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hugshughes · 1 year ago

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The 1 A. Fantilli

Adam Fantilli x fem!reader

synopsis - based on “the 1” by Taylor Swift obvs. The school year starts back up at the University of Michigan and after your break up with Adam, you’re trying to live life freely but can’t seem to get the idea of him and your relationship off your mind. But what happens when you see him again, and you both are yearning for each other more than ever before?

wc - 4.5k (:0)

contains - lowkey angst but also very fluffy closure, reader cries, miscommunication a little bit (i know), kissing, cuddling. (if i missed anything please let me know!!!!)

an - this is the first part in my folklore 100 follower celebration! i’m so excited for it! i do not loveeee this but i really wanted to get this first part out! hopefully you guys like this! here is the masterlist to this celebration. me when im about to make a fic based off “the 1” have a happy ending 😊. also sorry this took longer than expected i has surgery the other day and did not pop back to normal like i assumed i would lmao. please someone get the betty refernce at the end ;))) also i still need a player to use for my betty fic for this celebration so… someone request someone. also this is barely edited so sorry. also should i make a taglist?? would anyone like that??

i’m doing good, i’m on some new shit. been saying “yes” instead of “no”.

To say you were definitely doing much better now that August had arrived was a true statement. You’d been a wreck most of the summer over your breakup with Adam, but as the summer started to slow down and your tan glowed, you felt you heart get lighter and rid itself of it’s burdens.

You and Adam had broken up just a little bit before the draft. The prospect of him being in Anaheim while you finished school in Ann Arbor sounded like an impossible feat to conquer.

You also knew what the newfound NHL fame would bring Adam, even more attention than before, new people, new friends, new girls surrounding him. And while you knew Adam would never in a million years cheat on you, you didn’t want him to feel like he had to be tied to something, someone, 2,234 miles away, to be exact.

When you watched the draft and saw Leo get drafted to Anaheim, your heart sank to your stomach. Many tears were shed that night, knowing the boy you loved with all of you wouldn’t be 2,234 miles away, only 190.

You assumed that if he wanted you back he would’ve called, or texted, or emailed, or sent a letter, anything. But you got nothing, so you accepted that he was perfectly okay with still being apart. Even though it did hurt because you remembered the night both of you cuddled close and whispered about how amazing it would be if he went to Columbus and not Anaheim.

i thought i saw you at the bus stop, i didn’t though.

When school started back up, you couldn’t help but see him everywhere you went. You did feel better, and you were healing, but it did instill an ache in your chest when you’d see your favorite study spot, your table at the starbucks right off campus, his dorm building, everything.

You even thought you saw him there once, your eyes widened with fear as you thought you saw him standing at a bus stop on campus but it wasn’t him, just another brunette boy, but not yours.

i hit the ground running each night. i hit the sunday matinée. you know the greatest films of all time were never made.

It was hard for about a week or so, being back in the place where you fell head over heels in love with him, but your friends would always be quick to cheer you up and tell you “it’s gonna be okay.” And most of the time you believed them.

You’d gone to many more parties than you had last year, you were usually trying to spend time with Adam and you two preferred being alone together than things like parties.

You felt the ache when you saw a guy taking his girlfriend to the Barbie movie, as stupid as that seems. You and your friends had all waited to see it until you were back together and you were all dolled up in your pink outfits. But you couldn’t help but have that same ache when you remembered Adam promising to take you to see if, and promising to wear pink just for you.

Obviously, that never happened. After the movie you couldn’t help but pull up your photos and scroll through your ‘Adam🤍’ album, the videos got to you the most.

Adam had made you film yourself when you opened your birthday gift from him, you had no idea why.

“Baby, why am I filming this?”

“Because, I want to be able to rewatch your reaction to it!”

You give him a funny look, and he urges you to open the big bag, seeing a jersey, a Michigan jersey. You’re pretty confused because you have a Fantilli jersey already, one you wear often. You pull it out of the bag and unfold it and turn it around, and then you see it. Instead of Fantilli across the back, it says “MY MAN”. Your jaw drops, you start laughing so hard, like stomach hurting from how hard you’re laughing.

Adam joins in your laughter, asking if you like it. You tackle him in a hug, kissing his cheek twice.

“It’s so perfect!”

The video was perfect, it ended in your phone falling from it’s propped up place on your desk as you kissed Adam. You felt happy and sad when you saw it. Happy that it happened, that you were able to ever experience that kind of love. Sad because it was all gone now.

i guess you never know, never know. and if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed. and if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow.

You know that if you had the chance, you’d go back to Adam without thinking for two seconds. He was the best thing that you’d ever been graced with. He was everything to you, and you know that in a tucked away part of your heart he still is.

You just wish you both had tried harder, because you both loved each other with all of your beings. You just wished you both showed how much you really wanted it at the end, but both of you were scared of how the other was feeling.

but we were something, don’t you think so? roaring 20’s, tossing pennies in the pool.

In the middle of the night, when you’re staring at the ceiling of your room after watching Adam’s newest highlights you tend to always think about one thing; if he still thinks about you, the way you do him.

You hoped he did, you hoped you weren’t the furthest thing from his mind at all times. And if you were to ask him, he would tell you that you were all he could think of for months, you were the only thing on his mind when he woke up, and when he went to sleep. Columbus was fun, and new, and exciting, but you were everything to him.

Adam had hoped you’d send him a text the night of the draft, and then he’d be able to start talking to you again. But, you never texted, you were worried he wouldn’t care if you did. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

and if my wishes came true it would’ve been you.

You had wished on 11:11s, fallen stars, eyelashes, candles, four-leaf clovers, everything, that you and Adam would be together always, and that didn’t end when you broke up, you still wished for him, always.

in my defense, i have none. for never leaving well enough alone. but it would’ve been fun, if you would’ve been the one.

You always felt like you were doing something wrong towards the end of your relationship, not because of Adam. It was because you just had a voice in the back of your head telling you that you weren’t doing enough for him and that you were making him upset, and it led to you doing things to try to fix that but only would end up making things worse.

You just needed him always, you two were inseparable. You were at every home game, a good amount of the away games, and then you were almost always together during any free time you two had. While you were only together for about a year, you could see your life with Adam. He had said something to you about wanting to marry you, 5 months after you started dating. You were just it for each other.

i have this dream you’re doing cool shit. having adventures on your own. you meet some woman on the internet and take her home.

You think about if he has met another girl yet. You know that those hockey teams like going out together and they definitely attract lots of female attention. The ache came back at the thought of him sleeping in the same bed as another woman.

we never painted by the numbers, baby. but we were making it count.

Some people thought your relationship was, unrealistic, in a sense. You and Adam were together all the time, and it made certain family members and friends question what would happen after the draft came and Anaheim took your boyfriend from you. But obviously, Anaheim didn’t take your boyfriend, Columbus did, which made the breakup hurt even more.

Every minute you spent with Adam was full of love. There were very little disagreements, and the few that did take place were always out of love, which also made everything hurt more. No one could’ve seen your breakup coming, you two included, it just came up one night and ended up with you two calling it quits. It was the first time you’d ever seen Adam cry, and that broke you inside.

you know the greatest loves of all time are over now. i guess you never know, never know. and it’s another day waking up alone.

Sometimes you wake up and forget he’s not yours anymore, that he might even be someone else’s. And then you snap back to reality and it hits you like a train. Your roommates sometimes leave sticky notes to you that you’re gonna be okay, that’s everything’s okay. He was the greatest thing ever. Your love for him conquered all.

i, i, i persist and resist the temptation to ask you, if one thing had been different. would everything be different today?

You just play back every single moment in your head. Wondering if you’d done anything different if you’d still be his, if he’d still love you how he did. What you didn’t know was that he was doing the same exact thing 190 miles from you, resisting the urge to text you.

Adam was counting down the days until his birthday, praying that you would text him, allowing him to start a conversation with you. You were as well, having typed out your birthday message to him already, weeks early, waiting to be sent.

but we were something, don’t you think so? rosé flowing with your chosen family. and it would’ve been sweet, if it could’ve been me.

You two would spend nights with his friends, the boys he loved most, and his teammates because you wanted them to like you because he liked them. You wanted to be able to have their approval and you definitely did. Your friendships lasting with a few of the players, specifically Dylan Duke.

Dylan had been so incredibly sweet to you when you met, understanding how it probably felt to be surrounded by a team of boys who you didn’t know. He was someone you could hang out with at hockey parties when you felt like you were being too clingy to Adam.

in my defense i have none, for digging up the grave another time.

Dylan had been begging you to come to a hockey game since before the season started. And you were finally convinced so you are going to attend the 2nd Providence game. They won last night 2-4 and were hoping to do the same again.

You felt the ache when you were searching through your umich gear for your outfit to the game and found your Fantilli jerseys. You took a deep breath and pushed it off, grabbing a blue and maize crewneck and throwing it on over your leggings and blazers and leaving.

You got into the Children of Yost section pretty easily, but it was always a hassle nonetheless. You found some friends and stood with them, shouting cheers when the guys skated out.

You and your friends were pretty close to the glass in the student section, only a few rows back, so you were able to see the guys really well. You screamed when Dylan scored his first goal of the night, he saw you and laughed so hard. Luca, who was hugging his teammate was confused by how hard Dylan was laughing, and looked to see what the source of his entertainment was. When he saw you, jumping up and down with your friends, screaming for Dylan, he was shocked. Shocked you’d even come to a game. And then his eyes widened when he realized his brother was here, watching him play.

When the first period was over the Childen of Yost settled down and danced to the songs and did the little games that came up to on the jumbotron. Your fun halted when you saw Adam come up on the screen, the words “Welcoming back former Wolverines!” and his names flashing on it. Your friends saw and their jaws dropped. He hadn’t been at the game the night before, of course he hadn’t, of course this was the game he came to.

You brushed it off and insisted that you were fine. You continued to have fun and mess around with your friends during the break in between periods. But then Adam had the shock of his life, staring at the screen as the view of you and your friends dancing to American Boy by Estelle & Kanye as the cameras showed different groups of the Children of Yost.

The second he gets over his shock you’re off the screen, and he’s slightly leaning out of his seat, searching the crowd of the student section, and then he saw you, messing around and playing with your friends. Part of him wishes you were in his jersey, as unrealistic as that seems. He wonders if you still have his jerseys, if they’re in a thrift store somewhere, or if they’re tucked away in the bottom of a box in your room.

He knows Dylan probably convinced you to come, because Dylan was your favorite of his friends, and the two of you guys were “besties” whenever you were together. He wonders if you’ll go down towards the locker room after the game to see Dylan and if he’ll get to see you again.

The game ended soon enough, the guys winning 3-4 with 2 goals from Duker. He texted you after the game to come down, wanting to go to eat with you after.

from: Duka👊

Dude come down after I wanna go eat

from: Y/n/n🤝

idk duke i kinda wanna go home

from: Duka👊

Bro no you have to stop being a loser

from: Y/n/n🤝

fine.

He liked your message and you let out a sigh,

“Hey guys, I’m gonna go down and see Duke. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

They nodded and gave you light hugs, telling you random things that are always part of girl goodbyes.

“Are you sure, do you think Adam’ll be down there, babe?”

You sighed again, shrugging, hugging her tighter.

“Don’t know, but I can’t let him stop me from doing things, right? If I see him, I see him. I don’t know if he’ll say anything to me, but if he does I’ll just talk to him normally, you know?”

The girls all nod, saying goodbye again, telling you things about your said “girl power”. You made your way through the arena, getting let through by security and heading back to the hall where the players come out.

You kept your head in your phone as you leaned against the wall, snapping people, scrolling through Instagram, and texting your mom about the game.

Dylan came out fast compared to usual. You high-fived him as he came up to you, congratulating him on his two goals. He thanked you and then was quick to try to get you guys to leave.

“Dylan, It’s okay. I know he’s here. I’m not gonna like, run away from him. Alright?”

“Yeah alright, he was just in the locker room and I was worried you might not know, 'cause I didn’t even know, so.”

You nodded and smiled at him, patting his shoulder in thanks. Then you realized he was missing something.

“Dylan, did you leave your phone in the locker room?”

He looked at you in confusion, then patting the pocket on his bag, and then his sweatpants pockets, then his sweatshirt pocket, but came up empty.

“Shit. Alright, I’ll be back in half a second, wait here.”

You nod and he hands you his backpack, racing back to the locker room. You put his bag on your back and look back at your phone again. And then you hear him, his laugh. You don’t even wanna look up, you glance out of the corner of your eye, seeing his silhouette.

You freeze in your stance, fingers pausing on your screen. You hear him, Luca, and Mark talking very loudly. Adam sees the bag on your back first “DUKE #25” along the side of it. Then he realizes it’s you. He quiets down very quickly, almost stopping in his tracks.

Luca notices his baby brother’s change in attitude instantly, whipping his head to the side, his eyes meeting your figure. Mark, somehow sees you and his mind doesn’t think for two seconds. He calls your name, happy as ever.

“Hey! Come here I haven’t seen you in forever. What’s up?”

You wince at his obliviousness, or maybe his uncaring of the situation. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second before putting a smile on.

“Hey Mark, I’m fine. How are you?”

He nods and replies, half hugging you and pulling you back towards his group. Luca quickly says hey to you, wrapping his arms around you briefly.

You look at Adam, your eyes softening. He looks at you as if you’re the only girl in the world, and to him, you are. You go to say hey to him but he hugs you before words can come out. He holds you so so tightly, and you practically grip him. Fuck, you missed him.

“Hey, Adam.”

You feel him take a deep breath in, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Adam.”

You both seem to realize you aren’t alone and you pull away, clearing your throat as the other two boys look at you with huge smiles. You feel heat radiating from your cheeks as the four of you stand there.

The awkward silence is cut off by Dylan racing back through the hall.

“Hey dude, sorry I took so long. Ty started asking me about something-”

He stopped himself when he saw you standing inches from Adam, a blush covering your face. He tries to cover the smile overtaking his face.

“Oh hey guys, um well, we were about to go eat, you guys wanna join?”

Your eyes widened at Dylan, cursing at him in your head, hoping you’d gained mind powers that could disintegrate him. Just because you can stand here and hug him doesn’t mean you can sit and eat dinner with him.

Mark jumps to accept, telling you two that you should also invite the other guys still in the locker room. You agree, thinking the more the merrier for your situation. You and Dylan let the other guys know and then take off. In the car, you turn to Dylan and almost shout at him.

“Dylan Duke! What the fuck?”

He smiles at you, that stupid smile. You shake your head and sigh loudly leaning back against the headrest and closing your eyes.

“I saw how you were looking at each other in there. And Mark whispered to me about your hug. I know that this is for your own good dude. At least get civil with him.”

You sigh and nod, your eyes still closed. Dylan lets out a noise of agreement, and you two drive to your chosen restaurant.

When you pull up to a restaurant on a Saturday night and ask for a table for 10, you usually are looked at like you have two heads. But in Ann Arbor, when a umich hockey player comes in and asks that, they will make it happen.

You and Dylan were the first to get there, sitting across from each other at the far end of the table. Tyler, Rutger, and Ethan arrive next, Tyler sitting at the end chair between you and Dylan, and Rut and Eth sitting next to Dylan. Adam, Luca, and Mark arrived next. You watched Mark push Adam forward to sit in the space on your right.

He smiles at you awkwardly as he sits down next to you, making sure to leave a comfortable amount of space between you. Lastly, Seamus and Mackie arrive, taking the last two seats at the table. All the guys were talking around you while you checked your phone every minute or so to try to look busy. You glance to your side and notice Adam as bored as you.

“Hey Fants.”

His head quickly turns to you, a bright smile adorning his features.

“Hi.”

“How’s Columbus? Sorry I never congratulated you, I just-”

“Hey! It’s okay, I understand, alright? But it’s nice, I’ve made a couple of new friends and stuff. It was nice already knowing people there.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s really good Adam.”

Adam stared at you longingly as you stared at your fingers. You were messing with the rings you always wore, then realized how you were wearing your ring from Adam. You felt like you couldn’t let him see it, worried you might embarrass yourself. You covered your hand with your other, trying to make your position look as natural as possible.

When you looked back over to him and he was already staring at you, you swear your heart started pounding, even more so than already. His eyes looked sad, something so uncommon to see him feeling. He’d always been your happy boy, always bringing you up and making you better.

You would rather climb to the rooftops and scream to every Ann Arbor citizen of your everlasting love for Adam than even whisper it to him. His eyes, though, they’re like the ocean. One look and all of your senses are gone.

“I really missed you Adam.”

You didn’t look at him when you whispered it, you stared at the football game playing on the TV across the restaurant, the Bengals were winning by 14. Your hand pressed into the wood of your chair next to your thigh, running your fingers back and forth across the grain. You didn’t flinch physically when you felt his hand brush over yours, but your heart felt like it was about to implode.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.”

You finally got the courage to look into his eyes. You turn, just a little, and look at him, the raw look on his face, his glazed-over eyes, his bit at lips, your boy, he’d always been yours, always will be.

“And, you have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now.”

He mumbled it, not caring if you heard or not, he just knew he had to say it, if not to you then to admit it to himself, that he wanted to kiss you.

Adam watched as your eyes widened innocently, he loves everything you do. He just stared, he knew you heard him, he didn’t know what to do after that, and neither did you. You seemed to have gotten lost in the moment, forgetting about the 8 other hockey players surrounding you, who had honestly mostly just stopped really talking to each other and were mostly watching you and Adam.

In that moment, you couldn’t even hear them, you couldn’t even see them. They were blurry, muted, and muffled, but looking at Adam, it was so clear. You weren’t thinking, you were just following whatever split-second decision your heart made and grabbed his face, kissing Adam. You fucking kissed him. His hands wrapped around your wrists, kissing you back immediately. You kissed for maybe three seconds, the hustle and bustle all around coming back to you.

You pulled away from him first, if it was his choice he would’ve made out with you right there in front of everyone. You looked at him with wide eyes, and he still had his big beautiful smile. You hear an ‘oh shit’ come from Luca’s mouth, and then the rest of the guys at the table going crazy and immediately feel embarrassed. Your face burns as you quickly wipe your lips with your sleeve, burying your face in your hands as a smile reluctantly makes its way to your face.

Adam has the biggest grin on his face as he scoots his chair closer to you, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close. Adam’s hand rests on your hip, tracing shapes already like it was never gone. Like it was home after being away for far too long. You know the two of you would have a big conversation about everything later. But for right now, you just let him hold you, and you let him order for you, because he always knew what you wanted, even now.

When dinner came, Adam’s hand left your hip, but it ended up holding yours under the table like you were two fourteen-year-olds hiding from your parents. He started messing with your hand, pulling it more into his lap so he could play with it with both of his hands. He’d always done this when you were together, he would mess with your hand while he talked to others at dinners or parties or anything.

Adam was shocked when he felt it, the cool band on your ring finger. He looked down at your hand, eyes widening when he saw his ring still adorning your finger. He stared at you with so so much love in his eyes, from across the table, Luca could see how happy his baby brother was, and he was so thankful for you.

“You still have my ring on.”

You couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement when he whispered to you. You looked down at the band on your finger, smiling sheepishly at him and blushing. You nodded slowly, not knowing how to explain it to him.

“I just really like it. And I just really like you, so.”

He laughs, nodding at you with amusement, letting out an ‘Oh yeah?’ to which you nod assuringly.

You knew he was the 1. You’d known when he had first introduced himself to you. You could tell that this new beginning to your relationship was going to last, that the time apart only made you both stronger. You’d always loved him, and always will, and if kissing him in a crowded restaurant in front of all of his stupid friends is what it takes to have him, you definitely would.

but it would’ve been fun, if you would’ve been the one.

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magz · 10 months ago

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(Read the rest in link)

Some article excerpts:

Ally said Nex primarily went by he/him pronouns at school but also used they/them pronouns, which Nex's family also used. Several other friends said Nex preferred he/him pronouns.

The Owasso Police Department said in a statement Wednesday that preliminary information from an autopsy report shows Nex’s death wasn’t the result of trauma. A toxicology exam is still pending, and an official autopsy will be released later.

The department released a series of videos Friday that offer a glimpse into the day before Nex’s death, including body camera video from a police officer’s interview with Nex, in which he described how three students “jumped” him after he threw water on them because they were bullying him and his friend.

[...]

Tyler Wrynn, who was one of Nex’s teachers at the Owasso 8th Grade Center, told NBC News ahead of the vigil that Nex wasn’t on his roster but that “he and a plethora of queer kids were always in my room” because they knew Wrynn offered "a safe space.”

“Nex was a fiery kid,” Wrynn said. “He would light up a room and jump to defend any of his friends if they were getting picked on.”

(Attendees hold candles and leave notes at the vigil for Nex Benedict on Sunday.)

Wrynn said at the vigil that his favorite memories of Nex happened every day when he went out for bus duty after school. Nex would yell across the campus “I’m gonna fight you” and challenge Wrynn over “cartoonishly absurd things,” [...]

Robin Gray, 16, said he dated Nex on and off, and he started his speech at the vigil by clarifying how Nex identified.

“I want to start off by saying that Nex was transgender, and he used he/him pronouns,” Gray said. “He was so much more than his transness.”

Gray said one of his favorite memories of Nex was the first time Nex cooked for him. He made Gray wings with a variety of spices, and the next morning he made pancakes.

Spencer, who went by only his first name at the vigil, said that he was Nex’s partner and that Nex helped him come out as gay to his parents.

“He made everything easier,” Spencer said. “He kept energy levels high. He would always keep the room in a good mood. He was always one of the brightest kids in the room, whether he would smile or not.”

(Anna Richardson, a mother of an Owasso High School student, helped organize a vigil after her son came to her asking if they could do something to acknowledge Nex Benedict’s death and honor their life in the community.)

#nex benedict #link post #child death #murder #trans #death #magz upload #united states #transphobia

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write-here-n-now · 9 days ago

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What to do when you've crossed a line?

C.(S). Jeonghan x Reader | WC. 1031 | G. Angst| Pt. 5/? | *Jeonghan's POV*

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“Wait Y/N!”

He watches you run away. He couldn’t let you get away for a second time.

His feet are stuck once again to the floor of campus hallway, everyone staring at him, as he stands unmoving and staring at your receding figure.

It’s not until Seungcheol literally slaps his back that he snaps out of the trance of tracking your disappearance.

“GO! What are you waiting for?”

His brain finally decides to comprehend the situation and instead of shutting down, his feet get the memo to follow your steps, picking up the pace as he races down the hall.

He reaches outside and sees you in the distance getting onto the local bus—well timed for your getaway.

He has a clue as to where you might be heading so he turns around to go find Seungcheol again, he had to catch up to you and he couldn’t afford to make the same mistake a third time.

He finds Seungcheol in the same hallway talking to some people, but he lifts his head to see Jeonghan fast approaching him.

“Did you chicken out again?” Seungcheol, despite only being a few months older always had a way to make Jeonghan feel like he was being scolded by a parent.

“I need your keys!”

“What?”

Jeonghan, in a clear immediate rush, starts to pat down Seungcheol trying to locate the keys to the car.

“Hold on hold on, stop frisking me!” Seungcheol swats away Jeonghan’s hands.

Reaching into the front right pocket of his jeans, he pulls out the keys but before he can even begin to offer them, Jeonghan’s hand snatches them out of his hand and dashes, without Seungcheol even able to fully comprehend the scene.

“AT LEAST SAY ‘THANK YOU’!” Seungcheol shouts after the already long-gone Jeonghan.

He doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life; he knows his destination is too far otherwise he may have just run after the bus you were currently seated in.

It takes him a bit to locate the whereabouts of Seungcheol’s car, running down the aisles to locate the familiar silver hood of his friend’s car, finally choosing to click the automatic lock button before hearing its beeps coming from his far-left side.

There is a rush in every action, fumbling with the seatbelt as he enters the driver’s seat and reverses at record speed. If he was even a little bit of a bad driver, the way in which he had reversed surely would have dinged a few cars, but muscle memory was hard to let go, even in a rush.

Speeding out of the parking lot, his patience wears thin at the sheer amount of stop signs littered to simply get off the campus grounds, but he can’t risk being ticketed just because he can’t wait a few seconds.

He has a clear image of his destination, a route he knows by heart—praying he gets to you as quickly as humanly possible.

Drumming his fingers on top of the steering wheel, he waits for the main road signal to change colours, the jittering inside his body can’t seem to rest even for a moment, the idea of sprinting to you still lingering in his mind.

Luckily the light changes before he can bolt out of the car.

He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off how long it was taking to get to his destination. Turning the dial of the volume, the radio turns on and he adjusts the radio dial until it reaches the preferred station.

“This next song is a beloved, blah blah blah”

He pays no mind to the DJ’s explanation, busy trying to turn his brain away from the anxiety of missing his chance to explain himself to you and the fear of not getting to you as soon as possible.

The dialogue is a blur, but he feels his stomach flutter as he hears the familiar tune of the guitar, your favourite song.

“Wise men say…”

“Only fools rush in…”

“But I can’t help”

“Falling in love with you…”

--------

“Jeonghan come on, let me play a song”

“I’m driving so I get to choose”

“Please please please please please please please”

His eyes roll at your consistency, unable to deny your demands as your lips turn into a pout and eyes widen like a puppy.

“...fine.”

You waste no time connecting your phone and starting your favourite song.

The stereo plays out a familiar guitar strumming before Elvis’ deep voice sounds through the speakers.

“WISE MEN SAY~”

You couldn’t contain yourself whenever the song played, eager to immerse yourself in the feeling of being in love and giddiness that the smooth love song filled in your stomach.

Turning your body, you sing to Jeonghan, giggling when he looks forward uninterested in your antics and ignoring your private concert.

When you sing louder, he attempts to stick his hand over your mouth but you’re quicker and dodge, turning away from him laughing out loud, eyes closed, attempting to compose yourself enough to continue the sing-along.

The car comes to a halt at a red light as you reach the bridge. Singing your heart out, you use Jeonghan’s right arm and hand as a microphone, moving it along serenading the surrounding traffic audience.

Turning his head, he feels that darn tug. He couldn’t help the grin that carved itself onto his lips.

He thinks that life couldn’t be any better, listening to you belt your favourite love song as if nothing mattered more, and nothing did.

The honk from a behind , snaps him out of his daydream. Turning his attention back to the road and you finish off the song with some personal adlibs.

--------

“..For I…can’t help”

“Falling in love with you…”

He looks ahead, his heart fluttering at the familiar memory but how he wishes you were here next to him, singing the song.

He shakes his head ridding the memory, trying to focus on the road ahead and the path to his destination. He turns off the radio letting the silence consume the car, he can’t dwell further on what he should’ve done before, only on what he had to do now.

TAG LIST: @jjeongddol

#svt #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #jeonghan angst #jeonghan fic #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan x reader #seventeen angst imagines #svt angst #write here n now writes #jeonghan

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blues824 · 1 year ago

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hello! First of all i enjoy your writing alot! Can u write an imagine/headcanons of Malleus, Riddle and ruggie (seperatly) with a Fem! Reader who's obsessed with shopping and drags them excitedly to the mall? Reader has them trying on outfits like a silly fashion show and etc! And can u make them and the reader in a relationship already? Thank you i hope you're doing well! 💗💗

Because you only requested three characters, I am making the scenarios longer.

Riddle Rosehearts

He just can’t find it in himself to say no to you when you ask him with puppy dog eyes if you two could go to the mall on the weekend. Plus, Trey and Cater pointed out that you had been following each of the Queen’s rules as well as maintaining a good grade in all of your classes, and thus deserved a break like this.

So it was a date that the Housewarden found himself very excited for. It wasn’t everyday that he got to take his girlfriend off of campus and go do something she liked to do, so this was a once-in-a-while opportunity. The town wasn’t far away from NRC either; just at the bottom of the mountain that NRC was built upon. Thus you wouldn’t waste a bunch of time commuting.

When Saturday rolled around, he heard a knock on his dorm room as he was getting ready. He opened the door to see you in a casual outfit, ready to head out. He was ready too, and he made sure that he had his wallet before leaving. As you both exited the Heartslabyul doors, he yelled out to Trey that he would be in charge while he was away with you. You took him by the hand as you dragged him to the bus that was taking students down the mountain.

During the bus ride, he was looking up some of the stores that were within the mall. You were peering over his shoulder as you made an effective plan on the places you were going to visit, since you were aware that Riddle preferred to have this kind of thing organized. You then pressed a kiss to his cheek and thanked him for agreeing to come with you, and he just had a dopey grin as his mind went completely empty.

Within the mall, you just let out a gasp as you looked at the huge building. You turned to look at Riddle and he asked you where you wanted to head to first. You pointed to a nearby clothing store that had a dress in the window that looked super cute, and he took your hand in his before leading you inside. You took him to the dressing rooms after choosing a few different outfits, and you asked which ones he liked more. There were a few that exposed a bit more skin than he was comfortable with, so he was definitely flustered for a few minutes.

The next store was actually a men’s store, so he was kind of confused as to why you chose to go there. You said that he needed a few more outfits and maybe even a few matching ones like you had so that people could tell that you were a couple. You picked a few that you thought he would like and you had him go try them on. You sat outside of the changing rooms, scrolling through some of your friends’ Magicam posts when your boyfriend called your name.

You looked up and saw that he was wearing some black pants, a white button up, and a red sweater over it. You stood and walked over to him to adjust his collar, and as you were doing that he asked if he looked alright. You gave him a kiss on the lips as you stated that it looked great, and you asked if he felt comfortable as he was the one wearing it. He nodded his head, so you went to the cashier to purchase the clothes before making your way to the next store.

Ruggie Bucchi

The only concern he has is how much money he’s going to be spending, but you told him that you had been working at the Mostro Lounge to save up money for this, and that Leona offered to loan some money as well (totally not because you threatened to wake him up with ice cold water every morning and drag him by the tail to classes if he didn’t). So, he was pretty excited to go with you.

As the days ticked by, the hyena was getting more and more excited. Honestly, it was annoying to the Savanaclaw Housewarden because Ruggie kept messing things up because he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. You weren’t in a very different state, considering it was the first time in a while where you were able to go on a proper date with your hard working boyfriend.

When Saturday arrived, he was super happy. He got ready in just five minutes before he ran to your dorm, where you were about to head to Savanaclaw. After laughing at the coincidence, Ruggie took your hand in his and pulled you to the bus that was taking students to the village at the bottom of the mountain. Because it was 9 in the morning, it was a bit chilly, so you squeezed his hand because it was warm.

If we’re being honest, this trip was a spontaneous thing that you wanted, so he was just going to be following you around. He listened intently as you went on about some of the stores you saw online and how you wanted to visit as many stores as possible. His tail was definitely wagging in pure happiness at just being able to be with you when he’s been so busy lately.

Anyways, he wasn’t surprised when you spotted a really cute outfit in one of the shops’ windows and dragged him in. He would be the kind to look at different articles of clothing and hold them up to you, trying to picture an entire outfit. You brought the right guy for the job, as he’s done this before a few times but in thrift stores. Actually, he had a pretty decent sense of style, and you saw that in the outfit he came with you in.

After you got some food at the food court, you spotted a store that you wanted to go into. Ruggie was just going to follow you without a word, but he noticed that it was for men’s apparel. He, too, was very confused as to why you wanted to go in there, and you said that you wanted to buy him an outfit that matched the one you had purchased from one of the prior stores. The entire idea was absolutely adorable, and so he went to try on the clothes.

A few moments later, he emerged from the changing room in a light orange hoodie with some distressed jeans. You chose the hoodie because 1) you could steal it when Ruggie wore it enough so that it smelled like him and 2) it matched a dress you got earlier. He asked if you chose the hoodie to steal it, and you just shushed him jokingly as you hugged him. The hyena started laughing before wrapping his arms around you in return.

Malleus Draconia

This man was so happy when you asked him if he would go to the mall with you on the weekend, because he never gets invited to anything. Plus, a date with his beloved sounds absolutely amazing, so he asked Lilia if he could go. The bat fae was definitely very excited, so he cleared Malleus’s schedule as well as informed the other two knights that he would not need a security detail for a simple date. Sebek was kind of hysterical, but this isn’t about him.

He could have very well manipulated time and made it move faster, but he knew that patience was rewarded. The entirety of Diasomnia could sense the pure joy radiating from the dragon fae, and did their best to make sure that no one or no thing got in the way of his good mood. He, however, didn’t notice because the only thing he paid attention to was the way you were also beaming about your date.

Malleus had to admit to his retainers as well as his guardian that he had no idea what to wear to something as casual as a date to the mall. All of his clothing was either for school, or for more formal occasions. He opted on some black dress pants as well as a white button-up and some comfortable dress shoes, and he grabbed the flowers he purchased before and showed up at Ramshackle. The gesture made you a bit flustered, but you put the bouquet in a vase of water and took his hand in yours and led him to the bus.

During the ride to the bottom of the mountain, he asked you why you wanted to go on the vehicle rather than just allow him to teleport you there. You told him that you knew that as a royal member, he might not have had experience with the life of an ‘ordinary commoner’ and thus wanted to provide that perspective. He then said that you were not an ordinary commoner, but rather the princess to his prince.

You made a joking comment that he looked like your sugar daddy instead of your boyfriend, especially since he insisted that he pays for everything you wanted while you were there. He didn’t get it, but it didn’t matter. Then, you spotted a dress that looked so cute, and Malleus waited outside of the dressing room. He thought it looked absolutely beautiful on you when you came out and gave him a bit of a twirl. This guy has a whole other way of testing out the length of dresses. He will dip you down and kiss you in front of everyone to see where it raises on your leg. So that’s what he did, and he seemed satisfied with the modesty of the length.

Anyways, you brought him to the food court so that the two of you could get a bite to eat. He made you laugh by saying that he preferred the fast food over Lilia’s cooking, and he was practically inhaling his food. Once you were finished, you started walking through the mall when you spotted a men’s store. Your prince here was kind of confused as to why you wanted to go in there, and you said that he needed some casual outfits and you dragged him into the shop.

There, you immediately spotted some black ripped jeans as well as a few muscle t-shirts and hoodies that you had him try on. He admitted that he did like how the shirts outlined his muscles so that he could impress you a tad more. Also, the clothes were a lot more comfortable than the formal things he typically wears, so he purchased them and walked out wearing them. All in all, you both considered this date successful.

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forlovvers · 11 months ago

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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ get a guitar!

pair: heeseung x f!reader | genre: uni!au, strangers2???, meet cute | warning(s): profanity | wc: 800 | synopsis: in which heeseung is absolutely floored by you and decides a little white lie won’t hurt to gain your attention.

lynne’s notez🗒️: first heeseung post did anyone cheer

heeseung sat on the bustling train, jay’s guitar case nestled between his legs to keep it from sliding everywhere. jay is the only person he’d know to forget his guitar on the big day of his music presentation. he fondles with the worn out handles, absentmindedly tapping his fingers to the beat of the song playing through his airpods.

another person squeezes next to him on the train seat and heeseung really wishes he would’ve just ubered. that thought is instantly wiped from his memory when someone taps him on the shoulder and he turns to see you. the wind is knocked out of his lungs and heeseung swears the angels start singing when you make eye contact.

you’re so pretty heeseung feels the need to reach out to touch you to make sure he’s not dreaming, although you certainly are dreamy. but he does not do that, instead, heeseung plucks his airpods out and gives you his full attention.

“do you play?” you ask, gesturing to jay’s guitar case. there’s something about you that makes heeseung become at a loss for words, so he nods without a second thought— even though he can’t play for shit.

“cool, i’m headed to my music comp class right now.” you grin, showing him your guitar case. it’s denim and theres a sanrio character keychain that hangs from the zipper. heeseung can’t remember which one it is, but he only thinks about how it slightly resembles his friend, jake.

“do you have a favorite guitar?” you ask. once you notice the confusion across his face, you clarify. “like acoustic or electric?”

“oh yeah, i mostly play acoustic.” he manages to get out. “what about you? what do you prefer?” he asks, unconsciously leaning in towards you to hear you better. the busy train was not getting in the way of his chances with you. he’s close enough to smell your perfume and count the freckles on your face, but he stops himself. he’s nearly planning your wedding and yet he doesn’t even know your name.

“i play acoustic too,” you say, liking that you two already have something in common. you look up and realize that you’re one stop away from your class, a small puddle of disappointment filling your gut. you couldn’t even talk to the cute boy on the bus in peace.

you clear your throat, “my stop’s coming up.”

“oh.” it seems like cute bus boy is also disappointed because his lips flip into a tight frown before he tries to cover it up with a light smile. “let me walk you to your class,” he quickly offers.

“are you sure? do you have somewhere you need to be?” you ask hesitantly, not wanting to get in the way. the boy shakes his head, brushing off any of your concern. once you’re sure, you agree and let him walk you to your class.

campus is much more beautiful than usual today. you aren’t sure if it’s the nice, sunny weather or the cute boy walking next to you to one of your favorite classes. either way it looks like your awful week is looking up.

the walk to class is filled with silly questions and short conversations about each other but you don’t necessarily mind. you reach your class and stop slowly in front of it. “so i guess this is where we part ways?” you say, watching as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“oh yn, thank god you’re here!” jay comes from out of the class, interrupting your moment with the cute bus boy. jay smiles at the bus boy and quickly grabs the guitar case from him and thanks him. he then turns to you, “do you wanna practice before we go up?”

“wait a second,” you look back and forth between the two. “that’s your guitar?”

“yeah why?” jay grabs the other end of the case and shows you the name tag where he’s messily written his full name.

“okay, you can head in. i’ll be there in a sec.” you tell him and although theres many questions turning in jay’s head, he shrugs it off and goes in anyway, shooting heeseung another “thanks bro.”

“so, you don’t play the guitar?”

“i guess i just wanted to impress you.” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his nape. he can’t seem to look you in the eyes. you aren’t sure if its because he’s embarrassed or shy, either way he’s still cute unfortunately.

“you can make it up to me by taking me out for dinner tonight,” you decide finally and the biggest grin breaks out across heeseung’s face.

“i’ll learn a song on the guitar and serenade you too,” he suggests, grinning ear to ear. long story short, heeseung very much serenaded you that night.

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forever-rogue · 2 years ago

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personally i’d like to see some softness with eddie… some tenderness.. some affection… something touchy and intimate yknow. not necessarily smut but if it takes you there not opposed to that either 🙏🏻 something tactile and sensory focused. maybe a lazy day in… or kissing in his van because you just couldn’t keep your hands off of each other for the ride home ❤️

AN | Just some soft, sweet fluff with Eddie🥺🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rain was beating steadily along the roof of his van as he sat in the parking lot waiting, and waiting, and…waiting.

The boy leaned back in his seat as he watched the raindrops hit the windshield and slide down as if they were racing each other. His favorites were the ones that end up being swallowed by even bigger drops. A yawn escaped his lips and he felt himself being pulled further and further into the siren call of slumber.

He was here early, but he didn't mind waiting. He never did - not for you. He'd finished work and you were almost done with your last class of the day. You insisted you could take the bus to and from the college campus, but he wasn't about to make his girl do that. Not while he was alive and breathing. You called him ridiculous, he insisted he was a romantic.

He rolled the window down just a crack for a welcome breeze of the fresh, rainy air. It freshened the otherwise stale air in the van and caused him to inhale deeply to fill his lungs. He breathed out slowly, closing his eyes as he listened to all the sounds around him. He was a musician through and through, always listening and observing the steady rhythm of life.

At some point, he drifted off and he couldn’t remember if he’d been asleep for five minutes or half an hour. He heard the sounds of others around him, talking and laughing as they left campus. Everyone was ready for the weekend, even the air had a different charge around it.

Just as he opened his big brown eyes, he found you bouncing up to the van, a carefree look on your face. His plush lips tugged down in a small frown for just a moment when he realized you weren’t wearing your jacket (you’d forgotten it at home) nor using an umbrella (you’d lost yours last winter and never replaced it). But the frown quickly evaporated when he realized just how happy you were. Everything within himself softened and butterflies exploded in his belly when he remembered that look was just for him. You loved him.

He was unable to stop himself from opening the door and jumping out of the van to meet you. Almost skidding to a stop in front of you, he wasted no time in taking your face in his large hands and kissing you delicately. It wouldn’t have been a better moment even if it was written into one of the cheesy romantic comedies you liked so much. He liked them too, even if he was more reluctant to admit that.

“Eddie,” an ethereal smile and bright eyes met his as you looked at him with reverence, “you’re going to get wet!”

Your voice sounded even more soft over the sound of the rain, “too late for that.”

“Silly boy,” you shook your head, all affection and awe before taking his hand and leading him back to the van, “c’mon!”

The two of you quickly threw open the doors and hopped inside, shutting out the blowing breeze. You looked over at him, laughing lightly when you noticed how wild his curls were from the rain and wind. His cheeks were pink and he looked at himself in the mirror, huffing as he tried to smooth the unruly locks. Reaching over and taking his hand, you stopped him, shaking your head.

A comfortable silence fell over the two as he turned on the van and set the heater to your preferred setting. He felt your eyes watching his every move intently, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing,” a whispered promise, “jus’ like watching you is all. You’re so handsome.”

“Stop,” the pink flush turned darker, a crimson that brought out his freckles and made him that much more precious, “you’re teasin’ me.”

“I am not,” you insisted firmly, “I would never lie to you, my love….”

“But…”

“However,” you grinned at him, finding it amusing that it was always so easy for him to read you, “I was wondering if you’d do me a favor.”

“When is the last time I’ve said no to you?” he raised an eyebrow, the answer to his question already so obvious to both of you. You shrugged innocently, sweetness all over your face - never, “exactly. What can I do for you?”

“Can we go to our spot?” your voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if you were exchanging some sort of secret - you supposed in some ways you were. No one besides your souls knew the location of your spot. Tingles traveled up Eddie’s spine as memories of the last time you’d gone there took over. You’d laid in the back of his van, wrapped in warm fluffy blankets and each other and had made love. It had been a perfect afternoon. When he first remained silent, you grew worried, “we don’t have to…it was just an idea. I-”

“It’s a perfect idea,” he leaned over so he was in your space and kissed you softly. You found yourself leaning into him as well, searching for the sweet taste of his honeyed lips. All lovely and warm and delicious and all yours, “let’s go.”

“Yay!” the smile on your face was enough to make him do anything. He would have gone to the ends of the earth for you, but you would have done the same for him. He knew that as well, “you’re the best.”

“That’s you, sweetheart,” a gentle brush of knuckles across your cheek, “that’s you.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The spot in question was one you’d discovered entirely by accident on a walk with Eddie ages ago. You were sure you had gotten lost, but Eddie promised it was just another adventure. He hadn’t been wrong - you’d come across a clearing that had been, for all intent and purposes, had been abandoned and untouched by human hands for some time. Wildflowers bloomed and blossomed everywhere, bees and birds and other creatures had made it home.

You enjoyed going to the secluded spot for some peace and tranquility and tried your best to leave things as untouched as possible. You wanted to be welcome there, but didn’t want to overstay your welcome.

Eddie puttered the van to the edge of the clearing, getting close but not to encroaching. Bursting out of the passenger door, you held out your arms and embraced the spring drizzle. He shook his head in amusement as he went to the back of the van and pulled the doors open, making quick work of spreading out the blankets and pillows.

“Come on, crazy girl,” he held out his hand to you, wiggling his fingers to beckon you to him. You eagerly obliged and bounced over, using his hand as leverage to climb into the back, “there we go. Better?”

“Perfect,” you immediately snuggled up into your favorite pillow - the one that always managed to smell like him - and motioned for him to join, “couldn’t think of anything better. Except…you joining me.”

“I’m coming,” he playfully huffed before jumping in and getting comfortable next to you. He huddled up his body as close to yours as humanly possible, turning so he could face you. He put his arm over your middle, fingers lazily tracing shapes into your back. A contented sigh escaped your pillows as you studied the honey boy lying next to you, “what’cha thinking about?”

“There are almost no thoughts in this head,” you huffed in amusement and Eddie grinned - it really had been a long week - and you were glad to share this moment with Eddie, “but the few thoughts I do have are all about you. About how much I enjoy this, just being in the moment here with you.”

“I like this too,” he whispered, gentle words as they ghosted over your skin, “just being with you.”

You made a small sound of agreement as you tried - and failed - to stifle a soft yawn. The sound of the rain falling outside was soothing and comforting along with the fresh smell it set off. Eddie’s eyes were closely watching, making you feel both shy and confident at the same time. He brought his hand to your face, his calloused fingertips contrasting with your smooth skin. He mapped out every bit of your features, from your slightly chapped lips to the tip of your nose, along the curve of your jaw, and along your cheekbones. Committing each bit to memory, savoring this quiet moment.

Your eyes fluttered close and he peppered kisses all over your face. His touch was gentle, reverent even, serving to make your heart full to bursting. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt him trail kisses down your neck. You arched into his touch, his lips forming a small against your skin.

“Eddie,” his name was a breathy whisper and he hummed against your skin. There was something special about the way he took his time to learn you. He’d studied you probably hundreds of times by now, but every time was different. He learned something new each time. You felt his teeth graze ever so lightly over the tender skin, leaving just enough of a mark to be noticeable if one was looking, but not enough to be crude.

“You’re so soft,” you weren’t sure if he intended for you to hear him, “so perfect and soft.”

Unable to control yourself, you opened your eyes and put a finger under his chin to turn his face up to yours, “so are you.”

“Yeah?” a spark of curiosity was in his eyes as they searched yours.

“Yeah,” a soft whisper of a promise as you took the opportunity to kiss him. His breathing hitched as he let you take control, as you mapped out all of his freckles and marks with the featherlight touch of your lips, “I love you.”

The boy stiffened for a moment, heart beating wildly in his chest, and a hundred thoughts all at once entering his mind. The two of you had excited so three words, sacred and reserved for just the right time, and never thrown around lightly.

He felt like putty in your touch, completely yours and at your mercy. Luckily you had a kind heart and were always giving, giving, and giving. You never made him feel anything but loved and wanted. Including now - the way you were looking at him made it appear as though you were looking at the best thing in the universe. To you, you were.

You leaned in so your nose brushed against his, mouths hesitant but exchanging sweet breaths. When you couldn’t take it anymore, needing to feel him and touch him, your lips met his. You’d kissed him so often by now that it didn’t even take any thought, it was all so natural. A dance you’d practiced and perfected over time, still just as magical now as it was then.

Some of his confidence came back and he took over, holding onto you fiercely and protectively. His large hand cupped your cheek and he paused for just a moment, grounding himself in the moment, the sound of rain, and your warmth all around him, “I love you too.”

The smile on your face was megawatt and magical, making him believe that true love was real and it was staring right back at him. You were the stuff of dreams, unable to be properly conveyed into words, and all he knew was that he loved you, deeply and desperately.

“C’mere,” you murmured against his lips, pulling him close and letting his warmth envelope you in every single way. He understood what you were conveying and made sure you were covered with the blanket and his body, “feels perfect.”

“It does,” his chin was on top of your head as you smushed your face against his chest listening to the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you wanted nothing more than to be in this moment forever, but even just for a few hours this would be your own personal heaven.

“Yes,” and who was he to deny you what he wanted just as much? The small sound of delight you made was the sweetest music he could have ever dreamed up, “yes.”

And it was just like heaven.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #st

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sleekervae · 1 year ago

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New York Romantic .2

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: tom and noelle have dinner together

word count: 3572

taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610

The first few weeks should've been easy, at least that's what one would've thought entering a faculty of acting. But the fact was out of the eighteen kids in Tom's classes, ironically a lot of them were very shy. Oh sure, you had the stand out performers; the 'put your spotlight on me' students whose bravado followed them even off the stage.

Not to mention the workload was quite overwhelming at first. Very quickly Tom found himself staying up late into the night, reading papers and excerpts from a handful of philosophers and authors that discussed everything from the precariousness of religion to ethical questioning of the modern nouveau. A couple of his classmates complained amongst themselves about how boring and dry the readings could be, and some were definitely more bland than others. Though when his roommate, Sunny, began his evening warm ups and practice Tom found the urge to dive in came so naturally. It just didn't come in handy when he was going into the early morning hours.

Sunjit, or Sunny as he preferred to be called, was an Indian native who'd grown up in Manchester. He figured Doris roomed them together simply for the fact that they were both English. And Noelle was right when she said he was a ray of sunshine; every little problem or obstacle they came across, be it commuting in the city or their arduous work load, Sunny always had a more optimistic disposition about everything. It was refreshing, and he and Tom became fast friends.

He had also been quite taken with Noelle, the ballet student just a year ahead of him. She was a year younger than him but had been accepted into her faculty a year ago. He'd see her around on the campus, usually flocked by her dancer friends in their joggers, leotards and slick buns. And when she caught his eye, even for a fleeting moment, she never hesitated to wave hello. Sometimes they'd catch up together in the hall or on their way to school. Noelle had travelled all the way down from Maine and she'd never been anywhere outside of the East coast, so suffice to say she had a few questions about England; the people, the weather patterns, if he'd ever witnessed one of the queen's convoy or her corgis. He quickly learned corgis were her favourite dog. Her questions, especially the sillier ones, always made him smile.

This particular Thursday had been rough. Sunny didn't have class today so he spent up until 2am practicing his tremolos, legatos, and all the other chords Tom didn't half understand. As a result, he slept in enough to just miss his bus, thus he was late to class. As if that wasn't bad enough, because he had been in such a rush he forgot his notes on his readings at the loft. That had certainly gone over well when his professor -- a well studied and prolific expert on the material -- called on him to give him opinions. It didn't quite go over as well as he'd hoped.

He also had a bit of a jump scare when he checked his bank account and the funds were dwindling. Expenses in New York were truly nothing to laugh about. And despite his mum's assurances that she'd send him the money he'd need, Tom knew it was in his best interest to get a job to help keep up. Where though remained to be seen.

Suffice to say dragging himself up the stairs after school was his mountain of a molehill. At least the lobby was quiet, not even Doris was at her desk to watch soap operas and eat her burnt popcorn. So he sat on the steps, exhaling heavily through his nose, trying to will away the headache that was tapping away to be let in. It had only been two weeks, and already Tom was exhausted.

He didn't so much as bat an eye or look up when he heard the door swing open. He did however open his eyes when he heard footsteps come his way, and he looked up to find Noelle staring down at him. Her hair was still tied slick, loose strands hanging from her ears, with her jeans pulled up over her leotard. Her big brown eyes were soft, complimenting the small gape between her lips as she watched him curiously; an overall calming and ethereal presence.

"Hey," she smiled kindly, rocking back and forth in her mis-matched converse.

"Hi," Tom grinned, moving to shift from his position, "Sorry, you probably need to get by,"

"Don't worry. Are you alright?" she simpered, "You look like you got woken up by one of Wallace's cracking contraptions,"

Tom bore a smile back, shrugging dismissively, "Yeah, I'm alright. It's been a long day," he replied.

"Tell me about it," she took a seat next to him, letting her bag slump to the floor, "First time today I've been off my feet,"

"What time did you start today?"

"Seven am,"

"Ouch,"

Noelle shrugged, "I'm used to it by now. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing but..." she trailed off with a bashful giggle, her eyes still laced with concern, "Do you wanna' talk about it?"

"No, it's fine," he shook his head, "It's just been a lot, you know?"

"Hey I get it, the first couple of weeks are hell. Only by the time Christmas rolls around you feel like you're finally getting a handle on everything," she reached around to pull her elastic from her hair, shaking her head as her long hair fell around her shoulders, "You were picked out of over 2000 applications, only to be accepted into a class of not even twenty people. That's not something to scoff at,"

Tom chuckled, "You got a point," he glanced at her, "You look like you've got it all figured out, though," he said.

"Well, it sure didn't take overnight," she grinned, "Even now -- sometimes I realize I've forgotten my toe pads when I'm on the bus and if I'm late then I'll be drawn and quartered,"

"That doesn't sound pleasant," he simpered back.

"It's a living," she shrugged back, glancing up at the stairwell behind them. She then looked over at the desk, confirming that Doris wasn't at the desk. She then turned to him, "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," he nodded.

"Alrighty then," Noelle stood and slung her back over her shoulder, "I'm making dinner,"

Tom was taken aback at first, after all, he barely knew her well enough, "Oh, I don't wanna' make trouble for you," he said.

Noelle shook her head, "Oh please, it's no trouble at all," she assured.

"Isn't your roommate home?"

"She's working right now, won't be home for a bit," she extended her hand to him, "You coming or no?"

Regardless of his reservations, Tom took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. Standing up he realized she towered over him as she stood on the second step. Noelle seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"Damn, is this what it's like to be tall?" she raised her hand level to the top of her head, bringing it forward over the gap atop his own head.

Tom chuckled amusedly, "Savour it while you can," he took the step up and sure enough he towered over her again. Noelle simply rolled her eyes, smiling nonetheless as she lead him upstairs.

Noelle's loft was as cozy and warm as she was, the pale walls were bathed in the soft glow of lamps and the fairy lights strung up along the low ceiling. And one of them had an affinity for succulents, there were a plethora of tiny pots scattered across shelves and window sills. That wasn't to say the place was pristine, though; there were some loose jackets tossed over chairs and shoes piled up at the door. The kitchenette mirrored his own, only the pile of plates and utensils in the drying rack proved it was used way more than his own was.

Tom took a seat at the dining table, curious as he watched Noelle pull out packets of instant noodles, some eggs, and vegetables from her fridge. He offered to help where he could but she assured him she had it all under control. Ten minutes later she had two bowls of upgraded instant ramen at the ready.

The dining table only had four chairs, pressed up against a window with a faint view of the city. Tom was pleasantly surprised with Noelle's cooking, it was the first home cooked meal he'd had since arriving, and it was the tastiest dinner he'd enjoyed in a long time.

"Do you like it?" she asked between bites.

"It's fantastic!" he awed, tilting his head, "I'm also happy to find nothing's burnt,"

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Oh, shut up. It was one time," she giggled, "I've been cutting back on my noodle intake, but when I can't be bothered to stand at the stove for long I break 'em out,"

"Hey, a meal's a meal, sometimes nutrition is overrated," he replied, "And they're cheap, too,"

"That's a nice perk," she nodded, "If you want cheap groceries, Paddy's down the street is great. So long as you get there before 9am, that's when the nonnas go in and squeeze the shit out of the tomatoes and bread,"

"That's nice to know. Thank you," he sipped from his water glass, "Do you work, too?"

Noelle nodded, "Weekends at Frames. I slice pizza for the bowlers," she replied, "Sometimes my boss lets me take home some of the canned tomatoes if we didn't sell out,"

Tom hummed, "Is that what I'm tasting here?" he asked curiously.

She smiled, "Yeah! The spice is gochujang,"

"It's fantastic, Noelle," he replied, "Have you always liked to cook?"

"My aunt taught me how -- and my uncle served as the proverbial guinea pig," she said.

He cocked a brow, "You lived with your aunt and uncle?" he asked.

Noelle stopped mid-chew, realizing she'd let her tongue slip, "Yeah, my parents weren't really around. It's a bit of a long story," she shrugged back.

Tom swallowed heavily, "I -- I didn't mean to impose on you like that, I'm sorry,"

"Oh my gosh, don't be sorry!" she assured, "I mean -- my mom had some substance issues and my dad... well, we don't know where he went. So my aunt and uncle were named my legal guardians," her voice trailed off, bordering on dejection with every word she recounted.

Tom stopped at that, his heartstrings tugging but his curiosity nevertheless peaked. That being said he kept his questions at bay, he didn't want to offend or trigger her, especially being in her own space.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But you liked living with them?" he asked.

Noelle nodded, "They're wonderful people. I probably wouldn't have auditioned for Julliard in the first place if they hadn't encouraged me," she replied.

"How long have you been dancing for?" he asked, finding an out for new conversation.

"Since I was ten years old. I thought it might've been too late because everybody else usually starts at age three, but... here I am," she smiled back.

"Here you are," he smiled back, "And obviously you're very good if you've made it,"

"I suppose you have a point," she simpered, twirling her fork in her bowl absentmindedly, "Well, what about you, Tom?"

"What about me?" he asked.

She shrugged bashfully, "Did you like growing up in England?"

"As compared to the places I couldn't grow up in?" he simpered back, "I did. My parents split up when I was younger but I had a good relationship with both of them,"

"What do your parents do?" she asked.

"My mum's a counsellor in an employment office, and my dad was a show producer," he replied, "You ever hear of Emmerdale?"

Noelle shook her head, "Can't say I have. But that's pretty cool, though!" she said, "Is that how you got into acting?"

"Kind of. My mum signed me up for a youth theatre group to keep me busy -- awakened something in me I guess," he grinned sheepishly.

"I see. And is your dad still working in tv?"

Tom shook his head, the corners of his lips falling, "No, he passed about six years ago,"

Noelle nearly dropped her fork, quite taken aback though nonetheless she wanted to be respectful, "My God. I'm so sorry. How old were you?"

"Fourteen," he shrugged back solemnly, "It's alright, though. We're all making out okay,"

"Yeah but -- I can't imagine that could've been easy --" she stopped herself suddenly, becoming flustered, "I'm sorry, I know it's super personal and it's none of my business,"

"No, it's alright," he assured her, "Life's pretty fucked up sometimes, but we have to keep moving forward is all,"

Noelle nodded slowly, "You're right; and you made it here, after all. I think your dad's very proud of you," she replied.

Tom smiled, hoping the lighting was low enough that she wouldn't pick off the tinting in his cheeks. Taking a sip from his glass was the only natural response he could muster before uttering a quiet 'thank you'.

"I'm sure your family's quite proud of you too, Noelle," he said, "Anyway, enough sad stuff,"

"Good," Noelle huffed, jokingly rolling her eyes, "It was starting to get wishy washy in here,"

He simpered under his breath, "Alright. What are your plans when you graduate?" he asked.

Noelle rested her chin in her hand, smiling with giddy, "To get a spot at New York Ballet. They're the American equivalent of the Russian Ballet," she replied.

"Beautiful," Tom mired.

"What about you?"

"Go audition for a movie or two, I guess," he chuckled simply, "Hope and pray I don't fuck it up,"

"Have you worked on any productions before?" she asked curiously.

"A couple here and there. Mostly small parts. I just finished a short film over the summer, though," he replied.

"No kidding! What's it about?" she had both elbows on the table now, leaning in closer as though he would share a secret.

His smile widened, "My character's an aspiring journalist who stumbles upon this gang who like to take rounds in a tumble dry machine for kicks,"

Noelle's eyes went wide, her shoulders caved forward as she recoiled at the thought, "Jesus -- really? Tell me this wasn't based off --"

"A true story? I'm afraid so," he confirmed, "The moral is about how journalism doesn't care about right or wrong as long as it captures their audience's attention,"

Her face twisted in a combination of horror and intrigue, the same way most people react when learning about a serial killer, "Lemme' guess: your character gets found out and thrown in the dryer?"

"You'll just have to watch the film to find out," he chuckled smartly.

She sighed dramatically, "Oh, you mean the torture of having to physically sit and watch a movie? Unspeakable torture," she teased.

Tom playfully rolled his eyes, "If you can withstand Don't Breathe for an hour and something, I think you can withstand this,"

"I'll take your word for it," she simpered, "Do you want to move to Hollywood after you graduate?"

Tom pondered it for a moment; the thought had struck him numerous times but he was on the fence about it. The racket, the chaos, it was such a stark 180 contrast compared to England. And perhaps that was why New York struck the perfect balance with familiar inklings of home.

But hey, there would always be sunshine...

"I'm not sure. I might go back to England, we have a pretty strong film industry over there. Or maybe I'll stay here?" he wondered aloud, glancing out the window, "Obviously, you'd like to stay in the city?"

Noelle nodded happily, "I would, but I'd also love to do some travelling. Farthest I've been outside of Maine was Disney World in Florida. Not that I'm complaining," she chuckled bashfully, "Maybe I'll come visit you in Birmingham one day?"

"I'd like that," he beamed back, "We'll wait out in front of Buckingham Palace and try and spot the queen's corgis,"

"Oh my goodness! Don't threaten me with a good time!" she teased back.

Their chatter died down when they heard the lock click, both of them looking over to find Bianca, Noelle's roommate, sauntering in. Another petite girl, she had vibrant blonde hair hanging loose and tousled past her shoulders, soft Bambi eyes that were tired and glazed, and her checkout uniform was wrinkled and warped as the fabric caught in her jacket. She was strikingly beautiful, the epitome of a blonde bombshell.

She stopped short when she saw Tom and Noelle, perplexed but nonetheless fronting a smile as she dropped her bag into a corner. She tossed her jacket over the back of the couch, sauntering over with her hands buried in her back pockets.

"Hey! What's going on over here?" she asked, looking curiously between the pair.

"We're commiserating about life over ramen," Noelle replied, extending her hand out to Tom, "Tom, this is Bianca. Bianca, this is Tom. He lives across the hall,"

"Nice to meet you," Tom smiled politely at her, nevertheless he had he feeling he was a mouse within the eye line of a cat.

"Likewise. You go to Julliard?" she asked.

"I'm an acting major," he nodded.

Bianca raised her brows, "That's awesome! Well I hope you make it," she turned on her heel and started for the fridge, "Do we still have that buttered broccoli?" she asked Noelle.

"Second top shelf on the left" Noelle replied.

Bianca gave an quiet, victorious 'ah ha' as she pulled a container out from the fridge, then fished for a fork from the drawer, "If you guys don't mind I'll bid you adieu," she gave a small bow, "I have a date with my bed,"

Noelle cocked a brow, "Honey, put the broccoli in the microwave at least," she said.

"Don't worry, it's fine!" Bianca waved her off, "Don't have too much out here!" and with that she sauntered down the hall, a slam of a door followed after.

Tom nodded, glancing curiously at Noelle as she just shook her head, "I promise she's usually nicer than that," she huffed.

"It's okay," Tom replied, "She looks like she had a long day,"

"She works at the grocery store,"

He cocked a brow, "So you're both on your feet all day, basically," he noted.

"It's a living," Noelle shrugged listlessly, "We do what we have to to get by,"

"I hear that," Tom glanced over at her empty bowl, reaching over to take it along with his as he stood up. "Here, let me,"

"What? No!" Noelle protested, "I can do that!" she moved to get up as well.

"Hey, it's the least I can do! You've been on your feet all day, and you cooked dinner for me!" he replied.

"Tom..." she darted to his side by the sink. He nearly reached out to touch her shoulder but hesitated, mindful of not overstepping any boundaries too quickly. It was then the pair realized how close they stood in proximity to each other, closer than what young strangers should've been. He could pick out the black diamond flecks in her irises, the faint freckles across her cheeks, the subtle but sweet notes of apple and bergamot that wafted under his nose. And the indent of an old piercing scar under her bottom lip.

"I got it, Noelle," he assured her kindly, willing himself to focus.

Noelle rolled her eyes, she knew she had a tendency to be stubborn but she could tell she'd met a match in Tom. She glanced at the soaking pot in the sink, already having made up her mind as she reached for it.

"Lemme' get this in the dishwasher at least," she decided.

"Fine," he conceded, stepping back to give her room.

Noelle huffed as she put the pot away, glancing at him over her shoulder, "What's your sign?" she asked suddenly.

His brow furrowed, "My sign?"

"Your zodiac," she clarified, "Like I'm a Gemini,"

"Ah," he nodded, "Um -- Aquarius,"

Noelle chuckled, "Damn, you're just as stubborn as me. And here I was thinking you'd be a pushover... I'm joking, by the way," she quickly clarified.

"Your dripping sarcasm wasn't evident of that?" he teased back. Before she could get a word in to protest, he placed the bowls in the sink and made a grab for the dish soap.

"Thank you," Noelle finally conceded, "Do you mind if I go get changed?"

"Not at all," he glanced behind his shoulder with a satisfied grin, "I'll be here,"

Noelle collected her bag off the floor and started for her room, pausing at the mouth of the hall and taking another look behind her. Tom was none the wiser to her silent presence, his back turned to her while his broad shoulders lifted and fell with each move he made. He had this unassumingness about him at first glance, she wouldn't necessarily pick him out from a crowd but if she knew to look for him she wouldn't have a problem. And when he smiled, little wrinkles formed at the corner of his bright eyes, clear blue eyes a sharp contrast to his pale complexion.

She turned swiftly on her heel and skittered down the hall, coming to the odd realization that she had never paid any mind to the drama department -- at least, not until now...

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas #the hunger games #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #original story #original content #original series

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09232003 · 1 year ago

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Pranks the housewardens would play on you

Riddle wouldn’t prank you, but if you’re close enough and he’s feeling frisky, the mood might overtake him. He tricks you by “hiding” catnip in your pocket, but in reality he’s enchanted something you own to act as catnip. You think you’ve bested him by throwing the catnip away but it’s really just oregano. You played right into his trap fool. Dozens of cats follow you around the campus and the island, even Lucius, the one Riddle thinks is the most controversial and noisy.

Leona pretends you’re invisible and he realizes he likes ignoring you a little too much. You can call for him and scream his name, but he’s not budging. He only breaks once when he’s laughing so hard his eyes water because you’re bawling behind him, thinking you died like one of the Ramshackle ghosts. Eventually he shifts from you being invisible, like reacting to your poking and prodding but not seeing you, to you being dead. “I can still hear them sometimes. Sad, but they should’ve never challenged the king of beasts to a fight.” Apparently he killed you?

Azul has no time for you, but he’ll make time to call you stupid 💔 He’ll often volunteer you to preform or do things that put you out there, claiming that you were so excited beforehand to preform your song and now our rude hosts were denying you the opportunity. OR, he changes your name to something silly. It’s legally binding so you have to go through the courts to change it back from Toilet Idiot chan. And that was your birthday gift 💔💔💔

Kalim tells you to look over there and tickles you when you turn. He only knows how to play little baby pranks that he does on his younger siblings. Or, when flying on the carpet, he’ll pretend that you’re crashing and won’t pick the carpet up until you scream. He’s done this several time, but you can’t be too sure that he’s joking.

Vil mixes up your hygiene routine, not enough to kill you, but enough to annoy you. If you ask to borrow sunscreen, he knows you prefer super sheer, but he’ll hand you a pigmented white one. Or, because he’s a mom, he’ll tell mom/dad jokes. “Hi Hungry, I’m Vil.” “Don’t call me Shirley, and I’m not joking.”

Idia knows that you’re not aware of the history and customs of Twisted Wonderland so he’ll make up outrages lies and berate you for not knowing them. These are effective because you only catch on when someone, probably Riddle, corrects your knowledge of the Kingdom of Hearts, an imaginary fairytale setting. You’d expect Ortho to step in and say something, but he interprets Idia’s behavior as fitting of a friend, so he’ll just back up his lies.

Malleus doesn’t know how fragile humans are so he flies you high up and drops you with no intention of catching you. Before you break your spine he uses magic to catch you. You try to tell Lilia who tells you not to tattle, but to not accept rides from Malleus. Unfortunately, his rides are too convenient for someone without a car, bus pass, or a broom so that’s off the table. There’s a 2 in 3 chance he’s going to “prank” you, but you must get used to it.

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #lilia vanrogue #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #twst headcanons #mw

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tarithenurse · 2 months ago

Text

Bliss

Fandom: Naruto AU. Pairing/starring: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader. Word count: 830. Content: Pining, art talk, references to Shakespeare, fluff. No smut (yet?). A/N: I don’t know if there’ll be more to this so for now consider it a one-shot. Hope you like it – let me know.

Bliss

“What’s so special about a woman in a pond?” a guys by the next painting asks no one in particular.

Glancing over, you see indeed a richly detailed painting of Ophelia in the river. You also see Itachi approaching the painting from the other side, keen eyes already taking in the face of the painted woman and a small smirk playing on his lips.

The stranger leaves the painting, joining a smaller group of people and allowing you to step closer to admire it. It is gorgeous in its technique and vibrant colouring, the red poppy in particular catching the eye. But it’s the blissed-out expression on poor Ophelia’s face that captures you.

So enthralled are you, that you barely notice the nearing presence of Itachi until he softly speaks: “Her clothes spread wide and, mermaid like, a while they bore her up...” he quotes the work that inspired the painting. “It has always struck me as too peaceful.”

You nod. “I can see why some people call her erotic what with that face,” you admit softly.

Itachi wrinkles his brows, taking in the facial expression of the woman and he must see it too because his mouth forms a soft “o”. Allowing him the moment to reconsider the painting, you move on.

---

You don’t live on campus and because of that, you have a bit of a commute to get to and from uni. You don’t mind, though: with music in your ears you either watch out the bus’ window or get a bit of reading done on the way.

Today, you’re looking out but seeing nothing. For your inner eye is the image of Itachi at the museum, face tilted to take in the painting and his lips softly parted. You love him. He doesn’t know it and if it’s up to you he never will because you know that you don’t stand a chance. Itachi is perfection.

Getting off at campus, you crisscross to the arts building and enter with a sigh. It’s not warm here in the grand foyer but at least it’s out of the autumn winds. The school year has been rushing by and it won’t be long before the professors will talk of midterms and portfolios but at least for now there’s still some semblance of having “enough time”.

Passing by the gallery of students’ works, you suddenly have to backtrack a bit, gaze captivated in the last second by a familiar face. The colours are bold: red and black and white, but there’s no mistaking that this is you and it’s done with attention to detail that you hadn’t expected from anyone. Your eyes flick to the name tag by the bottom of the painting, confirming what the strokes already have told you: Itachi.

“I hope you like it,” his soft voice startles you.

Swirling around, he’s standing with the hands in his pockets and his eyes taking in every surprised tick of your face.

“I...” You have to turn back to it or you’d forget what you wanted to say. “It’s...it’s gorgeous.” Far better than reality.

“I quite prefer the real deal,” he hushes and you realize you must have spoken your thought out loud.

There’s a curve to the painting’s lips and you echo it, feeling the familiarity of it. “When did...I didn’t know...” Oh, if only you could formulate a sentence instead of this stuttering.

“You always work so concentrated and it’s...endearing. When the professor suggested a live subject...well...” he sighs, and you realize how close behind you he is standing because the breath causes the small hairs of your neck to move. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course! I just didn’t think you -” You manage to bite of the sentence.

But Itachi picks up on it right away. “Didn’t think I what?”

His finger brushes against your hand, then he grabs your hand fully and turns you. He’s standing so close, leaning down to study every last expression in your face as you shyly whisper:

“...didn’t think you saw me...”

His voice is soft. His eyes pained. “You’re all I see. Day or night.”

His free hand lifts to gently trace the curve of your cheek and you lean in to his touch instinctively. It’s warm, soothing, and you allow him to tilt your head ever so slightly so your lips brush.

As he breathes in, you grab the chance to say: “If you want me to stop, then say so now.”

You sense more than see the crooked smile. Then you taste it, softly at first where your lips barely make contact until you stand on your tip toes, chasing his mouth. You cling to him with your free hand, happy to feel that his has snaked around your waist to hold you close. But most of all you rejoice as his lips mould to yours and his tongue slips out trace the seam of your mouth. You grant him access willingly.

#fanfiction #x reader #itachi #Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader #naruto AU #fanfic #writing #fluff #itachi uchiha #Uchiha Itachi #x fem!reader

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shubblelive · 2 years ago

Text

— MONDAY MORNING

summary : you'd always craved the idea of someone knowing and loving you completely. fortunately for you it seems like that person sits three rows ahead of you.

genre : fluff

warnings : reader's friends suck, also i self projected here shh you didn't see it

pairing : wilbur soot x reader, non-streamer, musician!wilbur uni au

pronouns : none (you yours)

featuring : uni student!musician!wilbur soot

word count : 1.5k

note : finished my first term of college so i thought i'd put something out. not super duper proud of this, but it's something. so here you go!! enjoy <3

you absolutely despised study groups. you weren’t a massive fan of studying, of course, but doing it in groups was the bane of your existence. if you were studying, you preferred to do it in the library. there were specific sections, marked with signs; a person talking in a big red circle with a line through it. headphones on, laptop open with your pathetic amount of coloured pens.

however, every monday morning before your 11 am lecture you found yourself in the student commons, spiral notebook on your lap, trying desperately to take notes and your friend would not shut up. she was going on about some girl she’d met at the bar the night before and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“are you listening to me?” you weren’t, but she didn’t need to know that. you nodded, not looking up from your notes, and she apparently didn’t care enough to press, continuing on as if you weren’t even there. you had been friends with her since high school, and she’d introduced you to another two people you shared a class with. you weren’t particularly close with any of them, but they were the only people you knew.

if you weren’t studying, you were working uptown at marcel’s, the swankiest bar that would hire a uni student. it was classes, then waiting on finance men who weren’t rich enough to afford the good stuff. after that was a two hour bus ride home, then taking care of your mum before more schoolwork, and then collapsing into bed at one in the morning, only to wake up for more classes. your day punctuated with your tedious friends.

the timer on your phone went off, and you sighed. “i better go. have to talk to professor marks about the homework,”

they waved you off, barely even noticing your impending absence. you deflated a bit, but by the time you were out in the sun you felt a bit better. you’d been feeling somehow trapped and also invisible for the first twenty-odd years of your life. no one had ever seen you before, not like it didn’t in the movies. you’d been a comfortable level of lonely your entire life, and that didn’t change just because you now had a group of uni friends who shared the same ambitions as you.

but being out in the quad, with the breeze flowing through the grass, made you optimistic. there was two boys at a wooden picnic table, textbooks spread between them as they exchanged soft smiles and jokes about what they were working on. there was a group of people relaxing on the grass. a girl with headphones gazing at the clouds. a campus full of people just waiting to be befriended, and yet there you were. three years in, and still with the same group of people you didn’t click with.

you reached the building your next lecture was in, another twenty minutes until class started. the door was unlocked though, and you slipped inside quietly. professor marks was your favourite teacher, but she also wasn’t alone.

your class had about fifty students in it, so you didn’t know him by name, but you had seen the guy she was talking to. he sat in the middle of the room, answered enough questions to get the 5% participation grade but not enough that he got taken note of.

if someone had asked if you knew him, the best way to refer to him would be “the tall one.”

professor marks saw you and gave a chaste smile, turning back to your classmate to let him finish speaking. they talked for a few minutes, both nodding, before he stepped back politely to let you have your opening. however, before you got a chance to talk to her, her phone rang. “ugh,” she groaned, giving you a sympathetic look. “one second, so sorry.”

so you stayed there with what’s-his-name as your teacher stepped out of the room to take her phone call. you went to pull out your phone but got distracted by your classmate saying your name. you looked up at him, he gave you a sheepish smile. “sorry. that is your name, right? i didn’t get it wrong? that’d be embarrassing.”

you just nodded, hoping he would introduce himself. “i’m wilbur.” oh, how your prayers were answered for once. “i’ve seen you around. you’re in my geography class, aren’t you?”

god, you were embarrassing. you had noticed him in this class but not the other one. you nodded. “yeah, sorry. you’re wilbur. of course i know you. you’re in that band, right? they play in the quad sometimes?”

you were hoping it was the same wilbur. you remember thinking it was a weird name when you saw it on the poster. him and a few other names you didn’t recognise. surely there were not two people named wilbur in the one university, not with how old fashioned it was.

the relief was palpable when he nodded. “yeah! you’ve seen us play?”

“you guys are really good,” you weren’t lying this time. “you played cyberbully mom club.” wilbur’s eyes lit up. “i love them. you did a really good job. what are you doing taking geography courses when you can sing like that?”

he laughed, bring a hand up to the front of his face, fluffing his hair nervously. “someone of great taste i see. what about you? i saw one of your paintings in the exhibition in the hall. why aren’t you getting an art degree?”

you flushed, looking down. none of your friends even knew you painted, and yet there was wilbur. 6’6” wilbur with his los campesinos jumper and his scuffed doc martens, quietly loving your favourite bands and your art. “guess this just seemed right?”

“i get that. i’m a big believer of fate,” you looked back up towards him, his warm brown eyes already looking at yours behind his round glasses. people had started filtering in, and your friends were gesturing at you impatiently to come sit up the back with them. “you should go, your friends want you.”

“i don’t want them.”

you were sitting down on the end of the row before you even realised what you’d said. wilbur just laughed, taking his usual seat, eyes shining. you sat through the next ninety minutes, looking at the back of wilbur’s head.

“now, i’m going to let you guys pick groups for this project. three people, though. no groups of four. don’t even ask. i’ll give you the last fifteen minutes to work that out.”

great. a group of three. you didn’t even need to turn to your friends before they were muttering sorries, and you were stuck looking around the room for other people in your same predicament. you didn’t have to look for long, making eye contact with wilbur almost immediately. he waved you down and you hesitantly made your way down to his row.

“wanna work together?” his smile was so bright that you couldn’t even think of turning him down. he was charming, he liked the same things as you. but more than that, he saw you. he saw you better than your friends over the last three plus years did.

“i’d like nothing more, will.” you replied, and wilbur grinned. “you sure, though? you probably have other friends in this class.”

“i do,” he admitted. “however, i want to get to know you better, and i was hoping this might give me an excuse to ask you out. or, if that’s not something you’re interested in, then you are also more than welcome to join me and a few of my friends in the courtyard after class, purely platonic.”

his words were quick, but you understood every syllable. you didn’t have time to meet after class, you had a rare hour off after your last class before you needed to grab the bus to marcel’s. “i would love to, but i have work every day this week, and next week. and every week, and the bus is hours long. i’m sorry.”

wilbur nodded. “if this is your way of letting me down gently, i totally understand that. uh, but-”

“no,” you said quickly. “it is. i work seven days a week, it’s not you,” he didn’t seem convinced, still convinced you were trying to be polite. he didn’t want you to lie to him if you truly weren’t interested. you’d had one conversation, but he felt giddy when you made eye contact with him. it was dumb, probably, but he really wanted to know you better. he didn’t want to press you. you could see that, so you tried again. “however, i think my schedule’s just become more open.” you glanced upwards at where your friends were sitting a few rows back. “i’m free monday morning?”

wilbur’s face lit up, still hesitant. “you sure? because if you’re not interested then it’s fine, really. i won’t give you a hard time about it. promise. you can still meet my friends, if you’d like. or if you want to we can pretend that the other person doesn’t exist.”

“no.” you said decidedly. “i’m free monday morning, and i would love if we could meet somewhere?”

he smiled at you. “i can’t wait.” you’d never looked forward to homework so much, and from the bright look on wilbur’s face, he hadn’t either.

#wilbur #wishing i could write my name on it #wilbuh #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot

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rialikesbts · 2 years ago

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Obsessesive

Professor! Seokjin x Reader

Masterlist

"Now, just because I am giving you a worksheet does not mean that you are allowed to make noise. You can talk to each other regarding the work but do it quietly." Your college professor says, stepping away from the podium to reach his desk.

Sitting down comfortably and readjusting his glasses, Kim Seokjin took a look over his class of 70 students.

The guys at the back were busy on their phones and the girls at the front were pretending to focus on their work while sneaking glances at their young teacher and whispering among themselves, probably about how hot he looked when 'ordering' them

The thought made Seokjin smirk.Regardless he sent a look to those girls to focus on the work assigned instead of him.Looking over to the middle of the room, he saw his dedicated students who were interested in his lectures rather than his face. A smile took over his face while admiring them doing their work.

Seokjin then looked over to the left corner to see his favourite student. His smile kept on increasing at the sight.

You had put one of your elbows on the table, your squishy cheek pressed against your knuckles, headphones in your ears, as you quietly did your work.

It wasn't like you had no friends. You just prefered to work alone. Seokjin liked that about you. He liked everything about you. You were always loud, walking and running around the campus with your friends, always giggling and laughing, but when it came to your studies,you remained silent in your classes and focused on the teacher. This motivated your friends to focus in classes as well. What an angel my sweetie is.

You were on top of the class, and still helped everyone. He had seen you so many times in the courtyard, explaining concepts to not only your classmates, but also your juniors. His heart was filled with pride, watching you.

Mine. All mine.

Seokjin took a walk around the classroom, to see how far everyone had gone with his work and to help someone if they needed it. You, of course were ahead of everyone, yet he still asked if you needed any help.

"Do you need any help, miss Y/N?"

"No sir, I'm fine thank you."

"Alright, if you need any help, just raise your hand."

"Okay sir."

Although it was for a short moment, Seokjin loved it when all your attention was on him. He loved it the way you called him 'sir'. Your soft, delicate voice.

Will it still be that soft when you'll scream his name whilst underneath him?

He tried to hide his smile that was building up, to stop his dirty thoughts and to control his wild imaginations about his doll. You bad girl, you will surely get a punishment when I will have you.

"Look! Mr. Kim has that creepy smile again after talking to you." Your friend whispered in your ear as you glanced at the said man.

"I know right!Why doesn't he get the hint that I will ask him when I have a problem?This is the fourth time this week! He's honestly so creepy."You whispered.

You honestly wanted to shift to another class, but he was a great teacher. Also it's not like the college admins will believe if your teacher is creepy. He hasn't done anything like this before, nor has he touched you or anything. You had no proof.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you need a ride back home, Y/N?"

You looked up from your phone to see Mr. Kim in his bright red tesla.

Great. The more I try to avoid him, the more I have to deal with him.

You plastered a huge fake smile on your face before saying,

"Oh! It's alright Mr. Kim, the bus will be coming soon!"

"Don't worry dear, I'll drop you off at home. A pretty thing like you shouldn't be travelling in a bus."

You belong in my mansion, staying pretty, just like the doll you are.

You were creeped out by his statement of you being a 'pretty thing'.Aa if you were an object.

Pretending that you were getting a call,you placed your phone near your ear and said 'Hello' . Bowing down to your teacher, you walked away with your bag.It was the only thing you could think of to get out of the situation.

After walking a considerable distance, you removed your phone from your ear before looking back to see if your teacher's car was in sight.

Seeing the red car out of the way, you sighed in relief. Turning around, you bumped into a rock hard chest.

Moving your head up to apologize , you were shocked to see the man you had just run away from.

He no longer had a smile on his face, rather a very cold look, as if he was incredibly angry. It was the look he gave to those annoying girls in class when they kept asking him unnecessary questions. It was the look he gave to the guys at the back who did not do their work.

It was a look that said 'If you get on my nerves one more time, I will not hesitate to punish you'.

You were left as a stuttering mess before him.

"Mr. Kim.. I… you.."

He put a finger to his lips, signaling you to quiet down.He was breathing heavily as if trying to tone down his anger.

Why was he so angry?

He gripped your arm tightly, pulling you along to his car. You tried prying his hands off of you,but he was too strong.You had to resort to hitting him on his shoulder to which he pulled you closer to him, caressing your face before whispering.

"You'll get a punishment if you misbehave angel. Be a good girl. Mr Kim doesn't like bad girls."

You shivered and kept quiet.Mr Kim drove you to his luxurious apartment.He made you sit down on the couch, forcefully fed you your favourite food and made you drink orange juice. You were scared and crying but still did whatever he wanted. Maybe if you obey, he will let you go home.

You began feeling dizzy. He must have spiked the juice.

Your eyes soon began to close. You couldn't help it.Before completely passing out, you heard your captor speak.

"If you had agreed to come with me first, I would have dropped you at your home. But you were being a stubborn brat and made me angry. See angel? Your actions have consequences."

A tear escaped from your eyes.

"Now, live with me and be my doll. Let me worship and love you."

He gave you a kiss on your forehead, before picking you up and heading to his room.

A/N

Feel free to request any scenarios! I love reading and writing yandere🥰

#yanderecore #yandere oneshot #bts yandere #yandere jin x reader #jin #bts oneshots #idol singer #yandere au #x reader #professor x #teacher au #obsessive tendencies

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mingisaddctn · 9 days ago

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A Year of Fallen Petals | Spring

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Choi San Summary: San’s quiet life shifts when meeting the impulsive Wooyoung, who makes his new personal mission to break his shell. Beneath half-bloomed trees, they confront unspoken emotions, discovering the fleeting beauty of connection and the courage it takes to open up. Warnings: cussing

San had forgotten how loud the world could be.

The crisp air of early spring greeted him as he stepped off the bus, the city skyline stretching before him; familiar, yet somehow distant. It had been two years—two long years since he had left the crowded streets of Seoul for the quiet of military life. The transition from discipline to freedom felt like stepping from a dream into reality, disorienting and strange.

The streets were filled with the usual hustle of students and workers. Yet, for some reason, San felt like he was no longer a part of it. He wasn’t sure if it was the uniformity of his daily life that had made him forget the noise of the outside world, or the emptiness that lingered in his chest. He had spent his time in the military following orders, not thinking too much about what came next, because there was nothing left to think about. The path was simple: wake up, train, sleep, repeat. Aside from the crappy food that was provided—although he couldn’t complain about the kimchi they served.

Now, back in the city where time had continued to pass without him, he wasn’t sure what to do with the space he had carved out for himself. He wasn’t the same person who had left two years ago, but no one else seemed to notice that.

The campus he walked through had changed, too. The faces were younger, the vibe more vibrant. Yet it felt oddly quiet, like an unfamiliar melody playing just out of reach. He registered for his classes, knowing that there would be an introduction party later in the day—which he decided to skip.

He had set up rules to keep his peace and mind in check. His routine was strictly followed, no matter what. He had no interest in parties, going out, or joining group chats where he knew he wouldn’t save a single number. The quiet was easier, the solitude more comfortable. He preferred the predictability of his own space, the routine of studying, running, and sleeping at the same time each night. Life had become a series of small, manageable tasks—things he could control. Anything beyond that was a disruption he didn’t need.

That’s why he went to the military earlier than most of his peers. He rejoiced in routine, and that was his mantra.

Two weeks had passed since he stepped foot back on campus, and nothing had changed. His routine remained untouched. Mornings spent in the library, afternoons buried in his notes, evenings jogging around the campus trails. He kept his distance from the chaos, navigating through the crowds without getting involved. Yet, despite his best efforts, the world around him felt louder, more demanding. People had a way of intruding, like that one classmate who insisted on dragging him into group dates or the random invitations to lunch that always came with a smile he couldn’t ignore. But the biggest disturbance had yet to come.

9AM, his first class of the day. He’d heard around that this professor had a reputation for pushing through group projects all semester, but since it was a mandatory class, San had nowhere to run. Mr. Hwang was fiddling with the slides of his PowerPoint presentation when the door suddenly busted open, revealing a guy wearing a big red hoodie that covered his face. Everyone jumped at the sound for a second, only to go back to their routine quickly, as if nothing had happened—or as if this was a regular occurrence.

Mr. Hwang peered over his glasses, took in the sight of the newcomer, and pointed toward the empty seats without another thought. The student gave a small bow, turned on his heel, and walked in.

San was confused. He was sure that rules hadn’t changed so drastically since he came back, had they? For another student to come into class late, without even offering an excuse? Why did no one seem to care?

The guy climbed up the seats and chose to sit two chairs from him, tossing his bag onto the desk and leaning into it, finding comfort in the sleeves of his hoodie like a pillow. San decided not to let the distraction affect him any further—it couldn’t. He kept his eyes fixed on the lecture slides, pretending the rustling of papers and the occasional chuckles behind him didn’t exist. But even as he focused, there was a persistent weight at the back of his mind—the quiet hum of someone too close, too alive in a way that made San’s own stillness feel more like a cage.

The other guy didn’t seem to notice his discomfort—or maybe he did, but he didn’t stop. His presence was made known by the hum of a song from his earbuds, or the way he lay face down at his desk while everyone else paid attention to the slides on the whiteboard, as if he wasn’t bound by the same rules of distance everyone else followed.

The humming kept going, and San couldn’t concentrate anymore. It was almost silent, but it felt like screams in the back of his ears. He couldn’t take it any longer. He put down his pen, cleared his throat, and turned to call the guy out. Just as he did, the guy popped his head up, eyes drowsy from what seemed like a nap, and suddenly, San had no words.

Their gazes met—his unfocused at first, then sharpening into something teasing. The guy’s lips curved up into a lazy smile, and for a moment, San felt a tightness in his chest. He blinked slowly, like he was savoring the moment. The audacity of it—it was as if he had known San would turn around, as if he was waiting for this exact moment to catch him off guard.

San opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat suddenly felt dry, and for a split second, he forgot why he had been annoyed in the first place. He was stunned. Despite the guy’s clear lack of concern for the class, there was something about him that radiated this bright energy. Skin so smooth, it almost looked like a peach. His dark, long hair framed a strong jawline, and a small mole sat right beneath his right eye, another on his lower lip. Features so striking, they made San’s head spin for a moment.

The guy blinked once, twice, and the smirk grew sharper, as though he could read San’s thoughts like a children’s book.

“Is there something on my face?” The boy asked, leaning his head sideways on his arms once more. His voice was coarse but still smooth, like melted butter, slipping effortlessly into San’s mind. He couldn’t grasp the reality of this interaction.

“Uhh… no,” San cleared his throat and quickly broke eye contact. He was afraid his soul would be stolen and sold if he kept looking. “Could you—Could you keep the humming... down?”

Class was still going, but the voice of the professor and the rustling of papers around them felt muffled, as if they were having this conversation underwater. Everything else faded between waves.

“Oh, I didn’t notice I was humming,” He said, his smile widening, now more genuine than teasing.

San just nodded, still avoiding eye contact, afraid of what might happen to him if he dared look again. There was something about this guy—his energy, his ease, the way he filled the space without trying—that felt overwhelming, almost magnetic.

“I’m Wooyoung,” the boy said suddenly, as if introductions were an afterthought or just a formality he didn’t care for. Something about the way he spoke made it seem like he never really expected a reply, yet the air between them hung with an unspoken demand.

“San,” he finally mumbled, keeping his voice low and steady. It felt like handing over a piece of himself he hadn’t intended to share.

Wooyoung grinned, satisfied. “San,” he repeated, as if testing the name, letting it roll off his tongue with a casual intimacy that made San’s shoulders stiffen. “You look like a San,” he chuckled. “Big like a mountain. Scary.”

“I’m not scary,” San said, more out of reflex than intent.

“There it is!” Wooyoung laughed, his voice bright and sharp. “You can talk. Thought I was dealing with a true mountain for a second.”

San felt the corner of his mouth twitch—a tiny crack in the armor he’d built around himself. But he didn’t respond, didn’t let himself get pulled further into whatever game Wooyoung was playing.

“Well, statue or not,” Wooyoung continued, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world, “you’ve got my attention now. And just so you know, I don’t lose interest easily.”

San’s heart sank. He didn’t know whether to interpret that as a threat or a promise, but something told him life was about to get a lot less quiet.

The next morning, San woke up and went to the gym, only to find a printed sign that it was closed for the day. He decided to go for a jog instead. The weather was dull and foggy, and he could feel the dryness forming in his nose—a sure sign of spring allergies hitting him like a truck. As he rushed to class, a sudden wave of rain decided it would unleash its fury on him, soaking him through and ruining the gel he’d painstakingly applied to his hair. To top it all off, he slipped into a muddy puddle while getting off the bus, now sporting brown stains on both knees.

It felt like a warning, like the flow of his life was about to change, and he was the only one who hadn’t gotten the memo. The universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. Between the rain, the mud, and his ruined hair, San couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that his carefully ordered routine was cracking at the edges.

San groaned under his breath as he trudged across campus, water dripping from his soaked jacket, his shoes squelching with every step. His jeans clung uncomfortably to his legs, and the mud stains on his knees had begun to dry, forming a crusty reminder of the morning's disasters. Students passing by gave him a wide berth, some glancing his way with mild amusement or pity, others pretending not to notice.

He wiped his hands on his damp jeans as he stepped into the lecture hall, shivering slightly from the cold of a crisp spring morning. His usual seat in the back corner was taken, forcing him to awkwardly find another spot near the center of the room—exposed and uncomfortable.

Just as he opened his notebook, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Well, look who decided to wrestle with the weather and lose big time.”

San didn’t have to turn around to know it was Wooyoung. The teasing hint in his voice was unmistakable.

“Not now,” San muttered, keeping his gaze fixed on his notebook. He was annoyed enough as it was.

“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung said, sliding into the seat next to him without waiting for an invitation. “You’re a walking metaphor today. A tragic hero, defeated by nature. It’s kind of poetic, honestly.”

San shot him a sidelong glance, his patience wearing thin. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Wooyoung grinned, unfazed. “Nope. You’re the most interesting person here.”

San didn’t respond, opting instead to scribble a few nonsensical lines in his notebook. But Wooyoung leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to make San’s skin prickle.

“You know,” he said, a hint of sincerity breaking through the teasing, “days like these usually mean something’s about to change. Maybe for the better.”

San finally turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not seriously trying to turn this into some kind of omen, are you?”

Wooyoung shrugged, his grin returning. “Hey, I’m just saying. Life’s full of surprises. Sometimes you have to get a little muddy to find out where you’re supposed to be.”

San stared at him for a moment, unsure whether to be annoyed or intrigued. Wooyoung was unpredictable, like the sudden rainstorm that had wrecked his morning. And, much like the storm, it seemed San had no choice but to endure him.

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Wooyoung rummaged through his pockets and placed something on top of San’s doodled cube. It was a lemon-flavored lollipop.

“What… is this?” San asked, his tone a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“A peace offering,” Wooyoung said with a casual shrug, leaning back in his chair like he hadn’t just invaded San’s personal space for the third time that day. “Or a bribe. Your pick.”

San frowned. “A bribe for what?”

“To stop glaring at me like I’ve ruined your entire existence,” Wooyoung replied, grinning as he propped his chin on his hand. “You were about to combust back there.”

San glanced between the lollipop and Wooyoung, trying to decide whether to be irritated or amused. It didn’t matter. Wooyoung was already leaning forward again, his smile widening like he’d won some imaginary game.

“Go on,” Wooyoung said, nodding toward the lollipop. “It’s good for focus, or so they say. Think of it as my contribution to your routine.”

San bit the inside of his cheek, debating whether to shove the lollipop back at him or just leave it. Eventually, he sighed and picked it up, spinning the stick between his fingers. “Lemon’s not my favorite,” he muttered. “And I’m on a diet.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Not your favorite? You wound me, San.”

San didn’t respond, instead carefully tucking the lollipop into the corner of his notebook, where it would remain untouched. But as he returned to his notes, he couldn’t shake the faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

The next day was more of the same—waking up with a congested nose, slipping in the shower, and the rain never stopped pouring. The universe seemed to be in sync with his mood, and he just wanted to work out to clear his mind. But the thought of his gym clothes clinging to his skin made him remember the small rashes he’d gotten behind his legs yesterday. To top it off, he forgot his contacts and had to wear the old pair of glasses he carried around for emergencies, even though the prescription wasn’t right, making him feel dizzy.

“Two coffees coming up—mine with whipped cream, ‘cause I’m a sweet boy, and yours is bitter as your personality,” Wooyoung’s voice rang in his ears as he sat down. He didn’t even try for the seat in the back, as if sitting next to San was now part of his daily routine. How he managed to intrude into San’s strictly organized life, he couldn’t make sense.

“I actually like whipped cream,” San said, hesitantly taking the coffee Wooyoung offered.

Wooyoung quickly switched the cups, without thinking. “Have mine, then.”

But before San could take it from him, Wooyoung opened the lid, dipped his finger into the cream, and stuck it into his mouth casually, his trademark smirk forming once more. “Here you go.”

San stared for a moment, flabbergasted, before taking the coffee anyway.

As if their conversations were an invite, Wooyoung started following him everywhere. At lunch, he always sat beside San, his tray piled high with enough food to feed a small colony. San didn’t know why, but he didn’t mind the company—at least Wooyoung respected his silence. In the crowded cafeteria, with the buzz of chatter filling the air, Wooyoung’s presence was oddly comforting, like an anchor amid the chaos. He never forced conversation, never tried to fill the gaps with meaningless chatter, but his constant humming, low and steady, followed San like an unwelcome shadow.

When the lectures ended, Wooyoung would trail behind him to the library. He didn’t ask if San wanted company; he just showed up, earbuds in, eyes glancing over his shoulder occasionally as if checking to make sure San hadn’t disappeared into thin air. Once settled, he’d plop down next to San—not too close, but close enough that his humming seemed to permeate every space between them. The music wasn’t loud, but it was always there—becoming the soundtrack to their strange, developing routine. A relationship, San thought, that didn’t even have a name yet. It felt like one of those things you couldn’t define until it was too late—until it had already settled into your veins, and everything outside of it felt unfamiliar.

San tried to focus on his work, but every time he glanced over, there was Wooyoung—humming, tapping his fingers against the desk, looking far too comfortable for someone who wasn’t even trying to study. It was irritating, but oddly compelling. San would never admit it, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so... distracted.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. The words were already on the tip of his tongue. He put his pen down, silently cursing the fact that his brain had decided to focus on Wooyoung of all people, and glanced over at him.

“Aren’t you going to study?” San’s voice came out quieter than he meant it to, a little more exasperated than he intended.

Wooyoung, still half-dozing with his earbuds in, pulled one out lazily and blinked up at him. “Don’t feel like it,” he answered, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. He didn’t even try to explain himself.

San narrowed his eyes. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Following you,” Wooyoung said, as if the answer were self-explanatory. He tilted his head, the hint of a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “What does it look like?”

San stared at him for a beat, taking in the nonchalance, the easy confidence Wooyoung wore like a second skin. He didn’t get it. The guy was a walking contradiction—half disinterested in everything around him, yet somehow always there, demanding San’s attention in ways he didn’t understand.

San’s gaze flickered down to his notes, then back at Wooyoung. “You’re annoying,” he muttered, trying to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. He quickly returned to his papers, pretending Wooyoung’s presence didn’t bother him, that he wasn’t acutely aware of every shift, every movement in the space between them.

Wooyoung laughed softly, leaning back in his chair and stretching, his hoodie falling slightly off one shoulder. “But still, you’re always paying attention to me,” he said, his voice teasing, light as air.

San froze, his pen hovering mid-air, the words sinking in before he could stop them. Paying attention? He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want to be focusing on anything else—or anyone—let alone someone like Wooyoung, who had the uncanny ability to slip under his train of thought without even trying.

“What?” San’s voice came out sharper than he intended. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Wooyoung replied without hesitation, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He leaned forward a bit, eyes gleaming with that mischievous glint San was starting to hate—because deep down, he knew that Wooyoung was already getting under his skin. “You’re just as curious about me as I am about you.”

San blinked, unsure of how to respond. He hated the idea of being noticed for standing out, of making waves when all he wanted was peace, to blend in, to keep his routine and his quiet life intact.

“Sounds to me like you’re delusional,” San said, trying to sound dismissive, but even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Maybe,” Wooyoung said with a shrug, still grinning. “But you’re the one who’s making a big deal out of it.”

San rolled his eyes and turned back to his notebook, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the way his heartbeat quickened whenever Wooyoung was near. He hated it. He hated how easily Wooyoung could throw him off course, how his presence had a way of turning everything upside down.

But San couldn’t deny it—part of him wanted to understand why Wooyoung was so relentless, so fearless in the way he followed him, in the way he refused to let San retreat into his shell. Part of him was curious, and curiosity was always a dangerous path.

Wooyoung hummed again, and this time, San couldn’t ignore it. It was like a knot tightening in his chest, one he couldn’t unravel. The lollipop from earlier still sat, untouched, in the middle of his notebook. He wasn’t sure why, but he found himself wishing he had taken it, if only to feel what it was like to break free from the rigid pattern he’d created for himself. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel so trapped.

It had been almost a month of this. He felt like Wooyoung had become a tick lodged under his skin, draining him of his energy and disrupting the flow of his day. It didn’t feel normal anymore to leave class without seeing him leaning against the door, earbuds tucked in, humming that same low, almost poetic hum. It had started infiltrating his dreams. Wooyoung waited for him like a silent shadow, only to trail behind him as soon as they stepped out of the lecture hall.

But on Wednesday, he was nowhere to be found.

San scoffed under his breath, feeling a strange sense of relief, as though he had finally shaken off his persistent shadow. He could go through the day uninterrupted, focus on his own routine for once. For the first time in ages, there was no one beside him, no one invading his space with that relentless hum.

Yet, as the day passed, an unfamiliar feeling settled in, one he couldn’t shake. By the time he was halfway through his afternoon lecture, he felt a strange emptiness spreading across his chest, a dull ache in his ribs. It was as though he were missing something—someone.

He caught himself glancing at the door a few times, half-expecting Wooyoung to appear, to resume his role as the unwanted companion.

But he didn’t.

San scoffed again, though it was more bitter this time. He missed it. Missed the hum, the presence, the strange, almost comforting routine Wooyoung had unknowingly woven into his day.

He had been treating Wooyoung like a nuisance, but a comforting one, and he had grown used to it, somehow. Now, with that piece of his routine gone, he felt the absence like a phantom limb. His usual quiet days were... quieter than they should have been, as if the background noise that had been so constant had suddenly gone silent.

Why does it even matter? San muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, but the words felt hollow.

“Your friend didn’t show up today, huh?” A voice cut through his thoughts. San glanced up, surprised to find a small girl sitting beside him, her eyes focused on the notebook in front of her. He hadn’t even noticed her before.

“We’re not friends,” San spat, his tone more defensive than he intended.

The girl blinked, pausing mid-motion as she placed the tip of her pen to her mouth, clearly confused. “It’s weird, though,” she murmured, furrowing her brows. “He never really shows up to class. He must really like you.”

San's jaw clenched. He wasn’t in the mood for this kind of conversation. He wasn’t sure why, but something about her comment made him uncomfortable. Maybe it was the way she spoke so casually about Wooyoung, as if they had some kind of relationship, some shared understanding.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, trying to brush the topic off, but it felt like an odd thing to explain. “He just keeps following me around.”

She seemed to notice his tone but didn’t press him. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, I see. He must be quite the character, huh?”

San didn’t answer right away. “Quite the character” was the perfect description for Wooyoung. He was someone who refused to be defined by any single trait, someone who couldn’t be ignored. And now, for reasons San couldn’t fully understand, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“You could say that,” San replied quietly, his gaze drifting back to his notes. But the words hung in the air, unwelcome yet undeniable. He didn’t want to think about Wooyoung right now—especially not with some stranger making assumptions about him.

The girl shifted in her seat, sensing the change in the atmosphere. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she said with a small, apologetic smile. “I just... well, I thought I saw you two together a lot. You seemed close.”

San froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. Close? What did that even mean anymore? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to be.

“We’re not,” he said, more firmly this time. “We just... have the same classes, that’s all.”

The girl nodded, accepting his response without further comment. But something in the air had shifted. It wasn’t just about whether they were friends or not—it was the feeling that something had been missed, something San wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“Okay,” she said softly, returning her attention to her notes. But San couldn’t focus on his own. His mind lingered on the absence that had crept up on him today. Wooyoung’s absence.

The silence felt heavier than it had before, more isolating.

By the time he made his way home that evening, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought. What was it about Wooyoung? Why did he feel this strange sense of displacement? Was it just the habit of having him around? Or had Wooyoung somehow gotten under his skin without even trying?

San sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he collapsed onto his bed. He was being ridiculous, he knew that. It wasn’t like Wooyoung was anything special. Just some guy who liked to hover and annoy him for reasons San couldn’t even begin to understand. And yet, the weight of the silence that surrounded him now felt heavier than he had ever thought it would.

He went to the gym and spent the rest of the evening studying, though his mind kept wandering.

[...]

Wooyoung was early this time, after three days of no-shows. He leaned back in his chair, the same red hoodie from when they first met comforting him against the sharp winds of early spring. San felt a small warmth spreading in his chest, but he kept his cool as he sat down beside him.

The humming permeated his ears softly, and seeing Wooyoung lost in his own world, San sneaked glances. Wooyoung looked paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes, and kept sniffing. San thought of offering him the tissues he always carried, but the thought of disturbing his peace felt unbearable—the irony.

As San rifled through his bag, his grip slipped, and it fell to the floor with a loud clang that echoed through the quiet classroom. The sound shattered the stillness, pulling Wooyoung out of whatever bubble he had been lost in.

“Fuck, that scared the shit out of me,” Wooyoung exclaimed, tugging his earbuds out and clutching his chest in mock drama, letting out a theatrical breath.

“Sorry,” San muttered, quickly bending down to retrieve his bag, his ears burning under the attention. He crouched, hastily shoving his scattered supplies back into place, carefully avoiding the gaze that seemed to be boring into him.

But in his haste, he forgot about the old lemon-flavored lollipop buried deep in one of the bag’s pockets. It tumbled out and rolled in a slow, deliberate arc, coming to a stop near Wooyoung’s foot.

“What’s this?” Wooyoung asked, leaning forward to pick it up, his tone tinged with amusement. He held it between two fingers, inspecting it like a curious artifact.

San straightened, ready to dismiss it, but Wooyoung’s teasing grin stopped him cold.

“You kept it?” Wooyoung quipped, shaking the lollipop slightly for emphasis. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I just forgot to throw it out,” San said flatly, his voice betraying a hint of irritation. He reached out to grab it, but Wooyoung pulled it back, holding it just out of reach.

“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung said, laughing softly. “It’s a sign!”

“More like a coincidence,” San grumbled, snatching it back and shoving it into his bag without a second thought.

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “Sure, sure. But I’m flattered, you know? Didn’t peg you for the soft-hearted type.”

“It’s not that deep,” San muttered, stuffing the lollipop back into his bag like it was nothing. But the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him, and he could already feel Wooyoung’s amused gaze lingering far too long for his liking.

“Sure, it’s not,” Wooyoung said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. His voice carried a teasing lilt that both frustrated and oddly disarmed San. “You’re welcome, by the way. For brightening your day... or life. Whatever.”

San sighed heavily, more at himself for engaging than at Wooyoung. “It was a lemon-flavored lollipop, not some grand gesture.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung said, his grin widening. “And yet, here we are, having a whole moment about it. Fascinating, isn’t it? Also, you owe me one now.”

“For what?”

“Well,” Wooyoung began, crossing his arms and leaning in just enough to invade San’s space, “I gave you such a good gift that you kept it close to your heart—literally, in your bag. Now it’s your turn to make it up to me.”

San stared at him, unimpressed. “It’s a lollipop.”

“A lemon lollipop,” Wooyoung corrected, as though that made all the difference.

San rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the corner of his mouth twitching upward for a fleeting moment. “You’re ridiculous.��

“And yet, here I am,” Wooyoung echoed his earlier words with a smug tone. “So, what’ll it be? Coffee? Snacks? Your undying gratitude?”

“I think you’ve got enough undying gratitude for the both of us,” San muttered, turning back to his notebook.

“Don’t avoid the question, San,” Wooyoung teased, leaning in even closer. His presence was warm and oddly grounding. Despite how invasive it should have felt, it didn’t bother San as much as he expected.

After a beat, San sighed, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk. “Fine. I’ll get you a coffee or whatever—just stop hovering.”

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up, and he leaned back with exaggerated triumph. “See? Was that so hard? I knew you cared.”

San groaned, fixing his eyes firmly on his notebook, trying to will away the flush creeping up his neck. But Wooyoung’s satisfied laughter lingered, and, annoyingly, San didn’t entirely mind it.

He didn’t dignify that with a response, instead scribbling nonsense in the corner of his notebook. Yet, as much as he tried to ignore Wooyoung, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his presence—his humming, his relentless teasing, and that stupid grin that somehow made everything feel... lighter.

San groaned again, resting his forehead against the notebook. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am,” Wooyoung said, his voice light and unapologetic. “You haven’t told me to leave yet.”

San wanted to argue, to say that Wooyoung was wrong—but he couldn’t. And maybe that was the most frustrating part of all.

“Seriously, though. If you ever decide to bring me something for real—like, I don’t know, a coffee or a heartfelt letter—you should text me first. I’ve got standards.”

San snorted softly, still not looking at him. “Why would I text you? We don’t even talk.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Wooyoung smirked. “But here—just in case.”

Before San could protest, Wooyoung pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped at the screen a few times, and slid it across the desk toward him.

San stared at it, unimpressed. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Wooyoung leaned forward, chin propped on his hand, looking far too smug. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Or, you know, at least convenient—for all your non-snack deliveries.”

San sighed, clearly unimpressed but too tired to argue. He picked up the phone, fingers hesitating for a second before typing in his number.

“There,” he said, handing it back. “Don’t expect me to answer.”

“Noted,” Wooyoung replied, already grinning as he saved the contact with a dramatic flourish. “Now I’ve got to think of a name for you. Let’s see... ‘Lollipop Guy’? Nah, too obvious. ‘Silent Mountain’? Kind of cool, but—”

“Just use my name,” San interrupted flatly, returning to his notes.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Wooyoung teased, but San refused to give him any more reaction.

As San tried to refocus, Wooyoung’s humming returned, low and melodic, blending seamlessly into the background. And though San didn’t want to admit it, the sound felt less distracting and more... comfortable now.

Scribbling half-hearted notes in the margins of his page, his phone buzzed softly in his pocket.

Wooyoung (Tick): Iced, vanilla cream, and lots and lots of whipped cream.

San glanced at the message and shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. Maybe “next time” wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[...]

Wooyoung had found a way to seamlessly insert himself into San’s meticulously structured routine. It wasn’t what San had envisioned for this semester—far from it—but it was what he got. And somewhere along the way, he’d stopped having the energy—or perhaps the will—to complain.

Every morning, Wooyoung would be waiting at his desk like a modern-day Hachiko, earbuds in, humming a tune San could never quite place. More often than not, he came armed with a stash of snacks and candies that seemed far too excessive for a single person. “Breakfast of champions,” Wooyoung would quip as he dumped them onto San’s desk, ignoring the half-hearted protests that always followed.

“You can’t keep eating this garbage,” San would mutter, holding up a pack of strawberry gummies like it were evidence of a crime.

“Says the guy who finishes half of it,” Wooyoung shot back, popping a gummy into his mouth with a grin. And as much as San wanted to roll his eyes, he couldn’t deny the truth in the statement.

They’d snack together before class started, trading barbs about each other’s diets while unwrapping candy after candy. At lunch, Wooyoung would somehow talk him into piling an extra dish onto his tray, insisting, “You’re too skinny, San. Let me take care of you”—ironic, since San was almost twice his size—and despite his grumbling, San always ended up eating whatever Wooyoung offered, as if the food tasted better coming from him.

Even during their late-night study sessions at the library, Wooyoung was a constant. They’d sit in the same corner, surrounded by books and notes, drinking too much coffee and eating enough sugar to fuel an entire city. It was during those moments, when exhaustion crept in and the candy wrappers piled up between them, that Wooyoung would lean back in his chair and start talking—about everything and nothing. San learned more about him in those quiet hours than he ever expected.

He learned that Wooyoung hated the sound of alarm clocks and had trained himself to wake up a minute before his went off only to fall back asleep once more. That he loved dogs but had never owned one. That he couldn’t eat spicy food but always ordered it anyway, because he loved the thrill of suffering through it. That his favorite color changed weekly, depending on his mood, but green and red always made the top three. That he had a younger brother he loved with all his heart, always praising him at any chance he got.

And when they finally parted ways for the night, always with the promise of seeing each other again the next morning, San would find his phone buzzing with notifications. Without fail, Wooyoung would send him a string of dog memes, followed by a simple “good night, nerd.” San never replied, but his lips would twitch into a small smile before he turned off the screen.

It had only been a month, but Wooyoung had woven himself into San’s life with an ease that felt almost startling. His routines—once rigid and predictable—were now punctuated by laughter, teasing, and the steady hum of Wooyoung’s presence. It wasn’t what San had planned, but he couldn’t deny that it felt... different. Not bad. Just different.

San wasn’t used to this kind of closeness, this relentless warmth that Wooyoung seemed to radiate without effort. He wasn’t used to anyone, really, not in the way the other boy had inserted himself so casually into his life.

He had always valued solitude, not just because he preferred it—he needed it. Growing up in a quiet household, where silence stretched across rooms like an unwelcome guest, he’d learned early how to keep to himself. His father’s job took him overseas for long stretches, and his mother, though kind, always seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts. San didn’t resent them for it; it was just how things were.

He found comfort in the predictability of routine, in the small rituals that gave his days structure. By the time he reached high school, he’d perfected the art of being self-sufficient. He was the kind of student who always showed up early, color-coded his notes, and planned his study schedule weeks in advance. He didn’t go to parties or linger after school for idle chatter. His classmates had learned to stop asking him to join; he wasn’t rude about it, but firm enough to cut them off.

Even the military service, which many dreaded, had been a kind of refuge for San. It was strict, regimented, full of rules—everything he thrived on. While others counted down the days until they could leave, San felt an odd sense of comfort knowing exactly what to expect every day.

But now? Now, everything felt just a little off-kilter.

Wooyoung didn’t fit into his world neatly. He didn’t follow rules or schedules. He didn’t respect personal space or boundaries. And yet, somehow, he didn’t feel like an intrusion either.

Wooyoung was the opposite of everything San had worked so hard to build for himself: loud, chaotic, unpredictable. But maybe that was why it felt so hard to push him away.

San leaned back in his chair, staring down at the mess of notes in front of him. He hadn’t touched them in the last ten minutes, too distracted by the lingering sound of Wooyoung’s humming.

How does he do that? San muttered to himself, the words barely audible.

But the answer, if there was one, wasn’t something he could find in his notes. Maybe it was in the way Wooyoung laughed too loudly at his own jokes, or the way he always seemed to know when San needed a moment to breathe—even if San didn’t realize it himself.

For the first time in years, San’s routine didn’t feel like a prison. It felt... flexible.

And that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

Just before he decided to lay on his pillow and forget about all those lingering thoughts, his phone buzzed once more, lighting up the screen with what could be some kind of answer to his newfound misery.

Wooyoung (Tick): what are u up to rn?

[...]

San couldn’t stop mentally beating himself up, from the moment he jumped out of bed to the second he stepped off the bus, finding himself standing in front of a brightly lit, slightly rundown tent. The garish red fabric swayed gently in the cool spring breeze, glowing like a lantern under the yellow streetlights. He glanced around, feeling the soft hum of the city even this late on a Thursday night. The air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of fried food and cigarette smoke, and his nose tingled from the contrast of warmth and chill. He tugged his jacket tighter around his chest, as if the fabric could shield him from his uncertainty.

Do I step inside, or should I wait for him to come out?

The thought looped in his mind as he hesitated on the uneven pavement. The tent stirred a vague sense of familiarity, reminiscent of his military days. But instead of the muted greens and strict uniformity of army camps, this one was all chaos—a haphazard setup of plastic stools and tables, the clinking of soju bottles, and laughter spilling into the streets in drunken waves. Smoke rose from the grill station like a signal fire, carrying the scent of fried food that looked more like culinary dares than actual meals.

San scanned the faces inside, hoping for something—or someone—familiar. Nothing. Just groups of people packed tightly around tables, their cheeks flushed from alcohol and the heat of the grill. He shifted on his feet, feeling a little out of place, unsure why he was even here.

Well, he knew why. Or rather, who.

Wooyoung had sent him a single, cryptic message earlier: “Come find me. I’m at the tent near the station. You’ll know it when you see it.” No further details, no explanation. Just that.

And yet, San had come. Against his better judgment, against the pull of his comfortable bed and beloved routine, he’d taken the bus to this unfamiliar part of town.

His eyes darted to the tent’s entrance again. The red flaps shifted as someone pushed through, and for a second, he thought it might be Wooyoung. But it wasn’t. San stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, letting out a soft sigh as he debated whether to stay.

He could feel his unease creeping in, a familiar companion he’d long learned to manage but never quite conquer. His instincts told him to turn around, to leave before he was pulled into whatever chaotic scene Wooyoung had waiting for him. But something else—something he couldn’t name—kept his feet planted firmly on the ground.

Taking a slow breath, he muttered under his breath, “This better be worth it, Wooyoung.”

And with that, he took a hesitant step forward, brushing past the red flaps and into the warmth and noise of the tent. He scanned the room more carefully this time, looking for the familiar dark mop of hair, the cocky grin that always seemed one second away from saying something outrageous. Still nothing.

A passing server carrying a tray of skewers brushed past him, jolting him out of his thoughts. “You’re in the way,” she muttered with a tired smile, barely glancing at him as she weaved through the tables.

San stepped further in, the heat from the grills prickling at his cheeks. He didn’t belong here. Every fiber of his being screamed that. And yet, he kept walking, weaving awkwardly through the maze of chairs and people.

Finally, near the back of the tent, he spotted him.

Wooyoung was perched on a stool with one leg propped up on the seat, his elbow resting lazily on his knee. He was surrounded by a small group of people, all laughing at something he’d just said. Even from this distance, San could see the way his face lit up, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

San’s first instinct was to turn around and leave. Wooyoung looked like he belonged here, like he thrived in this chaos. San, on the other hand, felt like an outsider—a rigid, unwelcome guest in a world that wasn’t his.

But before he could make up his mind, Wooyoung’s head turned, and their eyes met.

It was instant recognition. The boy’s grin widened as he waved San over, completely oblivious—or maybe indifferent—to how out of place San looked.

“There you are!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise like a beacon. He leaned back in his chair, motioning for San to join him. “Took you long enough. I was about to send out a search party.”

San swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move. As he approached, the people around Wooyoung glanced up, their faces ranging from curiosity to indifference. There were three other guys with him, one of them—a guy with bleached hair and a pierced eyebrow—was too busy lighting up a cigarette. The guy next to him had his dark hair falling over his eyes as he kept fishing for the biggest rice cake in the pot. The other one, with chestnut hair, was crouched down, playing with a stray cat.

“What is this?” San muttered when he finally reached Wooyoung, keeping his voice low.

“This?” Wooyoung gestured broadly at the tent, the people, the chaos. “This is life, my friend. Now sit down before you scare everyone off with that brooding face of yours.”

San sighed, reluctantly pulling out a stool and sitting at the edge of the group. He felt painfully out of place, but Wooyoung didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Relax,” Wooyoung said, sliding a skewer of fishcake toward San. “You look like you’re about to bolt. Just try it. Trust me, it’s good.”

San stared at the skewer, then at Wooyoung, who watched him with an expression so expectant, it bordered on a dare. Resigned, San picked it up and took a bite.

Of course, he’d tasted fishcakes and rice cakes before. Who hadn’t? But under Wooyoung’s unwavering gaze, it felt like his reaction carried the weight of a thousand unspoken judgments. The slightest twitch of his face might determine whether Wooyoung would burst out laughing or call him a culinary genius for appreciating street food.

He chewed thoughtfully, then nodded once. “It’s good.”

Wooyoung grinned, clearly satisfied. “Knew it. Now drink the soup.”

A paper cup filled to the brim with steaming broth was thrust into San’s hands. The warmth seeped through the thin material, making his fingers tingle. He brought it to his lips, careful not to spill, and took a sip. The savory warmth of the fishcake soup enveloped him, spreading through his chest like a comforting embrace. He let out a quiet, involuntary “ah.”

It wasn’t like this was his first time drinking fishcake soup—it was a staple of his childhood days. But something about the setting made it taste different. The mix of sizzling grills, drunken laughter, and the city air carried a strange magic. It warmed more than his belly—it chipped away at the guarded walls he’d built around himself.

Wooyoung leaned back with a satisfied smirk, as if the entire experience had gone exactly as he’d planned. “See? You’re already getting the hang of this.” He gestured toward the group of guys around them. “And now, Sannie, let me introduce you to my entourage.”

He pointed at the blonde guy, who had an easygoing smile and a half-eaten skewer in hand. “This is Seonghwa.” Then at the smaller guy beside him, still fishing through the broth for a stray rice cake. “That’s Hongjoong.” Finally, he nodded toward a quieter presence at the end of the table. “And the one currently attempting to befriend that stray cat is Yeosang.”

San gave them a polite bow, his default response to meeting new people. “Nice to meet you.”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong returned the gesture with warm smiles, murmuring greetings before returning to their food. Yeosang, however, didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his soft, almond-shaped eyes locking with San’s.

Time slowed.

San couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly disarmed by a stranger’s gaze. Yeosang had the kind of beauty that didn’t seem real—like he’d walked out of a painting. His delicate features held an otherworldly quality, but his demeanor was calm, almost detached.

San realized he’d been staring too long when Yeosang tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.

“He has that effect on people,” Wooyoung teased, snapping San out of his trance.

Heat surged to San’s face as he quickly looked away, gripping the paper cup as though it might ground him. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Wooyoung interrupted with a grin, clearly enjoying himself.

But Yeosang didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand as he continued to study San. “Are you a friend of Wooyoung’s?” he asked, his voice low and melodic.

San stumbled over his words. “Uh, not exactly—”

“Of course we are,” Wooyoung cut in, slinging an arm around San’s shoulder and pulling him closer. “We’re practically inseparable. Isn’t that right, Sannie?”

San sighed, unsure whether to protest or let it go. He chose the easier route. “If you say so.”

The group laughed, the sound mingling with the hum of the night around them. And as San sipped his soup and let himself be drawn into their easy camaraderie, he realized something strange.

He didn’t feel like an outsider. Not completely, anyway.

“Still, all of you nerds love meee” Wooyoung leaned towards Yeosang and gave him a peck on the cheek, as if it was the most normal thing between the two, making San’s heart skip a beat.

The thought lingered as they continued to eat, Wooyoung piling more skewers onto San’s plate despite his protests. The noise and chaos didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt… comforting.

After Hongjoong finished the last piece of tteokbokki with a triumphant grin, Wooyoung clapped his hands loudly. “Alright, round two! Let’s make it interesting this time.”

He gestured to the stall owner, ordering another plate of tteokbokki and, to San’s surprise, a few bottles of soju.

“Drinking on a Thursday?” San asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why not?" Wooyoung responded, already unscrewing the cap of a bottle with practiced ease. "The weekend starts when you decide it does. Besides, this is how we bond, Sannie. Food and drinks bring people together."

Seonghwa rolled his eyes but reached for a shot glass. "You say that every time, Woo."

"Because it's true." Wooyoung poured the first shot for himself, then one for San. Yeosang looked a bit worried, but San couldn't quite figure out why. "Here. You can't sit there all night like a stick in the mud. Take one."

San hesitated, staring at the small glass filled to the brim. Drinking wasn't exactly on his to-do list, and he could almost hear his mother’s voice scolding him for wasting time on such frivolities.

But then Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise in his head—playful but insistent. "Come on, one shot won’t kill you. Or are you scared?"

San frowned. "I’m not scared."

"Prove it," Wooyoung challenged, raising his glass in a toast.

With a resigned sigh, San clinked his glass against Wooyoung’s. The liquid burned as it slid down, leaving a warm, fiery trail. Wooyoung cheered, and the rest of the group followed suit, pouring their own drinks and raising their glasses high.

San placed his empty glass down, pressing his lips into a tight line as he fought to hide the grimace. The taste was harsh—bitter and sharp—nothing like the ease with which everyone else seemed to drink.

"You okay there?" Wooyoung asked, leaning closer with a grin. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"I’m fine," San muttered, clearing his throat. He wasn’t about to admit the last time he’d had alcohol was years ago, back in high school. Just a single sip from a dusty bottle in his dad’s office. Movies made drinking look glamorous, but that bitter taste had convinced him otherwise.

"Good," Wooyoung said, already refilling San’s glass. "Because you’re taking another one."

San opened his mouth to protest, but Seonghwa interrupted. "You’ll get used to it," he said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "First couple of drinks always taste terrible."

"Speak for yourself," Hongjoong chimed in, leaning back in his chair. "I liked it from the start. Maybe San just needs better company to enjoy it."

Yeosang, who had been quiet until now, tilted his head slightly. "Or maybe he’s just not used to it," he offered softly.

"Well, now he’s got us, so he’ll be fine," Wooyoung declared, clinking his glass against San’s.

San didn’t respond, but he took another sip. This time, it went down a little easier—though he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or Wooyoung’s grin that made him feel like he’d won a prize.

As the night wore on, the chatter grew louder, and the space between them seemed to shrink.

"San, you’re so quiet," Hongjoong said, leaning forward. "What do you do for fun?"

San blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Uh… I don’t know. I read, I guess."

"Read?" Seonghwa perked up. "What kind of books?"

"Mostly non-fiction. History, psychology..."

Wooyoung groaned dramatically, cutting him off. "Of course you read non-fiction. That’s so… you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" San frowned.

"It means you need to live a little," Wooyoung said, slinging an arm around San’s shoulders. "You read about life instead of actually living it."

San bristled, but before he could retort, Yeosang spoke up. "There’s nothing wrong with reading. At least he’s not wasting time."

Wooyoung pouted. "Who said I’m wasting time? I’m enriching his life. Right, Sannie?"

"Don’t call me that," San grumbled, trying to shrug Wooyoung’s arm off.

"Too late. It’s stuck now," Wooyoung teased, tightening his hold.

The banter continued, light and easy. Despite still feeling a bit out of place, the warmth in San’s chest—whether from the soju or the company—made him feel like he might just belong here.

As another bottle was opened and the laughter grew louder, San found himself relaxing, letting the noise wash over him. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, he realized he wasn’t thinking about anything other than the moments unfolding right before him.

He found himself smiling at the smallest things—a joke from Hongjoong, a sarcastic comment from Seonghwa, or Yeosang’s occasional deadpan observations that always caught him off guard. The group's dynamic was chaotic yet strangely harmonious, and San felt like he was witnessing something rare.

The skewers and bottles piled up, and the conversations shifted from light banter to deeper topics as the night continued.

At some point, Seonghwa stepped outside for a smoke, Hongjoong began singing to himself like a madman, and San noticed Yeosang had left the table. Wooyoung also stepped outside. Alone again, San felt the buzz of the drinks catching up with him, the tightness in his jacket making him uncomfortable, the air too stifling. He stood and excused himself, desperate for fresh air, and his chest ached for a presence he wasn’t ready to admit he missed.

As he stepped outside, he caught sight of Yeosang with his hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, speaking in low tones. Something about their conversation felt heavy, a stark contrast to the carefree vibe inside.

"Are you sure you should be drinking that much?" Yeosang asked, his voice full of concern. Wooyoung waved him off.

"I’m just having fun. There’s nothing wrong with that."

"It’s different now, and you know it," Yeosang said, crossing his arms.

"Jesus, since when have you become my mom? I thought that was Hwa’s role."

"Wooyoung…"

San froze, hidden behind the corner of the tent, straining to hear more. The tone between Yeosang and Wooyoung felt darker, a stark contrast to the laughter and lightness from earlier.

"It’s not like I’m going to waste what time I’ve got left being miserable," Wooyoung muttered, his voice quieter but laced with a sharp edge.

Yeosang sighed, his arms still crossed. "That’s not what I’m saying. You just need to be careful. We all worry about you, even if you won’t let us say it."

"Well, worrying won’t change anything," Wooyoung replied, brushing past Yeosang. "And neither will this lecture. Can we drop it?"

Yeosang didn’t respond immediately, his stance tense, fingers curled into fists. Finally, he said, "Fine. I’m going back inside."

San quickly ducked behind the corner, heart pounding. When the two of them returned to the tent, Wooyoung’s carefree grin was firmly in place, while Yeosang’s face betrayed nothing.

San sat back down, but his mind was racing. What had they been talking about? What did Yeosang mean by "it’s different now"? And why did Wooyoung’s words sound so final, like he was running out of something irreplaceable?

The night continued on as if nothing had happened, but the moment lingered in San’s chest, settling uneasily like a stone in water.

Hongjoong was the first to leave, citing an early group project. Seonghwa followed shortly after. Then Yeosang, claiming he had to go feed his cat before bed. Soon, only two remained.

Once everyone else was gone, Wooyoung stretched lazily, his grin slightly crooked from the drinks. He turned to San, who was still sitting at the table, elbows propped up as he stared at the half-empty bottles and cups.

"All right, drunkard," Wooyoung said, nudging San’s shoulder. "I guess it’s my civic duty to make sure you don’t stumble into a ditch on your way home. Let’s take a walk. Some fresh air might do you good."

San groaned but didn’t protest, letting Wooyoung pull him to his feet. The night was cool, the scent of trees faint in the air as they wandered toward the Han River. The streets had quieted, the world feeling softer under the glow of the streetlights.

Wooyoung kept a steadying hand on San’s arm. Despite the haze from the alcohol, San felt a small warmth spread at the gesture. "Where are we even going?" he mumbled, his words slurring slightly.

"Somewhere," Wooyoung said cryptically, his tone light. "Just trust me, yeah?"

As they reached the river, the gentle sound of water lapping against the banks filled the air. They walked along the path, the city lights reflecting in shimmering streaks on the water’s surface. San sat on a bench, gazing absentmindedly at the sky, trying to make sense of the stars. He wondered if they saw him as small as he saw them.

Wooyoung pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling until something caught his attention.

"Oh," he said, stopping abruptly.

San turned, bleary but curious. "What?"

"The cherry blossoms," Wooyoung said, showing San his phone. The screen displayed a news alert: First blossoms expected this week!

San squinted at the screen, trying to focus. "What about them?"

“Well,” Wooyoung said, slipping his phone back into his pocket, “I’ve never seen them bloom before. And since you look like you haven’t had any fun in forever, I think we should go see them. Right now.”

“Right now?” San blinked, his voice thick with disbelief. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?” Wooyoung shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s the best time. No crowds. Just us and the flowers.”

San hesitated, but Wooyoung was already tugging him toward the nearest park. The alcohol still buzzing in his veins dulled his resistance, and before he knew it, he was following Wooyoung, the sound of the river fading as they ventured deeper into the night.

Wooyoung made a quick stop at a convenience store, grabbing snacks for their impromptu adventure. San claimed a pack of gummy bears, earning a dramatic eye roll from Wooyoung, who still paid for them without complaint.

When they reached the park gates, Wooyoung grabbed San’s hand without warning, pulling him forward like a child on a mission. San stumbled but quickly found his footing, Wooyoung’s grip firm and unrelenting. They wove through the trees, Wooyoung’s laughter echoing in the stillness of the park, making the night feel alive.

San’s heart pounded in his chest—whether from the run or something else, he wasn’t sure. It was strange, the way he felt a rush building inside him, like soda fizzing in his veins. Maybe it was the thrill of doing something impulsive, something that felt like breaking the rules he’d set for himself. Or maybe—he shoved the thought away—it was something else, something he wasn’t ready to name.

He couldn’t quite understand what Wooyoung saw in him. To San, he was just an ordinary, predictable guy—a stickler for rules, a creature of habit. The opposite of Wooyoung, who moved through life with confidence, lighting up every room with his reckless charm. San kept his head down, his world small.

But Wooyoung kept showing up, pushing into his quiet space with a grin and a lollipop as if it was the most natural thing in the world. San frowned, glancing at the lamp posts they passed, then back at Wooyoung, trying to make sense of it all.

The wind picked up, swirling through the branches above them, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms. San’s cheeks stung from the cold, but strangely, he didn’t mind. He kind of liked it—the way the cold air made him feel alive, the way the wind kissed his skin and reminded him there was more to life than his routine.

“Here!” Wooyoung shouted, stopping beneath a tree that hadn’t yet bloomed. He turned back to San, his face lit with excitement and a flush from the cold. “This is the spot. Perfect, right?”

San, catching his breath, looked around. The tree was far enough from the path that they wouldn’t be disturbed, its branches reaching out like arms cradling the night sky. A few pale pink petals clung stubbornly to the buds, as if they were trying to bloom early.

“Yeah,” San said, though he wasn’t sure if he meant the spot, the moment, or something else entirely. All he knew was that Wooyoung was looking at him, and his chest tightened in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Wooyoung dropped to the grass with a soft thud, leaning back on his elbows to gaze up at the branches. “Sit down already, Sannie. You’re ruining the view.”

The sound of his new nickname sent a shiver down San’s spine, but he couldn’t fight the small smile that tugged at his lips. He settled beside Wooyoung, stretching his legs out in front of him. For a while, neither of them spoke. San stared at the tree, then up at the sky—its deep navy expanse scattered with stars.

“Now we wait,” Wooyoung murmured, his voice softer now, as if the night had finally wrapped itself around him too. “You wouldn’t get this kind of peace stuck in your room.”

San let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his attention half elsewhere. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind an odd sense of stillness. He glanced at Wooyoung out of the corner of his eye. The other boy’s face was tilted upward, the faint light catching his features, his eyes distant and wistful.

For some reason, Wooyoung looked different tonight. San’s gaze lingered, noticing things he hadn’t before—how his lips curled into an effortless smile, the light sheen of sweat on his flushed cheeks, the way his dark hair swayed when he moved.

Wooyoung pulled a hair tie from his pocket and gathered half of his hair into a loose ponytail, letting the rest fall against his neck. His bangs framed his face, softening the sharpness of his features, and for a moment, San was captivated. The air between them felt heavy, but in a way that was calming, as if time had decided to pause just for them.

San thought back to what Yeosang had said earlier—the concern in his voice, the sense that something was wrong. A question started to form, but when he looked at Wooyoung, with his easy smile and calm breathing, San couldn’t bring himself to ruin it. Not now.

Instead, he leaned back on his hands, mirroring Wooyoung’s posture, and let his gaze drift up to the branches above them. The cherry blossoms weren’t fully bloomed yet, but the promise of them was there—delicate, fleeting, beautiful in their anticipation.

“It’s nice,” San said finally, his voice a quiet whisper.

Wooyoung turned his head slightly, smiling. “Told you so.”

The first signs of the blossoms were visible, buds just beginning to unfurl into delicate pink petals. Wooyoung pointed them out with the enthusiasm of someone seeing them for the first time, his voice animated as he described how the trees would look in full bloom.

“You’ve seen these before, right?” Wooyoung asked, turning to San with a curious smile.

“Not like this,” San admitted softly, his gaze lingering on the branches.

“Then you’re in for a treat,” Wooyoung said, his grin softening. “They’re even better when the sun comes up. But one step at a time…” He plopped down on the grass beneath one of the trees, patting the spot beside him.

San hesitated for only a moment before joining him, the cool ground grounding him as they sat in comfortable silence. The distant hum of the city and the faint rustle of the trees filled the air, but for the first time in a while, San felt like breathing wasn’t such a weight.

#ateez #ateez smut #wooyoung #hongjoong #mingi #yunho #yeosang #jongho #san #seonghwa

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bigguyalex · 1 year ago

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Maturing into a FAT body

When I was younger, my skinny body was more suitable for me. Being thin made my teenage jobs, like mowing lawns in the heat, easier. As a college student, I'd pinch pennies on food. I'd run to catch the bus and make it on time to class. I started working out in the campus gyms, because I didn't have anything better to do. I was restless back then -- darting from place to place, meeting people, and moving on. A thin, muscular figure made it easy to attract random girls and have quick, shallow relationships. My figure corresponded to my lifestyle. But I have matured since then. I work with my mind now, and I've found that snacking helps me focus. I mostly work from home or else drive to a desk job. I've got more important things to do than run around or waste time in the gym. Being sedentary gets the bills paid. Nowadays, I like to celebrate with big meals and relax when I have time off. I'm settling down now. I've also realized I don't want to waste time with women who prefer thin men or gym rats. Give me the woman that desires a man who cleans his plate and pays the bills. Let her fatten me up and keep me always by her side, because I'm done running around like a little boy. Let her make me her fat husband.

#fat husband #femalefeeder #female feeder

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etoileholland · 2 years ago

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attraction needs no translation

Uni!Tom x ESL!reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: moving to London to attend university was difficult, but the language barrier was proving to be more difficult. All seemed bleak until your cute RA made your experience a million times better

Warnings: insecurity with speaking English (yet reader has good conversational skills), reader understands (and prefers) American English rather than British English sorry not sorry

Everyone can agree that English is a shitshow of a language to learn. Many, if not most, of the words were not pronounced the way they’re written; and don’t even get me started on all of the irregularities.

Your journey learning the English language was rocky, but you knew that the hard work would pay off one day, so that you could travel and watch shows without translations—even if the language looked and sounded like it was created from smashing the keys on a computer keyboard. Yet, English, for all its weirdness, could be fascinating.

Eventually, you would say that you were confident in your abilities to speak and understand English—that is, until you arrived in London to attend university.

“Would you like me to put your luggage in the boot?” Your taxi driver asked you as you walked up to the car. The syllables strung together in a very rapid sentence, and it was hard to distinguish what he actually asked you.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that slower?” You asked politely, your voice soft.

“Your luggage, in the boot?” He did speak a bit slower, but it still didn’t make much sense to you.

You looked at the car quizzically. There were no feet on the car, so why would it need boots? Maybe English isn’t his first language either.

The driver looked at you annoyed before opening the back of the car. “Would you like your luggage back here?” He repeated the sentence so slowly that you felt as though he was making fun of you.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, “yes, please. Thank you for repeating it slower.”

The man placed your luggage in the trunk, no wait, the boot of the car, rolling his eyes as he did so. It made for a less-than-ideal car ride to the university, but it was only a small bump in the road, you figured.

The taxi driver dropped you off on campus. On the flight here, you studied the map of the university so you wouldn’t be lost. However, it was getting dark out, which made it more difficult to point out the landmarks that you had memorized. People whizzed past you on their bikes, couples sauntered close to the walking trail, whereas you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk in your sweats and oversized sweatshirt, confused.

A girl with headphones began to walk past you. “Excuse me,” your voice came out timid. The girl didn’t hear you and continued to walk past you. Another student began to walk past, too engrossed in their own world to look up from their phone. Finally, what looked like a Professor rushed past you. He would definitely know where your student apartment would be located.

“Excuse me, where are the student apartments at?” The professor stopped in his tracks.

“Which ones are you asking about?” He, too, spoke with his words spaced so close together, it was hard to tell where one word started and where one word stopped. You had to pause to think about what he asked you, but you didn’t want to repeat yourself. Instead, you answered the question you think he asked you.

“Um, the Dover ones?”

“Oh,” the guy exhaled, “you’re on the wrong campus. Those flats are near the Guy’s campus, and right now we’re in Waterloo campus.”

You remembered seeing those locations on the map. It seemed close, or at least it did on paper. “Is it far to get there?” You inquired.

“I wouldn’t walk there if I were you. It would be wise to take the tube or a bus, especially with your luggage.”

What in the world is a tube? And why would you ride on it?

“Is the bus stop nearby, or?” You trailed off. He would’ve looked at you funny if you asked him what the tube was, so you decided against doing so.

“It’s just right over there.” The man pointed off in the distance. You had to squint to see what he was looking at, but it did look like there was a bus stop nearby. “There’s also a student shuttle that’ll take you to the flat, it’s probably a safer bet.” He looked down at his watch before looking back at you. “I have a night class to teach, but good luck getting to your flat.”

I’m guessing a shuttle must be another word for a bus. “Thank you!” You called out to him, watching as he sped off. The bus stop was a few minutes away, but it felt longer than it was, due to dragging your luggage behind you. By the time you made it to the stop, a small bus arrived. On the side read “student shuttle”, and when it stopped, the doors flung open. You walked up to the driver, who looked less than thrilled to see you.

“Would this, um, shuttle take me to the Dover apartments?” You asked politely as the bus driver nodded.

“Only if you have your student card.”

“Oh,” you replied, “let me grab it.” The card was stuffed away in your luggage, but you knew you had it. The bus driver looked annoyed as you rummaged around, even huffing when it took a minute.

“Found it.” You stated as you held it up to the driver. He sighed and motioned for you to take a seat. When you were about to sit down, he began to drive, which made you stumble into the seat.

Maybe going to uni here wasn’t the best idea…

15 minutes later, the driver pulled up to the student apartment. “Have a nice night.” He stated with no enthusiasm.

“You too.”

He drove off in a hurry, the fumes making you cough. When you craned your neck to look at the building, you noticed that it looked cute. There were a lot of students walking in and out of the apartment, even though it was late.

Someone held open the door for you while you dragged your luggage in, and even offered to help you carry it to your room.

“I’ve got it, thank you.” You smiled, “I need to check in at the reception.”

The student pointed towards the desk, and walked away. The receptionist was on the phone when you walked up to the desk, but when she was done with her call, she glanced at you.

“You must be new,” she stated while looking at your luggage, “are you here to check into your room that you let?”

Let? Does she mean “rent?” Maybe she did say that, but it could be muddled due to her accent, or it could be the fact that I’m jet lagged and heard her wrong.

“Huh?” You paused, “I’m here to check into my apartment that I rented online.” When you replied, the receptionist looked at you funny.

“We don’t call it an apartment here.” She rolled her eyes, “we call it a flat. And we ‘let’ out the flat, not rent’”. Her tone was exasperated, but you had no idea why. “You’re not in America anymore.”

Way to assume I’m from America, you thought to yourself.

The lady handed you the key to your ‘flat’, before pointing to the stairwell. “Right now, we are on the ground floor, not the first floor like you Americans call it. You’re on the fourth floor, which means you need to go up 4 flights of stairs, and not just 3.” That was probably the only thing she’s said that has made some sense. “You have no idea how many Americans get mixed up and complain that their keys don’t work, so don’t be one of them.” You didn’t have the heart to correct her, so you just nodded. She went back to her desk and waved at you. You waved back, stared at the stairs, and began lugging your bags up four flights of stairs.

The door to your flat was difficult to open, but when you got it open, you trudged through the door. The flat was small, cold, and the walls were painted an oddly vibrant yellow colour, but it was yours.

—

A knock at the door woke you up from your jet lagged sleep. The soft rays of light shone through the thin curtains, casting its light over you, who was sprawled out on the couch. It’s funny, you didn’t even notice you fell asleep last night.

The knocks escalated, so you shuffled faster to the door. Your hair was probably a tangled mess, and your clothes wrinkled, but you proceeded to answer the knock anyway. As you opened it, a boy with chocolate coloured curls smiled at you. When your eyes met, blush creeped onto his cheeks.

“Oh, hi.” His voice was soft, and his accent sounded nice. Not thick like the other accents you’ve heard since arriving.

“Hi,” you replied with a soft smile.

His gaze turned to the ground, his face still pink. “I heard you were a new student, so I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Tom, the RA for this floor.”

You gave him a polite smile when you introduced yourself. When Tom heard your name, he commented on how pretty it was.

“Thank you,” you smiled, gaze meeting Tom’s. When your eyes met, he looked away hurriedly.

“If there’s anything you need, I’m just down the hall.” He pointed to a room about 4 doors down— it would be hard to miss, since his door had decorations adorning it. “I look forward to seeing you around.”

“Yes,” was your response as you slowly closed the door. When you latched it, you let out a squeal. He was seriously the best looking guy you’ve seen in your whole life, with his chocolate coloured curls, his perfect jawline, and his beautiful smile.

You could get used to seeing him around.

—

The first day of classes were exhausting in more ways than one. The material went over your head, but most importantly, the professors' accents were so strong, you could hardly understand what any of them were saying.

Attending classes made you feel as though you were underwater, their voices jumbled, the words almost unintelligible.

Dejected, you dragged yourself to your last class of the day, Elizabethan Literature. When you opened the heavy door to the lecture hall, an American accent filled the room.

“Alright class, welcome to Elizabethan Literature. My name is Professor Johnson, and yes, this is really the way I talk.” She chuckled at her own joke, her eyes crinkling as she laughed. “I am from New York, so I have already heard every joke—and bad rendition—of my accent, so please don’t embarrass yourself by trying to mimic my speech.”

Her joking response brought the class to laughter. She seems really nice so far, this might just be my favorite class. Plus, her accent is clear.

“Please open to the first page of King Lear. We’re starting off strong here with a ‘lesser known’ classic from the Bard himself.”

The room became filled with the shuffling of books being opened, the paper creasing with movement. “I’ll begin reading, but feel free to pick up where I leave off.”

The entirety of the lecture was filled with conversation, and general confusion, over what was being read.

“I can hardly understand what any of this means.” Your classmate uttered under his breath, “I might just drop out.”

Me too, you thought. The language is far too complicated for me. I’ll fail the class for sure.

After class, you went up to your professor at her desk. She smiled as she began to put away her laptop.

“Hi professor, I just have a quick question.” Your heart was pounding as you anticipated what her response might be. “I’m thinking of dropping this course, but I wanted to let you know first.”

Professor Johnson gave you a confused look, but before she could answer, you continued speaking, “English is not my first language, and the reading material is hard for me to understand.” Your fingers were shaking, so you placed them in your pockets.

“Trust me, Shakespeare is too complicated for everyone, native English speaker or not.” She laughed, “and I’m speaking from experience. Can you believe Shakespearean English is considered modern?” She paused, glancing at you, giving you a soft smile. “But I completely understand if you’d like to drop my course.”

She was so nice, and understanding. “Maybe I’ll give it a chance after all. It made me feel better to hear that you struggled with it too.” You tapped the edge of the desk with your shoe. “I’m new to the country, and it’s been hard to understand what everyone is saying.”

Professor Johnson laughed heartily, “the British accent is hard to understand, but once you get used to it, it’s not so bad.” She gave you an encouraging smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners, “if you ever come across words you don’t understand, either ask me after class or please email me and I’ll do my best to explain it.”

You nodded politely, “thank you professor. I’ll see you next class.” Turning on your heels, you waved goodbye before leaving the lecture hall.

The walk back to your flat was calming. It was a warm august day, the birds were chirping, the sun beaming down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—

Before you knew it, you had been in school for almost a month. As you got into the rhythm of your classes, it seemed as though everything became easier. The language barrier was becoming smaller, but there were still times where you felt like you were back at square one—progress isn’t always linear, after all.

The weather was shifting towards autumnal temperatures, the crisp air making everyone’s cheeks tinged pink. On your way back to your flat after your literature class, you heard music coming from down the hall. When you peeked around, you noticed it was coming from Tom’s room. You hadn’t seen him since he introduced himself, so you walked over to his door and knocked softly.

“Come in.” He called out over the music. The smell of chocolate chip cookies lingered in the air, the heat from the oven warming the room.

“Hi,” you said. When Tom heard your voice, he dropped an egg shell into the batter.

“Hi,” he choked while he picked the egg shell out, “it’s nice to see you.” He dried his hand on a tea towel. “How have classes been? Are they going well?”

Leaning against the counter, you sighed softly. “Yeah, it’s getting better. At first it was hard because I hardly understood anyone, but it’s not so bad anymore.”

Tom titled his head to the right, giving you a confused look. “If you don’t mind me asking, why was it hard to understand people?”

“Oh,” you breathed, “English is not my first language.”

Tom took a step back in disbelief as he audibly gasped. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I would’ve never guessed,” his eyes were still wide with disbelief, “your English is better than mine, and I’m a native speaker.”

Now it was your turn to be in disbelief. “Seriously? Is it that good?”

Tom nodded profusely.

“But I must have an accent, and half the time I cannot think of the right words to say.”

“Trust me,” Tom took a step closer to you, “your English is excellent, and it’s better than you realise. It must not be easy to be in a place where they don’t speak the same language you grew up speaking, but you’re killing it.” Tom rested his right hand on the counter, almost exactly mirroring your stance. “I’m incredibly proud of you.”

His words of encouragement were about to bring tears to your eyes. Here it seemed like you were drowning in a foreign language while being immersed in a foreign culture, but here he was being kind. You knew there was sincerity behind what he was saying. “Thank you Tom, I needed to hear that.”

“And I’ll be here to tell you that anytime you need to.” After that sentence, there was a shift in the air. Tom smiled again before turning back to the batter. “I’ve gotta make like a million biscuits for a bake sale tomorrow, so would you like to help me?” His eyes twinkled as he asked for your help, and you nodded your head yes. He squealed cutely at your response, causing you to laugh.

“On one condition,” you held up a finger, “you let me eat a cookie right now.”

“Deal.” He answered confidently. He watched as you lingered over the cookies that were spread out to cool, choosing one that was soft with plenty of chocolate chunks.

When you bit into the cookie, your mouth upturned into a smile. Your eyes crinkled, and Tom clapped when he saw your reaction.

“I don’t even need to ask if you like it.” He replied confidently, “it’s my mum’s recipe. It’s been in the family forever.”

“Please tell her I love them.” You replied happily, “I’m gonna need to eat like 15 more of them right now.” You reached out for another cookie, but Tom playfully slapped your hand away.

“You can have another one after you help me, you know, like you said you would.” His voice was teasing, playful, maybe even flirty.

“Maybe I’ll sit here and eat the cookies, seems like you’ve got it under control.” You smirked playfully as you quickly snatched another cookie off of the baking sheet.

“Hey!” Tom exclaimed, “I’m gonna revoke your title of beginning apprentice!”

You had learned the word ‘apprentice’ from tv, so you didn’t need to ask him for a translation. “Never!” You gasped dramatically. Tom tilted his head back as he laughed, his laughter lighting up the room. It was a sound you could get used to hearing.

“Alright then, hand me the flour.” He instructed.

It was easy to get in a rhythm while you helped Tom bake. He had a habit of sticking his tongue out while he concentrated, and it took everything in you to not laugh at how cute he looked. He also managed to get some flour dusted onto his chiseled cheek. It was tempting to reach over and wipe it away with your thumb, but you decided against it.

“So,” Tom broke the silence, “may I ask what your native language is?” The way he asked the question, with such carefulness, made heat rise to your already warm cheeks. As you told him, his face lit up.

“That’s so cool!” He exclaimed, “can you please teach me something?”

“That depends, what would you like to learn?”

“Could you point to all of the ingredients and say them?”

You chuckled, “of course.” Pointing at the various items, you slowly and concisely stated what each item was called. Tom intently watched you, even mimicking what you said. Sometimes he got the pronunciation correct, and other times he was way off, but it was so cute to hear him try.

“I think the way you said the eggs was funny.” He commented.

“Well I think the word ‘egg’ is funny. What’s even funnier is that people describe their heads that way. When I first learned that, I couldn’t stop laughing.” The memory brought a laughter that escaped your mouth.

“It must be so fun to learn all the silly little things in a new language.” Tom commented as he shifted his weight to his right leg. He was leaning over the bowl of mixed ingredients. “Could you teach me a funny phrase?”

It took a second to think of one, but when you told Tom one of your favourite ones, and what it meant, he guffawed. “I love it, I’m gonna use it all the time.”

Hearing Tom say that made your cheeks burn. You touched your face softly, “I can’t wait to teach you more things.”

“And I can’t wait to learn.”

—

A few hours later, both you and Tom were sprawled out on the touch. You felt as though you did an intense workout with the way your arms and shoulders felt. Tom groaned as he shifted in his seat. “I swear I never want to see another biscuit as long as I live.”

“Me either.” You remarked flatly.

“I’m kinda thirsty,” Tom thought aloud, “would you like some hot chocolate?”

“Yes please.” You grinned as you watched Tom walk over to the stove. He poured milk into a saucepan, turned on the heat, and began to stir the milk. Through his shirt, you could see his back muscles move as he stirred slowly. It was hard to look away, but friends don’t stare at the other longingly. Minutes passed quickly, and before you knew it, the drink was ready.

“Would you like some squirty cream on it?” Tom asked as he walked over to the fridge.

“Would I like what?” You answered shockingly, “Tom, I think that’s a bit suggestive.”

Tom snapped his head to the right, his eyes bugged out. “What did I do?”

“You asked if I wanted something squirted onto the chocolate!” It was uncontrolled laughter on your end as you kicked your feet. “That’s the grossest thing I’ve heard!”

“How so?” Tom’s face was beet red, and his demeanour flustered. Once he realised what he said, he let out an awkward giggle. “Oh! I see how that can sound weird. Squirty cream is what we Brits call whipped cream.”

“You’ve gotta be joking.”

“I’m not.” He held the can in his hand, holding it out so it’s pointing towards you. “Come read the label for yourself.”

You padded over to where Tom was standing. He held the can up for you to read—the ‘squirty cream’ was clearly written on the label. “I don’t like that term.”

“I can’t blame you,” he nodded, “it does sound bizarre and borderline gross.” Tom held the nozzle to the mugs and watched as the cream filled the brim of the mug. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.” You replied as you reached around Tom to grab your mug. The warmth brought comfort to you.

“How did you learn English?”

Before answering, you took a drink of the cocoa. “Through classes, and by watching a lot of American television.”

“Ah, I hope that wasn’t a rude question.”

“Not at all.” You quickly replied.

“Did English come easy to you?” Tom’s voice was soft, “and have you studied for a long time?”

Taking another drink of your hot chocolate, you paused before answering. “For the first question, no.” You shook your head as you remembered your journey with learning the language. “Instead of playing with my friends at recess, my teacher made me stay inside to work on my English homework. I used to sit there and cry because it was so hard, and my teachers were mean about it.” The humiliating memory made your eyes well up with tears. Blinking them away, you continued, “my teacher would ask me why I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t know why. They made me feel dumb, and it made me almost hate English.”

“They shouldn’t have treated you that way.” Tom added sympathetically, “you were trying as hard as you could, so they shouldn’t have been so mean.”

Gosh, he’s so caring.

“We also used to have these, um, exams, where we would have to write out a conversation in English, memorise it, and say it in front of everyone in the class.”

When you paused, Tom spoke up. “That sounds like my worst nightmare, but it would make sense why your conversation skills are so good.”

“You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

His response made your heart soar. “It was way more fun to watch American tv shows, such as Friends, and to listen to music, to learn new words.”

“Oh, I bet. Textbook learning is no fun.” He smiled before taking a sip of his cocoa. “You know,” Tom clicked his tongue, “I’m really glad you still decided to learn English, even though it was hard. I don’t want to imagine not being able to talk to you at all.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, “I’m glad I learned English too, because I like talking to you.” When you looked at Tom, you noticed his cheeks were pink.

“I like talking to you too.” He drank from his cup, took a moment, and continued speaking. “It now makes sense why you say some words in an American accent, because you learned them that way.”

“Wait, really?” You met Tom’s soft gaze.

“Yeah.”

“That makes sense.” You replied, “I had such a hard time when I came here. I thought English was the same everywhere, but after coming here, I realised that the vocabulary was different.” You set your now empty cup down gently on the counter, and Tom did the same.

At your response, Tom smiled sympathetically. “Americans have weird words for things.”

“Not true.” You refuted, “their words make more sense. I feel like I’m not even speaking the same language as you guys.”

Your comment made Tom laugh in disbelief.

“I’m serious! And don’t get me started on some of the accents I’ve heard here…” you trailed off.

Tom gasped dramatically. “Be careful what you say about our accents!”

“Some of them are so thick that I feel like I need subtitles to understand what they’re saying.” Both you and Tom laughed simultaneously at your comments.

“I will actually give you that one, some people have accents that even I can hardly understand.”

“See!” You playfully poked Tom in the chest. “It’s not just me.”

Tom looked down at your pointer finger where it touched his chest. His face turned pink at the innocent touch. “You’re right, except for the vocabulary thing. I will disagree with you on that until the day I die.”

“Wow.” You exhaled. “It’s like the expression I heard once, about them dying on a mountain, I think.”

“You mean, ‘die on that hill’.” Tom politely corrected as he took a step closer to you. “It means to never stop defending your statement.”

“Exactly, thank you for telling me what it was.”

“Anytime.” Tom brushed his fingers along his forehead to move a loose curl that had landed near his eye. “Hey,” he added, “do you find my accent hard to understand?”

You shook your head no. “Your accent is very easy to understand.”

“What about my speech…am I speaking too fast for you?” Tom glanced down at the bowl of batter on the counter. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t understand me, you know?” He paused, “but I don’t want to make you feel like a kid who can’t understand what I’m saying. Am I making sense?”

It was heartwarming to see Tom being so considerate of you, and your speaking abilities. In fact, his kindness made your heart skip a beat. “You speak at just the right pace, not too fast or too slow.”

“So just right?” He glanced back at you, making eye contact. His eyes were soft, yet you knew he needed reassurance.

“Yes, just right.”

The space between you and Tom had gotten smaller than you realised. He was so close that you could smell his cologne, and you were so close that he could smell the chocolate from the cookies you ate. “So,” Tom spoke in a hushed tone, “thank you for popping by to help me make biscuits, or as you say, cookies.”

“Anytime,” you whispered back, “I enjoyed myself.”

“Me too.” He replied. You glanced at his soft pink lips as he glanced at yours. His gaze flicked upwards to meet yours, to which you smiled up at him. “I, um, was wondering if… you would—”

A knock at the door caused the both of you to flinch.

“Oi!” A guy shouted while he knocked again on the door. “I finished making the brownies you asked for, have you finished the biscuits?”

“Shit.” Tom muttered under his voice. You watched as he sauntered over to the guy who interrupted you both. “Yeah, I finished them. Give me like a minute.”

“Why?” The guy peeked his head in. When he saw you, he whooped and hollered. “Damn Holland, you have a girl over?”

Tom groaned in response. “You can see her too?” He faked a gasp as he began to close the door on the guy, “now if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of something.”

“But I wanna—” Tom shut the door on the guy and locked it swiftly behind him. He leaned against the door, his eyes rolling in response.

“I can hardly stand him, but he’s the other RA on this floor, so I have to collaborate with him quite a bit.”

“I see.” You quietly responded. It makes sense why Tom can’t stand him—neither could you, and you barely met the guy. The atmosphere in the room that had once felt warm now felt awkward. You felt as though you had probably overstayed your welcome.

Tom took a few steps towards you. Once he was standing a foot apart, he rubbed the nape of his neck awkwardly. He opened his mouth to talk, but you beat him to it.

“Thank you for letting me spend time with you.”

“Of course.” He meekly responded.

“I’ll get going now.” As you brushed past Tom, you could smell his cologne, the scent irresistible.

“Sure, yeah.” It took every ounce of restraint to not reach out to grab your arm, hoping that you’d stay longer. His hand twitched at the thought, so he stuffed it into his back pocket. “I appreciated the help.”

You hummed in response. “If you ever need help again, or would like more language lessons, you know where to find me.” You raised your arm towards the general direction of your flat.

Tom’s face lit up at the invitation, “and you know where to find me.” He placed his hand on the door handle while you stood in the hallway. “The bake sale is tomorrow at 3pm in the student union, if you’d like to come by and you know, actually pay for the cookies you ate along the way.” His intonation was playful, and he clicked his tongue after he finished speaking.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” You winked while shrugging your shoulders.

“I want you to.” Tom blurted out, his voice laced with hope, desperation even.

His response made your heart pound as your stomach filled with butterflies. You leaned against the wall in an attempt to not fall from being weak in the knees. “I’ll definitely be there, so save me a chocolate chip cookie.”

a/n; learning and being immersed in an entirely different language than the one you grow up speaking has so many challenges, but can also be so rewarding when you find yourself being able to communicate with others and enjoy films/music from that culture. I know everyone has a different journey, and different experiences, when it comes to learning a language, so I tried to use as many personal experiences—as well as my friend’s experiences—to write this piece. I chose to use American English as the standard that the reader understood because American culture really is everywhere. I didn’t want it to be clichéd, but I also wanted it to be as authentic as possible, so I really hope you not only enjoyed it but resonated with it :)

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