#it's her subtle way to get him to admit he never scores because there's no shame in it

[pimenita]

My headcanon is Mason hasn't gotten laid in like 84 years but he's too embarrassed to admit it. Plot twist, the other Bravo members already know but don't want to make him feel bad so they just play along.

The only one that believes him is my detective because he isn't very bright and also he's absolutely blinded by love.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

And All the Pieces Fall Right Into Place

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 2

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

3.7k words

Warnings: Language, adults drinking adult things, a smidge of slut-shaming, sexual references, immature adults, Roy being Roy

Holi Dani! I’m back in town. Let’s get together tonight! I miss you!

Under April’s watchful eye, I typed my text to Dani Rojas and hit send. I knew full well that the Greyhounds had a game; Keeley Jones had sent me their schedule, after all. Step one of the most insane idea in the world was officially in motion.

“Remember, you can’t seem too desperate,” April reminded me as we lounged in my living room. “We don’t want it to be obvious that you’re fishing for an invite. Just be really subtle, like ‘Oh you have a match? Wow I’ve never been to one.’ You know?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

Bzz!

Dani’s quick response would have been surprising if it was anyone else; but Dani Rojas was the friendliest, most accommodating person I knew. Since we first met at a party for some tequila brand back in L.A., Dani and I immediately clicked. Our paths crossed frequently enough in London, and I considered him one of my favorite people in England. We bonded over our shared desire to find good pan dulce in London and how much we missed our big, crazy families when we were away. It wouldn’t be too hard to finagle an invitation to his game, right?

Aww chula, I wish! I’ve got a fútbol match tonight.

Just as I was crafting a text that would score me a ticket to Nelson Road, another message came in.

You should come!

“Well, shit,” I laughed, showing April my screen. “That was almost too easy.”

My assistant- sidekick and soulmate, I preferred to call her- chuckled and started typing on her own phone. “I’ll let Keeley and Lanie know that our mission is complete. And I’ll take care of getting your ticket. All you have to worry about now is looking hot and having a good meet-cute.” She paused, pursing her lips. “You and Kent… you two can flirt with each other, right?”

“The heck’s that supposed to mean?” I snorted as I texted Dani back, letting him know that I would love to go to his game.

She shrugged. “You two just didn’t seem to like each other very much.” Her matter-of-fact tone held no emotion. “You’re going to have to pull some Daniel Day-Lewis level acting for this to work.” April grinned at me. “I mean, your goal is to get an EGOT, right? Maybe your Oscar will be for acting.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as Dani texted me back, all excitement. “Well, just call me Meryl, because that’s how good my acting will have to be to get people to think I’m into someone like Roy Kent.”

April’s face softened. “You’ve gotta admit,” she said slowly, “he’s pretty cute.”

“Cute?” I rolled my eyes. “I mean, sure, I could see how he could be considered handsome by some people. I could totally see him with models and shit. But if you’re worried about me falling for the guy, don’t stress.” I slouched further into my couch. “No way in hell am I falling for Roy freaking Kent.”

~

Keeley grinned and showed her phone to Roy. “She got Dani to invite her!” she hissed to the manager as they ate lunch together in his office. “Everything’s going according to plan.”

“Yeah,” Roy muttered flatly as he poked at his food. “Great.”

What the fuck had he gotten himself into? He hated this kind of shit, the paparazzi and attention. And he hated her party-girl lifestyle, always out at clubs. And what the fuck were they supposed to talk about on the dates Keeley would surely make them go on? He liked football, hanging out with Phoebe, reading… What did she like? Flirting with scrawny rockstars? Stealing her best friend’s boyfriend (according to the tabloid he’d noticed at the store that morning)? Her Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse, or wherever it was she lived when she was in Los Angeles? And he was going to have to endure months of this. Fucking hell.

But it was for Keeley, he reminded himself as he watched the blonde munch happily on her salad. She’d asked him to do something, something she knew he’d hate, and he said ‘yes’ without complaint. That had to mean something, right? Surely that would earn him a few points with her, maybe even enough to forget about the whole ‘pick one’ shit he and Jamie had pulled. She’d definitely see how above and beyond Roy was willing to go for her and remember why she had loved him, wouldn’t she?

Besides, seeing him with an admittedly gorgeous popstar on his arm might even make Keeley a smidge jealous.

“It’s gonna work.” Keeley’s reassuring voice penetrated his thoughts. “I know it is. You wouldn’t believe who’s gotten away with this scheme. You know that actor from-”

I’m drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar

Roy stood, frowning in the direction of the suddenly bolstering changing room. “What the fuck is that?”

Keeley grinned as she hopped up and followed his gaze to the sight of Jamie and Colin and a few other guys shaking their hips and singing along. “Your new girlfriend,” she whispered with a wink. “Come on, Roy, you know this one. It was only her big hit last summer.”

“Hmmph.” Yeah, he recognized the catchy tune that still seemed to always be on the radio all these months later; Phoebe’d made him play it about twenty times in the car just that week. But why the fuck was his team screeching it while they got ready for their afternoon training?

Jamie’s smile widened at the sight of Roy and Keeley. “Oi! Did ya hear Dani’s news?”

“What’s up?” Keeley asked, as if she didn’t know exactly what Jamie was about to say.

Sure enough, Jamie pointed in the direction of Colin’s little speaker, where the music was blasting from. “She’s comin’! To our game tonight!” He looked just about ready to do a cartwheel. “Apparently, she and Dani are buddies, and he invited her to watch us! Can you believe it?”

“You’re kidding!” Keeley gasped convincingly, smacking Jamie on the arm. “How the fuck did he never tell us they’re friends?” She glanced at Roy before turning back to Jamie. “D’you reckon he’ll get her to go out with you boys tonight? Or is she too famous for our little Greyhounds?”

Richard appeared over Jamie’s shoulder. “I hope so,” he sighed. “She recently broke up with her boyfriend.” He waggled his eyebrows. “She’ll be looking for a rebound, no?”

Roy rolled his eyes. Shit, was this going to be an even bigger distraction than he thought, he realized. For the millionth time since he stood in Keeley’s office and signed the NDA, Roy was regretting this decision. But when he saw the excitement shining in Keeley’s eyes as she watched the Greyhounds dance around, he couldn’t help the soft sigh he let out.

Fuck, he hoped it was worth it.

~

I took one last look in the mirror. Little jean skirt, black leather jacket, boots. April had assured me that the outfit was perfect: casual enough for a game, stylish enough for a night out with the team, hot enough to catch the attention of Roy Kent. Or at least, look like I’d caught the attention of Roy Kent.

The car ride to Nelson Road was quicker than I’d expected, and the walk to my seat was a blur of phones taking photos and my name gasped out of people’s mouths. I wondered if, with all the time I’d be spending at Nelson Road in the coming weeks, the reaction would die down. Or if, like Keeley Jones had implied towards the end of our first meeting, my presence would lead to a spike in attendance.

She seemed to be hoping for the latter, because she made sure my seat was very visible: right by the pitch, close to the Greyhounds’ dugout. Even if I wasn’t the biggest soccer fan, I had to admit it was exciting being so close to the field; I quickly snapped a few pictures to send to my family, who would appreciate the view much more than I ever could.

When the team came out, I joined in the enthusiastic cheers and screams, shouting Dani’s name loudly. His face lit up when he spotted me, and I saw him nudging his teammates and pointing in my direction. Keeley had warned me about their reactions; indeed, they were grabbing each other and making faces similar to the ones my nephew made when he saw Mickey Mouse on his first trip to Disneyland.

“Whistle!”

The two syllables slammed against my ears. There he was, no longer in the black leather jacket I’d met him in, but instead wearing a dark blue Greyhounds jacket. One of the players- Jamie Tartt, I remembered- started animatedly talking to a very bored-looking Roy Kent. With one of those eyerolls that I knew I’d have to get used to seeing, he turned in my direction.

Despite my initial instinct to roll my own eyes, I instead forced myself to hold his gaze for a moment. A horrified thought suddenly struck me: Could Roy Kent pull this off?

Then his mouth tugged upwards in the corner, forming an admittedly sexy little smirk. In return, I let my eyes wander down his figure, taking in the way his jacket hugged his muscular arms and the way his pants hugged thick thighs. Damn. If I hadn’t already met him, if I hadn’t already discovered what a cranky and irritable grouch Roy Kent was, I’d probably be attracted to his smug expression and athletic build. He wasn’t my usual type, but I couldn’t deny that he was, frankly, kind of gorgeous.

He gave me a curt nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his team and shouting at them, his sharp yell reminding me that I was here for a reason. Remembering Keeley’s instructions, I pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of photos of the pitch, making sure to get Roy and the other Greyhounds in the frame. I quickly posted the picture to my social media and tagged Dani in it, as Keeley had suggested.

With the “official business” out of the way, I relaxed in my seat and prepared to at least appear to look like I was enjoying the game. Figuring that there were eyes and cameras pointed in my direction, I made myself steal several glances at Roy Kent; he must have been thinking the same thing, because more than once, he was already looking over at me.

~

Roy sighed when he looked over at the corner where most of the Richmond players were assembled, practically falling over themselves to get in a word with her.

It was a bit perplexing, honestly. These men were professional athletes. They regularly dated models and actresses. But this singer, this popstar, had them falling all over themselves trying to chat her up. Sure, Roy thought, her level of fame was pretty fucking impressive. She’d won a couple of Grammys, her songs were constantly on the radio, and he’d heard her latest tour was practically impossible to get tickets for. So maybe some of their fawning was justified.

He glanced at his phone, wishing he was at home in bed already. With a deep exhale, he made a beeline for Dani; the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could leave, he reasoned.

“Oi,” Roy grunted as he approached the striker. He nodded towards the swarm of players, doing his best to keep his trademark disinterested expression on his face. “You going to introduce me to your friend?”

Dani’s eyes sparkled knowingly. “You too, eh Coach?” He chuckled and clapped Roy on the shoulder. “Vámonos.”

Roy’s heart stuttered in his chest as he followed Dani to the corner of the club, where he saw, of all people, Jamie sitting close to the singer, murmuring something in her ear. She laughed at whatever he said and responded with a smile on her face. Her eyes flickered to Roy as he approached; was that… disappointment he saw?

If it was, it was only there for a fraction of a second. Just like on the pitch, her eyes trailed over his figure, a small smirk forming on her lips. If he didn’t know better, Roy would be intrigued by the boldness on her face, the uninhibited way she eyed him. In the back of his head, he couldn’t help feeling a bit smug when he saw the way Jamie’s brows furrowed as the striker looked back and forth between the two.

She kept her eyes on Roy as she stood up and stepped away from Jamie and the guys. She batted her lashes at Roy before turning to Dani, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Shit, Roy thought. She’s good at this.

“Chula,” Dani said, smiling at his friend. “I want you to meet my coach, Roy.” He turned to Roy. “Coach, this is-”

Roy reached out and took her hand in his and shaking it slowly. “Only an idiot doesn’t know who you are,” he hummed, raising his eyebrows. “You caused quite a stir with my team, you know. You enjoy the match?”

She nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. “I did. Sorry if I was a bit of a distraction.”

“I think you actually brought us luck.” Fucking hell, when was the last time Roy flirted like this? Was he doing it right? “You should come again sometime.”

Her smile widened as she tilted her head coyly. “Well, if that’s an invitation, maybe I will.”

Desperate to end this charade, Roy cleared his throat. “Have these fellas bought you a drink yet?” When she shook her head, he rolled his eyes playfully. “Fucking hell, guess I need to remind them what fucking manners look like.” With that, he placed his hand on her lower back and nodded towards the bar. “Come on, then.”

She winked at Dani and let Roy lead her to the bar, keeping that coy smile plastered on her face. Once they had ordered, she looked up at him, still smirking.

“Kent,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Watch your fucking hands.”

Sure enough, Roy realized that his hand was dangerously low, just above the curve of her ass. Shit.

Despite his embarrassment, Roy scoffed, although he did remove his hand. “You’re a natural at that flirting shit,” he all but sneered. “Then again, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice, with all your shaggy little rockstar pricks.”

Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second as the bartender slid over her drink. Still, she kept her expression neutral; to anyone watching them, she looked as though she was enjoying their conversation. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her snarky tone contrasted with her sweet face. “Tell me more about the women who sell stories about your dick to the press and steal your watches?”

“Oi,” Roy growled as he picked his beer up off the bar. “That happened once, alright?”

“You mean it got into the papers once,” she grumbled, sipping her drink. She raised her eyebrows at him. “So, what’s the plan?”

Roy frowned. “Fuck d’you mean? We’re doing the fucking plan.”

She shook her head. “Like, are you going to ask me to dance? Are we taking off and going to a restaurant or some shit?” Roy avoided looking at the way her lips wrapped around her little straw as she sipped her drink. “Keeley said it’s up to us, just no going home together on the first night.” The little snort she gave would’ve been adorable coming from anyone else. “As if.”

“Well, I guess if we dance, we don’t have to fucking talk,” Roy muttered, doing his best to mirror her amiable expression; it was challenging, he realized, looking cheery while feeling irritated as hell. He downed the rest of his beer and practically slammed the empty bottle on the bar. “One song, alright? I don’t usually fucking dance.”

“Trust me,” she hummed, finishing the last of her drink. “For me, you’d make an exception.” Flashing what he assumed was her most winning smile, she took Roy’s hand and led him to the crowded dance floor.

On the dance floor, she pressed her body close to his, her movements teasing and natural. Everything about her- her hips, her smile, her eyes on his, the way her hands played with her hair flirtatiously- would have normally had Roy’s chest feeling tight with attraction.

She brought her lips to his ear, looking as though she was probably flirting with him. “I swear to God,” she hissed. “If you get a boner, I will fucking kill you.”

Yeah. Right.

~

Officially introduced? Check.

Flirted? Check.

Had a drink together? Check.

Danced? Check.

We’d gone through enough of the motions. There was no way I was going to spend more time with Kent than I had to; we’d be thrown together enough in the coming weeks once the “dating” began. Besides, Keeley had warned me that Roy didn’t like to stay out late anymore. He was probably even more ready to call it a night than I was.

Sure enough, after a couple of songs, he gave a small grunt and looked at his phone.

“Should get going,” he grumbled.

“Why?” I huffed, fluffing my hair. “Will you fall asleep right here on the dance floor soon?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a real ball of fucking sunshine?”

“That’s an improvement from nightmare.” I exhaled and tugged at his jacket. “C’mere.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“So I can say goodnight, you idiot. Someone’s bound to take a photo of this.” Not waiting for an answer, I pulled his face close to mine and planted a small, lingering kiss on his cheek. His face was warm, a little itchy from his beard, and now carried a little red mark from my lipstick. I smiled up at him and released his jacket. “Goodnight, Roy Kent,” I hummed.

He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. “Right. Goodnight, then.” He reached down and gave my hand a squeeze before turning and walking away, his movements stiff and almost robotic.

Fighting the urge to childishly wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, I returned to the corner where the Greyhounds were gathered. Dani’s face lit up when I slid into the booth next to him and stole a sip of his drink.

“Did you have fun dancing with Coach Kent, amor?” he asked, his voice dripping with teasing.

I smirked at my friend. “He was very nice,” I declared with a playful eyeroll.

“Roy doesn’t normally dance,” one of the players- Colin- informed me. “And he usually doesn’t stay out this late.” He waggled his eyebrows at me over his beer. “Wonder why he came out tonight.”

Putting on my best coy smile, I leaned forward. “What about when his girlfriend comes out with you all? Doesn’t he dance with her?”

Immediately, all the men at the table shook their heads. “Roy doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Isaac, their captain, clarified. “He actually hasn’t really dated anyone since….” He glanced around the table. “Well, since he broke up with his serious girlfriend, Keeley.”

“Keeley?” I echoed without thinking. “Keeley Jones?”  

Dani’s smile widened. “Oh, how do you know Keeley?”

Shit.

“I don’t,” I lied. “But I’ve heard of her. We’ve got some mutual friends. She’s a model, right?”

Isaac nodded. “She’s moved into PR, actually. Runs her own firm, works with the club. She’s brilliant.”

“And once upon a time, she and Roy were our OTP,” Colin sighed dreamily. “But they’re good friends now. Them and Jamie and their weird little dynamic.”

“Jamie dated her too,” Dani explained. “Before her and Roy got together.”

I nodded, slowly piecing together the story. “Jamie dated her too?” I chuckled, wondering why I felt like I should have been told all this ahead of time. “Gosh, she has a type, doesn’t she? Dating two guys from the same team.” I put my hands up and quickly added, “Not that I have the right to judge. I dated bandmates once, did not turn out well for the band.”

The guys laughed good-naturedly. As I was about to feign interest and ask another question about Roy, Jamie Tartt approached, plopping down on my other side and setting down a drink in front of me, his arm behind me on the booth casually.

“Finally escaped from Grandad, eh?” he joked, eyes twinkling playfully.

Damn. Normally, his pretty-boy looks and admittedly annoying swagger would be exactly what I wanted, and we’d probably have a fun couple of weeks in each other’s beds. But I needed to stick to the plan; besides, wasn’t I done with guys like this?

Offering the athlete nothing but a polite smile, I turned back to Dani and took my friend’s hand. “It was fun watching you play today,” I hummed. “Think I could come again? Become a Greyhounds fan?”

“Yes!” Dani kissed my forehead. “Please, amor, come to more of our games.” He nudged me. “I’m sure Coach Kent would not mind one bit.”

Hoping my smile was shy rather than obviously fake, I giggled. “He did tell me I brought you all luck,” I said slowly. I batted my eyelashes at Dani. “Don’t suppose you could pass along my phone number to him? I’d love to know which game he’d like me to bring luck to.”

The table fell into a dead silence, all eyes wide and mouths agape. After the guys exchanged looks that could only be described as utterly shocked, Colin finally cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “are you asking Dani to give Roy your phone number?”

Feigning innocence, I nodded. “Sure,” I chirped. “Is that alright? You all said he’s single, so…” I shrugged and turned to Dani. “Unless you think it’s too weird, chulo?”

“No, no,” Dani assured me. “I can give him your number.” He tilted his head at me. “You… you liked Coach Kent, then?”

Nope. Not at all. Not one fucking bit.

“Sure,” I giggled, hating myself. “I mean, as much as I can like a man after one drink and a couple of dances.”

His smile lit up the entire club as he lifted his drink. “Well, then Coach Kent is a lucky man. I will give him your number tomorrow, how does that sound?”

I tapped my glass to Dani’s. “Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @hotleaf-juice @emmy2811 @captainorbust-blog @preciousbabypeter @shion-ah @royalestrellas

[widowshill]

scientific ranking of all of vicki's boyfriends and girlfriends

1. roger collins canon status: 6/10 they are the moment. collinsport's own jane eyre reenactment in a 1960's feudal sardine empire, complete with lovely arsonist wife. they're soulmates. he might be her uncle (?). it's true love. it's workplace harassment. they're fated to be together. they're doomed. they're entwined but never joined. they're marrying other people. they're mimicking each other's dialogue. they went on two dates and they both sucked. she's the adoptive mother to his (?) child. he tried to fire her 2 million times. they never even kissed once. they got stuck in a cabin together in the middle of a storm. he gives her away at her wedding. he can't stand to see her married. she is one of the few people in this world that he finds worth caring about.

2. burke devlin (mitch ryan) canon status: 10/10 he's dangerous he's mysterious he's tall dark and handsome and he did not hit that guy with his car. he's an oil baron. he's an ex convict. he's a millionaire. he's roger collins' ex-boyfriend. he's going to set out to destroy everything but oh god not her he would never let anyone touch her. one of the few people who actually takes her bodily safety seriously and moves heaven and earth to rescue her (repeatedly). two poor kids from the wrong side of the tracks arrive in the same train car from new york to collinsport. one of them already knows the underside of the collins' heel and the other one is about to and he can't convince her to get out. he wants to wreck the collins name she wants it as her own but they're both too-well wrapped up in the myth to leave it.

3. carolyn stoddard canon status: 2/10 girlfriends. that's all i can say. i just think they are very much adorable and they do score points on the canon scale, remotely, for such subtle lines from Carolyn as: "Just what the doctor ordered to keep the wind from ruffling your dark and gorgeous hair," and "Here, alone with you, I can't pretend." never mind their sleepovers in vic's bed hanging out in their nightdresses. carolyn would sooner own up to having a crush on her uncle than having a crush on a woman because this is upper crust maine in the 1960's but listen ... for a character who enjoys flirting for fun but gets extremely anxious about settling down and marrying a man, who prefers the most distant, unobtainable men that she has no reasonable chance of actually ending up with (roger case in point), who gets jealous every time vicki is with someone no matter who it is ... maybe she does like men too, but let's investigate mama let's research. with the governess, preferably. (who could maybe be her half sister? see no. 1)

4. maggie evans (blonde wig) canon status: 0/10 i'll be honest with you all this one is purely vibes but the other boyfriends suck so she still gets to place ahead of them. don't tell me maggie's not looking at her in exactly the same way she looks at joe when she's eyeing him up as her next man. she got straighter when we lost the blonde wig but this entire counter scene in e1 is one long flirtation session and for however many episodes she keeps the wig i believe very strongly there's a devastatingly homoerotic female friendship developing. i'm not immune to the short hair blonde long hair brunette wlw aesthetic i'll admit. as i said vibes only but just trust me. y'all fw cartinelli? ok. well.

5. frank garner canon status: 10/10 i'm glad you were very helpful during the laura arc frank but i'll be honest you bore me to tears why are you even here. he's got the personality of wonder bread and he's in the wrong genre he should be arguing cases on bachelor father or solving hardy boys mysteries or something i truly do not know. these two together just means bouncing all our lawful good off each other and it self perpetuates into nothing interesting at all. they're not even maybe related! maybe if we continued further with the betty hanscombe story and he found some damning revelation about vicki's parentage he'd have something fun to contribute to the plot but as things stand he's just a duller ivy league version of joe and if we're gonna have an all-american boyfriend i'd rather she just date mr haskell.

6. burke devlin (anthony george) canon status: 10/10 you may think that he cannot have possibly fallen from 2nd to 6th with a recast ... surely not ... but you would be wrong. i give vic props for domesticating him but he's lost all his panache in his full-time role as romantic interest, and now he doesn't even look like handsome squidward anymore :( like frank, this version of burke is much too obviously a safe choice, where the original allure of burke is the fact that she wants him despite the enmity between him and the collins family, his destructive tendencies, his jawline ... I do give him props for going to extreme lengths to make her happy, not only in their personal relationship, but her overall circumstances, and the other things that matter to her. you're not last but i wasn't sad when the plane crashed either :/

7. barnabas collins canon status: 8.5/10 is this a real relationship ... i don't really know. i'm not sure the participants know. barnabas thinks it is and i guess they were technically engaged to be married at some point but that's only towards the goal of using her to vividly hallucinate his dead girlfriend so does that count. I will say in their favor it was extremely funny that she had to drive the getaway car for her own kidnapping/elopement/vamp enthrallment because he can't drive. honestly that was the only part of this whole situation i enjoyed. also when she married jeff and he sighed and put his head in his hands he was real for that. they're actually pretty compatible and would be amazing friends ... or like, they could host a podcast together, or something. not this.

8. jeffpeter clarkbradford canon status: 10/10 such a shitty boyfriend that roger collins opened his third eye to warn her that marrying him is the greatest mistake of her life. his only job in the entire world is to make sure that vicki does not hang for witchcraft and he fails multiple times. possibly the most annoying man on the planet. what if we gave a ken doll the personality of a republican congressional aide and he's played by an actor that is reviled by his castmates. comes to the future on the power of wanting to fuck vicki i guess and to spite me, specifically, who's very tired of seeing him, and makes her have a car accident where she could have died. kisses reincarnated french serial killers in the yard days before their big wedding. leaves her at the altar to go play in the dirt in the graveyard. later marries her in a shotgun ceremony at 3 in the morning and then vanishes back into The Past. after literally driving her to suicide, takes her to be with him in The Past where she hangs, again, and then dies off the cliff. TOMATO TOMATO TOMATO TOMATO.

[fruitzbasket]

twiyor eden au headcanons 📚

• [redacted] adopted the name loid after imigrating to ostania with his mother, partly for assimilation reasons and partly because he wanted a fresh start. his mother changed her name as well so he wouldn't feel alone in that.

• loid achieved the highest score in eden's admission tests to date. there was quite a bit of opposition to him joining the prestigious school, but ultimately it was decided that a flow of students between both countries could be a good step toward peace. that's how the characters from westalis are accepted into eden.

• yor is not particularly academically gifted, but she's insanely physically gifted. an increasing number of sports trophies in eden's trophy room are only there because yor was part of the team. she excels at sports.

• no one really wants to approach a guy from westalis first and loid isn't particularly talkative. he keeps mostly to himself—until this girl in class speaks to him. apparently, the teacher paired them together for class. not that loid hears her at first, too fixated thinking she'sprettyshe'sreally pretty. they finish their activity without any issues, and yor admits that she's been wanting to approach him for weeks because he looked lonely on his own.

• franky is in a different class, fiona is his junior, and sylvia is his senior.

• yor herself doesn't have many friends (and the ones she does have aren't all that nice to her), so she can empathize with loid. while loid himself didn't feel lonely, he finds yor quite pleasant to be around. they quickly grow close.

• loid's favorite subjects are history and literature. yor's favorite subjects are pe and arts.

• yor's parents aren't home a lot of the time. she ends up going to loid's mom for advice/help.

• i've never had those so i'm not sure what they're called, but you know those classes where students learn how to take care of a household (as in, doing cooking, finance management, etc)? so, that's where loid finds out just how terrible yor is at cooking. he exchanges their dishes so she won't get scolded by their teacher. yor gets quite emotional about it and vows to do better.

• it's not uncommon for loid to bring cookies he's baked to yor. since they can't eat them during classes, they try to be subtle about it. it turns out they're great at being sneaky.

• yor's grades start improving after spending time with loid. in turn, loid is not as stressed anymore. they balance each other out.

• when he starts thinking of yor in a less platonic way, he does absolutely nothing about it. it's yor that holds his hand first. she pulled her hand away in 0.2 seconds, but she did it! he becomes a little braver after that. not much though. he might get kicked. it happened to some guy that confessed to yor, or so he heard.

• he thinks he might kiss yor during a summer school festival, but she almost passes out after eating from the same spoon as him.

• high-school age loid has real beef with middle-school age yuri. it's a little embarrassing for him.

[kookiesandcreams]

SHADES OF ME

Pairing: Patient!yoongi × doctor!y/n

Warnings: cussing, medical description, inappropriate and groping, oral (gem receiving) clit biting, spanking, choking, criminal yoongi.

A/n: I wrote this fic weeks ago idk what took me so long to post buttt here you go : ) like and comment <: ily fam <3

He knew it, he knew that you were he knew for him. His desire for you was ever-growing. The subtle ways you twisted your hand around the knob while entering the room, slight flip of your hair, gentle shake of your head and every little thing you did fueled his need for you.

Days began bleeding into months, and you still feared him, his timid kitten as he liked to think of you. "Check his pulse Dr Y/n."

You had to do it. "Uhm... right I'll do it once I'm done recording his vitals."

Working in a hospital was hard as it was but working in a psychiatric ward was next-level hard shit. You joined Maple Hospital 3 months ago, as an intern after graduating from your university with a decent score.

Your experience?

Lavish.

Only the millionaires could afford such kind of treatment and care. Maple was a top-class listed hospital with extravagant facilities. You slogged your ass to get your hands on this job. One patient would not make you change your mind. But, would he?

You proceeded to check his pulse and the senior doctor left. Beads of perspiration gathered on your forehead. "Don't worry, I won't bite you."

You flinch, and the side stands fall down with you. He could see it, the rapid blinking of your eyes, your throat bobbing as you try to swallow the fear, your withdrawal from his touch.

"Are you still afraid of me?"

The IV is plucked from his veins, a tiny drop of blood appearing on the surface of his skin. You impulsively jump up to help him, the close proximity exciting him. Thoughts of you under h plague his mind. Just when you are about to dab a cotton ball over the blood he holds your wrist, tight enough to stop the circulation.

"I asked you a question now, didn't I?"

Swiftly rotating your wrist he had you turned in a way that made your back face him. His other hand was soon placed on your guts. The soft smell of baby powder kissed his nostrils as he nosed your neck. Pressing you closer, he gritted his teeth, "why is your heart pounding at such a fast rate?"

As much as you hated to admit it, both you and Yoongi knew it was because of him.

"No-" you took a sharp breath before continuing, "i- I am not afraid of you, sir."

"I see,"

His skilful yet rough hips press forward into yours, a sigh of pleasure leaving your mouth in short breaths.

"Yoongi—"

"Mhm?"

"What are you doing Min Yoongi?" You didn't know why but your body seemed to like the friction and the attention.

"I think sir is better." With that saying, he grabs your boob and attacks your neck with a fit of rough and hungry kisses. The fast, oscillatory movement of his hips never stopped. You could feel his dick harden as he humped your ass.

Swiftly, he grabs your chin, pushing two digits in your warm cavern. "Would you let anyone else use your slutty mouth? Huh, princess?" His fingers moved in and out of your mouth at a gradual pace. He wanted to savour the feeling, the warmth and the sloppiness of your mouth.

"No one else," you said. "I would never allow anyone else in this throat of mine." Showing him was the only way he'd trust her. She wanted him to recover. Truly, she did. Unbeknownst to herself, she desired his touch, his affection, his love, his hands roaming expanse of her body.

He let out a groan, a feral one. It rumbled through her chest and made your pussy flutter. Were you worthy of him? Of his status in society?

A slap echoed and you felt the pain shooting through your ass. His huge palms were then rubbing the globes of your ass softly as if he didn't just slap them red and dead.

Before you knew you were leaning against the huge balcony. The blinders were on but the thrill made you wet. His deathly grip on your waist was agonizing but it made you feel a sense of belonging, something you never felt.

Your work skirt was loosely hanging around your waist when he bunched it above your ass. You felt exposed, the shame turning you on even more. He knelt, parted your legs and stared at your fat pussy, and you hid your face.

"What a lovely pussy you have here, darling."

Without wasting a second, he dived in like a hungry beast. Lapping up your folds and sucking your clit was an Olympic sport; that's how he made you feel. Switching between biting your hood ferociously and inserting his tongue in your fluttering hole, he brought you closer to your end. Your pussy clenched signalling your orgasm and that's when he stopped.

You cried. The crescent marks on your palms were just the evidence of the pleasure he gave you only to snatch it back from you in a moment.

"Why?"

"I think this is all you deserve for now."

He sat on his bed, pliant and docile. A Marathon of thoughts in your mind distressed you. Even though you'd never admit it to anyone you knew, you yearned for more. More of him.

Now all you can do is wait.

[katherinemckay]

welcome back to niche moments in the wicked score that i enjoy today’s topic is the parallels between popular and wonderful’s scores :)

i was looking closely at the piano/vocal score for wonderful today and was surprised how much it reminded me of popular’s. these songs felt pretty unrelated to me at first because i never listen to wonderful, until i thought about how the themes discussed in both numbers are actually very closely linked: both songs discuss how power and opportunity are given primarily through cultivating a good public image and perception. here's some of the similarities that stood out to me musically:

besides the fact that they’re both in the same key, both songs consistently switch from swung to straight eighth notes, which is notated in both scores. they also start with slower, almost dramatic/theatrical notes that follow the singer colla voce (also notated in both scores), until they each pick up to the regular, faster tempo.

then, when it gets to that tempo, both songs utilize a heavily syncopated rhythm. here's some examples:

looking even closer at that last image of the popular score, the pattern of triplets leading into the next beat also shows up in wonderful:

the one that stood out to me the most is at these moments, where the eighth note patterns are extremely similar for a couple measures before they both have a descending melody:

looking at the lyrics at these parts, while g(a)linda is singing about heads of states being popular instead of having "brains or knowledge," the head of oz is singing about how being called wonderful makes him actually appear that way. he's actively proving glinda right: this whole song is the wizard admitting that he's only powerful because the people of oz see him as wonderful, so it's what he's become. the wizard is exactly the kind of person glinda is referencing in popular, so the music for these songs being similar in key, rhythm, and general patterns helps emphasize that idea.

i think these connections highlight how smart glinda really is, even at the start of this show: her outlook on the world as a teenager is shown to be the harsh reality of how people in oz get to power. while popular often comes across as just a fun, flashy song for glinda to give elphaba a makeover, it's so interesting and complex when you really examine it as a glimpse into how glinda views the world around her. her understanding of the importance of popularity within her school and social circle translates politically into how the wizard understands that the ozians' perception of him as wonderful is all he needs to continue being powerful. the subtle parallels to popular in the wizard's big act 2 number show how glinda realizes and acknowledges the corruption in her society earlier than it's actually revealed in the show to the audience, or even understood by any of the other characters.

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Paper Rings

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: On his first ride to Hogwarts, James befriended the girl who was obsessed with shiny things. Over their schooling together, their friendship turned into so much more.

A/N: lmao I suck at summaries. Also I’m back sorry for the random hiatus (and sorry that posting will almost definitely not be consistent after this either). I had this idea months ago, inspired by Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings, and I only just got around to writing it asdfghjkl. Still obsessed with James though rip me I just want someone to love me like this.

Warnings: Mentions of eating (briefly), otherwise just a lot of fluff.

Wordcount: 4k (wow)

...

Little James Potter waved goodbye to his parents as the train took off from the platform, nervous about his first journey to the infamous Hogwarts, but excited to discover all the great things his parents had told him for himself. First though: finding a carriage.

Trying not to show his nerves, he wandered along the corridor, peeping into the carriages to see if there was one he could join. For the most part, he found them all too full, too loud to juggle his nerves, or the students too old and intimidating. The days would come where James would rule the corridors of the castle, but the eleven year old boy on the train was just hoping to make a friend he could share this new adventure with.

As fate would have it, he found just that and so much more. In a carriage to herself sat a young girl, his age, her face turned away from him looking out the window. The only thing he could see was a petite sparkling bow, sitting neatly in her (y/h/c) hair.

Without thinking about it, he knocked gently on the compartment door, sliding it open as she turned to look at him inquisitively. Her (y/e/c) eye’s glittered as her lips pulled into a smile, creating a complete sense of comfort for James to ask. “Do you mind if I sit?” She nodded eagerly, gathering up a few books she had dumped on the opposite seat and dropping them into her lap. “I’m James.” He smiled.

“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while, listening to the laughs of older students, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and watching the landscape whip by them out the window.

“I like your bow, by the way.” James spoke up, feeling glad he did when an excited smile broke across her face, looking as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery.

“Thank you! I love the way it sparkles.” She said, gently pulling it from her hair and twisting it in the sunlight, showing how rainbows danced in the glitter and were thrown across their compartment. Satisfied, she used it to clip back the hair that was now falling into her face, and their conversation moved on, following each and every thought they were having, becoming fast friends. James didn’t think the journey could get any better until two boys showed up at their door and asked if they could join them, setting everlasting friendships in stone.

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, any nervousness James had been feeling was gone. Instead, the only thought he had was that he couldn’t be more glad he sat in the compartment of the girl with the sparkling bow.

…

Their first year passed in a blur, and the Marauders spent the majority of it in each other’s company, laughing their days away.

Now, summer had come and gone, and their second year at Hogwarts was in full swing. They walked into their charms class together, laughing about a joke Sirius had made at James’ expense. (y/n) sat next to the curly-haired boy at their desk, as Remus Sirius and Peter sat at the one adjacent to them.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t make the team last year! No first year has made a house team in like 80 years! I’m telling you though, I’ll make it on this year, and I’ll be the best chaser this school has ever seen.” James protested, huffing as he put his textbook in the middle of the table for him and (y/n) to share. She laughed at him softly, hand patting his shoulder as the other boys got lost in their own conversation.

“I know you will, Jamie. And I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way.” His cheeks redenned at her words, but luckily their attention was turned away by Professor Flitwick.

“Now students, the charm I’ll be teaching you today is more of a fun one to start off the year than anything you’ll likely need in your everyday lives. As always, I don’t expect you to create chaos by using these charms” – he turned his gaze to a particular group of students at this point who were all busily looking elsewhere – “but simply to enlighten yourselves and to show you what magic can do. So, the charm we’ll be learning today is how to make things glitter.”

James heard an almost inaudible gasp next to him, and he could feel the excitement radiating off (y/n). He chuckled, expecting nothing less; he’d known her for a year now, and if it wasn’t the bow in her hair there was always something shiny on her at any given time.

Flitwick talked about the details of the charm, how it could be applied subtly, only giving a faint sheen, or how it could be made much more obvious. Finally, he gave them the charm and told everyone to repeat after him. “Now, like I said, just because this is a fun charm doesn’t mean it’s an easy one, and I don’t expect you to get it on your first attempt. Just keep repeating the charm and-oh!” He broke off suddenly, just as James’ vision went hazy. Once he’d focused, he saw he was surrounded by a cloud of individual glitter specs floating around them, almost as if they were in their own galaxy. His gaze shifted to its centre, shining most brilliantly of all as her proud and excited smile dazzled him, making him forget entirely they were still in their charms classroom.

“Well done Miss (y/n)!” Flitwick’s voice broke through their bubble, and slowly each star seemed to fade out of existence, until they were back in their regular old classroom, thirty pairs of eyes trained on them. “You certainly felt the spirit of the charm and went above and beyond. 10 points to (y/h). Now, if you could help Mr Potter whilst we all get back to it!”

Chatter burst out the classroom almost immediately, partners working together trying to enchant an object of theirs to take on the glittery effect. Sirius turned to her, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

“Becoming a teachers pet now are we, (y/l/n)?” She rolled her eyes back, waving her wand to produce a cloud of glitter that settled in Sirius’ hair, contrasting sharply against its darkness.

“It’s sparklesSirius, what did you expect? Now c’mon, this is the one lesson I won’t let you not do the work in. Make some glittery greatness and I’ll bake you all some cookies when I next steal James’ cloak to go to the kitchens.” With those words, the three boys turned their entire focus to the task at hand, while James still seemed slightly awestruck next to her. “You alright, J?”

“That was amazing (y/n/n). I had no idea you could do that.”

“Well I guess you can’t know until you try.” She shrugged, picking up her quill and placing it in front of him. “Charm my quill.”

“Why me? You could just do it yourself.” James asked, confused why she didn’t do it herself since she was clearly more than capable. Once again, she shrugged, looking into his eyes as she uttered the words so nonchalantly that would stick with him for years to come.

“Well, Flitwick said you needed to practise. Plus, it’ll mean more to me if every time I look at my quill I know that you’re the reason it’s shining.”

Within a heartbeat, James had uttered the incantation and a subtle shimmer had settled over the feather, imperceptible until it was moved and caught the light. The smile he saw when he looked over at (y/n) made him vow to himself that as long as he was around, she would never have an ordinary quill again.

True to his word, every time she brought out a new quill, he was quick to snatch it from her and place the simple charm on it. It became an unspoken promise between the two of them, and every time James saw that sparkle from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

. . .

True to her word, (y/n) was there for all of James’ games, cheering him on from the side of the pitch, always the first to reach him when the game was over. High or low, win or lose, she was always there to remind him that he had played amazingly, and that she was proud of him.

After one such game in their fourth year, Gryffindor narrowly losing to Slytherin, she was at his side so quickly that he would have thought she had apparated if he knew this wasn’t possible. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders. “Oh, James.” She quickly ushered him off the pitch before he attracted eyes, assuring him that Sirius and Remus would collect his things from the changing room and bring them back to his dorm. Once they reached his dorm, she sent him to shower, promising that she would be there for him once he was back.

Sure enough, he came out of the shower in fresh clothes and damp hair, and she was still on his bed, patiently waiting for him. She held her hand out to him, a silent invitation, and as soon as he took it she pulled him to her side and once again enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie.” She whispered, squeezing him momentarily before drawing back and looking into his glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t be.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze. “We lost.”

“And yet you scored more goals than anyone else the entire game.” She pointed out, sincerity lacing her voice. “It’s just because the snitch is worth a stupid amount of points, honestly the game has a lot of flaws.” James smiled weakly, they often had these debates about Quidditch and it always ended in some silly way.

“I did hit Malfoy in the head with a Quaffle.” He admitted, and (y/n) could see the weight falling off his shoulders.

“The highlight of all our years.” She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little box. “I got you something.” She handed it to him, and he pushed it back to her, head shaking, doubt returned.

“No I didn’t do anything to deserve it. Keep it.”

“We already had this argument and I’m not taking no for an answer.” She shoved the box into his hands and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to open it.

Reluctantly, he pulled the lid off the box to reveal a snitch, the snitch he normally kept on his person at all times, now shining with a slight iridescence. James looked up at her, thankful but a little confused at the present.

“I’ve actually been saving it for when you lose a game. Which has been hard because that’s hardly ever.” She broke off to give him a playful glare along with her words, quickly broken by her soft smile. “I know you play with the snitch when you have a lot on your mind, and when you start to doubt yourself. I wanted to remind you that you’re incredible and you should believe that yourself. So, when you see the snitch and you see it sparkle, you’ll think of me, and you’ll remember how great you are.” He was speechless, and in the silent air, she did what the two of them did best, and started to nervously babble. “Well, that’s assuming you think of me when you see sparkles, and quite frankly after all this time I’d be slightly offended if you didn’t-oof” her rambling stopped when James tackled her into a hug, knocking them both back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, but she could hear the emotion behind each word, everything he was trying to communicate. All she did was hold him tighter.

It was then that Sirius and Remus walked into the dorm, carrying all of James’ equipment from the game, causing James and (y/n) to jump away from each other. Blushes arose on both their faces, not that the other would have noticed, each too busy looking at opposite walls of the dorm. Sirius and Remus exchanged a knowing look, but decided to let it slide, knowing there was an inevitability to it anyway.

…

Once again, (y/n) was boarding the Hogwarts express for another year of school. She knew this year would be a stressful one, with their OWL exams coming up, but she also knew that as long as she had her boys by her side, she would be absolutely fine.

Speaking of her friends, she was currently walking along the train trying to find them. She knew that Lily and Remus were prefects now so they’d be at the front of the train, but she was struggling to find anyone else. Eventually, she found James, sitting in a carriage by himself, absentmindedly watching the view. She chuckled to herself at the situation, the reverse of their meeting all those years ago.

She slid the door open, catching his attention and his ever-so-addictive smile. “Got room for an old pal?” She asked, sitting next to him when he patted the seat, his hand enveloping hers as soon as she had, a silent communication. I missed you.

“I was starting to think you’d gotten cool and forgotten about me.” He joked, nudging her playfully.

“Piss off Potter, I was always cooler than you.” She teased back, glad to see that nothing had changed despite their time apart. It never did, they were always James and (y/n), inseparable no matter how hard anyone tried. “Where is everyone?”

“Lils and Moony are doing prefect duties, and Sirius enlisted Peter’s help to try and sneak into their carriage and get the insider information.” He rolled his eyes light-heartedly, forming air quotes around Sirius’ words as (y/n) laughed, eyes closing in amusement. “What’s that on your eyes?” James suddenly asked, stopping her laughter short as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Oh!” She remembered. “I went to see Lils in the holidays and she was showing me this glitter eyeliner that muggles wear! Why, do you not like it?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if it really was too much despite Lily’s reassurances. It was a subtle white, but still, it was glitter on her face.

“The opposite!” James was quick to answer, rushing so much to not hurt her feelings that he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. “I think you look really beautiful (y/n/n), with or without the makeup. Besides, the glitter brings out your eyes.”

At this point, they were both blushing furiously, and James was still holding her hand, neither of them willing to let go. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile to herself, and remembered to thank Lily for the recommendation the second they were in the dorm together that evening.

…

James climbed the last step into the astronomy tower, seeing (y/n) leaning against the railing already, gazing into the night sky, a blanket and an array of snacks out on the floor behind her.

It was a ritual they’d started who knows when, a chance to wind down and escape the chaos of everyday life, to enjoy each other’s company and to feast away on whatever snacks they had managed to stow away for these evenings. Tonight’s selection looked to consist mostly of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, with the occasional sugar quill hidden amongst the rest. “Heavy on the sugar tonight, I see.” He broke the silence teasingly, settling himself so that he was sat at (y/n)’s feet, still able to see the clear night sky above them.

“If I don’t consume my own bodyweight in sugar I think I’ll pass out I’m that exhausted.” She commented back, sinking down next to him. Automatically, his arm wound around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on top of her head. There weren’t words to describe the feeling of pure content as she melted into him, completely at ease.

She reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and handing the card to James with a sigh upon seeing it was one already in her collection. She bit into the chocolate, her gaze on the night sky as his was unable to break away from her, the way she settled so peacefully against him.

“The stars sparkle too, you know.” She broke the silence, voice quiet but still holding its signature melodic tone. James finally broke away from looking at her, joining her eyeline and looking at the constellations above them. Even though he wasn’t taking astronomy as a NEWT, spending so much time in the tower with (y/n) as she mapped the sky meant he knew precisely what he was looking at, and traced the constellations with his eyes.

“You know, six years of friendship and I don’t think I ever asked you why you like shiny things so much. I always just accepted it as a part of who you are.” A smile graced her face as she unconsciously twiddled her fingers.

“Don’t laugh.” She warned, and he solemnly shook his head. “I think there’s something so entrancing, so beautiful about them. I think it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly dull thing,” she picked up another chocolate frog box at this point, waving her wand to create a light sparkle over it, “is wonderfully brilliant if you just remember to look at it in the right way. It’s a lesson we should all carry with us, and I try to remember it whenever I can. Everything is beautiful if you give it a chance.” The sparkles on the box faded in the moonlight, as (y/n) finally looked up at James, only to find him already staring back at her.

Body thinking quicker than brain, seeing her (y/e/c) eyes glimmering up at him, James leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She stifled a gasp, quickly moving her lips back against his as her hand wound gently around the back of his neck. He poured all of his admiration into the kiss, everything he had been feeling for her since he didn’t even know when, feeling his heart soar to be here with her in that moment.

Eventually, they broke away for air, and a breathy laugh fell from (y/n)’s lips, blush rising on her cheeks as she turned her face away. James reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been drawn to you since the day I saw you in that train carriage. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, your soul. I didn’t even realise the outside matched until we came back from that summer you spent with Lily. But god, every day since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I like you, (y/n/n). I really like you.”

Around them, a shimmering cloud exploded simultaneous to a wide grin spreading across (y/n)’s face. It was their own galaxy, just like all that time ago in the charms lesson, but she was still in the centre, still giddy with excitement. “I like you too, Jamie.” Her smile turned a little sheepish. “And sorry, I think my emotions got a little out of control.” The star-like sparkles slowly dissipated around them until there was nothing left, and this time it was (y/n) who leaned up to James, connecting their lips one more time.

“You taste like chocolate.”

“I’m sure that must be awful for you, Potter”. Nothing had changed, and yet nothing would be the same either.

…

James was sat on the floor of his dorm, textbooks open in front of him, although this late in the day he was struggling to pay any attention to them. What he was focused on instead was his girlfriend, tucked into the alcove of the windowsill, absentmindedly writing away on a piece of parchment.

Her (y/h/c) hair was in plaits down her back, and in the candlelight the silver threads that James had helped her braid in this morning were casting light across the room that shifted with every little shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders.

“You’re staring again, Jamie.” She chastised, although the humour was clear in her voice. He pushed himself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan, making his way over to her and pulling her gently into his chest, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Can’t help it love, you’re an actual angel.” He didn’t see it but he knew she’d be rolling her eyes as she buried her face in his chest to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

“Stop being so cheesy.”

“As if you don’t love it.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, resting her head against him as she went back to her writing. He tried not to pry, but he couldn’t help but catch notice of his name and his interest piqued. “Who are you writing to?”

“Euphemia.” She replied nonchalantly, not pausing her actions as he took a step away, face scrunched in confusion.

“My mother?” she paused at this, looking up at him with false exasperation.

“Do you know many other Euphemias?” She deadpanned. He shrugged, admitting her fair point, moving back to her side where she immediately snuggled back into his warmth.

“How long have you been writing to my mum?” She paused for a second, contemplating.

“Since the start of term I think. She sent an owl, I responded, we haven’t really stopped talking since. Oh, I’m coming over for Christmas by the way, she invited me. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without the whole family there” (y/n) looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, expecting him to whine childishly like he normally would, complaining that he was supposed to ask her. Instead, looking more solemn than she’d seen him in a long time, he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly before he leant down and connected their lips. The kiss was bruising, but it was packed with adoration, and it left (y/n) slightly breathless. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath back. “What was that for?”

“I love you. So much. You’re absolutely perfect, and I swear, I can’t wait until the day I can put a ring on that finger and make it official, make you a Potter for real. I promise, it’s going to be the most sparkling, dazzling gem you’ve ever seen. It’ll shine just as brightly as you, and it’ll always remind you that you’re beautiful, in every way, and just how much I love you.” Her hand had come to rest on his cheek, smiling throughout his little speech, parchment cast aside and forgotten about at this point.

“Don’t be silly, James.” She laughed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I love shiny things, yes, but I don’t need one to be reminded of how amazing you are, or how much I love you. Hell, you could ask me to marry you with a paper ring and I’d still say yes in a heartbeat. I’m saying yes to you, to a life. You don’t need to win me over with some ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery.” He nodded slightly, pecking her lips before moving back to where he had been sat on the floor.

(y/n) picked her parchment back up, continuing on to the letter she had been writing to Euphemia Potter, unable to help themselves from planning the Christmas festivities despite it being early November.

Deep in concentration, she startled slightly as she noticed movement coming from the corner of her eye. She looked to the side to see her boyfriend once again, although this time he was knelt before her, holding up a piece of parchment that he had hastily fashioned into a ring, coupled with a sheepish smile.

Laughing merrily, she hopped down from the windowsill, pulling him up by his jumper and kissing him passionately as she slid the piece of paper onto her finger, looking forward to the day when they were older, when they could promise this for real, knowing that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to love each other unconditionally.

When James first stepped on that Hogwarts train, he was hoping to find a friend he could share every moment with for the next seven years. He had found that in her, a best friend, now a lover, for seven years but for so much longer. The girl with the sparkling bow turned out to be his soulmate, and he sent a prayer of thanks to the stars every day.

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[riewritten]

10 UNDER THE RAIN

DUSK IN THE BRIGHTEST | chapter directory

erwin smith/fem!reader, erwin smith/you, no y/n | slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff & smut, mutual pining, canon AU, college/univ AU, professor erwin smith, commander erwin smith, non-linear narrative, manga spoilers

Trigger warning: canon-typical violence, graphic description, explicit sexual content, suicidal thoughts, mental health issues, trauma, implied/referenced sexual harassment, implied/referenced abuse, attempted murder, overdosing

Plot: It was always the nightmares, really. Entrapped with walls, human-eating giants, fighting through metal strings and swords – utterly violent, dreary, recurrent. But behind the blurry faces was a man with menacing blue eyes and vivid features; eventually appearing before you as your new reputable professor, Erwin Smith. Since then, the disaster had slipped beyond your subconscious. AO3

When Erwin noticed you were finally attending his classes continuously, despite it being a very trivial matter, you were sure you saw the satisfaction on his face. He’s got that subtle wry smile he's shown you back at the balcony whenever he spots you in the room before the lesson. It's as if reminding you through his own silent ways that he won the bargain. You noticed it the most during your third one, the only time you could be allowed to drop but decided to not push for it anyway.

The extra class sessions that were supposedly by group became one-on-one instead due to your absences and he indeed made sure to not go easy on you so you could realize the consequences of ghosting it. During these times, he never bothered to hide his amusement whenever you got too absorbed with it, perhaps making fun of you brightens up his mood. With all the huffs you kept to yourself during your sessions so he wouldn't get too humored at the situation at hand, you finally got to keep up with your classmates. Still not enough to not need the extra sessions at all but fast and remarkable progress regardless after being dead set on leaving his class.

"Here," He returned your papers which you examined with confusion because of how many notes he had written on them, all telling you to revise. This is the third time he's given it to you like this.

"But this version was perfectly scored by my classmates," You mumbled to yourself.

"Not all of your classmates are writing majors." He remarked.

"I used this piece on another major as well and got a perfect score." You weakly replied, still dejected.

"Not all of your professors are on my standards." Your mouth hung open in repulsion while he released a small chuckle at your disappointment. Arrogance aside, Historia indeed did her research on how good this man is. Now you completely understand your classmates' frustration because they genuinely thought this course would be easy.

"I might as well publish it if you keep on bringing this back to me."

"I'd like to see how it turns out."

"Completely bad not until you mark it perfect." You deadpanned.

"Right." He concurred wryly. "Though I gotta admit you're slightly better than people in your college."

"As I should. I’m delayed and quite older than everyone after all.”

"Not your batchmates, but all of the students taking the same degree as you. Including your seniors." He pondered. "I completely understand now why the faculty is so serious in considering you."

"Well, you don't seem to believe it that much after mercilessly bringing back this poor project for the third time.”

"Which is lucky. Half of your classmates have been revising it for the fifth time." You looked at him in disbelief. When he says he has high standards, just how high? "Such excellence when you’re that half-hearted. You’d be able to survive college with skills alone.”

"That's why when I transfer you, I expect you to understand my lack of tolerance for your half-heartedness. As I said, strength alone won't make you out alive." As if an echo, the same voice throbbed in your head, ringing almost painfully.

It’s a completely harmless banter and you’re a hundred percent sure every part of your consciousness believes so. You came to terms with the halfheartedness when he went to you that day, right?

Still, you swiftly felt your whole body drift towards the office of your squad leader, with him berating you for your lack of passion for the task. The way your muscles tensed and your breathing held back with his anger, alarming all of your senses at how awfully real it was. You can smell the moist wooden floor and the faint gas lamp. You can feel the drop of sweat from your neck towards the collar of your leather uniform. The clear but dead air, the tension, the trembling culpability – it's as if it's completely happening at this moment. 

"I'm sincerely trying to put my heart into it," You shakily responded to your squad leader in guilt.

However, the glare from him softened. Suddenly it wasn’t rage, not even authority. It was gentle, frighteningly so. "Well, it's not like you need to if you don’t feel like it. I remember telling it to you last time." He answered. Upon your confusion at the sudden toning down, the environment transitioned back to the office. You looked at him wide-eyed, utterly horrified, and released a breath quite loudly as if you’d been holding it for a while.

"Are you okay?" He remarked instant concern lacing his voice. You tried shifting your eyes away from him to quickly ground yourself, begging your muscles to conceal any tremble and extremely uncomfortable feeling.

Perhaps it isn’t linear. They have the same face and voice after all.

"I forgot to… eat before coming here, I guess."

"Really? You should've told me sooner."

"It's okay, not too hungry yet."

“You’re pale,” He stood up and went to his shelf. “I am about to dismiss you now but you have to have something first. I only have tea here, is that fine for now? When’s the last time you ate?” 

“Yeah, it's fine. Breakfast.” I was munching a sandwich on the way here.

“Here,” He gave you a hot cup of black tea, and the scent of it finally eased the tensions in your body.

“Seems like we’re both suckers for Levi’s tea,” You replied.

“That man deserves a patent.”

“Very much so,” You sipped. “What time is it?"

"7:30."

You shot him a confused look. "I didn't notice we went that long." 

"I was surprised as well. Had no idea." He replied, very flatly, not even a glint of surprise or bother.

You squinted your eyes at him, high in doubt. He didn't even look on his watch to check. "You have every idea what time it was,"

He looked at you and slightly raised his brows, concealing the smile forming on his face. "Really, I didn't."

“Explain."

He released a small chuckle, giving in. “You looked so serious in our sessions, how could I not extend my helping hand?”

“Yeah, I know. I am stupid for being adamant about dropping and very much deserved this. Humor yourself with my suffering.”

“Yeah, I'm doing that quite well.”

Your panic at that sudden scenario subsided, to say the least. You just need to realize from time to time that he’s different. Even though the reminder needs to be constant because you’re still highly anxious about it deep inside, it’s an improvement nonetheless. After the session, it seemed like you were the only student left so Erwin told you to wait for him as he stopped by the faculty to get his things and to inform other professors of his leave. When he went out the faculty door, he tossed a pack of bread at you, the one that always gets sold out at the cafeteria during lunch.

You nodded in gratitude. “This one’s my favorite.”

“I know. I often see you holding that whenever we cross each other.”

You looked at him with confusion and a hint of fluster. “You’re quite a sharp one. Not everyone would notice something as trivial as that.”

He didn’t respond with that, though, and upon examining his features, there’s an almost unnoticeable hint of surprise as well. As if he wasn’t supposed to let that observation out. Both of you halted at the exit door upon seeing how hard the rain was. It seems like you’d be stuck with this man longer. You sighed in lament. The desire to have some time alone and reflect on your unaddressed anxiety was shattered by the noisy drops.

Ah, I just hope he won't ask to drive me home.

"I'll drive you home." He didn't even bother to ask. "It's my fault you stayed this long after all.”

Staying with him longer would make you too flustered to even reflect on it and so you came up with a lie. "No, it's fine. I'm planning to go visit a friend tonight."

"Really? Who?"

"Isabel." I don't even know where she is right now.

"Is that so? We're just on the same route then. Hop in." Before you could come up with other excuses, he walked himself to the parking lot, telling you to wait. You ended up entering the car with a frown.

You, 7:55pm.

where are you

if you're not home pls go home

Isabel, 7:56pm.

oh naw why

[sent a selfie]

sorry (≧ڡ≦)

"Ah fuck," You huffed as soon as you saw the picture. She seemed to be in a place very far away from here, with pretty city lights below her. You never thought she'd be back outdoors this early.

"Why?" Erwin remarked, his eyes shifted to you.

"Nothing important." You bit your lip in panic. It's not like you can just jump yourself out of here. You also can't point to a stop because the rain's too hard and you don't think he'd let you out like that. You fumbled on your phone for another option.

You, 7:57pm.

hello help where are you

on my way to your house

Furlan, 7:57pm.

What happened? I'm walking back

You, 7:57pm.

how long til u get there

Furlan,7:58pm.

In 10 I guess

You, 7:59pm.

god im ssorry but can u make it in 5 it"s an emergency

Furlan, 7:59pm.

Why? Where are you? Should I just meet you halfway? Rain's quite hard

You, 8:00pm.

no im on the car :(

Furlan, 8:01pm.

Ok I'll try. Hang in there

Their place isn't too far away from here and yet the ride felt tormentingly slow. When Erwin pulled up and you rang the doorbell, you could only think of nothing but endless hoping that Furlan arrived before you. So when Levi opened the door, you moved your head everywhere to spot him. 

"Yo, Levi." Erwin greeted, and you saw Furlan in the living room, a towel atop his hair and a panting mess, you weren't able to hide your relief and perked up at him.

Levi shot a flat glare at Erwin and you, a silent question at why you’re here at the same time.

"She said she's seeing Isabel so I brought her with me." Oh no. You glanced at Erwin, horrified that you let him say it.

"Isabel's out since Monday. She won't be coming home for a while." 

"I switched up the names," You chuckled nervously. "I'm meeting Furlan."

“Really,” Levi raised his eyebrows in doubt.

Of course, they won’t buy it so you shot Furlan a stare asking for help, only for him to raise his brows at you as well. It was a sure quiet moment as they all waited for an explanation with your face flushed hot in shame; so you broke it off by begrudgingly walking towards Furlan, grabbing his hand, and walking upstairs without a word. He tried to keep silent until you were past Levi and Erwin but since you never thought of anything but withdrawing from their sight, you mindlessly entered his room which he rarely lets people in.

"You!" Furlan exclaimed as soon as you closed the door, his face in deep red. "The heck are you doing, grabbing me and entering my room like that?"

“Oh god. I'm so sorry." You heaved a defeated sigh and finally let yourself falter at the door, your knees dropped to the ground like jelly. "Erwin and I had an extra class session today and when he offered me a ride home, I tried to turn him down by lying."

"That's all?" Furlan remarked in aghast. "I thought something bad happened to you." I am in disbelief, too.

"Ugh," You curled yourself up and hugged your knees. "Sorry for being such a bother. I even let you run like that with the rain too hard."

Furlan didn't respond immediately, he just threw a blanket at your head after a while. "Don't look yet, I'll clean up first." He said, still flustered.

You maintained your position underneath until Furlan gently removed it from you. He's now sitting on the floor as well, facing your curled-up figure. "I know that's not all of it. You were terribly frightened when I first mentioned him to you. I thought you just find him intimidating but you've never been this clumsy before. Now I need to know why,"

You looked at him with your eyebrows furrowed in worry. You really don't want to be as specific as possible to him regarding this. However, if you’d put Furlan into such inconvenience, he at least deserves to know why.

"Erwin, that man— he’s been living in my nightmares even before we met." Furlan didn't move, his face laced with nothing but confusion so you continued. "I know this is hard to believe so I don't want to tell anyone about it as much as possible. I thought I could just get myself used to his presence and I've been working hard to do so, but there are frequent instances where snippets of my nightmares flash while we're together. It makes me very bothered and confused." He didn't respond again, his face not changing at all, so you inquired, "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Yeah, it’s very unlikely to believe but," The look of disbelief slowly turned into worry. "You're not the type to lie about something so serious."

You looked down in lamen, "Isabel said the same thing."

"She knew about this?"

"She knows everything about this ever since so it wasn't that hard explaining it to her. Besides, people like her and Historia are usually thrilled at the premise that they’d want to know more."

"So why didn't you tell me this," Furlan muttered in disappointment.

"Sorry." You might have a less chaotic relationship with Furlan than Isabel but you’ve been together for so long, too. "Sometimes I just tell it to some people if it's too heavy to keep for myself. Talking about it all the time is hard."

"Wel, it’s not like you’re at fault. You don’t need to apologize." He clarified. "But is it okay for you to tell me this now?"

"You should be the one I’m asking that. Everything about this would sound really ridiculous. Are you fine hearing it?"

Furlan gave you a subtle smile in assurance. "You've been in a dark place all your life because of this. Whether the reason Erwin appeared was pure coincidence or not, I just want to know about it. I mean, I'm just waiting for you to tell me about it."

So you told him everything, from the nature of the nightmares before Erwin came up to the situation right now. It was quite a long talk. When you get to the part where they appeared and died before you, you had to pause for a while. Furlan, as the understanding man that he is, assured you that you could stop if it's too heavy but you insisted.

"So that's the reason why you look very tormented all these years. It must've been so hard. You've been doing so well." He ruffled your hair.

You sniffed to avoid the small tears from slipping and laughed, "I sure am."

"A part of me thinks that maybe you just saw Erwin's face in coincidence before dreaming about him. He went to our house before."

"Isabel said the same. Erwin's quite famous as well but I didn't know he ever existed apart from his face in my nightmares. I thought he was just nothing but a fragment of my imagination. I thought it was nothing but fiction. That's what I get by all my life to survive it."

"So when you saw the three of us there…" 

"Struggling to not let the nightmares eat my consciousness has never been this hard." you fumbled mindlessly on the blanket. “Do you remember the time when I suddenly ignored Levi in high school?"

"Of course. You never became close again after all. I remember him telling us back then to stick with you more because he thought something bad happened to you." He said. Thinking about it fills you with guilt. You've been so close to Levi as a child, less doting than Isabel but still as close. Levi always treated you as part of their family so when you suddenly set a distance with him for reasons you don't know back then, you’re sure he’d noticed it the most. People kept on pressing you about it as well but you weren't able to give them any answers. Even Kuchel asked you about it because she thought her very stoic son picked a fight with you.

"It's just that back then, there was a day I woke up feeling extremely bad and when I went to your house and saw Levi, I felt very negative towards him. I don’t even know where it came from, I just felt like he did something and I hated his presence for it. Since then I had no idea how to bring back the usual me with him." You lamented.

"Do you think it has something to do with your nightmares?"

You nodded. "I think these dreams may have appeared before, not as vivid and subsequent as the recent ones but enough to exude unusual emotions. It was completely absurd to feel as if he did something bad because when that dream came clear to me recently, I just realized the version of me in my nightmare can't face him properly without thinking of Isabel's death and yours." You paused for a while to think about how regretful it was to cut a bond like that because of something so uncertain. You let out a bitter laugh, "I will feel bad about this for the rest of my life."

"It's not like he ever hated you for it. Actually, since we noticed how scared you were of Erwin, he became more attentive towards ensuring your welfare. He usually just passes us the job of looking out for you but now he keeps involving himself. When we saw you passed out on Erwin at the night out, you had no idea how pissed Levi was until he explained himself. When you called Isabel while crying so hard, it was him who initiated to go to your house. Levi hasn't changed. He's still that grumpy old man who looks out for everyone in his own ways."

Your stomach churned in further remorse. Your recent dilemma really worried a lot of people that they had to disrupt their daily work to ensure your safety. As much as you appreciate the kindest gestures, nothing comes out from that but absolute bother. If you’re really ending up like this, there has to be some progress. "Now that we talk about it, have you noticed something about Levi and Erwin recently? Like, since Erwin settled here?"

"I don't think I noticed something unusual. Since Erwin came and worked here they always come for a drink. They seem to talk a lot, but I thought it's just because they haven't met for so long."

"I see." You lamented that maybe your arising suspicion towards Levi is just you seeing things.

He pondered for a while, "Ah! I think it's quite trivial but Levi seems to be drinking a lot recently. Like, a lot. Well of course with Erwin, but apart from that he looks stressed about something and he seemed to need it to relax." You curled your eyebrows at him. Levi is really calm-headed. If his siblings get to notice that something's wrong with him, it must be that bad. "Erwin looks heavier than usual too. Last time Isabel asked Erwin why he's smoking a lot because it stinks on the balcony. Erwin laughed and apologized, he said something has been bothering him for a while so he's trying to destress."

"Furlan, what would you feel if…" You trembled at your own thoughts. "...if my nightmares were real?"

Furlan's eyes widened, perturbed. He looked down and gulped. "I would really feel bad for Levi. He doesn't deserve any of it, whether it’s real or not. Witnessing something like that would ruin him."

"It did," You gripped hard on the blanket in sheer dread but Furlan interrupted your spiraling thoughts by putting his palm on your forehead.

"Eyes here," And so you looked at him. "My hands may be quite cold from the rain, but it's warm enough to feel alive, right?" It is; your heart swelled in relief. You took glances at his features as well so you could differentiate them from his lifeless figure in that place. His grey eyes are gleaming and studying you the same way. You can see his tiny and unnoticeable freckles that you and Isabel once darkened with permanent markers back in childhood. His lips, despite being pale and straight, are as full of life as ever. He may not be smiling a lot, could be mistaken as someone similar to the grumpy Levi from afar, and he might be too serious to put up with Isabel’s rowdiness — but he's a human of his own. He's alive, very much so. There are no walls, no titans even. All the people dear to you are kept safe and free, and not even your life-long nightmare can ever change that.

"It is warm, as it always should.”

He replied with a small smile, "Yeah, as it always should."

Levi called the both of you downstairs to eat. Furlan let you regain your composure first before going down for dinner. It’s not as noisy as the previous one because the redhead is not present, but peaceful nonetheless.

"So," Levi started. "What did the two of you do upstairs?"

"Don't make it sound so weird." Furlan shot back.

"We caught up on a lot of things." You beamed.

"Well, Furlan rushed all the way here and got himself wet. Must be an important planned talk isn't it?" His voice was full of sarcasm. It quickly brought all your consciousness and embarrassment back that you stopped chewing your food and denied everyone eye contact. He damn knew it wasn't planned at all.

“Yeah, it is." Furlan annoyingly replied. "I forgot about it so I ended up rushing home. Stop making it a big deal." You finally gulped down your food in relief for the backup. The two ended up bantering for the rest of the dinner.

"Now," Levi shot Erwin and you a tired scowl. "Enough dilly-dallying in this house. It's almost ten. Go home." Guilty as you are, you slowly picked your things up.

Furlan called your name, though. "What we had earlier must've tired you a lot. Can't you just spend the night here? Isabel brought her entire bedding with her but you can have one in my room." You were about to smile and assure him it was no big deal but when the two gentlemen flashed him a look of horror, you realized how weird it might have sounded.

You tried to clarify. "I don't think he meant–"

"The what?" Levi grimaced at Furlan.

"No, he just meant–" You tried again but was cut off by Furlan quickly realizing it and losing his composure.

He shouted in retaliation. "I don't mean that—"

"Don't mean what? Tiring her down in your bedroom and inviting her to sleep in front of us? Really? I thought you've grown enough to know such matters should be asked in private."

"Seriously, no—" 

“And when I thought highly of you, Furlan.” This time, Erwin was the one to cut you off.

"He didn't mean anything bad!" You finally cut them off yourself. "I had a hard a hard time earlier and—”

“He gave you a hard time?” Levi was almost too surprised then turned to Furlan. “But you’ve been so gentle to her all this time.”

Furlan can’t even look at you anymore.

Even before you could say anything in his defense, Erwin called your name as he picked his things up. "It's getting late. I have early morning classes. Come on now." 

They said their goodbyes when the two of you settled inside the car. Furlan was waving sadly, feeling bad at making things awkward, so you pushed the car window button and let your head out. "Thank you, Furlan, really." You beamed at him. "You genuinely helped me tonight."

"As I always should." He referenced your exchange of assurances earlier.

You flashed him a grin. "Yeah, as you always should!" and pushed the window close again.

Erwin and you remained silent afterward. You tried not to look at him at first but the silence got quite unnerving. You almost flinched in your seat upon turning your head because his stare was fixated on you all this time.

"What," You muttered with wide eyes.

"Seatbelt."

"Ah, yeah, sorry." You panicky moved your hands. "I'm sorry we ended up so late. I shouldn't have bothered you like this— oh," you realized you cannot move the belt at all, and so slowly turned your head towards him again with furrowed brows. "I think it's stuck."

"Really," He didn't waste any time and moved towards you to fix it, causing the side of his face in proximity more than comfortable to handle. You ended up holding your breath at the sudden distance and since staring directly at his face was too overwhelming, you just looked down.

"It really is." He remarked as he fumbled on the belt.

"Oh?" You replied. "I'm sorry, did I get it stuck?"

His eyes shifted towards you as he continued moving his hands on it. "Did you?" He asked, the baritone, the very close distance, and his hot breath had you frozen on the spot.

"I did? Sorry if I did?"

He hummed, still not breaking eye contact but not stopping his fumble on the belt either. "You're sorry?"

"Yeah? For getting the belt stuck?"

"Just that?"

"Uh—" You curled your eyebrows and held your breath further despite feeling it run out. "Sorry for getting us this late?"

"And?" He prompted. And what? 

You couldn’t hold it further so you inhaled, only to get way more flustered not because of this position but because he smelled really good. Every protest your mind is trying to come up with this position was all replaced by shame.

"And for all the things I should be sorry for tonight…?" You mumbled slowly.

The way he stopped fumbling the belt but maintained the distance and eye contact flustered you to no end. Your thought process has completely thrown off, nothing but pathetic admittance that his scent was the sweetest thing you have smelled in a while and it's making you want to indulge in it until you sleep shamelessly in this car.

"Are there more…?" You inquired weakly. He shot you a sweet smile before withdrawing the distance, with his hand swiftly fastening your belt along the way.

"I'm kidding. It's not stuck." He started the engine.

"It's not?" You almost shrieked. His smile turned wry. "It's seriously not stuck?" You repeated as you glared at him in disbelief.

"At least you can take your sorry back."

Your thought process knocking itself off, the mind ruffling distance, the breath you held back, all of those for what? "You brought me in so much worry only to bring my sorry back?"

"You could bring my gratitude as well for humoring me tonight."

"You have no idea how much I held myself from saying how extremely annoying you are tonight."

He released a small laugh. "I'm glad for you finally letting that out."

"You're unbelievable." You puffed and turned your head on the windows instead to hide how flustered you’re being at this conversation. You’re thankful it got silent after that. You almost ask if he knew where he’s going until you remembered this isn’t the first time he's bringing you home.

After a few turns, he spoke again, "You lied about meeting Isabel tonight." and he said it so casually. You tensed in your seat.

"I didn't. I just got the name wrong."

"You discovered Isabel's not around so you asked for Furlan's help instead." He ignored your answer. "And he saved you at the last minute."

"Wrong. Furlan clarified this already."

"I figured the reason you lied to me was to turn me down nicely from bringing you home, but we ended up here instead." You gulped down, getting uncomfortable with this talk. "Am I right?"

"Stop teasing me now." You retorted in annoyance.

He heaved a small chuckle. "But you know I'm not teasing you. I don’t mind if it’s true."

"Where is this conversation going?" You faced him with a slight glare. You know you don't have to be annoyed but he shouldn't linger around if he aims to reprimand you for lying.

"I don't intend to step on your boundaries but I'm fully aware of your measures to avoid me since I set foot here." He answered gently and your glare was replaced with shock. "That said, you don't have any responsibility to clarify yourself or answer my questions. I can acknowledge this conversation didn't happen if you want me to."

You straightened yourself and turned on the window again. "Go on."

"Was your avoidance related to the time when you fainted during our first class?"

You clenched a hand then, wondering how much this man knows about the matter. You also thought if this is the moment you’ll be getting your answers as well. You haven't prepared yourself for this, not at all, but if things are going this way, playing games and feigning ignorance would be tiring. 

"It may be hard to believe but," you gulped down in an attempt to hide every fear that might seep from you. "After passing out like that, the nightmares had become horrifyingly vivid. It got more understandable, subsequent even. All those after you came so when I'm with you I always struggle in keeping myself sane." You said, saving the part where he's a prominent figure of the nightmare itself. You figured you don't have much strength to say that yet.

"Hm," Erwin acknowledged. "When did your nightmares start?"

"Since childhood."

"What were the nightmares like?"

"Violent. The setting's not changing at all."

"At all? You've been dreaming of nothing but that?"

"I have other dreams from time to time but it's rare. There are also instances when I don't remember what I dreamt of, I just know it's about that because I woke up feeling horrible and nauseous."

"Would you mind expounding about the nightmares? What's it all about?"

"I—" You tried, you really did but a lump in your throat suddenly stopped you. You tried to calm yourself down by heaving a sigh but to no avail. You tried swallowing down only to have it back with more intensity. You can almost feel your body going on full alert as if this is a life and death moment. The breaths are getting ragged, and your heart is beating faster.

"Hm?" He hummed, encouraging you to answer. When he glanced at you, though, he finally realized what was up. “You don’t have to force yourself if you can’t.”

“No,” You shakily said, eyes down the ground. “I-I could.”

“Breathe properly first then think again.”

And so you pondered on it. You feel like if you tell this man beside you about this, everything in this world would crumble down into nothingness. The dust, the air, the people, their desires, and their fears – all of it are going to be replaced with a life entrapped with walls and giants. And this gentle, gentle man whose scent can be deemed intoxicating, his playful and subtle smiles, his sly remarks and actions, his hair sided neatly, and the glasses that he wears on a few occasions standing as the final touch to his nobleness — all of him would be replaced with grim emptiness, with death, and with utter desperation to change your lives — and you don't want that. You want him to stay as someone whose smile can be easily reached and even if it can be terribly annoying, you want him to continue being the person who can be humored with simple and stupid things. You can say all of this to anyone if you want to, to a stranger even, but saying it to him would mean the most because his counterpart, the Scouting Regiment soldier Erwin Smith, was the center of your life in that world. He's the one you hated the most, the one you’re forcibly drawn to, the one who introduced you to a literal hell, and the one you had to understand the most so you could embody the will of your brother.

"I'm not ready to say everything yet." You trembled. "I'm afraid I'd finally lose myself and that world would take over me. It would replace the world I'm in."

"But it won't. It can never replace this world."

You finally sighed down, "As annoying as you can be and as worse my life can ever be, I want everyone to stay this way; humored and indulged with the simplest things."

You turned to him again and saw a small smile as he turned into another road. Despite the subtlety of his expression, his eyes were wistful and poignant. It's the very same face that flashed in your dream as he apologized for what happened, how he won't hesitate to pay for his sins — that dream you wish to have again. 

"Erwin," You absentmindedly remarked. He raised his brows at the loss of honorifics, and you were quite surprised as well that you released a snort, "Oh no. Spare me on this one."

"As if I heard you address me properly since I came here." He tutted wryly. "Continue."

In an attempt to brush away the heavy thoughts, you asked. "If there's another world existing than this one, would you believe it?"

"I believe there is."

"How so?"

He looked at you then. "If a world constantly shows itself before you, don't you think it's just like any other being begging to be recognized?"

You widened your eyes and stiffened in your seat. "How do you know…"

"Just a story prompt." He cut you off. "Can you write it for me?"

"Oh," Your body untensed and a sigh followed. "I'm not sure I can do that."

"But you already did with your dream about the three."

"It's just a small fragment, not enough for that story prompt."

"That's why I'm asking you to do it on a wider premise. Remember when you told me you felt better writing it? That's because you're setting that nightmare free by acknowledging its existence."

"I don't remember acknowledging its existence."

"You already did. To write how that nightmare affected you is one part." You raised your brows at him, asking to expound. He pushed the gear lever before continuing. "Affection, positive or not, is always evoked by something existent. Whether you see it as a real thing or not, the fact that it made you feel something means that it exists."

You weren't able to reply and pondered how he was right. You were able to live with these nightmares by denying their existence. Your objective was to disregard and deem it as nothing. That's what everyone tells you to do as well and now that you think of it, it’s the same reason why you end up terribly ruined whenever it comes in its full form.

But Erwin, the very man heavily present in that world, is telling you to acknowledge its being. With that realization and the way he agreed to your question earlier, you confirmed that he knows something. You’re not ready to know how much and are so thankful he’s not pressing it on you, but the way you’re having a logical person say that there’s something beyond this world so easily encourages you to do the same.

"So, can you write it?"

"I don't–" You were about to say you don't want to but halted yourself as he made sense and it'd be a waste to just disregard it. You've been looking for a way to move forward after all. "I don't know yet, but I'll think about it."

"Make sure to think about it seriously since I'm the one who asked for it."

You huffed at the remark. "Yeah, you can be quiet now. Don't make me think otherwise."

He really did and so you subtly smiled in satisfaction. Upon looking out the window, you realized that this is the time of the day when you get afraid to death because sleep might be another day outside the walls. Erwin made another turn and you realized you’ll be reaching your house soon.

He called your name again so you turned your head at him quickly. "What about this," He started as he pulled on the gear lever. "Tell me all about your dreams," He made the last turn on your street. "And I'll tell you mine."

As if it's a terrifying spell, time stopped before you. The only ones that continued to move were you and him. It’s as if a primal fear struck you right after he dropped the last syllable of his remark. You thought he could bring this to you slowly, and deep inside you still genuinely hope he wasn’t having the exact same thing happening to you. He had it. Oh god. He really had it, a voice in your head screamed. Coming to terms with whatever he knows went back to square one just like that.

He turned at you casually, gently, as if he didn't say something so horrifying. "We're here," Erwin said, and with his ever tranquil voice and figure, he called your name again. "I wish you a good sleep without nightmares tonight."

previous chapter | next chapter

thank you again, @temariskadi! :D

saw this after publishing this chapter and realized that i somewhat characterized erwin like this. definitely one of the rarest moments where i feel thankful for my imagination.

[fonulyn]

If you're still taking prompts can you do chris/leon no zombies au where its Leon's first day at rpd and he so desperately wants to impress the hot STARS officer?

"Hey Chris, wait up!"

Hearing Jill's voice from the end of the hallway automatically made Chris look over his shoulder and slow down his steps. As she approached he looked back down at the folder in his hands, one he'd been reluctantly flipping through, trying to figure out a way to get rid of it somehow. Wesker had deliberately saddled him with the paperwork because he'd known how much he'd hate it, Chris was sure of that.

"What's up?" he asked as soon as Jill caught up with him, giving her a sideways glance as she fell in step next to him.

"You won't believe this," she said, with the kind of grin she only got when she was up to something. She looked downright elated, like she would burst if she didn't get to say what was on her mind. "Remember the new rookie that started here two weeks ago?"

Chris frowned a little. "Leo something?" He'd only seen the guy in passing, although he had meant to go introduce himself and actually get to know him, but he'd just been so distracted by this case and he ...probably would've forgotten his own head somewhere if it wasn't attached to him.

"Leon," Jill corrected, with a small headshake. "C'mon, he joined us for lunch the day before yesterday and you barely said a word to him. You really this swamped by the case?" She peeked at the folder curiously, before looking back up at him.

"You know how I get," Chris said, with a slight grimace. "I know I've been rude to him. I'll go say hi sometime."

"You should," Jill said, and the grin was suddenly back. "He just broke your record at the shooting range."

Immediately Chris froze in his tracks. He turned to look at Jill from huge eyes, mouth open in shock. "He what!?" Chris had thought his record had been downright impossible to break, it had been his for over a year and a lot of people - including Jill, who was good - had tried to break it to no avail. And now some rookie..?

"Broke. Your. Record." Jill enunciated, her grin widening a notch.

The grin disappeared the next second as Chris pushed the folder against her chest, letting go of it immediately so she had no other choice but to grab it so it wouldn't drop down onto the floor. "What? Chris! Hey!" She looked after him as he turned on his heels and rushed down the corridor. "This is your case!"

"Yeah yeah!" he called from the door, before bursting through it.

Jill stood there in silence for a second, staring at the closed door. Then she huffed out a laugh. "The rookie is so going to owe me."

*

Chris didn't really have a plan when he stormed down to the shooting range. Was he going to congratulate the guy or try to break the record again? He had no idea. Mostly he just wanted to see this newcomer who was apparently such a good shot that he managed to do that.

There was no one else at the shooting range and it wasn't hard for Chris to find Leon, even though he'd only met the man a couple of times before. Now that he was there, the wind kind of died out of his sails and he wasn't sure what to say, and gradually he slowed down until he stopped a few paces away from Leon.

There was a short bout of silence before Chris cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, and immediately cursed himself for sounding so lame. Except it only lasted for a second, before Leon looked up and Chris saw the prettiest blue eyes he'd ever seen in his entire life. It made all words die in his throat and he just stared, a little dumbly probably.

"Hi, Chris," Leon said, smiling, and that just... made things worse. It lightened up his entire face, making him even more attractive, and Chris had no idea how to deal with that.

"Hey," Chris said, again.

There was a short pause, before Leon laughed. "Okay, I heard from multiple sources how suave you are," he said teasingly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He wasn't exactly very subtle about how he let his gaze linger on Chris' arms, clearly checking him out. "If this is it, then I don't know, I might be a little disappointed."

"A little disap--" Chris started, but then he finally managed to shake himself out of the surprised stupor he'd fallen into. Laughing he shook his head, even rolled his eyes a little. "I didn't realize you wanted suave." He nodded towards the score card on the table, arching an eyebrow. "I heard you broke the record."

Leon just gave him a shrug and a grin. "I did pretty well."

"Pretty well?" Chris echoed, huffing out in amusement. "It's an unbreakable record! Not even though I promised that whoever breaks it gets my--" He let himself trail off. He had jokingly promised his guitar to whoever broke the record, as everyone knew it was his prized possession and he'd never part with it.

Yet he had seen the way Leon was checking him out. And if he was honest with himself, he hadn't met anyone quite this attractive before. He was curious, he really wanted to get to know Leon better - or at all, really - and maybe there was a way he could...

"Gets your..?" Leon prompted, after a short bout of silence.

Chris met his eyes straight, his grin a little cocky. "Gets a date. With me."

At that, Leon looked impressed. "Are you asking me out?"

"If you're interested, then yes," Chris replied without hesitation. "Would you want to go grab coffee with me?" He let his interest be shown, too, just to make sure they were both on the same page when it came to the mutual attraction.

"I would love to," Leon said. Then his smile morphed into a bit of a grimace, and he went on with a chuckle. "But I guess I need to..." He grabbed the score card off the table, handing it over to Chris. "I have a confession to make."

Frowning, Chris grabbed the paper. He looked down at it, squinted the numbers scribbled down, and it took a moment to compute. "But this..." he drawled, looking up into those stupidly gorgeous blue eyes, he was rapidly getting way too into them, damnit. "This isn't better than mine?" It was good, more than good, but it was still two points short of the record.

Leon grinned, a touch embarrassed, perhaps. "It's not."

"So you..."

"Got Jill to help me get you down here," Leon admitted, "so I could say hi and introduce myself properly. You've been so busy ever since I got here, and I didn't want to impose, but you seem really cool and really hot and--" He cut himself off, huffing a little. "See? I babble."

For a second Chris considered this. He was a little confused, a little surprised, but most of all kind of flattered that Leon had wanted to talk to him one-on-one this badly. So he decided that what the hell, he had nothing to lose.

"Alright," he said.

"Alright?" Leon asked, surprised.

"Alright," Chris repeated with a grin. "Coffee?"

It took Leon maybe a second to mirror the smile. "Coffee."

[jungxk]

just one (viii)

summary: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

notes: first of all i wanna thank the people who supported me and encouraged me through one of the worst writers blocks of my life. all the messages and comments are the reason why i finally managed to post this. special thanks to @whippedforkook for helping me with the monstrous tagging process as well as giving me so much praise. and also @lonelyending for cheering me on for a literal YEAR bc thats how long i cried over this fic! this story is so special to me. we’re in the home stretch now x

warnings: mentions of illegal drug use and distribution, swearing, brief smut.

genre: drama, romance, humour, college!au

wordcount: 8k

tagging: @cutechim @benz-biarritz @gyukult @bangulin @eatersanonymous @alyssa1926 @skivv1es @a-sucker-for-them-sappy-shit @moonights @jeymuffins @juuneaux @catsukiii @andreaisaac @whatheydontunderstand @sreveles @noruls619 @henryharios @just-a-fuxked-up-kid @befriendswithj @btsbesharam @poemsandpunani @taelha @misosoup-forthesoul @jikooksmut @heart-eyedmf @the-piano-woman @angrysunshine @chaoticpaperfanhoagie @jsungshine @ci-yen @faby-montana @shinypeanutsportshero @jooniestrivia @alucards-s @cynamyngirl @jiminie-angel @myskoova @jkshoneybuns @smokintae @remmykinsff @majinbuwu @jangx2manboongx2 @potatodogs @seul-queen @alpharyth @blenxxxg @plsky @th-singularity @bapbaptothetop @hermiones-enchantment @stomachfilledwithbutterflies @euphorora @supachloe94 @jiminxjimout @ggukkieland @just-another-fic-recs-blog @jalexad​

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x

x

4 years ago

x

jimin hated yugyeom.

well, maybe hate was a strong word. he just didn't like talking to him, being around him, hearing his name or interacting with him on any level, social or otherwise. he really tried though, since he was one of jungkook's closest friends and still respectfully referred to him as hyung above all else. and if anything, jimin would always have a soft spot for jungkook, the kid he used to coddle when his own brother wasn't around. but having said that, there wasn't really much basis for not liking yugyeom. it was just a gut feeling jimin couldn't explain, a very subtle callousness about him only jimin could pick up on. for the most part he was just like very other mild mannered boy by day and party animal by night, but jimin still ducks when he sees him enter the library.

"fuck," he hisses under his breath, scooping up his laptop to stride behind a book shelf for good measure. because sometimes, contrary to popular belief, jimin wanted to be alone. he didn't want to make small talk or listen to someone tell him about how well they scored on their last paper or complain about their annoying girlfriend. sometimes jimin wanted to have no thoughts and listen to fleetwood mac as per his human rights. which is why he shoves into the first private study room he sees.

and not an empty one at that. there's a girl inside, sitting cross-legged in her chair at a desk with an array of dried up paint tubes and brushes surrounding open sketchbooks. you don't look annoyed or even that phased, just amused as you give him a once over before going back to painting. "on the run from solji?"

jimin blinks, back still pressed against the door. "huh?" he regards you properly. "i'm sorry, have we met before?"

"not really," you admit with a sheepish smile, which is when jimin suddenly realises that you're...attractive. "solji is in my stats class. you hooked up with her last week at some party and she told me about it."

"oh," jimin takes in your plethora of art supplies. "you don't look like a stem student."

there's a glimmer of something in your eyes, and though you hide it well jimin knows he's struck a nerve. "yeah, i get that a lot."

"it's not solji by the way," jimin clarifies. for some reason. "that i'm hiding from. just a bellend i don't have the energy for right now."

you smile. "it's fine. you don't owe me your life story."

"i do when i'm about to impose on your...study time," jimin peers through the window in the door, wincing when yugyeom enters the hallway. "what would it take for you to let me stay in here for a while?"

you pause for a second. "honestly? just be quiet and leave me alone. is that okay?"

jimin perks up, a weight leaving his chest. "perfect, actually."

x

x

x

[jungkook 11:42pm]: why does it say wings on it

[jungkook 11:42pm] where is it flying

[you: 11:43pm] ffs kook

[you: 11:44pm] im still on the toilet can u just hurry up

[you 11:44pm] grab some tampons too pls

[jungkook 11:46pm] fine what size pussy do u wear

[you 11:46pm] i hate u

[jungkook 11:53pm] ???? ? ? well? ????

[you 11:54pm] REGULAR 

jungkook giggles at his phone, already having left the women's sanitary aisle to grab some chocolate. months later and teasing you was still bundles of fun. he knew for a fact that you were sat there with that angry pout on your face, nose crinkled. he had never bought anything like this before, but jungkook had enough brain cells to know that chocolate was another necessity for that time of the month. after grabbing a large hazelnut bar, he pauses beside the oreos before grabbing a packet of those too. just for good measure. he strides to the self checkout - because even he wasn't man enough for the cashier yet - nearly dropping his array of sanitary products and confectionary when somebody calls out his name from behind the queue.

"kook!" the voice is unmistakably yugyeom's, confirmed by the hand that clamps jungkook over the shoulder and swivels him round before he could think about hiding his socially compromising shopping items. it takes a second for yugyeom to notice, doing a double take at the pads atop his small tower of goods. he holds back a laugh, balancing a bottle of gin in one hand while he waves back at some friends to continue. they were clearly making their pit stop before a night out, probably pre's if they still start as late as jungkook remembers. with his hair styled and expensive cologne lingering, jungkook almost forgets he probably looks unrecognisable in his sweats and cotton-fresh hoodie. friday nights weren't for cuddling. still, yugyeom's smile is welcoming and familiar. "got the munchies? and maybe also a uterus?"

"shut up," jungkook grumbles, averting his eyes. he shifts to his other foot uncomfortably. "my friend just needed a favour, that's all."

"uh huh," yugyeom gives him a teasing look. "is this friend the reason why i barely saw you at jin's the other week?"

jungkook blinks back at him. "wait, you were at that party? i had no idea!" a boyish smile breaks over his face. "why didn't you call me? i haven't seen you since-"

"minseok-hyung's new years eve party," yugyeom throws his head back with a laugh. "remember how we ended up on a boat after the ball dropped and-"

"spent all of new years day detained by the coast guard!" jungkook finishes with a mischievous cackle of his own, nearly dropping the tampons in the process. "fuck, that was so much fun! we need to meet up again, i haven't been out with the guys in so long."

"well no wonder," he quips a brow at jungkook's shopping again. "word got out you're a family man but i didn't believe it. until now, that is."

jungkook's smile falls. "what do you mean?"

yugyeom looks at him for a second, confused by jungkook's surprise. yugyeom was never quite as diplomatic as namjoon or yoongi, to put it lightly. and definitely nowhere near as accomodating as jimin. which is why his next words make jungkook's back stiffen. "bro, look at yourself. you got dairy milk in one hand and tampax in the other. on a friday night. the next time i see you i wouldn't be shocked if you had a baby buggy and a mortgage." still, yugyeom throws him an apologetic look. like a mouse caught in a trap. "face it, kook. you're old news."

"what? that's not true," his brows furrow unhappily. "i don't know what you're talking about. it's not like she's my..."

he can't say the word, but it hangs between them like a dead weight.

"yeah, right," the condescending look on yugyeom's face was starting to agitate him. "you totally blanked us at jin's after she showed up. not even just jin's..." he thinks twice about holding his tongue, but as always, decides against it. "i don't know you, jungkook. whoever this new jungkook is. it's been months. you used to hit us up and be independent and spontaneous and wild and now you're just...someone's boyfriend.

"stop fucking saying that," jungkook snaps, all visible signs of friendliness gone.

"why?" a beat. "do you even use a wrap with her anymore?"

jungkook splutters, heat rushing to his ears and hands in a stinging combination of anger and embarrassment. "how is that any of your business? the fuck are you asking me something like that, as if you-"

"thought so," yugyeom looks away from him with a sigh. if anything, yugyeom knew never to overstay his welcome but that clearly backfired tonight. "whatever, jungkook," he looks over his shoulder at him. "guess you're the last one to find out you're officially married."

"you're ridiculous," jungkook scoffs. "all this over condoms? grow up, yugyeom."

"only couples do it raw," yugyeom turns away from him, alcohol in tow as he waves a hand over his shoulder to join his friends like jungkook was nothing but a lost cause. "you would remember that if you still had game."

jungkook stands there, dumbfounded while the group of boys exit the store noisily but he can't hear a thing. the siren that had been itching the back of his mind all this time was suddenly there at full force, right between his eyes. the glaring truth that yugyeom might be right makes his knees buckle. all those rules jungkook once had, all those measures he kept in place to protect his liberty, to prevent this very occurence - where were they? what happened to them? as the sweet and accommodating counterpart to jimin, why had you never complied? though, the blame wasn't on your hands alone. he got complacent, comfortable. lenient. and now without even realising he was here, a scene from a romcom in the middle of the night, with nothing to say for himself but fuck. the realisations wouldn't stop racing, one after another on the conveyer belt of his anxiety.

the photos on his phone; mostly you. time spent, usually with you. the portfolio for his latest photography module also had some resemblance to your interests. charcoal pencils, night drives, orchids. like the ones you always drew on any scrap of paper lying around. now that he thinks about it, he's seen nothing but your orchids for months. and not just that - you wore his clothes sometimes too. his bathroom had your toothbrush, contraceptive pills and coconut shampoo. his closest friends, his hyungs...not one of them was devoid of affection for you. he wasn't even confident that if the choice was presented, they would still pick him over you.

by the time jungkook finishes paying and practically sprints to his truck in a daze, he can hardly keep himself from shaking. he palms the wheel compulsively, he could feel the sweat in his sideburns, hoodie suddenly suffocating him. it smelled of you.

and then, like a final curtain call: was he just your latest fixer-upper project? some good girl wet dream to play out in the wake of your emotionally traumatic past? a slap in the face to seokjin, maybe, and nothing more? when you were done, when he was out of your system, when you knew his taste by heart and had nothing new left to try - would you stay? did you even know how to?

did he?

jungkook starts the engine. he drives to your door, drops your bag of snacks and pads on the porch, and texts you before leaving. he does not go inside.

x

x

x

"you sure you'll be okay with just the boys?"

you scoff at seulgi when she pins you with a worrying look, taking some of her clothes out of her bag to re-fold them just so you had something to do with your hands. jisoo had already left for the long weekend with her family, so there was no one there to fill up the empty space between your awakward reply. you didn't know how to tell the girls that jungkook hadn't contacted you in nearly a month. and even though he was a notable flight risk from the beginning, you couldn't help but feel like there was hostility there. every now and again he'd at least send a nude or have a quick phone call when he was drunk or high at three in the morning, but you hadn't heard a peep from him. you couldn't stand the idea of someone you cared about harbouring comtempt for you, but the fear of reaching out and somehow making the situation worse outweighed it tenfold. 

you look up to see seulgi still staring at you with concern. "of course i'll be fine! they're boys, not piranhas."

"at least piranhas contribute our ecosystem. boys just cause problems for the hell of it," seulgi lays a hand on the crown of your head like a berating big sister, swivelling you to look at her in your fit of giggles. the urge to nestle you under blankets like a baby bird made her chest heave, and you could tell. "i'm serious. if jimin tries anything, call me immediately okay?"

"jimin?" you snort. "out of a room full of delinquents, my ex, and taehyung, you're worried about jimin of all people?"

seulgi wrinkles her nose. "god, when you say it like that its like i'm throwing you to the dogs." she pauses. "something's up with jimin. i don't know what it is, but he's...off."

you tilt your head innocently, remembering the brief interaction you had with hobi at seokjin's party. you had been so caught up in jungkook - or lack thereof - you hadn't thought to press him about it afterwards. in truth, jimin remained as...jimin as ever. if he was acting differently you certainly couldn't tell. "you think so?"

"mmm," she leans on the lip of the open suitcase thoughtfully. "but maybe with jungkook there, he'll behave himself."

you gulp, fiddling with his watch on your wrist anxiously. "maybe."

x

x

x

you nearly yelp when you feel a big hand swivel around your waist, bucking into the kitchen counter reflexively. jungkook always did this before rubbing his boner against your ass, but the light scent of citrus and short squeeze lets you know immediately that its taehyung. hoseok, jimin, namjoon and yoongi were still in the living room playing video games, giving taehyung the perfect opening to intercept you. namjoon and yoongi had insisted that you come over to their place after finding out you'd be alone for the weekend, and you had completely refused before taehyung's coaxing. and of course, jimin's persuasive nudging. even though you felt safe and relaxed here, it felt wrong to be in jungkook's friends' place without him. almost like a breaching of an unspoken boundary.

and clearly, taehyung picked up on your discomfort by the way he stared at you so softly. his back was to the sink, his sillhouette particularly long and lean this evening. "you need to lighten up, princess. you keep looking over your shoulder so much it's making me nervous!"

your visibly droop with a sigh. "i'm sorry tae. i've had a lot on my mind lately, and..."

he claps his hands on your shoulders, teeth peeking through his grin. "you're not doing anything illegal by being here without jungkook."

you wince at his name. "have you always been able to read my mind like this?"

"absolutely," taehyung's brown eyes look so rich up close. "you're allowed to have friends that are also his friends, because - and try to stick with me on this - relationships between people are allowed to be independant from the primary circles they met in. mind boggling concept, i know."

you wack him on the chest until he laughs. "stop making fun of my anxious thought processes! its called mental illness, sherlock! i can't help it!"

his nose scrunches cutely, enjoying your first fiery outburst of the day. "whatever. i call it not getting laid for a month and losing critical thinking abilities from it."

you gape at him indignantly while taehyung roars with laughter. "you're such a dickhead," you hiss through gritted teeth, yanking his hair and jabbing your fingers in his sides the way you would with jimin during a tickle fight. "whores have feelings too, taehyung! whores have feelings too!"

you both fall about with laughter, knocking over half the snacks on the counter in the process which only makes the pair of you laugh even more. it's such childish chaos trying to clean up the mess on the tiny kitchen floor that neither of you notice the front door open, or the gust of metaphorical and literal wind that follows. watching taehyung trying to salvage a bag of broken crisps is just so funny that the presence of an another voice in the living room goes unregistered, as do the footsteps leading up the hallway to the kitchen, so you have no time to brace yourself or properly pull yourself together with you see-

"...jungkook."

yours and taehyung's heads snap to the doorway. jungkook stands there with almost complete lack of emotion on his face to the pair of you kneeling in crumbs and napkins. there's a brief pause where the tension in your eye contact alone was so strong that it felt wrong to breathe. but it is shortlived. jungkook tiptoes over you like spilled milk, reaching for a glass of water. you and taehyung lock eyes while the tap runs in the awkward silence. "hey. you okay?"

"um," you're not sure whether to stand up, hug him, look at him, or even face him. "yeah! yeah, i'm fine."

he nods politely. "hyung?"

even taehyung looks visibly uncomfortable. "i'm good."

"cool. see you later," he says, downing the glass impressively fast before leaving the room just as fast as he entered it.

you and taehyung stare at each other again, not understanding why you both feel like kids caught eating cake before dinner. you could feel the sweat pricking at your back from the realisation. jungkook had no idea you'd be here, and given that interaction he'd probably want to leave now. there was always the inkling woven between his radio silence that he was done with you, but you never let yourself take it seriously out of logic. because how could months of passion and tenderness and honesty be undone so irrevocably like that? it didn't make sense. you hadn't changed. you were the same girl he hit on relentlessly and chased against all odds. so what was different now?

"____," taehyung calls your name gently, and it's only then you realise you're already up and trailing after jungkook into the living room. when you walk in he's already putting his shoes on to leave again, barely making eye contact with you while he chats absently to his hyungs so he can look busy. the four boys on the large sofa can only reply wearily, eyes darting between the pair of you like a firework was about to blow to soon. and it was.

you could feel it in your throat, under your breast bone, bubbling up your stomach. "wait, jungkook. um...h-how have you been? i haven't heard from you in-"

"i've been good," he keeps tying and re-tying his laces without looking up. "super busy. you know how it is."

his curtness makes you flinch. this same time last month jungkook used to kiss you senseless before he had both feet in the door. he'd ring the doorbell incessantly like a child and greet you with the biggest, toothiest grin you had ever seen. he'd make fun of your bed head and squeeze your cheeks until you'd snap at him. and now when he looked at you he hated every second of it. your mother had the same look. your eyes start to burn involuntarily. "yeah, i do. how is uni? your final project is due soon, right? what theme did you pick in the end?"

"the one i told you about," he stands up abruptly. "sorry, noona. something came up. i'll see you arou-"

"something came up?" you step closer to him. "something came up the second you saw my face? or did you really just trek all the way to your hyungs' place for a glass of water, jungkook?"

jungkook stiffens, but is determined not to lose face. and it's difficult to do under your big, accusatory eyes and jimin's death stare at his back. the whole room was waiting for his response, so he just shoves his hands in his pockets resolutely. "i needed to see yoongi hyung, but i can come another time."

you fold your arms. "well it's clearly important, and you're here now. so don't let me stop you."

"but you will stop me," jungkook snaps. "that's the problem."

"kook-ah," yoongi warns quietly, but he took one look at your face and knew the damage was done. jimin was already standing up, circling around the back of the sofa towards you. the red lights were all there; your watery eyes, your trembling hands. every breath you took looked difficult for you to complete and only jimin noticed.

"what are you talking about?" you squint. it takes you a second to understand; yoongi's guilty expression, jungkook's indifference. "oh, you're fucking kidding me." your resolve breaks for a second turning away only to glare back at jungkook with so much fire you can hardly stand it. "you're selling again? are you insane, jungkook?"

"see," jungkook's eyes are stony. "i knew you'd get this way."

"what other way am i supposed to get?" his lack of response only infuriates you more. it felt disrespectful. "jungkook, you're not a kid anymore. if you get caught with drugs the consequences are serious! forget the potential jail time, you could get kicked out of university, it would go on your record forever and-"

"stop talking to me like i'm a kid!"

"then stop acting like one!" you hate raising your voice, but it keeps climbing without your approval. "did you think about this for even five minutes? this isn't like just going to juvie like before and being done with it jungkook. your hyungs can't bail you out of everything."

"this is a lot of talk for someone who lapped up those fancy paints without a second thought," jungkook says darkly. his eyes aren't like you remember, his face solemn and near unrecognisable. "or did you think that getting that kind of money overnight is only something that's possible through daddy's credit card?"

dread blooms like a garden inside you. "that's...that's how you bought the paint set?"

"welcome to the real world," he quips. "as if selling overpriced weed to a bunch of pick-me-freshmans is considered a crime against humanity to anyone but you."

"you think that's why i'm yelling at you right now?" your voice was growing hoarse, desperate. "you think that's the problem i have with you being literal drug dealer, jungkook?"

he hates it. the sweltering silence, the judgmental eyes digging into his back, the slow realisation that the tears in your eyes were not at him but for him. jungkook's ears ring enough to make him sway on the spot if his feet weren't planted so firmly on the dingy carpet, this metaphorical ground. he couldn't shake the feeling that his lifestyle was only an issue now because of you, how he never felt a shred of guilt about any of this shit until he met you. and if there was anything that jungkook never responded well to, it was pity. and he could feel it from every person in the room, all people that that once cherished and coddled him until you came along. he swallows, throat dry from the way he couldn't look at you knowing what he was going to say next.

"you're embarrassing yourself, noona. you're not my girlfriend and you never were, so stop acting like it."

cotton. it's very faint, under the layers of conflicting cologne and beer and smoke, but jungkook still smelled of cotton while he spat acid. nobody could speak, even though jungkook never raised his voice let alone a hand to you, it still hit like a slap in the face. it sunk into the walls, your clothes, suddenly every hair on your body felt heavy with it. dirty. the shame came first, the humiliation next. and then the sorrow, the dread, and finally the defeat. you knew the stages well by now, and they were cycling through you like clockwork. how foolish you were, to make the same mistake again. nobody dared to move, everyone but jungkook staring at you in denial and horror. they couldn't believe their eyes when you nod steadily, bowing your head to the floor.

jimin is already slotting himself between you, his jaw tight. "that's enough, kook. just leave already."

"no," you stop him, unnervingly resigned. that single word cuts through all six men with ease. "he's right." you step around jimin, closing the space between you and jungkook. for a brief moment he wonders if you'll actually hit him, but somehow watching you unclasp his watch from your wrist and drop it on the coffee table in front of him is far worse. the sound seems to ring like church bells, definitive and umistakable. "you're right, i'm not your girlfriend. you win jungkook."

they all watch you leave in dismay, listen to the door closing softly behind you. within a second jimin sprints after you, calling your name, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. jungkook's stare could bore a hole into the abandoned watch on the table, still ticking away like nothing changed. like his eyes weren't burning, lightheaded at the realisation that he would never wear a watch again let alone the one he put on you.

x

x

x

to an outsider, you looked like you were coping well considering you just got dumped in front of all your friends. but jimin knew that face. your stony eyes, lips pulled thin as if to seal inside the collapse of a monument. you took the tea he offered, and then his arms, your face finding his chest with ease. muscle memory. his torso was a tad shorter than jungkook's, his heart closer to your mouth as if the steady thumps were asking for a kiss of acknowledgement. every time you close your eyes you could see jungkooks face, hard and unforgiving and nothing like the man you trusted all this time. but it wasn't a new expression; you parents looked at you similarly the last time you saw them. it was the look of someone who had no regrets cutting all ties. and now, jungkook was behind them in a lost list of people who chose to be strangers over loving you.

jimin sighs when you cry into his chest, brushing the back of your head gently. he had been ready for this for months, but he still hated to see you this way. again. it made his bones itch, his skin crawl uncomfortably every time you weeped. the only time he considered violence was when you were crying. but he knew what to do, laying down across the sofa so you could curl up into a ball next him, head on his bicep and face smushed into the crook of his shoulder. you used to cry like this for hours and hours, his arm familiar with the prickle of pins and needles. but it was the only place you felt safe. tucked into jimin's side is where you would always belong, and that truth was more glaringly obvious than ever now.

"lets get something to eat," he offers eventually, hand craddling the crown of your head like a child. jimin's other hand on your hip is warm and heavy when he pats you soothingly. in your episodes, you responded well to touch. "what about thai food?"

"not hungry," you grumble against him.

"we could make something together?" he peers down at your lack of response. "come on, babe. you gotta eat something. you didn't even have breakfast-"

"why am i so stupid?" you whisper, a fresh bout of tears welling up.

jimin rubs your thigh. "it's not your fault."

"yes it is. jungkook gave me plenty of red flags, and i ignored all of them-"

"oh, i meant you being stupid."

you scoff. "cheers."

"what?" jimin cocks a brow when you lift your head to look up at him. he wets his lips and you follow the swipe of his tongue thoughtlessly, distracted enough by his touch and proximity that you take a second to digest his words. "it's not like any of this exactly came as a surprise. you ignored me, remember? wanted to flex your big girl pants."

you pull away from him and sit up, forcibly shutting out the daze that jimin routinely puts you under. "what's wrong with you? can't you be polite and wait for a couple hours before laying into me like a normal person? jesus, jimin."

"so let me get this straight," jimin sits up, watching your back as you sit away from him. "you're mad because i'm not telling you what you want to hear?"

"no," you say, head shaking. "i'm not mad. i'm upset because i came here to be comforted by my friend and you're just making me feel worse."

"what do you want me to say, ____? that i had high hopes from the start?" jimin pushes his hair back, brows now at a sharp incline from frustration. "i told you starting something with jungkook was trouble but you didn't listen. why should i feed your victim complex when all i've done is try to help you?"

"victim complex?" you repeat, standing up slowly. the sudden steadiness of your voice causes jimin to panic.

"not like that. don't take it like that, it's just," he's suddenly before you, his warm hands palming up your arms warmly. "i didn't wanna see you get like this and it happened anyway, is all i'm saying." he sighs when your scowl doesn't let up. "if hobi hyung hadn't have given up so easy, then maybe…maybe this would never have happened. maybe if i had been harsher with him then you would have-"

"what are you talking about?" you ask quietly, searching jimin's face. "give up so easy? what's that supposed to mean?"

he looks away, hands slipping off you. "it's nothing."

"jimin."

he struggles to look at you, tongue in cheek. his lips purse for a moment, pink like roses. he's wearing that navy jumper you like. "look, it's not a big deal. he wasn't supposed to fuck you or anything, just take you out for a while. get your mind off kookie, show you a nice time."

your blood runs cold. "what?"

jimin's expression softens. "it's not as bad as it sounds-"

"really?" your voice is sharp, sharper than he's ever heard it. you recoil as if you had been struck for the second time today. "because it sounds like you asked some guy to keep me occupied like i'm a fucking dog. all because you can't stand the idea of me being within a meter of jungkook-"

he steps in, but you step back. "you know that's not true, _."

"don't i?" you scoff, covering your face in disbelief. "jimin, you've been hellbent against me even looking at the guy since day fucking one."

"because i didn't want you to get hurt!" jimin counters, eyes downcast. "i know, okay? i know how much of a dick it makes me sound, but its not like it hurt you when you had no idea! hoseok broke it off before you even knew about it so why-"

"because it's worse," you turn away from him. "you tried to control me. choose what's best for me because you think you know better than i do. sound familiar?"

his jaw sets, and it's like you can hear the twine snap in his head, the percussion of his heartbeat above yours even though he doesn't close the space between you. jimin stares at you for a long minute before drawing in a thin breath. "fine," he steps in, and you can't look away. "you want me to say it? fine. i'll say it."

suddenly the air is lace thin around you as you stare at him, waiting. jimin looks off somewhere else, somewhere you can't reach. "don't tell me you haven't thought about it, because i know you have. if i have you must have too. and lately its all i can think about - being with you, holding you, being the one who gets to touch you. and yeah, maybe it took having to see you with jungkook for me to realise how much i want all that, i put my hands up. but you have no idea what's it like to watch the person you love most get toyed around with by a time bomb like that. i've seen jungkook go through girls like underwear and i love him, god i love him, but even the idea of you being one of those wasted girls sitting outside a party crying over his sorry ass makes my fucking ears ring."

"j-jimin…" you whisper, but you have nothing to say. your hands shake.

"you deserve more than that, ____. you deserve more than waiting around for booty calls or living up to what the next guy wants. from jungkook, hoseok, anyone. you deserve someone's devotion and yeah, maybe all this time i've been too much of a pussy to give it. maybe all this time i was tiptoeing around my feelings for you because i knew if i admitted to myself that i loved you - if i admitted i was just like every other guy - i'd actually set the bar for something other than disappointment. id actually have to step up, and i didn't know if i could do it. i still don't. but if it has to be someone…it should be me."

suddenly he's holding your hands, calming the tremble that rattles them. his words bunch up together in your ears, the meaning lost amidst your awe. "jimin….jimin what are you saying? where is all this coming from, i don't...i don't understand wh-"

"i'm saying," he cups your face. "choose me." he pulls you in. so, so close. "choose me, not jungkook. not anyone else. me."

and there's a part of you that has already caved. that's already kissing him, melting into his arms like you've wanted to for so, so long. you're falling back onto the couch with him in a fit of giggles, curling back into his chest to hide your watery eyes, asking him why the fuck he took so long. you chat together between teasing kisses, pour your hearts out, maybe cry a little. later you would make tea and order pad thai and watch the office all night and fall asleep together in the living room well past dawn and then-

you close your eyes. "i can't."

"you can," jimin says, so passionately you shudder. his brown eyes are teaming with too much determination and ardour for his own good, and you both know it. its difficult to grapple with how huge a risk he's taking, because jimin never takes risks. it made the whole situation seem dire. "you know you can, ____. it's us. there's no one like us."

you don't know how you're not crying yet. you only have jimin to hold onto, hands balled in his shirt without knowing if you're about to push him away or pull him in forever. "maybe back then. maybe if you'd have said all this before," you feel empty, the beat of your pulse suddenly strong in your fingertips. "but it doesn't matter anymore."

he shakes his head in denial, his determination palpable. "of course it does-"

"i'm in love with him," you say. to jimin. to yourself. to the world, finally. "i'm in love with jungkook." holding jimin's stare isn't as difficult as you thought it'd be. "you know if you'd have done all this a few months ago…if you'd have just...i was always yours without question, jimin. and you knew it." it's his turn to bristle under the strain of your voice. "jungkook isn't perfect. i'll be the first one to admit that. he's made me cry, he fucks up, he makes mistakes. but he's never lied to me. he never made decisions for me. he never passed judgement on what i should or shouldn't do with my life. something that i never thought i wouldn't able to say about you, too."

there's a brief moment where everything stops. neither of you can believe what you just said. jimin watches you, frozen in his place as you take your bag, eyes glittering with tears when he calls for you. suddenly he's the time bomb he feared becoming, the panic in his eyes lighting them up like fire crackers. for the first time in his life, he stumbles over his words, and then his feet when you reach for the door, all composure lost. he was unravelling like a tapestry in front of you, never to be repaired, and he could feel it. "____. ____, please," jimin chokes, his cheeks blotchy. "i wanted to protect you, i was just trying to help. don't go. please don't go. i was trying to help you."

"no. you were trying to have me." you say, closing the door behind you.

x

x

x

you have no idea what time it is when you hear the bell ring incessantly.

it had been hours since you'd returned home from jimin's, but there was no way for you to keep track when your only priority was just keeping yourself afloat. you turned your phone off, drew the curtains, and resolved to alternate between sitting in seulgi and jisoo's rooms until they came back. you didn't know what else to do. when you weren't crying you were hyperventilating, and when that stopped the absence of emotion was so powerful you could barely keep your eyes open. you were exhausted but could not sleep. starving but could not eat. it was a miracle you even made it down the stairs, using what little strength you had to yank it open without even thinking about who could be on the other side in the middle of the fucking night. but at this point, you would gladly take a serial killer over jimin or jungkook.

"taehyung," you breathe when you take in his face, relieved. you must look like absolute shit because he scans your face and winces. 

"jimin told me," he says, the apology in his voice and expression was almost painful to register. "he told me everything. ____, i'm so sorry. i should have told you about the hoseok thing, i just thought it would be worse coming from me, and then i tried to force jimin into confessing but then he didn't because he's jimin, and now-"

"you're only allowed to come inside if you stop apologising," you say weakly, voice haggered from the hours of crying.

taehyung's pouty expression almost makes you smile with how cute he looks, gingerly stepping over the threshhold. "i really am sorry though."

"for what," you say monotonously, closing the door behind him while he takes off his shoes. "my inexplicably terrible taste in men? my uncanny ability to get manipulated by literally anyone who shows me a scrap of affection? or my absolutey shredded-to-shit attachment style thats barely intact let alone functioning healthily? after hoppping between the first two for a few hours i'd personally go for the latter. but whatever."

"please shut up," taehyung sighs, bringing you into his arms before you could have a second thought about it. "you need to amp up the misandry in this context. a lot of this had nothing to do with you and everything to do jimin and jungkook."

you're too tired to open your eyes, snuggling into the softness of taehyung's chest. you’re too exhausted to argue. "where did you learn the word misandry? have you been reading?"

"yeah," you can hear his big, pleased grin. "i know you and the girls have been calling me a himbo behind my back."

"affectionately," you add, peering up at him. he wipes the wetness off your cheeks, moving upstairs to your room with your hand in his. he fetches you a glass of water before putting you into bed like he's paid to do it. taehyung was the cuddliest person you had ever met, but you had rarely seen him dote on anyone. "girls love himbos. it's a compliment."

"not all girls," he mutters when he returns from the bathroom with a glass of water. "drink this, would you? you look so dry it's making me itchy."

you do as he says with a roll of your eyes. "what do you mean?" you finish your water with a big gulp. "jisoo loves dumb guys, what are you talking about?"

taehyung looks away from you, bottom lip rolling up under his teeth so fast you barely catch it. he pulls up your desk chair next to your bed, thinking long and hard before meeting your eyes again. "i don't mean jisoo."

you don't understand at first, but after staring at his face for a long minute your stomach drops. "don't. don't you fucking dare," another beat of silence. you rip the covers off you to scamble to your knees, grab your pillow and hurl it at taehyung's head. "taehyung, please don't tell me that the one remaining, healthy relationship i have with a man has also been shot to shit because i swear to god i'm gonna-"

"it's not a big deal," he says firmly, and he really does mean it. taehyung catches your wrists when you lunge at him, effectively ending your outburst before it can begin. he keeps hold of them while he stares into your eyes, watching the way they fill up with a fresh bout of tears. "i've had a crush on you for a while, so what? it's not anyone's business but mine so don't worry about it."

you try not to scream at him. "how long?"

"...since the start." he shrugs. "it's not like i could have done anything anyway. with jimin around. he’d never have it."

"but...! but..." you splutter, the highlight reel of your friendship suddenly marred before your eyes. "but you let me talk to you about boys! you gave me advice with hobi and jimin and jungkook and...! you encouraged jimin to confess to me. and the whole thing with jisoo?"

he wets his lips guiltily. "jisoo is a nice girl. i like her, but...not like you. i've always liked you."

you shake your head in horror, your face crumpling. bile rose in your throat. "so all of that...playing with my friend like that. was just to get to me?"

"listen to me," taehyung says firmly, gripping your wrists to make you look at him again. he's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on yours, and you never realised how large taehyung's torso was compared to yours before. he could have smothered you, but he didn't. in all senses. "the way jimin and jungkook handled their feelings is on them, just like how this is on me. it doesn't matter if i'm fucking you or not, you're my friend and i'll always want people to do right by you. and that includes me."

there was nothing else to say, so taehyung wordlessly wipes your face again and fetches you more water before retreating to sleep on the couch downstairs. all the while you sat there in your bed, confused and bewildered and thoughtful. the same bed jungkook fucked you on. the same bed jimin held you in. out of all the men in your life, taehyung was the only one who treated his feelings for you with reverence. there wasn't one interaction you could think of where he made his feelings clear, where he even hinted towards wanting something more. if he hadn't have said anything tonight, in the wake of one of the most emotionally tumultuous days of your life, you would still be in the dark about it all. and that was the scariest part. you didn't know anyone else who hadn't let their feelings for you effect how they treated you. so ultimately, it was possible.

and jimin and jungkook chose not to do that. but taehyung did.

taehyung did.

when you finally pad downstairs after hours of ruminating, jisoo's bedroom door is wide open. and that's who you should be thinking about now - your friend and sister jisoo - as the sky begins to lighten with the signs of morning. you hadn't slept for over twenty four hours, you were hungry and thirsty, delirious from the whirlwind of losing the two most important men in your life in one day. but still, you are drawn to taehyung. taehyung, who never asked anything of you. taehyung, who was as silent as he was selfless this whole time. taehyung who routinely put what he wanted aside in favour of what was best for you. taehyung, who protected you without needing credit or recognition for it. taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung, taehyung-

"taehyung," you whisper scraping your nails through his hair. his eyes fluttered open, twisting his head to face you as you hovered above him. he could barely see you in the darkness. "taehyung, wake up."

"what is it?" he croaks, sitting up with half-lidded eyes and a yawn. he doesn't know how to read the expression on your face. he swings his legs off the sofa in a sitting position, wearing nothing but his boxers and tee, visibly alarmed. "what happened? are you okay?"

you take his face in your hands and kiss him. 

taehyung stiffens against you, breath drawn thin. you pull away to gauge his expression, desperately searching his eyes in the darkness. for discomfort, disapproval, anything negative at all. the absolute ardour you find instead could knock you down if taehyung didn't reach for your neck, kissing you again. you whine at the feel of his tongue, having no idea where such sudden and intense arousal was coming from. when you pull away with shaky limbs, you climb onto his thick thighs so he can feel your wetness through his boxers. taehyung grunts at the sensation, and again when you kiss him passionately and without abandon. the sweet girl every guy he knew was agonising over, suddenly in his lap. he's barely had his tongue down your throat for ten minutes and you're already rocking into him, his erection betraying his resolve.

it's better than he dreamed. 

"taehyung," you gasp, palming him now. he groans when he pulls away to look at your mouth, glistening with his saliva when you take his hand and guide it down to your arousal. "please."

[itsclydebitches]

I kinda wonder, what could bakugou do (hori write bakugou to do) to make him less popular with the "anti" crowd. Like He was a horrid child no doubt and people who try to put blame on Deku or lessen the terrible shit bakugou did aren't great. But as we don't rly see it, we have to assume bakugous behaviour wasn't stopped, we only ever saw his mum "punishing" him when he was being rude after getting kiddnapped. Nothing will excuse what bakugou did, but he has stopped? He's overall a harsh person but he's not harrassing and bullying people anymore, specifically not deku, he's trying to attone for what he did to deku and has now apologised for it. His behaviour was never viewed as justified or good in the series, he's a scary figure in middle school, we're not meant to like his behaviour, so the series itself hasn't justified his actions.

As someone who relate to both bakugou and deku more than I'd like to admit (never told someone to jump tho, that's fucked lol) so I can 100% understand not liking or even hating bakugou but as someone who's not 15 anymore, looking back I also made a lot of really shitty decisions and like bakugou have tried to make up for it, and like deku I was 'friends' with people who hurt me.

Is there anything he can do for the "antis" to just dislike him rather that be "anti"?

(I'm very sorry if you've talked about this somewhere, you can just tell me to look for it if you have, I'll continue to look for your posts on the subject)

Hey there, anon! I think I’ve spoken about this only tangentially and/or in my main Bakugo meta, which is too big for anyone sane to read. So yeah, let’s chat here!

For me personally—and that’s all I can ever do: speak personally. I think it’s important to keep in mind that there is no single solution to please the “anti” crowd. Each fan will be looking for something slightly different in Bakugo’s character, much of which might contradict what a “stan” is currently enjoying. Given how charged a character he is, I'm not sure it's possible to get the entire fandom to like him—what I’m looking for hinges on having a different reading of the story than you seem to. Meaning, I think the series does justify his behavior. Not in any overt, super obvious way like having all the characters go, “Wow, Bakugo! I sure do love how you threaten people all the time. That’s super cool and heroic!” Things are rarely that straightforward. Rather, it’s in a more subtle, but consistent manner that paints a rather conclusive picture across hundreds of chapters.

Simply put, Bakugo is continually rewarded for his actions. Or, if not outright rewarded, his actions are ignored in a way that implies silent acceptance. Characters may not always like what he does... but they're willing to let it slide because Bakugo's heroism was always treated as a given, not something he had to earn and prove.

With the ever necessary disclaimer that I’m not fully caught up yet, here’s a list of some of the things that stood out to me in the first half of the series:

Bakugo’s bullying made him the most popular kid in school.

Bakugo’s bullying was ignored by/outright supported by the teachers.

Bakugo’s bullying did not hinder him from getting into U.A., one of the most prestigious hero schools around.

Despite acting horribly throughout his time at U.A. too, this behavior was continually ignored by the teachers and other authority figures around him.

Bakugo’s struggle to realize that other people aren’t “trash” doesn’t hurt his achievements in any way. He still gets top scores, still wins the tournament, etc.

Bakugo’s behavior gets him special attention from All Might, the greatest hero and Bakugo’s personal idol.

His behavior doesn’t make others dislike him in any manner that’s taken seriously. Everybody is still willing to not just put up with Bakugo, but—in time—start treating his behavior as a quirk (no pun intended lol) that they’re secretly fond of, rather than something he should legitimately be striving to change. Kirishima is the most overt example of this.

This is compounded by his behavior constantly being framed as humorous. Much like with Mineta’s perverted actions, characters might superficially go, “No, that’s bad!” but the story never demands any significant development because then we’d lose the “joke” of Bakugo screaming in rage at the slightest inconvenience, threatening to murder someone over nothing, constantly belittling everyone around him in a “funny” manner, etc. When fans talk about development of a manga character as archetypal and extreme as Bakugo, most don’t really want to see significant change to his base personality. Because then that would result in someone who doesn’t look like the “real” Bakugo: someone nicer, more even-tempered, more mature, etc. But for those of us who were never drawn to that personality in the first place, the continued acceptance of his rude, egotistical, and violent behavior is discomforting. The easiest comparison I can draw is between this and Bakugo’s mother slapping him. That slap is meant to be another “joke”—we see it constantly in shonen anime, something "humorous" you shouldn’t take too seriously because haha, it's just an overprotective mother—but many fans do take it seriously, using it as the basis for a whole “Bakugo was abused and this explains his behavior” reading. Well, I take the “joke” of Bakugo’s threats and insults seriously, especially in a story that starts with something like telling Izuku to jump off the roof. In the same way that many fans want others to treat Bakugo’s mother as a serious topic that has had a negative influence on his development, I want the series to take Bakugo’s everyday actions seriously as a negative influence on… well, everyone around him. But it doesn’t. His base personality is grudgingly adored.

The above two points are seen most overtly in Izuku, who never wavers in his respect for Bakugo despite how Bakugo treats him. Not just prior to U.A., but during their training too. Izuku, as the protagonist, is the emotional heart of this tale, so when he talks about how inspiring Bakugo is, it encourages the reader to see his behavior as inspiring too. Rather than, as said, something that needs to change. Izuku's continued friendship with Bakugo, his adoration of him, and his acceptance of the way he's treated has severely warped how the entire story sees Bakugo's actions. After all, if #pure Izuku can see the good in Bakugo, why can't everyone else? He must not be that bad after all.

I could get into detailed analyses of all the above—like how Bakugo was the one comforted after attacking Izuku outside the dorms at night and how the messed up relationship he has with Izuku is upheld as something to nurture; how the remedial courses he had to take were made to be rather silly, thereby undermining their supposed importance to his development; how Bakugo’s kidnapping had nothing to do with his flaws, but much of the fandom uses it as a way to dismiss any appropriate consequences because, “Hasn’t he suffered enough?” etc.—but in the interest of keeping this within a readable length, I’ll leave it at that. The point is that Bakugo has always been privileged when it comes to his behavior, resulting in others either outright praising it, ignoring it, or demanding that he change a miniscule bit, which always keeps him far below the standards of both his peers and the expectations of a hero. Everyone in 1-A must learn to be even better than the good people they already are... Bakugo needs to learn that other people aren't dirt at the bottom of his shoes. It's never been a particularly impressive development when pit against the rest of the class. All of which can make something like an apology feel pretty hollow. Yes, he’s apologized and I say with all seriousness that that’s great! But how does that apology stack up against 300+ chapters of content? As Bakugo’s words highlight, he's been a really awful person up "until now": he was consumed by Izuku being “miles ahead of [him],” he “looked down on [him]” because he didn’t have a quirk, he “didn’t want to recognize that,” he “hated that,” “grew distant,” “tried to beat you down,” “opposed you and tried to show my superiority over you,” and ends it all with, “it probably doesn’t mean anything telling you all this” before finally getting to the “I’m sorry.” This is basically a laundry list of how horrible a person Bakugo has been for the entire series, with an acknowledgement that this apology is coming really, really late. This is the moment where I could START to like Bakugo, depending on how he acts form here on out, but that pivotal moment arrived after six years of content and in the final arc of the story. It’s too late. Bakugo needed this kind of self-reflection and positive action 250+ chapters ago so he could (hopefully) grow into a better person across the story, not at the story's end. What we got instead is 322 chapters of him being a really horrible person, but the story going out of its way to excuse or even praise that behavior the majority of the time.

As a quick comparison to end on, I think what Bakugo needed was what Soo Jin got in True Beauty. You don’t need to have seen the drama to follow along. The tl;dr is that she has a lot of the core qualities of Bakugo: an all-consuming drive to win that was created due to abusive parents with high expectations, resulting in her bullying a peer to a pretty horrific extent. The difference between them is how the story frames their actions. When Soo Jin becomes the bully she loses everything. Rather than succeeding academically, her grades plummet, making it clear that this anxiety and self-doubt (things the fandom keeps insisting Bakugo is struggling with, but that rarely ever show up in the text) is actually impacting her day-to-day life. Her best friend drops her because she’s not going to support her choices. The boy she likes rejects her. She’s eventually forced to start over somewhere new - which importantly separates her from the girl she was bullying - and get some distance from her parents, resulting in the growth needed to become a healthier, happier, good person again. So when Soo Jin apologizes to the girl she hurt, it feels earned. The story continually recognized how horrific her actions were and put her into a place where she either had to change, or continue losing at everything else that was important to her. Bakugo? Bakugo doesn’t lose. Oh, he claims he does because he’s comparing himself to Izuku constantly, but that’s just him thinking in extremes. He still wins academically. Still wins many battles. Still wins at having friends. Still wins by maintaining the prestige of being a U.A. student. Still wins by getting All Might’s attention. Still wins by receiving Izuku’s respect and an agreement to maintain this rivalry that Bakugo is so obsessed with. Bakugo comes out well 99% of the time, he just thinks he's "lost" because he can't stand not being the absolute best.

For me, the story needed to have Bakugo face consequences for his behavior, not receive rewards and/or have others ignore it, and that revelation/apology needed to come way, way sooner. For me the issue is not a specific action that Horikoshi can have Bakugo do in the next chapter and them bam, I like him now. The problem is Bakugo’s entire concept, how he’s received by the entire cast, and his run across this entire series. "Entire" is the key word there. Which is why the “But he’s apologized. What more do you antis want?” reactions don’t sit well. What we wanted is a better written redemption arc across those 300+ chapters, not a single scene that’s meant to have us forget all the other problems inherent in the story. At this point it’s a far more complicated situation than, “Bakugo just needs to do X, Y, and Z and then we’re golden.” At the end of the day, Horikoshi failed to make me like him as a person and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to change Bakugo enough to make him likable to me. Bakugo was never the sort of character I’d be inclined towards without a serious, nuanced redemption arc, but sadly, a core, crucial part of that redemption arc took six years to arrive. At this point there’s no way to change the problems in Bakugo’s writing for that huge chunk of the series and not enough time left in the series, it seems, to do the work we should have seen across the entire run. Honestly, idk if the Bakugo we'll get going forward is someone I can just dislike as opposed to being really uncomfortable with, but my money is on there being too little story left and too much investment in upholding Bakugo's base personality for that to happen. I could absolutely be proven wrong! But I think the problems are structural and needed to be better dealt with from page one, not hastily patched over in the final hour.

[iridiscent-aesthetics]

I just saw your headcanon of az being jealous of gwyn and eris, may I suggest the opposite? gwyn being jealous of az and eris talking.

Oh I LOVE this one! Might be a tad bit tricky but I'm soo very up for it! Thank you @aelingalathyniusrailme for SUCH a great idea!

Gwyn would've found this entertaining. IF it wasn't Azriel there. She was aware of their hatred. Aware that they were literally always at each others throats. But she couldn't help but fume with jealousy while watching them in the training ring take on each other. Blow to blow, matching at each stride. She was watching Eris and Az spar. It began with a heated argument leading to the Autumn court heir challenging the Shadowsinger to spar. And now here they were, since a straight of 15 minutes, sparring. Neither nowhere close to yielding. Gwyn was cursing the redheaded male with all she had for choosing sparring instead of dueling. The absence of the weapons as a bridge and the proximity of their sweaty bodies was too much, nor did it help that neither had a shirt on. The angst, the tension built between them; it seemed straight out of one of her smutty romance books. Gwyn wasn't liking this one bit. "Come on guys, We get it! You're strong and bold. You're Fearless males! There. fed your bloated male egos. Now stop. would you?!" She yelled, throwing her hands in the air frustrated. "Let them be Gwyn, this is far more entertaining than having to listen them arguing to the point of biting each others heads off." Cassian stood besides her crossing his arms and watching them with a hint of curiosity as to who would win. Gwyn bet her money on Az because she would have it no other way, but as much as she hated to admit, Eris was just as good. "Yeah Gwyn. Besides, two of the hottest males fighting, now that's a sight to sore eyes. Enjoy the show!" Nesta chimed in elbowing her, eyeing Cass as he put his hand to his heart and feigned a dramatic expression of pain. Nesta rolled her eyes. "Oh I'll give you a good show Ness." He said scooping her in his arms and took to the sky. Newly mated idiots, couldn't stay away for a minute. Gwyn looked back to the ring and groaned "Well at least take a break!" "Okay!" Yelled Az before delivering a good blow right to Eris's jaw. "Break." There. That should teach the male a lesson for getting all cocky and getting Az worked up. "Going easy on me Shadowsinger?" Eris said rubbing his jaw. Mother! this male's audacity was insufferable! "Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face of yours, your highness." Az smirked back. Gwyneth clenched her fist. Pretty face?! What in all of Prythian made Az think Eris was pretty! Did he find him attractive? Was he into males? Eris was beyond fine, he was VERY attractive. A strong jaw and sharp eyes with a strong intensity. The male was hot . quite literally. He would make a fit equal to Az. His lethal darkness and Eris's burning fire. She shook her head, No. She was over thinking, Az hated Eris; old bad blood. There was no way he'd fall for him. But she'd make sure of it. Az walked out of the training pit and straight to her, sweat dripping off him. Gwyn couldn't tear her eyes off him. "Enjoying the show Berdara?" Came a teasing Azriels' voice. "Mhmm." She didn't even want to deny it, let him know she was attracted to him. About time it got through that dense head of the Night Court's infamous Spymaster. "Hey Az..., what's your type?" She shot him the question looking everywhere but him. He shot his head to her. "What?" She finally met his gaze. "I'm asking you what kind of people you're attracted to Shadowsinger!" Gwyn was certain her face was as red as her hair now. He looked into her eyes for a hard moment before answering in a low voice. "Redheads. Stubborn ones with a fiery attitude at that. Bonus if they're competitive." He was still looking straight into her eyes, with a small smirk, tilting his head aside as if waiting for her expression, while his shadows were dancing around her in excitement. Gwyn's jaw almost dropped. Along with her heart as it fell to her shoe. She was right. Of course. Of course he was attracted to fucking Eris. Redhead, stubborn, fiery attitude AND competitive. Should've added fire d*ck to the list. "Right." She'd say nothing else. She looked away. "Gwyn?" Came his voice again. Her heart ached as she looked over

to Azriel's concerned face, trying to keep her sorrow reeled in within her. His shadows were frantically jumping around them. "Is everything alright, why'd you ask?" She gave him her best smile. "Yes of course." she waved it off. " just curious." He didn't seem convinced at the slightest but didn't push as he held up a water bottle and drank. Gwyn couldn't stop herself then, She was still his friend, He deserved to be happy, even if not with her. She'd help him pursue Eris. Even if the male would never deserve Az. "So I take it you're into males?" Az choked on the water he was drinking. "What?" He croaked out. Gwyn rose an eyebrow. "Males Shadowsinger, the ones that usually have a d*ck and insufferable egos but pea sized brains?" Azriel looked amused. "You forget that I'm a male too priestess." "Didn't." She muttered and leveled him with a bored stare. "Answer the question Spymaster." Az looked away, his gaze probably searching for Eris. "I've had male lovers in the past. But I've never felt a strong attraction, especially romantic attraction to them over five centuries. Pretty sure nothing's changed now." "Then Eris- how, He's an exception?" Azriel looked at her with a bewildered expression eyes widened. "Eris? What-why, what about him Gwyn?" Gwyn rolled her eyes, hands on her hips, looking down at him. "Quit the puppy eyes act Az. It fine admitting you're attracted to Eris, he's okayish. You'd look good together I guess. Enemies to Lovers arc, angsty slow burn romance,," she shrugged nonchalantly even though she was fuming inside. Az's shadows dropped. To say he was shocked was an understatement. Should he laugh, should he be hurt, or angry maybe? Eris? Of all people in Prythian, HIM? Gwyn though he was attracted to THAT male? "Gwyneth." He started in an emotionless tone face solemn, "What the actual fuck led you to THAT conclusion?" "Oh please. It was evident, for all that being Spymaster and stuff, you sure are obvious about your crushes. I mean for starts, you HATE him, or at least ACT like you do. That's always the first step to enemies to lovers. And then you guys are ALWAYS bantering! Score 2. And did you SEE that tension while you were sparring? AND Flirting with Eris? Its clear as day 'Mr. I show No Emotion'. And Redheads? Seriously Az, could you have even tried and been any more subtle? Az looked at her for a dead half a minute and then burst out laughing so hard that everyone in the training arena were now staring at them in pure shock to see the infamous Spymaster laughing his ass off. Az looked at her, trying to stop laughing, but one look at her angry face and he burst out in fits all over again. Gwyn kicked him good and hard in the knee. "Ouch!" He yelled, not stopped laughing as he held his knee. "Gwyn- I oh Cauldron. Wait." He heaved in and out. "Good shot Berdara." He said with a hint of pride, still chuckling. Gwyn kicked him again. "Nice try deflecting Spymaster." Az shook his head rapidly, still trying to catch his breath. He calmed down and looked at her. "Gwyneth Berdara. My darling. You thought I was attracted to Eris?" He started laughing again. Gwyn grew nervous, "You're not? But you said Redhead, Stubborn, Fiery attitude, Competitive. Eris is all that." "Well I'm not attracted to Eris. AT ALL. Please don't ever say or even think of that again. Please. For the sake of my sanity." Gwyn sighed in relief. "Sorry, I assumed Wrong." But then she tensed again. "But then, if not Eris, then..." She trailed off. If he wasn't attracted to Eris, then who else was it? Redheads? Lucien? Az stood up and held her arms. "Gwyn. Gwyn look at me." She looked up at him with weary eyes. "Can you think of a better Redhead? A stubborn, competitive, fierce one? She's fearless and strong." Gwyn scrunched her nose in thought. A she, was it Vassa? He flicked her nose. "She's a Valkyrie Gwyn." A Valkyrie? There weren't many new ones other than her, Emerie and Nesta, only about two or three. She looked around to see if there were any redheads in them. Az rubbed his hands on his face. "Mother's sake Gwyn,

its YOU." Her eyes shot to his in disbelief. He liked HER? "I- you, me?" She pointed a finger to herself. "You like me?" Azriel was furiously blushing red, he rubbed the back of his neck giving her a sided grin. "Yeah...that's what I'm saying..." Gwyn thought she was going to burst with all the emotions. "I-" Before she could say anything else Eris walked up to them. "Break over yet Shadowsinger?" He smirked. Gwyn growled, literally growled and stepped in front of Az. "Stay away from him Eris, find someone else to play fight. If I see you anywhere near him or talking to him, I swear to the mother, I will rip your throat out." Eris took a step back at her promised violence. "Hiding behind a female, Scared of losing Spymaster?" Gwyn took a step at him, she was certain she'd show Eris hell today. "Leave us alone Eris. I've scored my best win today." He said, looking at Gwyn fondly and putting a hand on her shoulder. Eris snorted and left muttering something to himself. "So..., are we going to talk about how adorable you are when you're jealous and angry? Especially over Eris?" Az teased her with a huge grin and happy eyes "I have no idea what you're talking about." Gwyn shrugged in charming irreverence. His gaze darkened as he looked into her ocean eyes, "You never finished what you were saying before asshole Eris butted in?" Gwyn gave him a soft smile before reaching up to his collar and pulling him down so she could kiss him. She pecked his lips once slightly before letting go and grinning at him while she walked away, leaving Az to process what happened and blush furiously like a teenager. He watched Gwyn walk away in victory. Mother, this female never failed to amaze him, And he was certain that this wouldn't be the last time. For the first time in five centuries, Az found hope. Found himself looking forward for the next day, and the rest of his life. Something sparked in his chest at the thought, A smile unconciously made way to his lips, like every time he thought of Gwyn; and this time, he didnt make to erase it. He'd let it for the world to see, the happiness Gwyneth Berdara brought to his life.

It's not about them talking exactly, but this seemed more fun to write😅

I tried! Not sure if it was good enough, but I've never really tried writing from Gwyn's POV.

Feedback, suggestions and other ideas always welcome!

[valdomarx]

Beastly Appetites

Five times Jaskier seduced the monster (and one time he seduced the monster hunter)

Octoberfest day 6: Geraskier Hallows: 5+1 + Monsterfucking

Geralt is loath to admit it but there are times when having Jaskier as a travelling companion provides... unexpected benefits.

They’ve been sent to subdue a greater vampire, one he knows to be intelligent, powerful, and almost impossible to kill. They’ve got her contained, but she’s smiling like she’s the one playing with them.

“Alright,” Geralt says, hands in the air. Their best bet is to make a deal with her. “What do you want?”

She smirks at Jaskier, all sharp teeth and cold, dead eyes, and shrieks, “I vant to suck your blood!”

Jaskier... Jaskier titters. The tips of his ears go a lovely blush colour. “Madame! How very forward of you.” He takes a step closer. “I normally expect dinner first, but for a lady as alluring as you I’m sure I can make an exception.”

She strokes a clawed finger under his chin and he giggles. Her head tilts and her fangs retract. She seems utterly delighted with her new toy. “You may go,” she says, waving a dismissive hand at Geralt.

“I won’t leave Jaskier!”

Jaskier turns and gives him the fuck off for a minute, will you, I’m trying to score here eyebrows.

“Oh. Umm.” He fidgets awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He glances back at Jaskier. “I’ll be right outside. If you. Uhh. Need anything.”

-

“Oh, Mister Wolf, what big eyes you have.” Jaskier advances on the snapping, snarling werewolf, because apparently survival instincts aren’t his strong suit.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hisses. “Get back here.” Only a fool would confront a werewolf during a full moon.

“And what big teeth you have.” Jaskier is apparently the world’s biggest fool, however, and keeps going, reaching one hand out to the beast.

“And what a big...” Jaskier glances down, and his eyes widen and the scent of arousal spikes the air. “And what a very big endowment you have.”

“Jaskier! Do not taunt the werewolf in rut, trust me on this.”

“Pssh. It’s fine. He’s a friendly one, aren’t you?” Jaskier holds out his hand and the werewolf licks it. “Oh yes.” He glances down again at the wolf’s terrifyingly large member and his pulse spikes loud enough for Geralt to hear it. “We’re going to be very good friends, I can tell already.”

-

“She’s a sex demon, Jaskier.”

“I know. You should have seen the thing she did with her-”

“No. I mean literally, she is a succubus, feeding on energy from sexual encounters.”

Jaskier shrugs, nonplussed. “And?”

Geralt blinks. “And doesn’t it bother you that she‘s siphoning off a bit of your life force every time you... you know.”

“All sex is an exchange, Geralt. For money or status, for love or for power. And anyway,” he grins wickedly, “I’ve got plenty of life force to spare.”

-

Dopplers aren’t evil, but they are tricky. Geralt finally has this one cornered, and he needs to persuade them to leave.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

The doppler hisses at him. “Then leave me the fuck alone! I’m just want to have a bit of fun in the big city before I have to return to hiding in the goddamn countryside.”

“So you’re looking for entertainment?” Jaskier steps forward. “A good time? A wild night out?”

The doppler nods. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, fortunately for you, wild nights are my specialty.”

The doppler raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? Think you can keep up?” Their skin ripples, shifting between different bodies, different genders, different ages.

“Oh!” Jaskier clasps his hands together in delight. “This is going to be fun!”

-

"You’re sounding very judgemental right now, Geralt.”

“It’s a fucking leshen, Jaskier! It’s an ancient forest relic, a spirit of great power from before the dawn of man. It’s not a pretty girl at a tavern!”

“Actually his name is Borowy, and he’s very tender.”

“It’s not even humanoid! It has a deer skull for a head and tree branches for arms! How were you even planning to...”

“Oh, I have some ideas.”

“For the love of the gods, do not give me details.”

-

"Could you please, just for once, not fuck the monster we’re supposed to be hunting?” he snaps. It comes out rather more forcefully than he intended.

Jaskier sets his hands on his hips. “I think my alternative methods of monster pacification have been remarkably effective so far. I don’t see what you’re so persnickety about.”

Geralt crosses his arms and glares. It’s annoying to admit, but he’s actually not wrong. It has been effective, as their fattened coin purse shows. It’s just that-

“Oh ho, I see the problem.” Jaskier smirks triumphantly. “You’re jealous.”

Geralt staggers back. He thought he’d been so subtle. He thought he’d kept his feelings buried where Jaskier would never see them. He thought he’d gotten away with it.

“I...” His palms are sweaty. “I didn’t want you to know. I would never act on it. I’d never make you feel uncomfortable in that way.”

Jaskier’s brow creases. “What are you talking about? Just because you’re jealous of my monster hunting skills, that doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable.”

OH. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Maybe he can walk that back. Maybe...

“Hang on a second.” Jaskier rounds at him, astonished. “Did you mean... Are you jealous because...”

Jaskier steps close. Very close. He smells goddamn intoxicating.

“Why Geralt,” he sets a hand on Geralt’s chest, smiling like he’s been handed the most beautiful gift. “You should have just said.”

[missskzbiased]

Betting Big

Summary: As the one and only Seo Changbin, you would never think that you would be willing to pay for someone to go out with you. At least not until you met her. To be honest, not even after you met her but here you were now… Agreeing with splitting the money from a bet that you never made… And all this for what? Just to get a chance to make her fall for you

WC: 1,5 K

Genre: Romance, Fluff

AUs: High School, Fake Bet

Pairing: Seo Changbin X Fem! Reader X ???

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   // Tag List

Warnings: none

Notes: This is in “Changbin’s POV” although written as Self-insert

This is going to be a miniseries, I guess. I’m not sure how many chapters I want to make. I’d like if you guys could vote on this:

Minho as BFF to lovers for the Triangle

Han as Friends to lovers for the Triangle

No Love Triangle at all

                                                        ///

     Everyone but you wanted to be the popular guy.

     Not because you were above things like wanting to fit on the wild battlefield that high school was or because you didn’t need people’s approval to feel like a whole person, and even less because you hated being under everyone’s eyes… No. You were petty enough to admit that you loved the attention. The reason why you weren’t like everybody else was that you were the popular guy that everyone wanted to be. That’s right… You were what every single one of those kids wanted to become and you didn’t need to do anything to have your way.

     At least, that was what you believed exactly thirty seconds ago.

     The silent pause following your invitation wasn’t expected, and neither was the way her judgmental eyes scanned you from head to toes. There was this foreign feeling of being embarrassed, and that sudden urge to shrink and hide from the crowd that you didn’t allow to show on the surface. You were too cool for this. So you settled for clearing your throat, leaning on her table in what you hoped to be a flirty way, and glanced at your friends’ table in search of some sort of silent moral support that you were so in need of right now.

     You could say that you weren’t the most subtle human being in the world or else her eyes wouldn’t have snapped right to where you were looking at. As the bunch of overly stealthy people that you definitely were used to be with popularity clogging your better judgment, the four of your friends stared right into her eyes; the expression of a deer caught in headlights plastered over their face. If you had any hopes of not humiliating yourself to that strange girl in the corner ─ who you happened to have a big, fat crush on for at least one year now ─, they were immediately crushed by your own best friends.

     Very well.

     At least, it couldn’t get any worse than this, right?

     Then you learned the valuable lesson of not speaking too soon.

     “You want to go out with me?” That wasn’t the kind of incredulous tone that was meant to hide one’s excitement… It was more like that bewildered contempt that one cannot hide at all.

    She couldn’t even process the fact that you were bold enough to believe that the mere thought of dating you could ever have crossed her mind… And once more, the humiliation hit you like cold water coming directly from an angry, merciless waterfall. Was that how normal people felt in their daily lives? Jeez… It was so much better to be popular! How do those kids even handle that? Definitely not the life for you.  

     Your internal rambling had you missing the slow shift on her expression; rejection dissolving to give way to some kind of resigned interest: “How much?” She spoke up in curious confidence, and you must have been too lost on your thoughts because you had no idea of what she was talking about.

     “Excuse me?” You blurted out ever so eloquently.

     “How much is into this bet?” She asked as if it was the most reasonable thing in this world, and the lack of response had her scoffing, to further prove your point, “Really? You expect me to believe that the most popular guy in school would come all the way to my table, conveniently under his friends’ eyes, just to ask me out on a date with no second intention?” She raised her brows amusedly, chuckling at what seemed to be the best joke she had ever told anyone “Right” She huffed, crossing her arms and tilting her head to take a better look at you.

     That was the moment of the truth.

      You could either tell her that she misunderstood everything and explain how much you really liked her ─ which would put everything at risk because she clearly didn’t believe you could like someone like her ─ or you could play along with it and score a chance to win her heart on a date.

     The answer seemed to be pretty obvious to you.

     “Yeah, right” You laughed dismissively, pulling out the chair so you could sit down beside her. There was no sign of resistance in her face; moreover, there was a shimmering curiosity dancing in her expectant eyes, “You totally caught me…” You admitted grudgingly, shrugging to show her how much you didn’t care about it. Fun Fact: You actually did! And you would very much appreciate her to know that… Damn it! What the hell were you getting yourself into?! “So… Should we split it?” You suggested nonchalantly ─ just like the smooth son of a bitch you were.

     “What about fifty-fifty?” She proposed shamelessly; face twisting in a funny expression that tried to say that she didn’t care about it either but giving it away that she did, “How much is in for me? Like… A hundred bucks or something?” She leaned back on her chair before shrugging, not willing to admit that she was interested in this.

     “You’re good” You chuckled while nodding in agreement; mimicking her as you leaned back on your chair, “Sounds great, right? Getting a hundred bucks to date this hot stuff here?” You grinned as you gestured at yourself, getting nothing but an unimpressed look from her.

     “Look, Changbin…” She began hesitantly “If we’re going to make this work, it might be better for you to let me do the talking, okay?” She smiled sarcastically, looking at you with a mix of… You weren’t even sure what. Was constipation considered a feeling? If so, she looked constipated by your existence, “I’m not gonna lie… I want the money, and as long as we don’t have to do anything stupid like kissing or having sex, I think I’m in” She simply agreed while looking into your eyes.

      She had such pretty eyes… The most beautiful eyes you have ever seen… The type of eyes to hold so many emotions that you couldn’t help but wonder if those would ever be directed at you. Right now, you could see they were. However, the usually captivating trait wasn’t that heartwarming now… Not when there was nothing but pained resignation in them… Not when they made so damn obvious that she didn’t like you back… Not when they shift to sheer excitement to the sound of someone else’s voice.

     “Hey” Was the single word that brought her to such a state of happiness; eyes twinkling and a genuine smile cracking on her face as she looked to the guy talking to her “What’s this?” He asked while gesturing to the both of you before squinting his eyes in suspicion “This table has always been our, shortie, fuck off” He scoffed; sitting down as if it didn’t even cross his mind that you could stand up against him.

     “Short—?!”

     “Shut up, Minho” She rolled her eyes, even though you could see the amusement in them, “He’s here to ask me out on a date” She clarified nonchalantly; eyes attentive to his reaction.

     “Of course he is” He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief while poking his food.

     “I am” You stated seriously while boldly offering him The Look, “Is that a problem?” You arched your brow in a silent challenge.

     “I don’t know…” He dropped his fork; eyes connecting to yours with such a murderer intention that for a second you considered just playing it off as a joke “Is that a problem?” He asked back, studying your face.

     Thank Lord you were a proud Leo or else the “No, Sir” on the tip of your tongue would have slipped just like that from your mouth. Instead, you just returned his glare, choosing to be silent so you would not show him how much he scared the shit out of you. The silent battle was promptly cut off by the damsel in distress herself, a not-so-subtle kick under the table that had Minho wincing on his seat.

     “No, that’s not a problem” She stated firmly enough to end the discussion “I’m going out with him” Even though you were aware of that, it still made your stomach flutter.

     “Okay” He said bitterly; lips twitching slightly “So that’s not a problem” He forced a smile, picking his fork and scrambling his food mindlessly.

     “Great!” You offered her a bright smile, too excited to hide your true feelings.

     “Great” She stated monotonously “So… See you later?” She arched her brows as if to say that it was time for you to walk away.

      “Of course” You agreed promptly “I can walk you home later… So… We can arrange the details” You suggested hopefully, and she seemed to embrace the idea.

      “Sounds like a date” She smiled.

     “Yeah” You chuckled; rubbing your arm before waving at her and heading to your friends’ table.

     Well… Getting a date: Checked.

     Having your feelings reciprocicated: Hm… On progress?

     First confession meeting any of your expectations: Hell no...

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

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   // Tag List

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

[sourwolfandlilred]

Out in west texas, it hardly ever rains

(but when it does, it’s amazing grace)

Stiles Stilinski flipped off the radio, tired of the breathless play-by-play of the Friday night football game. Golden boy quarterback Derek Hale had already scored four touchdowns guaranteeing the “douba-yah”--as it was called around these parts--anyway. 

His jeep bounced along the rutted road as storm clouds gathered in the distance. Heat lightning flashed in the distance, but it would likely burn off before it got to Marfa. 

The church stood sentry on the edge of town, parched dust-cracked earth stretching for miles and miles behind it. Stiles parked the Jeep and headed inside. 

To the piano. 

It was an old model, the C key so worn the ivory dipped where a finger tip would rest. But it played just as pretty as the best grand out there. Stiles didn’t bother with lights, just sat on the bench, and played. 

The thunder accompanied him, a deep bass line that Stiles felt in his chest. By the time he finished the song, his cheeks were damp and the storm had passed. 

***

“You weren’t at the game.”

Stiles slammed his locker and rolled his eyes, side stepping Derek Hale in all his snapback, wanna-be frat boy glory. “While I’m oh-so-flattered that you noticed my absence, me thinks you should get an MRI to check for brain damage if you thought I would show in the first place.”

Derek wasn’t deterred by Stiles’s acid tongue. Instead, he fell in step beside him, despite the fact that Stiles--for reasons he wouldn’t admit to--knew that Derek’s first class was on the opposite side of the school. 

“Would you come if I asked you?”

Stiles stopped abruptly enough to earn himself a curse from the freshmen behind him who hadn’t been expecting. He met Derek’s eyes. “Why would you ask me to?”

The corner of Derek’s mouth ticked up, but it was almost self-conscious rather than smug. “Does it matter?”

***

Stiles went to the fucking game.

***

Lydia Martin hosted a party every friday night to fete the celebrities of their podunk town. Stiles had never been to one, though all sixty-three of their classmates were always invited. The place was too small for bullying tactics and popularity contests.

Someone shoved a red solo cup into Stiles’s hands, and he downed half the contents in one swallow. His fingers itched for smooth ivory and he tried to ignore the jittery sensation of looking for someone in particular. 

“Brooooo, you came,” Scott McCall slurred in Stiles’s ear while slinging an arm around his neck. Stiles took the weight of his drunk, pliant body, turning the tackle into a hug. They rocked like that as Stiles laughed. Scott loved everyone and everyone loved Scott, but Scott loved Stiles best. 

“Hey where’s your QB?” Stiles asked as casually as possible, and Scott beamed at him. Apparently he hadn’t been subtle. 

“Gazebo,” Scott waved, flashing all his white teeth so that his eyes squinted into tiny bits of happiness.

Stiles maneuvered him toward Kira and then wove his way through gyrating bodies and couples who had too little sense of what level of PDA was appropriate. 

When Stiles stepped outside, his skin tingled with the electricity in the air. Something was coming. 

Derek was alone, surprisingly. It seemed like he was forever surrounded by fawning groupies, or at the very least his phalanx of ride-or-die friends. Stiles didn’t bother saying hi as he sat on the bench next to him. 

“Did you have fun?” Derek asked as he took a hit on his joint. Golden-boy wasn’t always so golden. 

Stiles let his legs fall apart until their knees touched. “No.”

“But you came.” Derek said, said without looking at him. 

“But I came,” Stiles agreed, plucking the joint out of his loose fingers. Had they been doing this dance for years now? Stiles couldn’t tell. Derek was a part of the landscape as much as the snow-topped mountains in the distance. 

They’d never really been friends. Stiles’s father was the Sheriff, Derek’s mother the lawyer. They had enough crime that it caused friction between the two families. But they weren’t exactly Romeo and Juliet, either. They were just two dudes trying to make it out of this god-forsaken town anyway they could. 

For Derek that was football. From the Smurf League when they’d been kindergartners it had been obvious exactly where Derek was headed in life. First draft pick for the NFL. 

For Stiles it was the long-shot Juliard--a dream his mother had passed onto him the day she’d died. 

He and Derek were as different as could be, and yet still... 

Maybe it was the way Derek’s eyes lingered on Stiles’s mouth when he took a hit. Maybe it was the Stiles let his hand drop to Derek’s thigh after he handed back the joint. 

Something in the back of Stiles’s brain itched, though. Him and Derek? It wasn’t just two queer kids finding each other in bumble-fuck Texas. He just didn’t know what it was. 

“Do you want to play?” Stiles asked, his eyes on the lights from the house. “Professionally I mean.”

“Nah,” Derek shook his head, earning a sharp glance from Stiles. “It’s what I’m good at but... no.” He laughed softly. “I like my brain intact.”

Stiles huffed out a breath. “Same.”

Derek glanced over. It wasn’t often that Stiles complimented him. Then he lifted one shoulder. They were close enough that it brushed Stiles’s arm. “I’ll use it to pay for college. But I want to be...”

He took a hit instead of continuing, and then handed it over to Stiles. Stiles bumped his knee against Derek’s. “Yeah?”

A blush crawled along Derek’s perfect cheekbones, and Stiles had to look away lest he do something utterly mortifying. 

“I like gardening,” Derek mumbled. “I thought maybe landscape architecture.”

Maybe some version of Stiles would have laughed at the admission. The idea of snap-back wearing, pick-up truck driving, all-American stereotype in the flesh planting daisies should have been funny. 

It wasn’t.

Stiles took a hit. Held the smoke in. Then in one swift move shifted so that he was in Derek’s lap, his knees on either side of Derek’s hips. Derek’s fingers came up, gripped the skin just above the waistband of Stiles’s jeans. 

The moment seemed frozen in time, syrupy and unreal. Stiles leaned in and Derek’s lips parted. Smoke slipped out between them, but in the next moment, Stiles was pressing it into Derek’s mouth. 

Derek breathed it in. Breathed Stiles in, really. 

When they drew apart, Derek’s eyes were wide, almost vulnerable, and Stiles ached with every part of his being. He wanted this to be real. 

So he ran. 

***

The church was as quiet as it always was when Stiles came to practice at the old piano. He made sure of it. 

But for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to play. 

The keys had always offered him an escape, a dreamworld where his mother wasn’t dead, his father wasn’t an alcoholic, and he wasn’t a weird kid who talked too much and dreamed too big for this small Texas town. 

For once, he didn’t want to escape. 

He pressed a thumb to his lower lip, as if he could capture the warmth of Derek there. The way the tip of his tongue had darted out in what had turned into a goodbye. 

“Play for me?” 

Stiles didn’t startle. He’d almost expected Derek to show, though he couldn’t say why.

But you came. But I came. 

Without acknowledging the request, Stiles dropped his fingers onto the keys. Amazing Grace was so easy, he didn’t have to think about it. By the time he finished, Derek was on the bench beside him. “Beautiful.”

Stiles chewed on the inside of his mouth. “My mother taught me how to play.”

A beat. And then, “Do you play because she wanted you to, or do you play because you want to.”

The question struck, like lightning, in the very center of Stiles’s chest. “Does it matter?”

It was a deliberate echo and Derek huffed. “No.” 

Maybe it had seemed like walls going up when that wasn’t the case at all. So Stiles took a breath. “Aren’t all of our lives made up of a combination of that? Expectations and hopes and desires and rational thought and irrational emotions? Her wanting me to play doesn’t mean it’s any less important if it had come from nowhere. It just makes it all the more meaningful that I am doing it, doesn’t it?”

“But what about your life?” Derek asked, and in that moment Stiles realized how much Derek’s trajectory had been guided by other people. 

“It’s not an either or,” Stiles said as carefully as possible. “For me.”

Derek nodded, his eyes on the piano. In the smallest voice Stiles had ever heard him use, he said, “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Stiles nearly laughed at that. But instead he nudged Derek’s shoulder. “No matter what you do, I’m pretty sure it would be impossible for you to disappoint anyone.” He searched for the right words, the ones that wouldn’t dismiss the fear, the ones that wouldn’t add more weight to Derek’s shoulders. “I would be proud of you no matter what you do.”

That blush again, the one that would drive Stiles to distraction. “Play it again for me?”

“Anytime,” Stiles promised and surprised himself by meaning it. 

Outside the clouds opened up and the rain beat against the windows. 

Inside, Derek hooked his ankle around Stiles’s, and the music played.