would you come alone to see him perform next semester? He had to perform solo as part of his degree plans—would you wait to come with the others, or would you be there every night if you could…? Instead, he just gently reminded you to loosen up your grip on the bouquet before you broke the stems.

“What if he hates them?” Your leg had been bouncing nervously the entire bus ride back to campus. 

Jisung just gently pat your arm. “He won’t,” he said, voice as soft as it was in the flower shop. “It’s Felix. I don’t think he’d ever hate anyone for bringing him a gift. Do you?”

That seemed to get through to you, and the tension in your shoulders eased up considerably. A moment later, you nodded, meeting his gaze. “Right…” And then you leaned against him, completely unaware that his heart was now racing all over again. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m nervous, I guess.” 

Jisung could tell. Everything about you now pointed to this need for tonight to go right. The fact you were not only wearing Felix’s favorite color, but also the way you had dressed up a little nicer, just to make an effort for him. The way you were fretting over the flowers still, even now (Jisung could see the way you  kept looking at them and readjusting your hands, all too conscious now that you might break the stems). He’d have to be ignoring you completely to not see the way your leg had been bouncing before, or the way you kept toying with your sleeve, or the way you kept checking the time even though you both left extremely early to get to the shop. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, leaning his head against your own. “You’ll be fine.”

Despite the way he still wanted to go home, Jisung stuck by you the entire time. You needed him there to calm you, the way he depended on you sometimes, and he wouldn’t leave you to flounder. The two of you found seats a few rows back from the stage, settling in for whenever the show would begin. Jisung could see Chris sitting in the front row, beaming with pride at the whole affair. That was the nice thing about Chris: he always made a point of coming back to help wherever he could, including with productions like this. Plus, he was always there to support everyone, especially his friends. Dance showcases, theatrical performances, the art exhibits that Hyunjin’s pieces and Seungmin’s photography ended up in… Chris was there, always happy to congratulate on a job well done. Jisung didn’t need to be sitting next to him to see the way he glowed with pride every time Felix was on stage.

When the show was over, Jisung watched as you gravitated near the door the actors would eventually emerge from. He’d already passed the responsibility of congratulating Felix onto you for now (he’d tell him later) as he searched for where Chris had disappeared to in the crowd. Most likely, he’d disappeared into the back to go talk to the actors. Two years out of school, and Chris never seemed to care about the fact he wasn’t technically a part of the department anymore. Jisung admired his confidence, at least: it always felt like a line he shouldn’t cross, even though Felix always said his friends were welcome. 

He’d decided to take refuge in the bathroom instead, just to calm himself down. Chris would come back out soon when the actors did, meaning Jisung could talk to him then. He’d started to fiddle with little things as he stared at himself in the mirror: fixing a stray hair that never seemed to stay in place, adjusting the collar of his shirt, checking to see how puffy his face was… All little things that he could pick himself apart for if he felt like it, and his mind kept straying to it rather than how happy you seemed to be. He saw how engrossed in Felix’s performance you were. Maybe he should leave to spare himself from seeing this any further. He’d done his part, hadn’t he? You would understand. 

Except he didn’t leave, because Jisung was still your best friend. You wouldn’t abandon him now, so he had to do the same for you. The moment he stepped back into the theater, he saw the way you were beaming at Felix. He’d finally emerged, dressed casually again, and was happily talking to you while holding the bouquet. All he needed to do was look at Felix to know that he was smitten from the way he was smiling at you. Okay. He could deal with this. All he needed to do was find Chris and maybe he could manage.

But all it took was you looking up and waving Jisung over for him to cave, already drawn toward you like a magnet. He couldn’t just leave. Not when you were smiling at him like that. Jisung ended up rattling off some praise for Felix (genuine, because he wouldn’t half-heartedly give him praise just because you liked Felix and not him), and Felix had blushed over it. His gaze fell down to the flowers in his hands, and Felix smiled again.

“Aren’t they sweet?” The tissue paper rustled in Felix’s grasp, and he swayed toward you ever-so-slightly. “They’re so sweet.”

Jisung didn’t say that he was with you when you bought them, that he’d been the one to push them to you. “They have a really good eye for these things,” he said instead. “They fit you perfectly.”

“I know!” Felix looked up, beaming with pure joy. “They’ve never given a bad present before. I don’t really know how they do it.”

Jisung did. You kept a running list in your notes app of things that people said they liked, or things they said they wanted, or things that they needed that you constantly updated. Plus, you made a point to subtly ask about things close to holidays and birthdays, too. All the things you needed to give a good gift that people wanted and would appreciate. The only other person who knew about this was Chris, and that was because he’d caught you editing it. Even if Jisung hadn’t given you the tulips, he knew Felix would have loved the sunflowers or the roses. 

“I think I saw Chris,” Jisung said after a moment of seeing the (admittedly cute) way you and Felix kept glancing at each other. He started to move away, “I’m gonna go say hi.”

“Oh, I can come too!” You were flustered, all too aware of how much of Felix’s time you’d taken for yourself. “I mean, I’m sure Felix is tired of me hogging him, y’know?”

“It’s fine,” Felix said, smiling still. “I like talking to you.”

While his attention was still on you, Jisung made a point to nod toward Felix. Stay right there. He knew you wanted to talk to Felix, after all. You’d relaxed a moment later, planting yourself right where you were as you turned back to Felix. He’d already begun asking you something about an MMO he’d gotten you into, and Jisung turned tail to make his way to Chris. 

Jisung ended up leaving the arts building before you ever did, stepping out into the chilly night air. Chris was there to give you a ride home, after all: you didn’t need to ride the bus to Jisung’s apartment and then back to your own in the way you always insisted on doing. Chris had offered to drive him home, but Jisung waved him off. He needed the alone time to think, and the bus ride that took him home was the perfect time for it. He’d already begun writing lyrics in the notes app on his phone half-way there, and soon enough he’d put them into ink in his songwriting notebook. Just to get those feelings down while the wound was fresh and oozing ink.

You’d texted him that night to say that you were getting lunch with Felix that week. He had other shows most nights, but he’d make time for lunch with you anytime. He’d wondered for a moment until you finally said the magic word: Felix could do ‘evening dates’ with you another time. Yet you still texted him a moment later, asking if Felix meant date dates. All Jisung could say was that it might: he wasn’t Felix. He couldn’t tell you yes.

All he could tell you was that he was genuinely happy for you, even though the emotion never reached him in that moment.

When he woke up the next morning, he’d realized he fell asleep at his desk. His spine was aching at this point, and he realized that there was ink smudged on his hand and his cheek. He’d written down messy, clumsy lyrics that were nowhere near as good as he could make them. Jisung glanced over them again and again. The ink had smudged on the page, which meant he should copy them over to a fresh one after he showered. The melody would come to him while he washed off his regret anyway.

All of it was sloppy in the way a work in progress often was. But he had time to write it better.

A week later, you had curled up on Jisung’s bed while you were waiting for him to finish an assignment. The two of you had plans to go out to dinner, and you always ended up showing up a little too early. It never bothered Jisung, who was currently hard at work on a composition due for class soon. You admired him for a moment as he bobbed his head along to whatever he was working on, lips pressed tightly together in concentration. He’d already told you he wasn’t going to finish it tonight—but he just wanted a little more progress before he went anywhere with you. Which just left you to scroll through YouTube idly, eyeing the videos of ducks that kept popping onto your feed. All it took was one video from Felix for you to fall down this rabbit hole, and you were honestly fine with that. He made you happy.

Absent-mindedly, you started to reach toward Jisung’s desk. He always kept a stack of sticky notes on it, and you were hoping to blindly snag it without bothering Jisung. Yet he glanced up for half a second before pushing the cube over to you, offering a pen out to you without a word. You accepted it, thanking him out loud even though he was still entranced with whatever song he was working on. He hadn’t shared any of this one with you yet, but you weren’t going to push. He would show it to you when he was good and ready, and if he didn’t, then you just assumed it’d be more personal. All you did was roll onto your stomach, leaving your phone next to you as you began to doodle on the sticky notes. Jisung sometimes kept your silly little doodles, sticking them to his monitor before eventually throwing them out. There was still a pink one stuck to the corner of his screen with a little puppy on it, surrounded by little flowers.  You’d started drawing tulips on this new sticky note without thinking, followed by other flowers that you remembered seeing in that shop.

Jisung pulled the headphones off his head, looking over at you. He was wearing glasses again today—a rare sight since he started wearing contacts—and the monitor reflected in them. “Sorry,” he said, watching you doodle for a moment longer. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” you didn’t look up, humming to yourself as you kept drawing. “Take your time. I don’t mind waiting.”

(When other people said such things, jisung always felt a little on edge. Did they really mean it, or were they just pacifying him? But when you did it, he never had to doubt you. You always gave him this little reassuring smile. You meant it, and that was something else he loved about you.)

“I mean it,” you said, just like you always did to try and reassure him further. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, okay?”

Sometimes that promise would end in you falling asleep on his bed, always after you had a particularly long or rough day. He never woke you up: he’d just pulled a blanket over you and went to sleep on the couch for the night. He always made it up to you by buying breakfast that following morning. You did the same for him, after all.

Jisung replaced his headphones, but left one side off so he could hear you. A clear sign that he was open to conversation now, less focused on the work at hand. His way of winding down without dropping the project entirely. “How,” he said, and then paused for just a second as he clicked something else, “was lunch with Felix?”

The heat traveled to your face immediately, and you averted your gaze. “It was nice.” 

“Oh?” He swayed a little, turning his chair slightly. “So no wedding yet? I was practicing to be the flower girl, you know.”

You flipped him off, and he snorted. 

“I wouldn’t make a good one?” He faked offense. “I think I’d be cute.” 

“The cutest,” you rolled your eyes, yet still found yourself smiling. “Are you gonna show me the song you’re working on, or is this one another mystery?”

Jisung turned toward his computer again, not quite looking at you anymore. “It’s not ready yet.” 

You looked up at him, the way he sounded a little distant piquing your curiosity. It wasn’t ready yet…? You shrugged it off. What reason would Jisung have to lie to you…? Maybe he didn’t want your opinions this time around. There was nothing wrong with that, to be fair: Chris and Changbin were both better for musical analysis. But he’d always valued your opinions on something that was so important to him, and you always tried to pay attention to his lyricism and compliment him where you could.

Yet you doodled a little rose in the corner of the note. “Okay,” you dragged out the word, rolling onto your side after a moment, just to face him for a second. “If you ever want to show me, I’ll be happy to listen.”

“I’ll let you know if I need you.” A moment later, he met your eyes and smiled—just to reassure you that he was fine.

With said reassurance, you returned to lying on your stomach and doodling. You stuck the sticky note with flowers onto the side of his desk, and started doodling paw prints and hearts onto the new note. “I think we should go out.”

“Huh?!”

Immediately, your heart leapt into your throat. Fuck, that’s not what you meant—why did he have to sound so bothered by it?! Was dating you really such a weird idea…? You just prayed he couldn’t see how flustered you’d become, tugging at the collar of your shirt. When did your skin start burning…? “Felix told me about this nice restaurant and I figured we could go scope it out,” you said quickly. At least this wasn’t a lie or anything: Felix did send you the name of a nice place for a future date.

“Shouldn’t you check it out with him?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know how I am.”

Maybe it was silly, but you had this thing about scoping places out if you knew where someone was taking you. You did the same thing whenever your family was in the area and wanted to check something new out, just so you knew that there was something on the menu that you’d like. If someone else was treating you, you always felt guilty if you didn’t like what they were paying for. Jisung asked you once why you didn’t just look up the menu online and pick from there.

You had looked at him that day. “Jisung. What if they don’t make it good? What if they add extra stuff I don’t like and it’s gross after I ask them to take it off?” You frowned, hugging yourself. “Then I feel bad for wasting my money, or my date’s money, or my parents' money…” 

He hadn’t questioned you on it further and offered to be your test-date if you needed him. He’d never judge your taste, after all. If he was busy, you’d just drag Chris into going wherever with you—always offering to pay for him even though he had the better job out of the two of you. It was nice to go out with Jisung, though. He always seemed to know what you were going to pick off of the menu, the same way you knew his tastes. Speaking of…

“Jisungie?” You smiled at him, ready to sweeten the deal in a way he couldn’t refuse. “I’ll buy you cheesecake after.”

Immediately, you saw the way he pressed his lips together. You knew one of the ways to his heart and it was always through something sweet like cheesecake. A moment later, he melted, smiling as he turned back to save what he was working on. You left the sticky notes on his desk and hopped up, announcing you’d be waiting for him and made your way out. Minho had been curled up on the couch with a book, glancing up when you came in.

“Jisung and I are going to get dinner. Are you coming?”

Minho glanced over to where Jisung had emerged from his room, then shook his head. “I already ate.” 

Whatever. The two of you would have fun on your own, then. Through the power of digital maps and following directions, you and Jisung managed to find the place easily enough. The two of you ended up seated in the corner, ordering quickly enough before you were left alone. With a sigh, you’d begun to swirl your straw in your drink, mind wandering a bit. Your date with Felix had been nice, but you always felt so fluttery with him. Being around Jisung was… easier. You didn’t feel the need to force any conversation with him, the two of you were content to have a minute of quiet if that was what you both needed. It was a weird change to feel around him, to be honest. In the past, being around Felix was always easy. Now that you knew he liked you back…  It was different. You couldn’t help but wonder if things would be different if Jisung liked you back, if this were a date. Then you pushed the thought away: you needed to stop thinking things like that. 

“What’s on your mind?” Jisung had peeked up at you from where he was scrolling through social media on his phone, frowning a little.

With a sigh, you knew he’d pick up on your mood. “I feel like I’m gonna turn into one of those people who only talks about dating.” You fiddled with the sleeve of your sweater—your favorite color this time. “But…”

“I’m listening,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

Why did he have to look at you so earnestly? Jisung had the prettiest eyes, especially when they looked so shiny—like boba pearls, someone once said. You nodded a moment later. “Just… I dunno. I like Felix, but I keep getting nervous with him.” You tapped your toes against the floor, a little restless already. “I mean… I know he likes me, but… I dunno. We haven’t kissed or anything.”

“Has he said anything?” Jisung ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it effortlessly. How the hell did he always do that…? “What are you two doing next?”

“We were gonna see a movie and then get food here,” you paused, looking up from where you’d started staring at your hands. “And maybe dessert, if he’s interested.” 

“Was it your idea or his?”

“His, but—”

“Then I think you’re overthinking it,” Jisung said gently. “I think…” He trailed off for a moment, and then cleared his throat. “I think he likes you because you’re you. And… And, um,” he glanced down for just a second, “and if anyone doesn’t like you, then… I don’t think they deserve you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. How was he so sweet? He seemed so nervous now, the way he always seemed to get when he was a little more sentimental with you. Like he was treading lightly, so as to not say the wrong thing. You’d told him once that there was nothing he could say that would upset you, and so far that still rang true. You had your fair share of disagreements over the years, but Jisung was your best friend. If you had soulmates in this life, then Jisung was one of them. “Jisung…”

He just silently watched you for a moment, gauging your reaction as he carefully tried to find any signs that he’d slipped up. 

You just buried your face in your hands a moment late, skin burning hot already. He’d melted your heart all too easily, dooming you to pine for him forever. No matter how far you went from him, no matter if you moved on, Jisung eternally had a piece of your heart and he didn’t even know it. Finally, you found the strength to speak, voice small: “I don’t deserve you.”

Your date with Felix was going well. The movie was fun, and dinner went great (especially going in knowing that you already liked some of the menu). He’d been gushing about video games and the movie, and now he was talking about a new recipe he was workshopping. His fingers were intertwined with yours as you walked aimlessly, no plan in place for where you were going next. You liked how warm Felix’s hands were, and the way he would run his thumb over your hand—just a tender little way of showing he was still there with you. 

“Maybe… I could bake with you sometime?” You squeezed his hand a little. “If you want an assistant.”

He lit up at the suggestion, already beaming again with joy. “I’d love that! I could teach you whatever you don’t know.” He paused, cheeks flushing red. “I think… you’d be a cute assistant, too.”

Your heart leapt into your throat at that, face growing warmer at the thought. Felix was always so cute, so affectionate, and the way he giggled at your flustered face only made you more embarrassed. Yet your mind had started to drift to the walk you’d taken with Jisung after dinner that night, heading toward your usual place for dessert….

Only to be jostled from your thoughts as Felix’s shoulder bumped against yours, getting your attention back with ease. “You okay?” He paused, and then smiled as he squeezed your hand. “You wanna get ice cream?”

Ice cream sounded perfect. You’d been wanting to bring up dessert, but you weren’t sure if he had room for it after dinner and splitting popcorn with you earlier. Then your mind turned to the brownies you’d had with Jisung… “Actually… There’s this place I go sometimes—”

“With Jisung?” Felix asked. He didn’t seem jealous or bothered in the slightest. “I’ve actually been wanting to go there with you.”

You slowed to a stop. “You have?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but… I dunno. I guess I started thinking I was overstepping since that place was always you and Jisung. You guys always take us somewhere else if we’re all going, so…”

What?

Felix shrugged, and started walking again. You fell into step with him. He continued on after a moment, “You two are really close. I mean… I’ve been places with my friends that I haven’t gone with you all, y’know? Maybe we keep stuff for our friends sometimes.”

The shop had always been a place for you and Jisung, sure, but neither of you ever intended for it to be exclusively for you two. Minho had gone with the two of you once or twice, and so had Chris. Now that you were thinking about it, this place wasn’t even the place you two used to frequent. That place closed down a little over a year ago, and you’d found this place shortly after that. The two of you had gotten a to-go order that first time to try in his apartment and fell in love with the dessert there. 

“It’s not our place,” you said after a moment. “If you want ice cream, we can get ice cream instead. I just started thinking about their brownies—”

Felix was already intrigued. “Do you wanna go?” He squeezed your hand a little, giddy at the idea. “We can split one, if you want?”

Perfect. “I’d love that,” you giggled. “They’re huge and they put a scoop of vanilla on top and drizzle it with caramel—you’ll love it.”

And he did: he fed you the first bite, just to be cheesy. His eyes always seemed to twinkle when he looked at you, so thoroughly endeared to you day after day. He’d hummed in bliss at his own first bite of the dessert before talking about how the salted caramel complimented the sweetness of the vanilla ice cream and the slight bitterness of whatever dark chocolate was in the brownie. It all came together beautifully, and all you could do was admire how pretty Felix was. He’d held your hand again after the two of you left, and held on tight for the entire walk home. 

“May I…?”

You turned your cheek to him, and he pressed a kiss against it. His lips were soft against your cheek, lingering there for a few extra seconds before he drew away. He’d already started talking about planning your next date soon, leaving it there. He took a few steps back, waiting until you unlocked the door to your apartment before he waved and made his way in the opposite direction. You retreated into your apartment with the sappiest smile on your face, already on cloud nine. In the sanctuary of your apartment, you buried your face in your hands, trying to ignore how heavily your heart was thumping in your ears.

“Someone had a good time.”

Chris had stood near the entryway, two glasses in his hands. He must have been on his way back to the living room, and you waved him on as you slipped out of your shoes and into your house slippers. Right as you were ready to tell Chris a little about how your date had gone, you spotted Changbin on the couch. With a polite way, you decided to hold off. Chris could wait to hear things tomorrow, and you told him that as you made your way toward your room.

“Did he walk you back?” Chris called out, and you hung back long enough to nod. “You could have invited him in for a minute—”

“Oh, fuck no.” You loved Chris, and maybe it would have been polite, but he had too much dirt on you. The fact you’d managed to be friends with everyone this long without having all your embarrassing stories spilled was a miracle in itself. “I love you, but I don’t need you to embarrass both of us, Chris.”

Chris only burst into giggles, knowing that you were right and that Felix would have agreed with you in a heartbeat. “I wouldn’t do it too bad!”

Big brother energy. Big bother energy, too. You opened your bedroom door. “You absolutely would,” you called back. “Love you!”

Yet it was right as you were closing the door that you heard Changbin speak up, clearly not intending for you to hear: “I thought they were…” Then a pause, just for a second. “... What about Jisung?”

You shut your bedroom door as quietly as you could, praying that no one noticed you’d caught that. You pressed your back against it for a minute, wondering where you had slipped up. Were you that obvious? Did everyone but Jisung know that you liked him and he didn’t like you back? No. No, no one else could know, right? If they knew, they would have said something by now—especially with the fact that you and Felix weren’t hiding the fact you were dating. Speaking of…

You texted him to get home safe, tacking on a yellow heart after it. He attached a little heart to the message soon enough, and you smiled to yourself. He’d text you when he got home, the way he usually did. All you could do now was start getting ready for bed as you let your mind drift back to what Changbin had been saying. If Changbin knew, then there was no telling if he’d accidentally spill it. What if Jisung found out…? He’d look at you differently, wouldn’t he? Especially since you’d asked him to help you get with Felix. What if he connected the dots and figured out that you were dating Felix because you were trying to move on? What if Felix found out and he hated you for it…? A world in which Jisung and Felix hated you was one you didn’t want to live in, and your heart began to race at the thought. Shit. What if…? You wanted to reach for your phone, to call Jisung. But Jisung would ask some questions to help you calm down, and you weren’t sure if you could be vague enough to keep him from finding out. 

Instead, you threw yourself into doing research for an essay. The less you thought about it all, the better off you’d be. The only thing that pulled you out of your thoughts was the text that popped up over an hour later from Felix. He’d sent you a picture of himself with a face mask on, dressed and ready for bed, and apologizing that he didn’t text you sooner. It was followed up with a “sleep well 💙we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?” that left you smiling.

Felix was cute. He was sweet. He liked you, and you liked him. All you needed to do was push past your feelings for Jisung, and things would work out. Letting go was the hardest part of loving someone who wouldn’t love you back, and you needed to learn how to do it.

Maybe Felix could help you learn how to do that by loving you extra loud.

“You’re both slacking, you know!”

Jisung looked up at the sound of your voice carrying across the apartment. Barely milliseconds later, he heard Minho groan at you for pointing out the fact the apartment was a little unkempt. Fuck, you were here sooner than he thought—he’d seen your text over half an hour saying you were coming, but you were ‘taking your time’ for whatever reason. You’d given him a time, and even still he was surprised by how soon you’d showed up.

“I told you to text before you come!”

You’d stopped for a minute to turn to huff at him. “I did!” 

“Text me, not just Jisung.” There was no venom in his words, purely Minho ribbing you, but Jisung jolted from his chair. Shit, his room was a mess still. Minho had to know, didn’t he? This was him giving him a chance to tidy before you came in. “He’s been in his room all day, by the way.”

“What?” You hadn’t moved. “Really? Is he behind, or…?”

Yes, keep distracting them, Jisung shoved trash into the small trash can next to his desk—all wrappers from snacks. The sticky notes from his monitor were neatly hidden away in the bottom drawer with all the others you’d left him. Minho was rattling something off about how he knew Jisung had been hard at work, although he’d barely checked on him since he seemed to be focused. He’d tie up the bag and take it out of his room later, after you left. He made up his bed as you asked something about one of Jisung’s classes, to which Minho said a curt “I don’t know, I’m not his mom,” which earned ribbing from you considering how Minho acted like a mom at times. A second later, your voice was a little louder, having stepped closer to his room.

He threw himself back into his chair, pulled his headphones on, and pretended to be hard at work. Don’t notice the fact he’s still panting a little—he was just… running. A marathon. Really. He heard your quick knock, followed by the creak of his bedroom door a moment later. When you waved your hand in front of his face, he pretended to jolt back, pushing his headphones around his neck as he looked up at you.

With a smile, you held up the takeout. “How much do you love me?”

More than you knew. No wonder you told him you weren’t sure you’d be there on time. He accepted the bag, already working to undo the knot. “I don’t deserve you.”

You pulled over the spare chair, pulling it over to his desk. “Minho said you’ve been busy all day. Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Just working on that paper on music history,” he set aside the plastic-wrapped utensils. “It’s due in a few days, but I’m behind on it, so…”

You frowned a little. “Okay, but… Have you eaten today?” When he didn’t move, you’d been given your answer. “Aw, Jisungie…”

“I’ve snacked?”

“That’s not the same thing,” you leaned against his desk. “I guess I came at a good time, then.” 

He nodded, pulling the knot undone. He set your food aside. “I think Minho tried to check on me earlier. I don’t really remember.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, and both of you knew that. “Are you gonna share this time?”

He let out a groan. One time he ate all the steamed dumplings, and you’ve never let him live it down. “I always share,” he said, setting the container where both of you could reach it. “Take however many you want.”

“Not those,” you said, before pausing for a moment. “Well, yes those, but…” You pointed your chopsticks toward his computer. “Any of your work. I feel like I haven’t heard any of it this semester.” 

“You’re usually with Felix,” he said, voice a little quieter. “I mean… You two are usually going out and doing things, you know?” He hoped you understood him: you couldn’t be around to hear things when you were out with him. 

“Not the entire semester,” you frowned again. Then you sighed, balancing your food in your lap. “But you’re right.” Then you paused, brows drawing together. “Wait… Am I spending too much time with Felix?”

Jisung shook his head quickly. “No! No, you two are fine—I just meant—”

You reached out, squeezing his shoulder, “No, Jisung. I’m sorry.”

The way you sounded so genuinely upset only broke his heart a little. He didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t be spending time with Felix—the two of you were dating after all. “Don’t feel bad about Felix—”

You stopped him there again. “No, I mean… I know we’re dating, but that’s no excuse to ignore you. I don’t want to be the kind of person who dumps their friends entirely, all just because I’m seeing someone. That’s not fair to you.”

His face grew warmer. Had you thought about this before…? You’d always been so conscious of your friendships when dating in the past. Sure, you spent more time with past partners, but he’d never felt neglected. No one did. “You aren’t dumping any of us. It’s okay.”

Yet that didn’t seem to stop you. “We should go out this weekend,” you said. “Like we usually do. I have to work Saturday morning, but my evening is yours.” 

His? Jisung ignored the way his heart skipped a beat at that. It didn’t mean anything. “But what about Felix?”

You pressed your lips together. “If he doesn’t understand ‘best friend time,’ then he’s not the one.” You shrugged. “My partner shouldn't stop me from hanging out with friends. I’m never going to date anyone like that. I wouldn’t want anyone to put their life on pause entirely for me, you know?”

Jisung had always loved that about you. You loved your friends wholeheartedly, and you were always so, so loyal to them. In your past relationships, you’d always found time for friends. They understood whenever you prioritized the relationship during that initial phase, sure, but it always just felt… wrong to drop them entirely during that period. You needed to balance your time, after all.

Jisung swallowed his own pain. “How are you two?”

“You don’t want to hear about us.”

“I do,” he insisted. “You don’t have to share anything, but… You’re both still my friends. Jeongin said he saw you two on a date.”

You fumbled with your chopsticks, immediately growing flustered. “Oh my god. Felix kept telling me that he was positive it wasn’t him—I knew it was! Holy shit—”

“He didn’t say anything bad!” Jisung panicked a little, carefully removing your food from your lap before it could get spilled in your movement. He moved his chair over, giving you some of his desk space so you wouldn’t have to use your lap as a table anymore. “All he said was that you two were holding hands and giggling. He said it was sweet.”

You refused to look at Jisung, still too embarrassed to do anything more than push your food around its plate. “He’s… really sweet,” you admitted after a moment. “I dunno how I feel, honestly, and I kinda feel bad about that. He’s nice to talk to, and he’s sweet, but… I dunno. I keep getting worried that I’m leading him on if I’m not all-in already.” Your knee bumped against Jisung’s. “You changed the subject, by the way.” 

Shit, you caught him. Jisung just moved the dumplings between the two of you again, trying to distract you. When you gave him a pointed look, he knew you weren’t going to drop it yet. With a sigh, he shrugged. “I’ll show you after I finish one. They aren’t good yet.” 

“Bullshit,” you said. “Your works’ always good. Even when it’s a work in progress—I can always tell that you love what you’re doing. I love how devoted you are to it… and to us, y’know.” 

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed, always so easily flustered. How did complimenting him come so easily to you? 

“You don’t have to share it if you aren’t ready or if you don’t want to,” you said after a moment. “You can tell me that, though. I’ll stop asking.”

Jisung looked up, nodding. “Later,” he promised, running a hand through his hair nervously. “When I’m ready.”

You giggled, squeezing his knee. “That’s all I needed to know,” you said. “I’ll be here for you when you want to share, alright?”

Tell them. The little voice in the back of Jisung’s mind was nagging him again, and all he could do was admire how giddy you were getting over dumplings. He loved how you found joy in little things like this, too. Tell them so they can break your heart and get it over with.

Then something clicked in his mind, something he’d glazed over entirely. “You… might not like Felix?”

You avoided his gaze, as though you were ashamed. There was nothing wrong with not being sure of your feelings, and yet you’d shrunk before him, unsure. “I don’t know. I… I like him, but I’m not sure how far it goes.”

“You should figure it out soon,” he said softly. Regardless of his own feelings for you, Felix was his friend. You clearly were, too. It was unfair if you stopped feeling things and kept seeing him. “Felix is a really good person. If you want to date him, you should be up front about it. He won’t hold it against you if you don’t feel the same, you know? Do what will make you happy.” 

You looked up from your food a moment later, a soft look in his eyes. He’d seen you and accepted you without any harsh judgment. Someone else might have told you off for being unsure, but not Jisung. Never Jisung. Feelings were complicated, after all. If you weren’t sure, then you weren’t sure. All you needed was time to figure it out. You wouldn’t drag things out to hurt Felix. You turned, leaning over the side of your chair to wrap your arms around him. He relaxed into your embrace, reaching up a hand to squeeze your arm.

“I’m really glad you’re in my life, Jisung.” You shut your eyes, squeezing him extra tight for a second. “I really, really love you, y’know?”

Why did that feel like a confession? His heart was racing, and he just squeezed you gently. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he savored this moment. “Yeah,” he said, praying that you didn’t notice how warm his face was getting, or hear how fast his heart was racing. “Love you, too.”

A moment later, you drew away, hands lingering on his arm for a moment too long. Then you were hit with realization. “Oh!” You drew away from him, “I forgot to get us drinks.” The wheels noisily rolled against the floor as you stood up. “I’ll go see what’s in the fridge, alright?”

Before he could offer to go, you were gone. Jisung watched the door shut behind you, and let out a long sigh as he relaxed into his chair. How long would it take for him to get past this? Every little moment like this with you only made his feelings burrow deeper into his chest. It felt as though he’d hit bedrock and somehow managed to keep digging. Something squeezed in his chest, and he felt as though he was going to suffocate in that moment. 

Jisung loved you too much, and now it was starting to hurt even more.

Felix was… Felix. He’d been kind to you from the first day you met him. He was sweet. Sometimes insecure, but most people were, weren’t they? He was warmer than sunshine, though, and you had always felt like you were on top of the world when you were with him. He had that ability to just spread joy in other people, that pretty smile enough to give anyone butterflies—especially when you heard his laugh afterward. He’d always drifted toward others, always ready to give a warm hug when someone needed it (or even just wanted it). Felix was sunshine in human form…

So what changed? He was smiling that cute, smitten smile that he always seemed to have when he was around you. He played with your fingers, talking about his day and asking you about your own. The two of you hadn’t been going out that long, yet those weeks seemed to shift subtly more and more until you were where you were now. The time he first kissed your cheek felt so distant now. He still liked to press little kisses against your cheek, and you often did the same to him, too. So what was wrong with you? His giggle still made your heart flutter, and the cute face he made when he got flustered was still adorable, but…

Chris had paused the movie the two of you were watching one weekend, opting to study you for a moment. You’d been scrolling through your social media feeds, too bored with the stilted leads. They were reciting shitty dialogue written by someone who clearly didn’t know what love was. Then again… What was love like?

“Hey. Can we talk?” 

You looked up, confused. When did Chris get so serious…? “What’s wrong?”

“I love you, but…” He let out a sigh. “I just wanted to say that I think you should cut things off with Felix if you aren’t interested.”

What? You never said you weren’t interested. Felix was sweet, and nice, and you felt great when you were around him still. “What?”

“I don’t know—Whenever I look at the two of you now, it looks like you’re always thinking about something.” Chris paused for a moment, and then frowned at you. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m still here for you. I just don’t want you and Felix to get hurt.” 

You hugged yourself. “I know, I just…”

“Just… Figure it out, yeah?” Chris let out a sigh. “I love you so, so much. And I love Felix, too. When you said you were interested in him, I was really excited for you both, yeah? But, I don’t know, I can’t shake this weird feeling now.” He paused for a moment, eyes searching your own now. “I didn’t push you into this, did I?”

“No! No,” you shook your head, “you didn’t. I was crushing on him for a while.” You drew your knees a little closer to you, shifting into a more comfortable position. “I… I don’t know.” 

Maybe you should kiss him. Just to see how it felt. 

“I guess…” You trailed off for a moment, hugging your blanket closer to you. “I guess I’m just not sure about anything anymore. I like hanging out with him. And… I like him. I just don’t know how I feel anymore.”

Chris frowned as he watched you. He understood, though: feelings were always complicated in some way, weren’t they? “You should tell him soon once you figure it out.” The way he was being so insistent on it meant someone talked to him. Was it Felix…? Had Felix confided in him? He sat up, reaching for the near-empty bowl of popcorn. He dropped the remote into your lap. “I’m gonna make more popcorn. Find something actually good to watch, yeah?”

“This was your pick, you know.” 

He just rustled your hair before moving on. With a new movie picked out, Chris settled into the space next to you rather than his usual spot. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side as he pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. He’d always given you little kisses like that when you were upset, and the habit never really died. It comforted you even now, reminding you of simpler times. He’d cared for you once when you were a child, rushing to your side when you skinned his knee. Admittedly it was because you’d been chasing after him, but he’d cared for you the same way he did for his siblings. He bandaged your knee, kissing it better the way his parents always did before kissing your forehead. His parents told him that it helped it heal faster. And, sure, the two of you had been dumb kids then, but the kisses now always reminded you that you weren’t going through things alone. Chris was always right there with you, the older brother you never had. 

It was sweet. At least you would always have Chris in your corner, right next to Jisung.

Felix kissed you.

The two of you had walked home from dinner that night with your pinkies linked together. You’d grown quieter with each step, listening to Felix as he filled the space with soft conversation until it, too, was drowned in the sounds of the night. The sound of cars driving past, the chirp of crickets, the wind as it kissed your skin. But Felix was right there with you, still tethered to you by your pinkies. Even now, he looked at you so sweetly whenever he caught your eye. He’d fixed your jacket, or brushed a stray strand of hair back from your face. When you were finally back in front of your apartment, he’d asked if he could kiss you. You said yes, and he closed that distance between you. All at once, you knew: Felix wasn’t it.

Maybe there would never be anyone like Jisung for you. But you couldn’t be upset about that. It wasn’t his fault you fell for him somewhere along the way. And now you were standing in front of your apartment, an eternity seeming to pass as Felix kissed you gently. His lips were slightly chapped this time, fingers gently holding your face. One of the neighbors must have opened their door and seen from the way it opened and immediately shut. 

A moment later, Felix pulled away since you never actually reciprocated. The hurt in his eyes told you everything: he knew. His hands were still holding your face, thumbs running over the apples of your cheeks. Shit. Fuck, you’d hurt him, all while you were hurting, too. Yet you saw the way he tried to fight back tears, blinking quickly as he took in a shaky breath.

When he spoke, his voice was strained. “This… wasn’t ever going somewhere, was it?”

Even after you’d hurt him, he was still so gentle with you. You wished he were angry with you, or upset, or anything other than the man who was forcing a smile in front of you now. If he yelled at you or started crying, then you could apologize. You could try to fix things. All he did was keep that forced smile as he drew his hands back, letting them fall to his sides again. With the tiniest step back, your worlds seemed to break apart. Why couldn’t he just  yell at you? You’d hurt him, and he just… He looked at you like he still thought the world of you.

“That’s okay.” His voice was so much quieter. It was as though his sunlight had been snuffed out. “I had fun.”

“Felix—”

“I mean it,” he said, taking another small step back. “I… I really hope this doesn’t hurt our friendship. I still like talking to you, and—and I like being your friend. And you’re kind-of good at games, so we could, um—we could still use yours if you wanted to play with us, and…”

He was rambling. All you could do was step forward, pulling him into your arms to hug him tight. All too easily, he crumpled into your embrace, holding you tight. 

“I’m sorry, Felix.” You hoped he would forgive you someday. Not today. Not too soon, not too easily. You didn’t deserve that. “I should have known sooner.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, taking in another shaky breath before pulling away from you. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” He paused. “You should head in. I’m sure Chris is worried. I’ll probably get a text from him on my way home. You know how he is—he always worries, and, um, he… worries a lot about if I’m getting home safe, and…”

You punched in your apartment’s code, stepping back into the doorway. You turned to face Felix one last time, heart breaking in your chest. He forced one more smile as he looked at you.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice soft as ever.

You swallowed hard. “Goodnight, Felix. Get home safely.”

And then you shut the door, securing the door as you pressed your forehead against it. You waited, hoping that Felix had taken off as soon as the door was shut before you slammed your fist into it. Chris was out. You hadn’t seen his shoes when you stepped in, his house slippers left in their usual spot. All too quickly, you kicked your shoes off, heading toward your room as you started to strip off your clothes. You just wanted to be in your pajamas, curled up in bed. The heartbreak wasn’t what was hurting you more: it was knowing you’d hurt Felix, and he was going to go home, and he was going to cry because Felix was someone everyone treated with care. He wasn’t fragile, but he was gentler. A softer person. There was a reason why Minho joked with him differently, after all. 

At least you were alone now. Chris would have asked questions. Everyone would have, except… You’d picked up your phone, opening it up to Jisung’s contact. Jisung wouldn’t ask questions. Jisung would hold you and let you cry. But he was Felix’s friend first. 

All you could do now was send a final text to Felix to get home safely. A little heart popped up next to the message, a sign that he saw it, and you shut your phone off afterward. You dragged yourself to bed, chest heavy and hurting as you pulled your blankets around yourself. Why couldn’t things just be different?

Why couldn’t you just turn your feelings off?

Jisung didn’t speak to you all week. 

This wasn’t him getting busy with schoolwork and shutting everyone out to work. Jisung did that with warning to everyone, just so no one worried about him. That was the rule for all of you. Life could be hectic, but no one was to completely shut everyone out without at least some sort of heads up so no one worried too much. Jisung had always been clear with telling you when he needed his space so that you could check in with him occasionally. The one person you needed most right now wasn’t responding to your texts, and that terrified you. He was pissed at you. He had to be, right? You had hurt Felix, and Jisung decided to side with the person he’d known longer. Messaging Minho yielded no answer, too. You had expected Felix to avoid you the way he was now, but even he had been more cordial to you. Sure, he was quieter, but that, again, was something you had expected. He apparently came by one day to see Chris, and you had never known until Chris offhandedly mentioned it.

You had to figure things out, which meant asking everyone separately. Chris had claimed he didn’t know anything about what was wrong with Jisung. He never acted any differently when they interacted, although it was a little more rare nowadays. Minho only responded to tell you that Jisung needed space, but that he wasn’t sure what had happened. Felix had messaged you back to first accept your apology for bothering him and then tell you that he wasn’t sure what happened. No one did. Jeongin seemed clueless that anything had happened, Changbin said he’d see what he could find out (only to come up fruitless in that attempt), and Seungmin had been buried in his own schoolwork. If anyone had known something, it would have been Minho.

Which… admittedly was why you decided to wait outside the dance studio he worked at. He was teaching kids dance now, and it paid well enough that he could support himself. Plus he seemed happy, always getting along well with the kids according to Felix and Hyunjin when they volunteered to help a few times. You knew that he locked up in the evenings because he was the last person out, always taking an hour to himself to practice his own dancing. You listened to the jingle of keys and the loud click of the door, followed by Minho making his way down the steps. He noticed you all too easily, and slowed to a stop.

He shook his head, pocketing his keys. “I’m not telling you anything,” he said, as though he’d been expecting you to track him down. Maybe he did. Minho could have his airheaded moments the way you had your own, but he wasn’t stupid. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Maybe half an hour.” You crossed your arms, shivering a little in the cold. Maybe longer, actually. “I just want to know what’s going on with Jisung. I’m worried, Minho—he hasn’t said anything to me.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “He’s just going through a few things.” He stepped down off that final step, making his way toward home. He turned, speaking to you again, “He’s not ready to talk to you, so give him space for now. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.” Then he turned away again, continuing his walk away.

That wasn’t enough for you. You hurried to catch up to him, “Minho!” You fell into step next to him. “Why can’t he just tell me that? That’s all I needed to hear from him. He knows he can tell me things, I just—”

Minho stopped suddenly, turning to face you. He reached up, hands resting on your shoulders. “When he’s ready, he’ll tell you. Don’t worry about him,” his fingers dug into your shoulders for a quick squeeze, “I’m taking care of him. Just wait for him.” 

Before you could question him further, Minho let go of you. All you could do was stand there, stewing in your thoughts. Minho knew, then. What he knew exactly, you weren’t sure, but he at least knew what was wrong with Jisung. You drew your phone back out of your pocket, opening it to your unanswered messages to Jisung. Maybe you shouldn’t have,  but you needed to say at least one last thing before you stopped trying to contact him. Just to he knew that you were still on his side:

I’m here if you need me, Jisung. Please take care. Love you.

And by the time you were home, he had reacted with a heart. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell you he’d seen your messages. 

At least he’d given you that.

Jisung still wasn’t speaking to you another week later.

He knew about Felix. How could he not know about Felix? He knew that you had ended things with him. He knew that Hyunjin was beyond pissed at you, and he knew you’d eventually figure that out. Jisung had spilled his feelings to Hyunjin when he pushed again. That he had loved you for so long now that he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love you. Hyunjin, to his credit,  had quietly listened to Jisung as he told him everything. Then when he was done, he scowled to himself.

“They hurt Felix,” he had said. “Because they love you.”

Jisung shook his head. “You don’t have to say things like that. I know they don’t—”

“No, they do, and you need to realize that.” Hyunjin crumpled the paper cup of coffee, getting up to throw it into the trash. “That’s why they turned Felix down.”

What the hell—Did you say something to Hynjin? “Did they tell you?”

“No.” He crossed his arms. “But I know. It’s a gut feeling. I always thought you were lying to me, but…” He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “You deserve better than them, Jisung.”

Immediately, he was taken aback. “What?”

“They fucked with Felix’s feelings,” he said, “and I think that’s fucked up. I don’t care that they have feelings for you—they should have left Felix out of it. Why would they do this to him?”

“They liked him,” Jisung said, already quick to defend you. He was hurting, yes, but he wasn’t going to just let Hyunjin insult you like this. You weren’t some cruel person—you had genuinely liked Felix. What, were you supposed to keep dating Felix when it turned out you didn’t feel the same way? “They wouldn’t have dated him if they didn’t.”

“Did they?” He balled his hands into fists. “Or were they just trying to get over you?”

“They wouldn’t have hurt him on purpose!” Jisung hated how he teared up now. He was angry, he wanted to defend you, and yet the stress of fighting back now was already getting to him. “They were figuring out how they felt—they’re not a bad person for figuring out that they don’t like him like that.”

“I mean it,” Hyunjin said. “You deserve better. Felix does, too.”

Jisung didn’t know what else to say. Nothing he could say would change Hyunjin’s mind, would it? He was pissed at you, and nothing Jisung could say on your behalf would do anything. Only you could change his mind. 

“I’m still here for you,” Hyunjin said, voice a little softer than before. “I know it’s hard. I’m sorry, Jisung.”

Of course he was still there for him. Everyone would be—including Felix, if he knew. He saw a picture pop up a few days later of Felix out with Hyunjin and Changbin, smiling genuinely at the camera. He’d heard about how badly Felix had been hurting those first few days–. Changbin said he’d been crying for so long that night, genuinely heartbroken by how everything had gone down. Not that Changbin was upset with you at all: relationships sometimes just didn’t work out. It sucked that Felix was hurt, but everyone (excluding Hyunjin, who’s loyalty to Felix admittedly blinded him to anything you were going through) understood that the situation was complicated. It had to be, right? The two of you seemed to fit together so well…

Jisung shut his eyes, listening as he reworked this part in his song about you for maybe the millionth time now. The lyrics weren’t completely right, not flowing the way he wanted them to. But he’d never been able to get them right every time he tried to rewrite them, and it was too personal a project to ask for a second opinion on. He’d stopped working on it to console Felix at one point, only for him to ask point black if Jisung actually did like you. He denied it. the same way he always did and always would, and Felix didn’t push. Jisung couldn’t like you now. Not when it would hurt someone, and especially when it would hurt someone like Felix. Denying his feelings hurt, but pursuing you just felt selfish.

Suddenly, his headphones were pulled off his ears, and Minho stood next to him. He glanced at the screen and already recognized it to be the piece that Jisung had been working on constantly when he wasn’t working on schoolwork, and sighed. Jisung watched as Minho wordlessly made his way over to his closet, opening the doors and searching through his shirts. He yanked one off, throwing it at Jisung, who scrambled to catch it.

“Get dressed,” Minho said before Jisung could question him. “Chris is on his way.”

Jisung furrowed his brows. Chris was…? He looked down at the clean white t-shirt in his hands. “Did something happen?”

“We’re all going out,” he said, searching for a clean pair of jeans. He threw those at him, too, and then turned. “You’ve barely left the apartment outside of work and class. We’re going to sing your feelings out. Bottling them up won’t help you.”

Jisung only stared at him. Writing a song about you was the opposite of bottling it up… right? “I’m not—”

“You don’t have to tell us everything,” he made his way over, giving Jisung a gentle pat on the head. “But you can depend on us. We’re here for you.”

Jisung looked down at the clothing Minho had oh-so-lovingly thrown in his face, and nodded. He left his headphones on his desk, moving to change once Minho had left him alone. Soon enough, he had changed, and even sooner after that, Chris had shown up. If you were upset, Chris hadn’t said a word about it. He just threw an arm around Jisung, already bragging about how he’d have the highest score tonight if Jisung didn’t bring his game. It was almost nice to act as though nothing was wrong, even though Jisung saw the concerned looks Chris kept taking. 

He’d run his fingers over the smooth seats in the karaoke room, listening as Chris put in an order for drinks and snacks. All of this was his treat, he’d insisted over and over. This was entirely his idea, apparently (an idea Minho didn’t refute at all). Jisung kept glancing at the door, wondering if this was some plan they’d concocted to make the two of you talk. 

“Jisung, you should sing first,” Minho said, prodding his side to get his attention. 

Jisung looked to his two friends, who began to chant his name to motivate him further. This wasn’t a trap to make the two of you talk, then. The tension eased off of him. They wouldn’t do that to him—not like this, at least. He waved his hands, though. “No—It’s fine! One of you can go first.”

Chris stood up and began to cycle through the songs, humming to himself before stumbling across one. “Jisungie,” he cooed, “will you sing with me?”

Of course Chris had found a duet. It was from two members of a popular boy group, and Jisung had… admittedly listened to it more than a few times over the past two weeks. The song was about heartbreak to the point of begging the listener to say yes, to sing this song with them again, to let them stay again. It was easier to sing alongside Chris than to sing along, to share his pain through another song he’d had on repeat. 

And it became healing to belt out a ballad with his friends until his throat ached. To break down crying afterwards and be held by them as he sobbed. Something inside of him had finally broken down in the way it needed to. When replacing his battery once, the guy behind the counter told Jisung that it was okay to let his phone die sometimes, because even it needed rest. He didn’t know enough to know if this was sound advice, but he had always kept the advice in mind at least. Was that what this was? Had his own battery finally run out and this was his way of resting rather than tirelessly pushing forward, recharge after recharge? He’d leaned into Minho’s side, sobbing into his sleeve while Chris rubbed circles onto his back. 

By the time they left after buying another hour, Jisung felt lighter. He would always carry this heartbreak for you within him, yearning for something he needed to let go of to be better. But more importantly, things finally seemed clearer to him. He knew how to fix his song, lyrics perfected in the back of his mind. He typed them out into his notes app while sitting in the back of Chris’s car, just so he wouldn’t lose them. The melody came to him easier—something he’d need to change a little to be just right—and he tapped it out onto his jean-clad leg. The moment he was home, he would put it down onto paper. 

And when he finished his song, he could finally let go. Jisung promised himself that he would, and when he did that, he could finally let you back in if you would have him.

Almost three weeks without Jisung, and you felt like you were holding yourself together with thread. At first, you’d been angry once Minho told you to just wait for Jisung. If it was this serious, then Jisung should have told you himself that he needed space. A lot of space, apparently. Then came worry,  because had you done something to upset him? Was that why he wouldn’t so much as look at you anymore? Had you hurt Jisung without even knowing it. Or… Or did he figure out the real reason why you couldn’t be with Felix? Someone must have suspected your feelings for Jisung now. Chris had to know. Changbin already suspected something. Surely, one of them would have hinted at it to Jisung… wouldn’t they? Night after night, you found yourself searching through every text from your friend group for some answer that you were sure would never come to you. Something that someone had said to hint at what was wrong with Jisung.

And then the answer came to you in what someone didn’t say. Hyunjin had never responded to a single one of your texts. You hadn’t noticed at the time, far too caught up in trying to figure out the puzzle that was Han Jisung and his disappearance from your life. But you’d had enough, and if Hyunjin had the answers, then it was time to put a stop to this. You’d buzzed his apartment, and Seungmin let you in without much of a second thought. Hyunjin sat at their dining table, sketchbook open in front of him while he worked on thumbnails for a new assignment. He looked up, and immediately you saw disgust cross his face.

“Tell me what’s wrong with Jisung.”

You weren’t asking anymore: this was a demand. A week ago, you would have scurried in and pleaded for Hyunjin to just talk to you. But the scorn in his eyes was enough to tell you that Hyunjin knew something and, for whatever reason, he was beyond pissed at you. He scowled at you for a moment, but let it go, fading into neutrality. He leaned back after a moment, giving you a quick once-over.

“You’re being rude.”

Was he serious right now? Of all the people to deal with… “Hyunjin.” You folded your arms across your chest. “I mean it. If you do know something, then tell me already.”

His gaze was cold still, expression not betraying his true thoughts. “It’s none of your business.”

“Bullshit!” You snapped at him, fists balled as you stepped forward. “It’s been almost three weeks and I haven’t seen Jisung the entire fucking time—If it’s bad, then at least say that!” 

“What do you think the problem is?!” Hyunjin truly was pissed with you, voice now raising as he stood up. He pushed his sketchbook aside to where it would be safe, and stared you down. “You broke Felix’s heart, and it’s hurting the rest of us—and you should have thought about that before you asked him out.”

You sputtered. Was he pissed at you because things didn’t work out? “I didn’t know we wouldn’t work out! What was I supposed to do—pretend I still had feelings for him?”

“Tell him sooner.” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t lead him on when you clearly have feelings for Jisung.”

Seungmin gasped behind you, and you found yourself at a loss for words. Hyunjin knew? When—How—How the fuck did Hyunjin find out? You swore you’d always hidden your feelings well, but… “What are you talking about?”

His gaze was ice cold now, and he scowled at you once more. “You went out with Felix because you didn’t want to admit it. Now Jisung feels bad because he helped set you two up because you asked—Did you even like Felix?!” 

“I did!” You did. You truly did. But not every relationship was meant to last—and, hell, you never even became anything official. If you could turn back time, you would have ended things sooner. “I did,” you said, your voice softer as you reined in your temper. “I wouldn’t just mess with Felix like that, Hyunjin. He’s my friend, too.” You brought your arms up to hug yourself. “Hyunjin, do you really think I’d do that?”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a moment, the regret clear on his face. His fingers grazed the wooden table in front of him as he looked away from you, pressing his lips into a firm line. As upset as he was with you, assuming you would be so cruel to someone you both clearly cared about was… a little too far, wasn’t it? He took a deep breath as he calmed himself down, meeting your eyes after a moment. “I think you need to figure out your feelings. I’m tired of watching my friends hurt.” 

“I know.” Your lip trembled a little, and you fought back the urge to cry. “I can’t help how I feel about Felix, though. I know I should have told him sooner, but… I really, really didn’t know until we kissed. I promise.” 

Hyunjin said nothing at first, just watching you. He licked his lips a moment later, swallowing hard. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

All you could do was stare. Maybe he would give something away. “What?”

Seungmin spoke up after a moment, “Don’t you have that meeting? For your project?” He looked between the two of you. He looked at Hyunjin more pointedly after a moment, clearly annoyed at the confused look on his face. “Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin caught on for once, although you could tell that this was some sort of lie. “Right,” he said, reaching for his sketchbook. “I should go.”

There was no point in calling either of them out. They weren’t going to tell you anything now, and you needed to reflect on what had happened so far. You apologized for intruding and for coming in so hot, turning to make your way out of the apartment. While you still weren’t sure why, exactly, Jisung was upset to the point of not speaking to you… You understood at least a little more. It felt like everyone knew something that you didn’t, although the answer felt just outside of your reach. How much of it was you not knowing, though, and how much of it was you not letting yourself know? You weren’t sure. 

Hyunjin called your name before you left, hesitating before he met your gaze. “I think… I think you should talk to Jisung.” He frowned. “I’m still upset with you because of Felix, but… It’s weird that you two aren’t talking at all. So…” He made his way over, opening the door to leave with you. “Talk to Jisung soon.”

You would. Regardless of how you came out on the other end, you would talk to him no matter what it took.

Jisung had his favorite studio on the music floor of the arts building. He’d penciled in his time slot at the beginning of the week, and let himself in with the code. This room was the furthest from the entrance, and it had the most comfortable chair to settle in and work in. It was always a fight to get this room, and Jisung was good at quietly stealing a few time slots for himself. He shoved his bag underneath the table, and he put himself to work. He’d need to re-record the piano track for one piece, record the guitar accompaniment for another piece he’d been working on… And plenty more that was always best suited for working here rather than home. Using digital instruments only took him so far—there was something calming about sitting down and playing a piece himself. 

It wasn’t until he was playing a piece back that he heard the door click unlocked behind him. When he looked up, there you were. You looked tired. Far more tired than he did most days. What had happened to you? 

“Hey.” You stood in the open doorway. Non-music students weren’t allowed in here, but that had never stopped you. Someone had to drag him back home when it was getting too late, after all.

He ran a hand through his hair, hoping that he looked casual enough. “Hey.”

“Everything okay?” The door slowly fell shut behind you, and you stepped a little closer to him. “It’s been a while.” 

Three weeks, but who’s counting? Jisung was. He kept counting day by day, hour by hour, trying to whittle down the time further and further until he was strong enough to face you again. “I’ve been busy,” he half-lied. “That’s all.”

“Is it?” You frowned, making your way over to the nearby chair. “If you want me to leave, you can tell me, okay? I’m worried about you.” 

Jisung let out a sigh, nodding. “I’m okay. Just…” He looked at the piece he’d been working on, and thought back to the song he’d been writing for you. “I’ve been working on a song sometimes. But…” He looked at you. Maybe you’d have the answer he was still searching for. “What would you do if you loved someone you shouldn’t?”

“Like… forbidden love?” You tilted your head curiously, frowning. “Or…?”

He chuckled, actually smiling again for the first time in a while. Oh, how he was still so endeared to you. No wonder you were still in your literature program with cute thoughts like those. “Just someone you can’t be with. Like…” He hummed to himself. It would be another lie, but it’d throw you off his trail if you were starting to figure him out. “A friend’s partner.” 

He could see the way you started to think on that, no doubt making a list of all the friends the two of you had that were dating. It’d vex your brain for a bit, sure, but Jisung didn’t mind. He liked the cute way your brows drew together when you were thinking hard, lips always pressing into this pout. 

“That’s what my song is about is all,” he said. “I haven’t experienced it myself,” he lied again, “but I was thinking about it and I wondered what kind of song that would turn into. It’s about someone who’s in love with their friend’s partner, and struggling with those feelings. Like… They wouldn’t do anything to hurt their friend, but they still can’t  help their feelings.”

You said nothing to him. Had he said too much? You were figuring him out, weren’t you…?

“I just think it’s hard to live that life,” he said. Every time he even thought about you, there was an ache in his chest. Felix liked you, too. “I mean… Imagine loving someone so much that it hurts.” 

“I can, yeah.” Your voice had gone a little quieter than usual. Right. Had you felt that way about Felix…? Or were you talking about him now? Jisung struggled more with that one, even though Hyunjin was so confident that Jisung’s feelings had never been one-sided. 

He met your gaze a minute later, shy to look into your eyes again. He’d always loved the color of your eyes. If he could write songs about how he wanted to drown in their warm, loving gaze, he would. But that was straying a little too far into territory he’d sworn away from. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I wanted time to figure things out, but… I think Minho would tell you I haven’t talked to most people lately.”

You nodded. “Chris said the three of you went out to a noraebang.” Your toes tapped against the floor in that nervous way, as though this was a topic you shouldn’t even come close to. “Did that help?”

Wait… You weren’t mad at him for that. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“No?” You toyed with your sleeve, not quite meeting his gaze this time. “I mean… It did sting a little bit, but if you needed Chris and Minho, then I can’t change that. All I can do is just kinda hope that they helped you.”

He didn’t deserve you. Fuck the music for now, he’d finished what he really needed to do. He began to shut down the equipment, gathering his things as he stood up, facing you. “I’ll buy dessert,” he said. “Is that okay?”

it was your turn to smile at him, lighting up his world all too easily. You followed him out of the studio, and he secured the door shut to make sure it was locked. For a moment, his hand brushed against your own, and he yearned to hold it. Another feeling he would have to get used to, he was sure. But all he could do was smile at you, thankful that you were right there by his side for the first time in weeks. 

This would be hard, but he could do it. He wasn’t going to lose you again. Not if he had anything to do with it.

Hyunjin had shown up to his apartment for once, and he stood in the doorway to his bedroom. “Jisung. Tell them.” His hand curled around the strap of his bag, clutching it tight. “Soon.” 

Minho had told him the same thing ever since the two of you started talking again. If Jisung didn’t want to pursue you, then it was time he learned to let you go. And if he did want to become something with you, then he needed to talk to you. It wasn’t fair to either of you if he held onto this dream of loving you without ever trying. If Jisung couldn’t let himself do it, then why keep hurting himself by holding onto it so tightly? Why not find a new dream to pursue, a new person to love wholeheartedly? Yet Jisung couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t loving you in some way. Part of his heart would live and die with you one day, no matter how far away he went. This was his fate now.

“I just got our friendship back,” he said without looking up again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Jisung, they like you.” Hyunjin said it outright. “So you need to tell them.”

Jisung looked up. He knew you liked him. But would he ever let himself fully believe it? It felt… harder to grasp that reality. He’d spent so long telling himself that it was all in his head, that the tender look in your eyes was just you caring for him as a best friend. But Hyunjin was right. Minho had been right. Everyone who had ever told him to just go for it was right. “Hyunjin, I don’t know if I can—”

“I’m tired of watching my friends hurt,” he said. “All of us see it. Why can’t you?”

Jisung swallowed hard. “What about Felix?”

Hyunjin averted his gaze, frowning. “Felix…” He took a deep breath. “Felix would want you to be happy, Jisung. He knows, too, you know.” He took a step back. “I’m not going to push you. But you should tell them.”

He said nothing else, and soon Hyunjin left him there. Jisung shut the world out again, listening to his song as it played back to him again. One step closer. Once he finished this song, everything would be okay.

Chris Bang had always been your best friend growing up before Jisung took that title away from him. He was an older brother to you in every way except blood, and that meant he was the one who would have the hard talks with you. He’d come home with your favorite takeout in hand, setting it on the dinner table before saying he’d change out of his work clothes quickly. But you knew what was coming. There were only two reasons that Chris would buy your favorite takeout on his way home from work. You weren’t upset, which meant it was time for an adult conversation. One that you wouldn’t want to have, but needed to. Soon enough, Chris had sat across from you, having poured your drink first. 

“So I think we should talk about how you’re in love with Jisung,” Chris said as he set down the bottle. “Okay?”

You stared at him, already feeling tears well up. Everyone knew, then. If Chris knew, then there was no way the others hadn’t figured it out. “Chris…”

“It’s okay.” He took your hand in his own. It was time for the two of you to dump your feelings onto the table and sort them out right then and there together. “Let’s talk about this, okay? No more running away.”

No more running away. You breathed in deep, and slowly exhaled. Where to begin…? You weren’t sure. So much of your life had become this huge mess over the past few months, and now all those strings were tangled so tightly together that you weren’t sure you could undo the knot.

So Chris squeezed your hand before letting go, turning his attention to the bag of takeout in front of you. “I know you,” he said. “So I know you didn’t want to hurt Felix, and I know that you still don’t. But… I think it’s time you put your feelings first for once.”

“Chris…” You frowned. “It feels too soon.”

“I kinda hate saying it, but we all know now. Felix included.” He set your plate in front of you, and didn’t touch his own. All he did was watch you, waiting for you to say or do anything further. When you didn’t, he decided to continue on, “You can’t tell me that you don’t want to act now because of Felix. I asked everyone and they all said the same thing: they thought you’d liked Jisung for a while before you and Felix dated. After that, they all thought that you two were just that close.”

“We are.” 

Chris shook his head, saying your name gently this time. “You know Jisung loves you, right?”

There was a spike of pain in your chest. Not because you didn’t, but because you did. Hyunjin had all but spelled it out for you before, but seeing Jisung again that day proved it. You’d always thought you were just believing in something that wasn’t there, too afraid to toe the line between friend and more. Tears lined your eyes now, and finally ran down your cheeks as you blinked. All you could do was nod now. 

Chris already reached up to wipe away your tears. “It’s okay!” He chuckled. “You’ve gotten so soft,” he teased. “But… Why did you never tell him?”

“I was scared.” You still were, to be fair. “I didn’t know for sure before, and… Now I just don’t want to hurt Felix. I don’t think Jisung does, either.”

His gaze softened so much. Of course the two of you were still thinking of Felix. Minho had said the same thing to Chris, actually. “Felix wants you to be happy,” he said. “All of us do. If that means being with Jisung, then that’s what you should do. Felix is an adult, you know. He might be more sensitive sometimes, but he’d never hold any of this against you.” He cupped your cheek gently. “And I really, really don’t think he’d want to be the reason you two never tried.”

You could believe that easily. If Felix knew, he’d feel guilty. That you knew as fact.

“And if I’m being honest… I don’t think he’s the only reason you haven’t tried.” He pulled his hand away from your face. “So… Talk to me. What’s really stopping you?”

No running away. “What if this doesn't work out and I lose Jisung for good?”

“There’s no guarantee that will happen,” Chris said. 

“There’s no guarantee we’ll work out, either.” You frowned. “I’ve heard horror stories of friends who tried to date and it ruined everything.”

“And there’s friends who managed to go back to being friends,” Chris said. “I really think that you two wouldn’t let it tear you apart. You’ve already been through so much, you know?” 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The last thing you ever wanted was to lose Jisung again. If the two of you didn’t work out, how hard would you fight for him? Would he fight for you, too…?

“The most you’ll ever have to do is get space from each other,” Chris said. “But I think you’d come back to each other.”

“I think he’s my soulmate.” You hadn’t thought before you said it, the words bursting out of you all too easily. Regardless of whether that was platonically or romantically, Jisung was someone you wanted to keep in your life forever. “But…”

“But?”

“Isn’t it too soon?” You frowned at Chris. “I mean… Felix and I—”

“If you don’t go for it now, when will you?” Chris held your hand again. “If you aren’t ready to tell him, I won’t push you to do it. Just because you confess doesn’t mean you have to rush into a relationship—it just means you’re finally being honest with each other. Go at your own pace… But don’t hold back because of everyone else, okay?” He squeezed your hand reassuringly. “The only people in this relationship would be you and Jisung. So don’t include anyone else in this decision, okay?”

With a nod, you decided to commit to giving yourself three days. One day to make up your mind for sure on whether this was the right move to make. If you were going to confess to Jisung, then you wanted to do it sooner rather than later. The second day was to figure out how you were going to tell him. Over cheesecake, or in through a song, or in the park… You still had to figure that part out, and you would. It needed to be special. 

And the third day was going to be the day you told him.

On the rooftop of Jisung’s apartment was a community garden. It brought a little greenery into the city, and it was nice to see the plants that several people often tended to— fresh herbs that Minho would sometimes pick with permission to use when he cooked, a few tomato plants that he often saw people tending to, Things that he didn’t fully understand the care of himself, but he still appreciated the efforts put into it. It was a nice space to sit and think alone sometimes, most of his friends unaware of just how often he’d come up here. He could see so much of the city here, too. He was just one person in this great big city—in the world, even, if he let his mind wander that far. And yet he’d found significance through the people he loved, in the passions he pursued. 

He’d finished his song for you late last night, and now he was left with this hollow feeling. He’d told himself over and over that this song would be it: one last thing he’d dedicate to you, and then he’d move on. But… That wasn’t how it was going to work at all. Han Jisung knew a few things now. He loved you. You loved him. The only question he had left was how to tell you.

Maybe he should have written you a love song instead. Then he’d have something, at least.

He’d brought a drink out here with him, settling at the picnic table. He used to bring you up here sometimes, stealing away from the world for a while to just exist with you. You’d share drinks together, and a few times you’d ended up rained on. Now, he just lost himself to the playlist he’d been listening to, head bobbing along to the music. He could bring you here and confess to you at sunset. Would that be romantic? He didn’t care for it being a grand gesture, as long as it was something memorable. All he wanted was a gesture that told you that he was sorry but ready to face tomorrow at your side, if you would let him be there. 

The door to the rooftop had this awful screech that he could hear through his headphones. He opened his eyes, reaching to pull them around his neck and politely greet whoever had come up here. And it was as if you’d heard his thoughts, because there you stood in the golden rays of the day. 

“Hey.” The door had slowly swung shut behind you as you made your way over to him.

He shyly smiled at you. “Hi.” Now it was his turn to ask: “Is everything okay?”

You nodded, coming to the edge of the table. “I think we should talk about us.”

“Us?” His heart almost skipped a beat at that. Did you…? 

Oh. You knew. 

“It’s nothing bad,” you had said to him, as if it could put him at ease now. “But…” You rounded the table, throwing one leg over the bench he’d been sitting on. Instead of sitting normally, you chose to straddle it, just so you could fully face him.

So he matched you, throwing one leg out and turning to fully face you. “But?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said, voice wavering ever so slightly now. “And… And you’re in love with me.” You’d begun to drum your knuckles against the wooden bench. “And… And I don’t know why neither of us said anything sooner.”

Jisung stared at you, face growing warmer. His gut instinct was to deny it, to push his feelings away. But Hyunjin’s words rang out in his head: he was tired of seeing his friends hurt. Everyone was now.

“I really wanna be honest with you, so…” You took a deep breath, shutting your eyes for just a moment to center yourself. “Hyunjin thought I was using Felix to get over you, and… I just wanted to say that I promise I wasn’t. I really did like Felix, but…”

“I didn’t think you were,” Jisung’s voice was soft, and he reached for your hands. His fingertips grazed your knuckles before he pulled his hands away. Was touching you, even in such a tiny way, too much? “I knew you liked him.”

You nodded slowly. “Good. Because…” You’d grown flustered, averting your gaze. “I.. didn’t know that it’d always be you until I kissed him.”

That time, the world seemed to stop around him. It’d… always be him? “What?” His fingers curled around the edge of the bench. “I don’t understand. What do you—” 

A moment later, your eyes met his own. “I think I’ve been looking for you in every person I’ve tried dating, and that’s why it’s never worked out.” He’d already begun to melt, but you continued on, “If you didn’t love me back, then I think maybe one day I would have moved on. But… If you don’t, then tell me, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to pretend he didn’t love you. Yet something ached in his chest. Felix. Even now, all he could think about was how Felix would hurt once he knew the two of you were something. “I… I want to,” he said, voice softer now. “But what about Felix?”

“Would you hesitate if Felix didn’t like me?”

He shook his head. Never. He swallowed hard, his emotions building in his chest. He’d dreamed of a day like this for so long, always pining over you night after night. He dreamed of kissing you, warm and tender, and saying all the pretty things that came to mind. And now that you were in front of him, he couldn’t help but glance at your lips again. Not yet. “I…” He paused, just to gather himself together. “I didn’t think you’d love me, you know.”

You frowned at him. “Why not?”

“You’re you,” he said. “And… And I wasn’t sure if you’d ever like me like that. I’ve always known you liked me, but love is… different.” The paint chips from the bench were flaking onto his fingers now, the same shade of red as your sweater. As his, too. “I know Felix is hurting now, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I thought it would, but…”

“I get it.” You nodded slowly. “I… I also kinda thought things would change. But if everyone wants us to be happy, then I think we’re the only people standing in our way.” 

He didn’t want to. Not anymore. Jisung reached forward, this time keeping his hands over your own. “I think we should stop that,” he said, voice growing quieter. His eyes had grown wetter, tears brimming the edges, and reached up to wipe them away. “Sorry—I’m getting emotional.”

“It’s okay.” You scooted forward a little, and Jisung felt his heart begin to race. You were so close he could kiss you. He wanted to kiss you. You reached up, caressing Jisung’s face. He already leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the feeling. Your hands were so warm, even now. “I think I’ll always love Felix the way I love the rest of our friends. But… I love you more, Jisung. I know it’s early to say it, but… I really think it’s you.”

He opened his eyes, taking in the way the golden rays of the sun were kissing your face. Was it wrong to be a little jealous? Again, his eyes flickered down to your lips for just a second. “Can I kiss you?”

You said the only word he needed, and he leaned in to close the space between the two of you. His nose had brushed against yours for a moment, already smiling before his lips met your own. Your lips were so soft, and his hands found a home at your waist after a moment. He’d always wondered what kissing you would be like, and now it felt as though he’d finally woken up from the longest dream in his life. His eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself in this moment with you.

He’d heard stories before of what it was like to kiss someone after so much pining, after so many trials in the way. People talked of having their breath stolen from them, or being unable to breathe from how surreal it all seemed to be. Yet when he kissed you, it was as though he could finally breathe again. He had resurfaced after drowning in so much self doubt and fear for far too long, and kissing you was living. Yet he knew that if he was given the choice to drown in you, he would have done it without a second thought. As much as you’d given him life with only a kiss, filling his lungs with air, he’d follow your siren song to the depths of the ocean all too eagerly if it meant he could taste this feeling once more. You ran a hand through his hair, and he was already intoxicated by you, his body yearning for your touch more than ever before. Yet when he pulled away, something had plucked his heartstrings one by one. He let out that broken, stuttered breath that always served as a precursor for him crying. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he gazed at you, trying to commit every part of this moment to memory. 

“Jisung?” You were concerned for him even after kissing him, and he wanted to laugh. To cry. To kiss you again. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, his hands finding your own all too easily. “I love you, too.” He’d always love you. Whatever part of his heart you had, it was yours to keep regardless of where this went. “I think it’s you for me, too.” 

By the time the two of you had made it back inside, the sun had set, and Jisung had held onto your hand tightly the entire way to his apartment. He’d given up his bed for you in the past already, he’d happily do it again to make sure you had a proper night of sleep. Maybe one day he would fall asleep next to you and memorize every line and blemish on your face, but not tonight. Kissing you and saying those three little words he’d always wanted to hear you say was plenty for one day. Yet he’d kissed you one last time as he left you at his bedroom door, just to kiss you goodnight.

“Jisung?” You’d called to him as he made his way to the couch, and he’d turned to face you one more time. “Dream of me.”

Oh. Oh. His heart had skipped a beat yet again at you. This was his new reality, wasn’t it? He found himself smiling at you, that same shy, pretty smile you’d later tell him you always wanted to kiss. He’d dream of you every night if it meant he could wake up to you, too. Tonight would be the end of strife and stress and strain from not telling you how he felt. Now he had to make up for so much lost time.

And if that meant that, starting tomorrow, he would tell you exactly what you meant to him, then he’d do it. That was what you deserved, after all, and what he did, too.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny @jinnie-ret @cheesemonky

[thestarminstrel]

don't very often come into the tag to post my thoughts unprompted, but finished challengers and. eugene.

what did pacat do to him.

i already wasn't expecting great things just based on the preview where eugene, my poor boy, just gave a weak thumbs-up at getting benched. but i had faith and hope as foolish as it was.

like, you're telling me that eugene labao who spent years working to get on the fencing team, every year told his mom "this will be the year", and gave a training camp his all just. gives a forced smile at being booted off the team for state?? what?? if pacat wanted to go with a eugene that cares more about the team than his personal resume, fine. okay. but eugene is allowed to be more upset. he should be. he was given everything he dreamed of by williams saying that they could have two reserves, and now it's gone. i don't care how much a team-player you are, that's devastating. especially as a high school junior (in america and australia i GUESS). if you want to go to college for fencing, i imagine the state competition is a great way to get scouted. also, you miss out on fencing with your teammates for the last or second-to-last time. getting benched as a freshman sucks but you got some more years in your high school career. but eugene's a junior, this is his first year on the team, so now he's fencing state maximum once. that's just a cruel stab in the back by williams, genuinely. he should have been given time to be upset onscreen whether it was privately or with friends.

which then, what the fuck williams. you literally said that you could have two reserves- that you FOUGHT for two reserves- and all the sudden eugene can't compete. i never did high school fencing and maybe things are different in australia, but that seems a little ridiculous to me. like wtf did the higher-ups tell her? "yeah you can have two reserves for one competition but that's it" ???????????????? did pacat have an experience like this or something bc i have no clue how that's a logical train of thought a high school sports organizer can have. i will admit that one could argue she's competitive and wants to win. like sure but then why have a second reserve. could she not decide and was always planning to cut nick or eugene depending on who did better at the camp? what kind of coach is that?? none of the other coaches did that - not even donati and she is neck to neck with williams in this rivalry. it doesn't matter how much she wants king's row to have this gold medal- if williams was intentionally doing any of this, uncaring of whether or not she hurts one of the fencing boys, she should not be a coach actually. period. again, i love early fence williams. but oh my god the way she handled this was so bad.

which then brings me to: what is the point of eugene.

i love eugene, he has been one of my favorite characters since 2020 when i first read volumes 1-3. he is one of the reasons why i get so excited about fence and makes me so happy as a character. but honestly? you could cut eugene out of fence and nothing would change. i know he's not haiden or nichoji, but he was put there for a reason that i think pacat forgot. he never has any signficant screentime unless it's to be comedic relief or be a supporting character to nick, the other "underdog" on the fencing team. i really do hate to say it, but reading challengers really made me wish pacat had written out eugene sooner or not written him at all. he's not treated well as a character, and at this point, i don't understand why eugene is even in this story.

another point i want to make is nick. what the hell is wrong with nick. you're telling me that the same nicholas "zero" cox who was about to give up his scholarship and chance to fence so that eugene, a guy he barely knew at the time, could finally be on the team is the same nicholas who only says "but coach--" when eugene gets kicked off the team? that is a terrible friend. i'm not saying nick should have said "i'm not going to state if eugene isn't!!" but he should have called williams out on it, found eugene later and say "dude i'm so sorry this sucks" -- literally ANYTHING!!! but no, nick bever acknowledges it outside of this panel and is too busy at state apparently to notice eugene being bummed about, you know, not fencing with him. it's so, insane to me that nick became this person that doesn't bother checking in on his bro. that tells me he's more concerned about fencing and seiji - which to each his own but i would drop anyone who did me like that. can't even manage a "how r u doing" text what the actual fuCk. i can not stress enough how much i do not like this nick right now.

in conclusion: i need eugene to have a good cry with his mom or his bros about this bullshit and to eat so much good arroz caldo. please save my son from the narrative, it keeps being mean to him :(((

[oh-my-bindery]

I clearly had a little late night rant to myself so I decided to share it…

Drarry and how I see them and why they are SO IMPORTANT to me

Draco

Draco is sheltered, an only child, he is spoiled, he has been fed blood purist nonsense all his life by his family and those around him. Which is so relatable to me as I am an ex-catholic who not only had extremely clouded beliefs about race, but also sexuality and religion. I said awful things to people, I was being fed that by teachers, parents, newspapers, Catholic Church, school classmates and teachers. Everything around me was that way. I was a very closeted trans gay man who eventually lost it and wanted to burn all those beliefs down once I figured out what I his deep down about myself and became more aware of people, suffering and prejudice.

I used to use my words to protect myself and even being nasty to people, wanting to hurt them so they couldn’t hurt me. I was a very closeted gay and transgender person. I really relate to Draco.

Draco’s humanity/ vulnerability

The turning moment for me seeing Draco differently (or having a chance of change) as it was for Harry in the books, was seeing the humanity to Draco.

We never truly see Dracos humanity or how he is on his day to day basis (we do get some scenes that shape him as a person and present wider outlook on his character) as the book is written from Harry’s perspective and JKR really hates Draco.

Which is awful, she never gave him a true redemption despite hinting at it, building it up over the 6th, 7th book. Draco stops eating in his 6th year (it’s not directly stated but it is said that he looks “sick” which could be taken is such which addition to not sleeping and overwhelming stress and pressure clearly visible on him), he is forced to become a Death Eater and given the mark as a punishment to his father, he becomes panicked and miserable and acting out of paranoia and not doing a great job. He cries so much so, he becomes friends with Moaning Myrtle and even she says how sad and depressed he is, how lonely he is. Which leads me to conclude that either a) he distanced himself from his friends b) his friends are not his real friends but only friends with him bc of his high up status as a Malfoy or they have been family friends for years due to their parents being friends. c) both. At first maybe Draco felt like he could restore the good family name to his family. He was proud. But then he realized what all of it meant it meant that he would have to kill and he is truly not capable of it.

Draco’s wand working for Harry very well/ being a light side wand

Let’s take a look at what Harry Potter Wiki says about it first.

“Draco Malfoy's wand was 10" long, made of hawthorn wood, and had a unicorn hair core. “

“Hawthorn wands are said to be "most at home" with a wizard passing through a period of turmoil. During the last couple of years of owning this wand, Draco Malfoy was under enormous pressure to murder Albus Dumbledore, and immediately afterwards suffered through Voldemort occupying his family's home. Harry Potter claimed mastery of this wand at a time of great turmoil as well, undergoing a robbery of Gringotts Bank and the Battle of Hogwarts within a short time of gaining this wand.”

What can be told about Draco from it is that he not only was going through some turmoil when he was chosen by his wand at 11 but also continued to do so in Dracos darkest time in 6th year.

What we can gather from this regarding Drarry is that they are both going through the worst. They would understand each other.

Then we move on to:

“Wands with unicorn hair as its core are the hardest to turn to Dark Arts. Although this would seem ironic at first, as Draco's inclination to Dark Arts during his early to middle years (and his success at casting the very dark Imperius Curse) his last years at school led to a change of his lifestyle that made him realise he had gone further than he expected, and henceforth turn away from the Dark Arts.”

Draco was opposed to Dark Arts from a young age even though his father was most certainly very into them. Which is extremely interesting. What was Draco like before he came to Howarts? I can only assume his mum was a good and living influence on his life (she’s definitely flawed and believing in blood purity, but she will give up her own life and happiness if it means Draco is alive and happy).

And yeah Draco was always a terrible Death Eater because his heart was not truly in it. He wanted to save his family and himself from dying.

Draco’s wand in Harry’s hand (GET YOUR MIND OUT IF THE GUTTER)

“Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased, to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione's had done.” - Deathly Hallows

IM SORRY BUT DRACOS WAND CHANGING ALLIANCE TO HARRY IS THE GAYEST THING EVER.

Wands to tend to have difficult time switching masters. Yet Dracos wand doesn’t. It works great for Harry despite Garry not winning it fairly.

Draco’s wand is one that is the least likely to turn into dark arts. The wand chooses the wizard. On the topic of wands Dracos wand felt the most friendly to Harry and he defeated Voldemort with it. Dracos wand also is said to have a very hard time to switch owners/ sides yet there was no problem of it when Harry took it from Draco. Draco didn’t even fight back enough for it. Almost as if he wanted Harry to have it. Which would make sense that the wand worked so well for Harry as Draco wanted it to work for Harry. It only makes sense that way. It may have not been intended by JkR to write that but it’s what she wrote.

Not Identifying Harry in the Malfoy Manor

Draco lies to his family risking his own and his family’s lives to give Harry time to escape the Manor. He knows Harry is Harry but instead says he “can’t be sure” which is the only response he could go for in order for Harry and his friends not to be killed. If Draco said that Harry was not Harry, him, Hermione and Ron would have been killed because they are useless to the Death Eaters and Snatchers.

Draco is top student in some of his classes from what we know. He is smart, he must have known how to deal with this situation. He also was terrified when he saw Harry as Harry noticed.

“… Draco… approached.

“Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy... “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

“I can’t—I can’t be sure,” said Draco….

“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!… …Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

“…Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he walked away…”

-Deathly Hallows

Harry noticed so many of Dracos emotions, more than anyone, they both read each other so well. Know each other by their breath, by their slight movement (main piece of proof is the emotive HBP). They know what the other is going to say or is thinking. Harry knew Draco was terrified and didn’t want to torture Rowle as his punishment. He could see it on Dracos face in his visions after the Manor escape. So far so Harry felt bad for Draco, it hurt him to look at it and he had to cut off that connection it hurt him so much.

“

“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time. . . . You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure. . . . Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”

A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face — with a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes.

He was spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He sat up. Malfoy’s gaunt, petrified face seemed branded on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.” - Deathly Hallows

Also going back to Draco, he had to live with Voldemort since his fifth year. Terrified, watching people die in his house, terrified that his parents or himself will be tortured or killed. And let’s not lie he probably was tortured himself by letting Harry get away. Draco is a skilled at occlumency so he could probably hide his feelings towards Harry from Voldemort or his father.

Harry saves Draco from the Room of Requirements and then again even tho Draco is talking to a Death Eather saying he is on their side. Harry cares about Draco not dying. He risks his own and his friends lives to save Draco. I’m pretty sure Harry would not to that to other people he hates and he didn’t- not Crabbe or Goyle. All he cared about was Draco. This boy is not just a noble Gryffinor and his Harry-self who is adamant about saving lives. He cares about Draco more than he does for other people that are not his friends or family.

I can definitely continue but if people want to add to it, please feel free as I WOULD LIVE IT!

[deusvervewrites]

okay good cus i have au brainrot and a sleeping problem

right now im working on lov traitor himiko bc she has done no wrong and possibly one of my favorite characters bc have i mentioned shes awesome /lh

also how do you make sure your characterization is right? ive deleted work before after working on it simply because they got slowy ooc over the course of the snippet lol

(sorry if im just barraging you with asks just tell me to stop if youre uncomfy as i mentioned i have brainrot haha)

yeah word dump (im sorry)

(This is the Anon from this Ask, but I didn't get around to this right away)

I'm not going to say Toga did nothing wrong but I love her, and the idea of her as a traitor is wild. Given her shapeshifting powers, she's probably the best situated for it after Shigaraki himself. Also she's a middle-school dropout homeless teenager so figuring out how she has the resources to do what she does could be fun

[Writing advice starts here]

For characterization, all characters are at their core comprised of three questions: 'What does this character want more than anything else?', 'Why does this character want it?', and 'How is this character going to get it?'

If you know those three questions you can handle pretty much anything. Here, let's give an example.

Bakugou:

What does Bakugou want more than anything else? To be the Number One Hero

Why does he want it? Because he has no self-worth unless people are praising him, so he's set his sights on the top celebrity in the world.

How is he going to get it? Going to UA High School.

On the other hand, Midoriya:

What does Midoriya want more than anything else? To help people.

Why does he want it? Systemic discrimination has given him a strong sense of justice and compassion for others.

How is he going to get it? Going to UA High School.

You can see how these answers inform other parts of their personality--Bakugou is insecure, so he lashes out. Midoriya is compassionate, so he empathizes with the antagonists. Additionally, Bakugou's answers change over time in response to his character development.

While thinking of characterization as a list of traits can certainly help, knowing these three questions makes it easier to keep a character consistent even as they develop in response to events.

Toga, for instance:

What does Toga want more than anything else? To live freely and not be judged for drinking blood.

Why does she want it? Her parents abused her, and she's never had the chance.

How is she going to get it? Running away from home. Later, joining the League of Villains.

Obviously, characters want more than one thing at a time, which can create drama when they have to choose between something they want versus The Thing they want more than anything else.

You can also use these questions to create character foils. As mentioned above, Bakugou and Midoriya have the same answer to the third question, but similarities and differences can come from any of those three questions.

Let's say, hypothetically, you're writing a fantasy story about three kingdoms in an uneasy peace. You might have characters who want to unite those three nations under one banner that look something like this.

Character A:

What does she want more than anything else? To unite the three nations.

Why does she want it? A mixture of nationalist pride as the crown princess and a desire for revenge.

How is she going to get it? A war of unification.

While Character B:

What does he want more than anything else? To unite the three nations.

Why does he want it? To put an end to the racial prejudice he faced as a child.

How is he going to get it? Diplomatic schemes and manipulations.

And you've got two characters who are suddenly very similar in some ways and completely incompatible in others.

(And you thought you had word dump!)

[bisexuallsokka]

ok hello i have found that i have no choice but to introduce you to my "divorced zukka but slightly to the left" headcanon for a modern au. basically, a pre-transitioned zuko and sokka have a one night stand at the end of their senior year of high school, and never speak again. roughly six years later, sokka is starting his job at an elementary school (not a classroom teacher, like technology or something) and meets izumi, who is so sweet and cute and i swear thats the face katara makes when she's annoyed, and one day happens to see her dad pick up and huh he looks and AWFUL lot like that person i went to high school with and OH GOD some quick math brings an idea to mind.

So sokka attempts to confront zuko who is very much NOPE DO NOT TALK TO ME, but finally breaks down after a series of shenanigans that def do not involve mild stalking. but only to admit that yes, izumi is sokka's biological daughter, and would like to leave their interactions at that, except sokka has NO interest in SIMPLY leaving it at that because!!! he has a kid!!! that he knew nothing about!!! for six years!!!

zuko very much would like to continue living his life without sokka bc being a single young parent is hard enough but he has a good routine and good relationship with his daughter and he doesnt need this, this, SPERM DONOR to just come in here and mess everything up! the guy hasnt been there the last six years, there is absolutely no reason for his to get involved now!! BUT sokka absolutely would have been there if zuko had only TOLD HIM, but how was ZUKO supposed to know that, and did zuko really think so little of him?? except it was a one night stand and zuko didnt even realize he was a boy until right after and he originally wasnt even planning to keep izumi, and HOW could he have just given up their CHILD without ever even telling sokka about her and given him a CHANCE to take her, and WE WERE JUST KIDS AND HE WAS SCARED-

its complicated. and involves a lot of trying not to shout around izumi, who is just over the moon that her dad and her favorite teacher know each other outside of school. and there's a lot of heartache over sokka having to come to terms with the fact that yeah, hes not izumis parent, and there's only so much he can do without stepping on zuko's toes, and he only wants what is best for izumi, and zuko seeing that maybe sokka really does want to be all in for izumi even if zuko thinks sokka really doesnt fully understand what that means, and would it be such a bad thing? not that either of them are going to admit this to the other.

so it starts with small things, like sokka being allowed to pay child support (which hes been begging to do since day one), and maybe it turns out that zukos new coworker is sokkas friend and they end up at the same party where they can really see each other interact with izumi, and a chunk zuko's summer child care plans for the summer fall apart so sokka offers to babysit since his summer job is remote which feels BIG but also reallyyyyy too convenient to reject,

and then something bigger happens where izumi gets hurt at school and while sokka is blaming himself he's also panicking bc the hospital wont let him stay with her bc hes not an emergency contact so he steels himself and later tells zuko he wants to make his relationship to izumi legal. hes not going to have a custody fight, he would never ask for that, but he wants his name on her birth certificate and wants his name on her list of emergency contacts, and its the first time zuko understand that sokka 100% knows what he's getting into here and is willing to be in this 100%.

So maybe sokka moves into this "uncle sokka" role, because zuko still refuses to tell izumi that sokka is her other dad, and yeah that hurts, but sokka would rather have part of izumi's life if he can't have all of it. and sokka gets a better look inside their lives and discovers that its HARD being a young single parent, why would zuko have risked everything he worked for to mix in some guy he barely knew who might decide that zuko wasn't good enough and take izumi away? and zuko sees the pain sokka has from missing out on so many key moments of izumi's young life, and the more sokka is proving himself as a second parent, the more guilty zuko feels. they go through some shit together and its more and more evident that sokka doesnt just want to be that fun uncle, but he's ready more than willing to be a PARENT even when it means being the bad guy.

and maybe they start falling for each other a little, because they are starting to have this LIFE together and its not just about izumi anymore its the way zuko rolls his eyes and gets the new fancy ice pack out of the freezer when a limping sokka brings izumi back from the park, and its the way sokka makes zuko genuinely laugh after a long day at work, and its like their lives are getting fully intertwined-

except that they arent. and they couldn't. because if sokka decides its too much. because if zukos good favor runs out. if it didnt work out between them. they couldnt do that to izumi. what they have is good, its fine, (even if its not enough) they dont want to risk anything that could disrupt izumi's life. shes the priority. and sure, she's already asking questions about the two of them, but what if they don't work right in a real relationship? the way things are now, either of them could back out, and everyone would eventually be ok. maybe. except every time they think about the possibility, it seems like they are already too intertwined, and either of them trying to untangle would just be a disaster, so imagine if they HAD to untangle, and-

so they just end up in an awkward stage of sad pining. because theres no way it would actually work out. because it would hurt all of them. and their life has never been better, but it's never hurt this much either.

ok so i didnt realize i could still write this long in an ask, but essentially i am not a masochist like you, and they do figure it out in the end. this could happen a number of ways, such as izumi just announcing that yeah this is my dad and his boyfriend, or zukka doing the "pining make outs that we never talk about until one of us snaps and we decide to let ourselves be fucking happy", or a very funny "we both snap and bone for one wonderful night to get it out of our system and then we dont talk about it" which leads to an accidental second baby where sokka and zuko both laugh and say whelp it must be fate lets do this the right way this time.

the most important thing is that they both forget to tell izumi that sokka is her biological father, so teenage izumi is very shocked and upset that shes just had to learn this from something totally mundane like applying for a passport, and sokka and zuko do the spider man finger pointing of "i thought you told her" "no, you were supposed to tell her" "did we really not tell her?" and its absolutely disgusting how cute they are

thanks for coming to my tedtalk

i love every single thing about this! sokka wanting to be a part of izumi's life and help zuko out....zuko being reluctant to accept but eventually seeing how sokka is proving himself.....the limbo period where they are both afraid it could end any moment....TOO GOOD! i love every single option for how they could get together for real like this is my favorite take on modern au divorced zukka by far!!!! <3 <3

[yikesharringrove]

thinking thoughts about billys self medicating and about steve trying to get nancy to slow down at the party and how steve genuinely probably could have helped billy if given the chance (like i dont think its my harringrove riddled brain talking, i fr think steve would have helped)

Three times have I tried to answer this and I’ve written something and then tumblr shits itself and I lose so PLEASE let’s try this again.

What strikes about Steve is that he literally NEVER in the whole show tries to get Nancy to do anything like drink or smoke or whatever.

In season 1, he offers Nancy and Barb a beer, and that’s when Barb, feeling clearly left out, decides to try shotgunning, gets hurt, etc. after that, Steve doesn’t try to get her to drink or anything. He’s smoking nearly the whole time and doesn’t offer it to her or gets her to try it, anything.

He’s also very respectful of her sexual boundaries. In the studying scene, he starts pushing his luck by suggesting they strip study, and he does go for the buttons on her shirt when theyre kissing, but she pushes him away, and he goes. At his house, he turns around so she can change. Clearly, they’re in his room and he’s wanting something to happen, but he lets her make the decision. She tells him to turn around.

ANYWAY season 2. The whole reason he wants to go to the party is to be “stupid teenagers”. In that library scene, he doesn’t say, let’s get shitfaced ass drunk. He says he wants to go to a stupid party and wear the costumes they had worked on and dance and be stupid.

WE ALSO DONT SEE HIM DRINK AT THAT PARTY.

Nancy starts drinking and it’s very 10 Things I Hate About You and he is immediately on the question, because this isn’t like her.

He knows she’s only drinking because she’s upset, and he tries to get in between that, because he knows this is past her boundaries, even if she made the choice to do it on her own.

(She’s clearly interested in drinking and things bc if she weren’t, she would’ve told Murray to fuck off when he made her a drink later in the season)

Even in season3, we get the joke about marijuana, but we never see Steve in a scene where it’s even implied he’s high, unlike season 4 Jonathan, but I digress.

ANYWAY canon Steve isn’t really a substance user.

Now, Billy.

In season 2, he is smoking in all but two scenes. He’s drinking like mad at the party, but he’s also just fucking pounding a beer in the middle of the day on like a random Saturday. So, clearly his boundaries around substance are not as clear as Nancy’s. BUT it’s interesting to think about what those interactions could’ve looked like.

I think there is a certain level of substance use Billy would bring out in Steve. There is not a single doubt in my mind that Steve starts smoking again when he and Billy hang out more, even if he is only smoking occasionally. But, at Steve’s little season 1 party, he had five people there, and some beer. There was no hard liquor that we saw, and everyone was shown to only really have 1-2. They literally went to school the next morning. Like. These bitches were not guzzling hard alcohol.

Some of those behaviors would natural rub off on Billy. Having a beer while hanging out instead of something harder. Only having a few instead of a case. Eventually, he starts having them less frequently (read: stops drinking by himself midday while working out like a weirdo).

Steve’s biggest personality trait is how much he fucking cares.

Everything he’s ever done, is because he cares about Nancy, or Dustin, or Robin. Sometimes, in canon, we (myself SO included) inflate that a bit, but even bitchy season 1 breaking the camera Steve, did so because he cared about Nancy, and about the violating pictures of her that Jonathan took. Even the little moments of him giving Carol is meatloaf in season 1, because Tommy squished hers around, mans CARES.

So OF COURSE that care would extend to Billy. And sometimes, it’s more subtle. Sometimes he’s outright trying to pry a bottle out of Billy’s hand and telling him to tone it down. But it’s all because Steve’s Harrington’s #1 Thing is caring about people.

[missjanjie]

Holy shit, that guy is fucking hardheaded with that take. I'm Catholic as well, but guess what? I was taught HFLE (Health and Family Life Education) from class 4 in primary school (so 10 or 11). We were taught about our cycles by female teachers, body changes to expect and about STDs.

I can't really say it did me much harm in the long run. Especially since my mother never had that sort of conversation with me (she's one of those "if you don't talk about it, it doesn't happen" sorts and Catholic as all hell herself) under the assumption that I would learn about it in secondary school biology, so she didn't need to bother. If my school didn't have the foresight to teach us young, I don't know what kind of hot mess I could have ended up in.

Also. Groundbreaking concept. People......don't think about sex at all times. Even when being taught about the subject. If you're feeling this strongly about this sort of topic......mayhaps you should re-evaluate yourself and make sure you're not lowkey repressing something unpleasant.

(Plus, don't we teach kids about consent from inception? "You may not touch me here, you may not touch me there, you may not touch me in my no-no square".)

[the post in question]

On top of that, his justification that he was giving to literal CSA survivors was ‘if you knew what was happening to you it would traumatize you more’ like I will hit you with a brick. As someone that used to work in early childhood education, we’re taught to look for certain signs and by and large, kids understanding their bodies and how people interact with them significantly lessens the chance of prolonged abuse.

Hell, I was in a two year olds class and I was changing one of their diapers with me in a chair and him standing up (another teacher was using the changing table) and he yells across the room to the other kids ‘can you guys see my penis?!’ and turned to face away from them. Once I was done trying not to laugh I realized that this kid knew two things: what that body part was called and that it is a private part not meant for everyone to see. I was overall very happy that his parents had given him that level of age-appropriate education.

What I mean with that anecdote is that in my opinion, there isn’t a ‘too young’ age for kids to start learning about these things, let alone waiting for adolescence. I imagine these sort of classes vary by location. We watched the ‘puberty video’ in fifth grade (so 11-12), but the thing was, I’d already been menstruating for two years. Luckily my mom had been on top of things, but it’s crazy to think how many kids are kept in the dark bcs of outdated puritanical beliefs.

No but yeah, the fact that they seem to think talking about sex/sexuality is somehow predatory and inappropriate or will make kids think about/want sex is… sus at best. In 7th grade we watched a video about birth and there were naked people in a medical context, and I promise no one got horny from it lmao.

[em-prentiss]

three clicks and I'm home

----

Chapter 2: Dino’s and Lego’s

A series of oneshots, wherein Spencer is more or less Aaron and Emily’s eldest son.

Word count: 2.2k

prompt:

spencer has dinner on their house every friday bc jack wants to play legos with him

----

Jack had always been fascinated with Spencer. The young boy’s attention was won with a flip of playing cards, a long ramble on the history of stegosaurs. But when he discovered Spencer’s love of Lego’s, Jack was entrapped.

“Jack, time to go.” Emily lays a hand on his head, running her fingers through the blonde strands. Aaron had taken him out of school for an appointment and brought him to the BAU, piling paperwork forcing them back to the office instead of home. Jack hadn’t minded, trotting to Spencer’s desk the moment he walked in, both of them talking each other’s ears off about dinosaurs.

Now Jack frowns. He turns to Emily on his swiveling chair, his feet not yet reaching the floor. “Do we have to?”

Emily’s brows raise as Aaron walks down the stairs. “You want to stay here?” She queries, briefly throwing a look at the darkening bullpen, everyone rushing to get out the moment the clock struck 5. It was rare enough for them to be home; no one was going to spend an extra minute in there if they could help it. Yet Jack was glued to his chair.

“I wanna stay with Uncle Spence. Did you know he has Lego’s at home? Dinosaur ones!” His eyes light up and Spencer nods.

“I’ve got the Tyrannosaurus Rex, the Pterodactyl, and the Triceratops,” he lists them off on his fingers. The soft hair falling into his eyes adds more to his boyishness, and Emily’s heart grows unbearably warm at his wide grin, clearly as interested as Jack is. 

“I didn’t know that,” she smiles, though she may have had an inkling, “you have them too—”

“Can he come over for dinner?” Jack interrupts.

Spencer’s mouth claps shut. “Can who come over for dinner?” Aaron asks as he walks over, his hand landing on the back of Jack’s chair.

“Uncle Spence.” Jack replies, turning his pleading eyes to Aaron. 

Next to him, Spencer’s cheeks are lightly pink. “Ah, it’s okay Jack, I wouldn’t want to—”

“Spencer can come over,” Aaron interrupts, “if he wants to. Do you want to?” He turns his gaze to the dumbstruck boy-wonder.

Emily rests her elbow on the back of Jack’s chair. “We have dino nuggets,” she says. “You guys can throw a whole dino-fest.”

Aaron throws her a look. “Mm, maybe not dino nuggets tonight,” he gently refutes, given that Jack had had them just last night, “but pasta, maybe, if that’s fine with you.” He directs the question to Spencer. Flustered, Spencer fiddles with his cardigan. “Uh, red sauce or white?”

“Whichever,” Emily shrugs, her eyes keen on him. Making his lunch consistently along with Jack’s, she’s come to learn what exactly he likes and what he doesn’t. Summer fruits are ruthlessly tossed aside; muffins and cakes are wholeheartedly welcomed. Almost all cheeses are heartily approved.

Typical.

“Please, Uncle Spencer? It’ll be fun! We can build my Lego’s.” Jack pleads, turning to Spencer.

Emily sees Aaron open his mouth, probably about to protest—it is a school night—and she grabs his wrist, squeezing to keep him quiet. The interaction is interesting—Spencer’s obvious hesitation, unsure about overstepping in a situation he’d never been in before, but also the way he thinks it over for a second. 

Before Jack and Henry, talking to kids was an alien concept; when he did have a chance encounter with a child, they’d interrupt him randomly, ask increasingly perplex questions, and blurt out the most unasked for observations, more than likely about his appearance. The BAU kids—that’s what he dubs them in his head—are refreshingly polite, reserved but curious, and above that, familiar. Spencer’s brows draw together before he smiles at Jack, small but decided. “I’d love to, Jack. If it’s okay with you guys.” He looks up at Aaron and Emily.

“It’s okay,” they answer in unison. Emily rolls her eyes. “We’re not in the habit of making promises we don’t mean, Spencer. Now come on,” she waves her hand flippantly, gesturing for them to stand, “I’m hungry.”

****

Spencer is swept away in a whirlwind of Lego’s the moment they step through the door. Emily smiles as his and Jack’s excited chatter floats into the kitchen, tongue-twisting words falling easily from their mouths.

“At first I thought he was just humoring us,” Emily says as she stirs the pasta sauce, surprised at Spencer’s enthusiasm, “but I think he might be genuinely enjoying himself.”

Aaron smiles when Spencer’s voice pitches higher in excitement. “What he wants, more than anything, is for someone to listen,” he says quietly. Spencer devours books on the daily; his head is bursting with knowledge, knowledge Aaron knows he’s itching to share, but with their job being what it is, he rarely gets the chance to. Finding someone interested, however many years younger, is how he gets to share his knowledge—and his love.

“Jack at this age is a sponge who happens to have more questions than he does answers.” One too many times those questions had been turned to them, leaving them stumped and searching for answers online. “I think he enjoys picking Spencer’s brain just as much as Spencer enjoys sharing all his knowledge.”

Emily hums thoughtfully.

Dinner consists of even more of their chatter, bright and lively as they dive further into the perplexing world of ornithischian dinosaurs. Spencer’s eyes brighten with each question before he launches into an explanation, Jack’s excited commentary occasionally interrupting him.

“Stegosauri actually had brains the size of ping pong balls.” He says, causing Jack’s eyes to widen. “One of the early scientists who studied fossils believed that Stegosauri had a second brain in their tails, because he noticed a cavity similar to those where the brain would be—”

“That’s awesome!” Jack interrupts, his face bright with glee.

“—but it turned out to be false.” Spencer smiles sheepishly.

Jack’s face falls. 

“That’s why they’re considered to be the least intelligent dinosaurs,” he says thoughtfully. “Their brain to body ratio is incredibly disproportionate.”

“Please eat, guys,” Emily says dryly. Their plates are still half full, abandoned in favor of their conversation. Aaron and Emily have long since finished, and she rests her head on his shoulder as they both soak in the new information, nearly indecipherable with its speed, lighting up the room with its enthusiasm.

Sheepishly, Jack and Spencer go back to eating.

They go back to their Lego T.Rex after dinner until Jack can no longer fight bedtime. The clock strikes 8 and much to his dismay, Aaron makes him say his goodnights and prods him up the stairs and into bed.

“Dad?” He calls out just before Aaron shuts his bedroom door.

“Yeah, buddy.”

“I like having Uncle Spence around.” He says, his brows gathering in a thoughtful scrunch.

Aaron smiles at the gesture he caught from Emily. “I do, too.” He says softly.

A familiar light burns in Jack’s eyes. “Can he come over more?” He ventures.

“That’s up to him, Jack,” Aaron shrugs. “But I definitely wouldn’t mind it.” He’d always felt some measure of responsibility over Spencer, something larger than his simple responsibility as his boss. He wasn’t old enough to be his father, and they weren’t close enough for him to classify it as a brotherly sort of concern. But as the light in Jack’s eyes matches the shine in Spencer’s when he connects a clue or gets to ramble on about one of his thoughts, Aaron thinks he finally found a close comparison to his relationship with his coworker.

Jack nods then, apparently satisfied. 

“Night, buddy,” Aaron murmurs, shutting the door behind him after he gets a sleepy reply back. He walks down to the living room to find Spencer kneeling on the floor, scooping up the discarded Lego’s into a container.

“Leave those, Spencer, I’ll get them.” Aaron says.

Quietly, Spencer marvels at just how gentle Hotch becomes when he’s in the comfort of his own home. It’s not the first time he’s seen it, but it flows from him even more potently when it’s just him and Emily and Jack. He knows Hotch is reserved, always keeping things close to the vest, but in these few hours, going to his home and spending time with his son, it makes Spencer feel as if he’s part of something special. The fact that he gets to see Hotch in a simple cotton shirt and sweatpants makes Spencer think he’s somehow worked his way past an impenetrable barrier.

“It’s okay, Hotch. I made half the mess.” He scoops another handful into the container. The dark green pieces are familiar to him from the constructed T.Rex he has at home, and something in him warms at Jack’s insistence that he come over again so they could finish it together. Their half-formed dinosaur cautiously sits on the coffee table.

Aaron smiles a little as Spencer continues clearing up the floor. He crouches down next to him, miraculously setting his knees on the rug and not tiny Lego bricks. “You know, you can call me Aaron.” His voice is a little amused.

Spencer shrugs. He can tell it’ll feel weird on his tongue, so he doesn’t try. Not at the moment, at least. He’s known Hotch for almost a decade, and for all that time, he’s never been Aaron once. Not to him; but maybe that can change. It is just a name after all—and somewhere, along the line, he’d become Spencer instead of Reid.

Aaron tilts his head to the kitchen. “I know Emily needs more help than I do. She hates doing the dishes.”

Spencer pauses. “You sure?”

Aaron nods.

“Okay.” Spencer straightens, his knees cracking from spending hours cross-legged. He steps over the seemingly hundreds of Lego bricks—they cover half the rug—and walks to the kitchen, finding Emily loading the dishwasher.

She turns at the sound of his footsteps. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Spencer stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks for coming,” she says. “I know Jack really enjoys your company. Aaron and I appreciate it.” She gives him a small smile.

There’s something homey about her beneath the warm kitchen lights. She’s in casual sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, her hair gathered in a gentle swooping ponytail with her bangs messily in her face. Her brows are no longer knotted with the stress of work and her shoulders are relaxed as she settles into a routine that’s easy; rinse, hang, repeat.

Spencer rather likes this Emily, the one who moves with a slow pace, the soft padding of her feet on the floor instead of the click of heels in her wake.

“I enjoy all of your company,” he tells her, and it’s true. There’s something distinctly different about spending time with the Hotchners without the rest of his team; everyone is more relaxed, their pace slower, as if Spencer’s presence is as natural as Jack’s. He clears his throat before saying, “I’m not in the habit of going places I don’t want to go to.” He gives Emily a small grin and she returns in. “I had fun. Really.”

Her face lights up, her lips pressing together as she tries to hide a wider smile. Emily shakes her head to get the bangs out of her eyes. “You should come over more often,” she says casually.

Spencer hums and moves next to her, grabbing a plate and rinsing it, trying to seem somewhat normal about the flutterings in his heart. He doesn’t know what’s happening, exactly, when bagged lunches turned into warm dinner, but he finds himself wanting more. Usually his days revolve around two things—his mom and his job—and nothing else, whatever free time he has spent in reading and playing crossword puzzles and the general acquisition of knowledge.

This is different, unusual. But not unwelcome, he thinks, remembering the way Hotch had loaded his plate, how Emily had smiled when he and Jack were building the dinosaur. Sitting cross-legged on their rug as his friends neglected the dishes in favor of each other’s company, talking softly on the couch with glasses of wine in their hands—Spencer had declined—as he and Jack methodically sorted through the Lego’s, Spencer felt like he was part of something tangible. No bigger than his impact in his field of work or his field of research, but just as important, twice as warm.

He loads the plate in the dishwasher and helps Emily until the sink is clear.

He doesn’t know what to do as they say goodbye, but Emily solves it by giving him a quick hug, one he finds himself leaning into a little too much. With a small bye to Hotch and a smile from them both, he walks out of their door, feeling full on something other than food.

In the dark, his eyes pick out Jack’s outside toys strewn across the lawn. Aaron’s car is parked next to Emily’s, and he smiles at the familial image, how each one of their presence stands out, but they still manage to blend in together irreversibly.

When Spencer looks back, he can see Aaron and Emily through the window. She’s knelt down next to him, her hand on his cheek as she brings him in for a kiss over the pile of Lego’s. It’s quick, habitual, and when she leans back he smiles before sweeping her bangs over her brows.

He knows it’s phantom, a trick of the wind, but as Spencer tucks his hands into his pockets and walks away, he hears her warm laughter.

taglist: @kllingdaddy

[racheljoyscott]

Hey i love your blog<3

Do you know how to make friends , i got bullied in 8th grade by my group of friends because i defended a girl from being body shamed and i lost all my confidence to talk to people and making friends im a freshman going into sophomore year and i want to make friends this upcoming school year<3 i’ve been inspired by rachel to become more friendly like she was for the upcoming school year like reaching out to people bc ik whats it’s like to be bullied but i get really scared to talk to people bc i feel like im gonna get judged💜

Hey Anon! Glad you came across my page. I'll give you two sets of advice, my own and what I think Rachel would tell you.

You are almost the age I was when I started this blog so many years ago! I still, to this day, am thankful every single day that I learned of Rachel's story. I found her at the most pivotal stage in my teenage development. It shaped me more than I can express, and she completely altered my character progression. Rachel is extremely inspiring. Just listen to her stories and I promise it'll have some good effect on you. It's worth every second.

With that being said, this is my advice. The hard truth is, there will always be mean people tearing you down. Whether it's mean girls at school, a mean boss, or even your roommates in college. To make friends, be yourself. Learning to follow your own interests and live through your values will take you so much farther in life. And you'll be happier. Friends will come. I didn't have many friends in middle school or for a good chunk of high school. But looking back, I think I was better off having my few close friends than forcing friendships with the popular kids. Be a friend to everyone (with limits), but don't worry too much about having/not having friends. I promise you, being yourself and being kind to all people will give you confidence and bring you so much value to your future self. I think these early years are really impactful on your future. Put good out there, build a foundation for your career, and do your best in school. But given you are already following Rachel's footsteps, I'd say you're on a very good path :)

Based on what I know about Rachel, I'd say she'd be proud of you for sticking up for that girl! Please, please, never let other girls, especially mean or judgemental girls, take away any bit of sparkle or strength you have. If you are already using your voice for good and to help others so young, keep making it stronger. No matter what you say, you'll learn someone has an issue with it or judge you for it. Everyone has a bit of social anxiety when it comes to things like this. Especially at your age in high school. To combat it, Rachel wore really funky and eccentric outfits that kind of forced her to get used to discomfort and judgement. (Also because she was really cool!) To combat mine, I learned that people don't remember or care nearly as much as you do when you think you embarrass yourself. I even think of Rachel when I have trouble approaching someone. Because really, you never know what people are thinking or going through. She asked God to use her to reach out to people and to help others. Maybe that person sitting alone wants someone to sit with them, or maybe they don't! But it's for you to find out. Either you make a friend in the process, or learn more and more on how to approach people and make small talk. Life's all about chances but they're usually worth taking.

My advice to overcome the fear of being judged is to do your best. Whenever I fear how I'm being perceived or judged, I tell myself I did the best I could today. Even if I did screw up, at least I helped someone out. I was kind to a stranger. I put a smile on someone's face. Held a door open. Etc. At least I tried to be good and did something small to positively impact the people around me. Because truly, that's all that matters. And that's all because I found Rachel's story. :)

Please reach out to me if you ever need anything else, and I encourage you to use my blog to learn more about Rachel. She was always a friend when I didn't have one. There is truly so much you can learn from her! Good luck! xx

[rahleeyah]

Would you ever write a fic where Noah finds out about Lewis?

This is interesting. I don't have it on my radar as something I plan to do but I can see the appeal of the idea. I think if I was gonna do it I would center it on a grown-up Noah; yes young Noah could conceivably Google his mom but like when was the last time any of us googled our moms? Especially given that he knows what her job is and may expect to find just a bunch of news articles where she was interviewed for work, that doesn't seem like something most preteens would be doing for fun. And Lewis is old news (and wasn't really big "news" to begin with, like yes she was interviewed in the aftermath but it's not the kind of thing that stays in the news cycle or lives in people's minds for very long) and so there's no reason for it to come up among his friends (unlike the "Noah asks his mom if she's racist bc of kids at school" thing where they were reacting to a current event). And we have Liv trying so, so hard to shield her son from the horrors of her world, and we have Liv who has moved on, really. Lewis doesn't own her and the more time passes the less central he becomes to her narrative; the trauma changed her but she's been healing and growing for so long now that she's not the same person she was in the aftermath of it, and he is not the most important thing that's happened to her.

So if I were to do it I like the idea of grown-up Noah finding out by accident. Maybe Liv has died and that's what's compelled him to go thru the old news articles, this desire to look back at the totality of his mother's life and to honor her and with each one he discovers a little bit more about what she's had to endure but also what she's hidden from him. Noah, knowing that he'll never get the chance to speak to her again, realizing she had all these secrets and he has all these questions that will not ever be answered. That's interesting to me, him confronting the humanity and the fallibility of his mother as we all must do with our parents.

So. Maybe lmao

[whalesforhands]

IM BACK AGAIN!!! (“I need this au too where she wakes up in a hospital bed and is so confused like where is everyone and walks all the way back to school in her gown and scares the absolute crap out of everyone being all depressed and everyone’s like they’ve seen a ghost but readers just worried if they’re all alright and fretting over them adjkhghg”) OK SO I totally agree that losing reader would be the equivalent of Gojo losing Geto. But this time they also include Shoko on their mourning (unlike in the manga which has me sobbing). Maybe something where she just snaps at them abt pushing her away when reader was her best friend too. And they slowly realize what they were doing and then all mourn together. Gojo was going through your things one night cause he desperately needed something to ground him from a nightmare (he sleeps in readers room all the time now) and sucked in a breathe and stilled when he found his favorite hoodie in your closet. He tentatively took it and almost cried because it still smelled like you (he’d given it to you one day when you were cold and you forgot to return it and wore it all the time when he wasn’t there bc you really liked it). Geto wears a bracelet all the time now and only takes it off for a shower. He also constantly plays with it when his thoughts get too much and uses it to ground himself. It’s black and white with moon and star charms that he’d specifically picked out for you when he got it during the star plasma vessel mission at the beach. He was going to give it to you after but never got the chance. Shoko is much quieter and more absentminded now and when she was looking for her old lighter that she gave you (hot pink and she knew you were me er gonna use it but she gave it to you anyway bc she likes sharing the things she likes with ppl she cares abt) she found it in your drawer along with a little old booklet. Her face was peaking out out and when she opened it she found that it was a little album filled with secret pu fires she’s taken of her, Gojo, and Geto. Reader wasn’t in any of them Shoko noticed absentmindedly as she fell to her knees clutching the little booklet to her chest. Uh I meant to talk abt the au where reader lives and wakes up in a hospital bed but the hcs for after she dies started rolling in and I just had to share. You don’t have to write either I just really wanna talk abt your amazing au. Also waters great but you need to eat something bro empty stomachs aren’t fun when you notice them. This got super long my bad!!

- 🍊 anon

oooh 🍊anon i agree with you but i got some twigs to crack here, no hospital and everything is ok here, just me rambling ahahah sorry

i will admit to u that something similar to the hospital thing was written before pt.6 was posted, i just dragged u along cause i wanted someone to talk to, sorry ahahah

in dyf, it is apparent that all 4 of them care and love each other a lot in different ways and i’ve tried to get that message across as much as i can, as they all shine in their own unique manner

however, keep in mind this is also an au where i elevated the relationship between geto and gojo. when this happens, i imagined a form of love so deep that they’d be willing to turn over the sky and earth for each other

in a way, dyf geto and gojo also ‘see’ each other the clearest, you could even say their relationship at first ‘overlooks’ both ieiri and reader as well

it’s honestly through little moments with dyf mc that causes them to slowly draw back this thick, heavy curtain from up upon their shiny podium, moments that include dyf mc directly inserting herself between them and having somewhat of an impact on their moral compass, and how they view ‘average’ sorcerers

so when mc dies, the curtain just kinda drops back down? not to say that gojo and geto don’t care about ieiri now that mc’s gone, they do, but dyf mc was just on a different level

not to mention that shoko is someone who prefers to exclude herself before the situation escalates whilst mc is someone who prefers to jump in with 0 regard for her own safety and wellbeing

all in all, when they mourn, shoko keeps to herself and even hates her own ability at some point. she is the only one capable of using reverse cursed technique on others. what is this talent for, if she couldn’t save someone she held so dearly to her?

suguru doesn’t like to think about the situation. even gaslighting himself to such a horrid point that, he thinks if he turns around, he’ll see you right there, smiling up at him and asking if he wanted to share some tapioca juice with you.

(he’s severely mentally knocked down)

satoru revels in your memory. he constantly thinks of you in his round the clock refreshed state. satoru is busy as it is, picking up the slack now that suguru is mentally out of commission, trying desperately to juggle work and being suguru’s pillar

but… how do i put it? both suguru and satoru now hate their jobs more than ever. taking orders from the higher ups, kill curses, protect non-sorcerers… suguru is more disgusted than anything. satoru wants to go down the path of hope. the path that he wants to make suguru see as ‘the best one’

but he lives. he persists on the ‘good’ path. satoru is there to ground him, to be the anchor that prevents him from drifting. gojo can’t lose him. he just can’t.

so gojo doesn’t grow up with the mindset of ‘i won’t allow anyone to be alone again’ but the mindset of ‘i won’t allow myself to lose anyone again’ so it does turn him fiercely protective over the reminders and keepsakes of you (e.g. shoko, geto etc etc)

ahahah i’m talking too much gbye

[pics-and-fanfics]

Take it or Leave? (part 1)

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader (established relationship, sorry he’s not really in this one)

Warnings: toxic/abusive mom/parent person?, mentions of Reader having to take care of her younger sister bc their mom is a piece of shit. Also, my beloved friend, Angst >:) Mentions of past rape and attempted rape.

Summary: You finally let everything out, getting out the anger that’s been boiling for years.

A/N: This has been rolling around in my brain for like a week or two, and I finally decided to write it. Plz don’t get mad at me, bc this may or may not be my way of dreaming how to leave when I get the chance.

PLEASE, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MENTIONS OF RAPE OR ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSULT!

Other works on my Masterlist. :/

You toss your bag on your chair, collapsing onto your bed. You only had a few more months, just had to put up with this for a few more months. “Y/N! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” You swallow, groaning. Not even half a minute, and the shouting has already started.

“I was at work, like I told you I’d be before I left for school this morning, just like I told you last night, just like I tell you every day.” you say, wincing when you hear the door bang open. “I needed you to be home! I had to stay home because of you, instead of going out with my boyfriend!”

You suck your teeth, mentally cursing. How old was your mother? Oh right, she was 38, and you were 17, turning 18 in a few months. 3 months, 1 week, and 4 days to be exact.

“I HAD TO STAY HOME TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SISTER! I TOLD YOU I HAD A DATE TONIGHT AND YOU HAD TO STAY HOME!”

You wait for her to finish screaming at you, fiddling with your necklace your boyfriend had given you. “LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU!” You slowly look up, careful to keep emotion off of your face. “DON’T YOU DARE LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!”

“Oh my god, what do you want from me? ‘Look at me! Don’t look at me like that! Are you going to say anything? Don’t talk to me like that!’ WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!”

Smack! Your head whips to the side, and you feel your heart skip a beat, a pit forming in your stomach as the sting finally registers. You reach your hand up, then pull it away, seeing blood. Tears started to gather in your eyes, and you stubbornly willed them away.

“You are under my roof, you follow my rules, you eat my food. I put clothes on your back, a roof under your head, and this is how you treat me?” your mother practically growls, and you can feel her glaring at you.

A laugh escapes from your chest, and you throw your head back. “You? You? You put clothes on my back? You feed me? Since when? I want- I want- No I need to know, because, if my calculations are correct, I’ve been taking care of me and Amara since I was 12! I feed her! I buy her clothes! I make sure she has money to eat lunch at school! I make sure she’s done her homework, I’m the one who asks how her day’s been!

“You don’t do shit for me, or her! You haven’t! For years! 5! Years! I’m the one she went to when she got her first period, first boyfriend, first breakup, first anything major! Not you! Never was.” The words tasted sweet, yet bitter, sour from years of not saying them, sweet from finally letting go.

“How. Dare you! YOU LIVE UNDER MY ROOF, YOU RESPECT ME! YOU-”

“SHUT UP!” you scream, getting up from your place on the bed, finally realizing how much taller you were than your mom. “Respect? You want to talk about respect? Then go talk to your boyfriend, who’s tried to fucking rape me! Or maybe your brother! WHO ACTUALLY DID! AND YOU STILL LET HIM AROUND!” You could feel heat radiating around you, but you didn’t really care at the moment, you were finally saying something.

You heard your sister’s footsteps running up the stairs, and you raced to the door, but were beaten by your mother, who slammed the door into your face, making you screech.

“Y/n?” Click! You bang on the door, screaming. “AMARA! GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!” you beg, pulling frantically on the door knob.

“Amara honey, don’t take another step. Your sister’s grounded, just ignore her. I’ll take care of you while Y/n learns her lesson, alright?”

“DON’T LISTEN TO HER!” You grab a lamp off your desk, beating on the door.

“I promise, I’ll be better, sweetie. I’m sorry.” your mom’s voice said, and you screamed. “NO! SHE’S LYING! AMARA!”

📿

Loki played with the necklace he’d gotten to match yours, feeling guilty he hadn’t told you he’d put a tracing spell on it. It’d only activate when you were in trouble, or played with the necklace. He was feeling uncomfortable, his necklace had been getting hotter and hotter-

Loki sat up from his seat, realization hitting him like a truck. “What’s wrong?” Thor asked, and Loki waved him off, even though he was getting up. “It’s none of your business.”

📿

Welcome tooooooo… MORE CLIFFHANGERS AND DRAMA! What you gon’ do ‘bout it? I don’t know if I want to write a part 2, so let me know in the comments!

Thank you so so much for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful day or night, wherever you are when you read this. If you want to be tagged in any future posts, let me know!

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