#two very different classes falling in love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zaraomarrogers · 1 day ago

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Back to December

Pairing: Lumberjack! Steve Rogers x Fem! Stark reader

WC: 17,616

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mutual pining, implied smut, mentions of breakup, mention of cheating, 18+ content, single dad Steve

Prompts: Steve + Winter holidays + Lumberjack AU + I love you

Summary: Steve and Y/n's story is one of love, heartbreak, and reconciliation. Once deeply in love, their young romance ended when Y/n’s father, Tony, interfered, believing they needed to focus on their individual futures. Devastated, Steve enlisted in the army and later became a single father to Emma, who became his anchor during difficult times.

A/n: This is my entry for @stellar-solar-flare 's Stella's Starry Winter Sky Event. Thank you Stella, for hosting the event and letting me participate, I'm still very new to writing, and with Lumberjack - single dad Steve, I got carried away. This is not beta'd. all mistakes are mine.

The train rumbled steadily along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against steel blending with the soft hum of conversation in the carriage. Y/n sat by the window, her chin resting on her palm as she gazed out at the snow-dusted countryside. Her breath fogged the glass as the familiar landscapes of her hometown came into view, awakening memories she had thought were long buried.

It had been years since she’d been back—years spent carving out a life for herself in the towering chaos of New York City. Yet, as the train approached her destination, the pull of the past was undeniable. Every stretch of snow-covered field, every shadowed outline of the distant woods, brought back flashes of a childhood she had tucked away in the corners of her heart.

She thought of Wanda and Nat, her partners in every mischievous scheme they had cooked up in school. She thought of Bucky, with his easy laughter and protective nature. And then, unbidden, she thought of him. Steve Rogers.

The memories of Steve were vivid, sharper than she expected after all these years. She could see him as clearly as if it were yesterday — leaning against the lockers, his blond hair catching the light, his blue eyes crinkling with a smile just for her. They had been inseparable once, two halves of the same whole, navigating the trials of high school side by side. She thought of their first kiss, stolen on the bleachers one chilly autumn evening. It had been awkward and sweet, the kind of kiss that lingered in your memory forever.

The whistle of the train jolted her from her thoughts. She shook her head, as if she could dislodge the past from her mind. But the memories clung to her, unwilling to let go. She gathered her bag and stepped off the train into the crisp winter air, her boots crunching against the snow. The town looked the same, yet somehow different—smaller, quieter, and wrapped in the gentle nostalgia of familiarity.

Her parents’ ranch was just as she remembered it, the sprawling fields blanketed in white, the wooden fence lined with twinkling holiday lights. Yet, instead of going straight inside, Y/n felt a pull toward the woods at the edge of the property. She had spent so many hours there as a child, building forts with her friends, laughing until her sides ached.

And that’s when she saw him.

Steve Rogers, dressed in a plaid shirt and sturdy boots, stood in a clearing, his axe raised mid-swing. His broad shoulders flexed as he brought the axe down, splitting a log cleanly in two. He looked different now, older, more rugged. But the sight of him working among the towering trees, the snow falling softly around him, sent a jolt through Y/n.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. Memories of him flooded her mind—the way he used to wait for her after class, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d held her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. She remembered the way her heart had raced when he leaned in to kiss her for the first time, the way his lips had felt against hers, tentative but full of promise.

Steve must have sensed her presence because he straightened and turned, his eyes meeting hers. For a second, neither of them moved, the years melting away in the silence between them. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer, something she couldn’t quite place.

“Y/n?” His voice carried through the crisp air, warm and familiar, like the pages of an old book she had loved and forgotten.

Her breath caught, her throat tightening. She wanted to say something, anything, but the weight of her emotions was too much. Every happy memory was tinged with pain, every moment of joy shadowed by the heartbreak he had caused.

Steve took a step toward her, his movements tentative, like he wasn’t sure she was real. “You’re back,” he said softly, the words filled with something like hope.

Y/n’s grip on her suitcase tightened. She took a step back, her pulse pounding in her ears. The urge to confront him, to ask why he had done what he did, warred with the need to protect herself from the hurt that lingered even now.

Before Steve could say another word, she turned on her heel, her suitcase rolling behind her. She didn’t trust herself to speak, to look at him for another second without breaking.

“Y/n—wait!” he called after her, his voice filled with urgency.

But she didn’t stop. The tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she walked away, her boots crunching in the snow. She couldn’t face him, not yet. The past was too heavy, the wounds too fresh, no matter how much time had passed.

As she left the woods behind, her heart ached with a mixture of longing and bitterness. Steve Rogers had once been her whole world. And now, he was a reminder of everything she had lost.

~*~

The sound of an axe biting into wood echoed through the quiet expanse of the forest. Steve Rogers wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath visible in the crisp winter air. It had been a long day, the kind that pushed his muscles to the limit but left him with the satisfying ache of hard, honest work. His team was scattered across the woods, each man focused on their task, the rhythm of their labour blending into the serene hum of the forest.

Steve leaned against a felled log, catching his breath. The plaid shirt he wore was dusted with sawdust, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He glanced around the clearing, the familiar sights of towering trees and snow-dappled earth grounding him in the routine he had come to rely on. Life had changed so much in the past few years—he had a six-year-old daughter now, Emma, who was the centre of his world. His priorities revolved around her, and he liked it that way.

But when he turned his head toward the trail, his heart stopped.

Y/n.

She stood a short distance away, framed by the bare trees and soft light filtering through the canopy. She looked the same and yet different—her features sharper, her stance more self-assured, but her eyes still carried the spark he remembered. She was dressed for the cold, her scarf trailing down her coat, her suitcase at her side like a subtle declaration that she didn’t intend to stay long.

The sight of her hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He hadn’t seen her in years, and yet, here she was, as if time had folded in on itself and brought her back to him.

“Y/n?” he said before he could stop himself, the word slipping out with equal parts wonder and hesitation.

Her eyes locked onto his, and he felt a jolt of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Happiness. Shock. Fear. A sweet, aching kind of stress that threatened to undo the careful balance he had built in his life.

Steve stood rooted to the spot, watching Y/n’s figure retreat into the forest, her suitcase trailing behind her. Each step she took away from him felt like a blow to his chest, an ache he couldn’t ignore. He had imagined this moment for years—what it would feel like to see her again, what he would say—but reality had blindsided him. Instead of joy or closure, he felt the familiar sting of regret, raw and unyielding.

His axe hung loosely in his hand as the noise of the woods—chopping, distant voices of his team—faded into the background. The memory of Y/n’s guarded expression replayed in his mind, and he hated himself for being the cause of it. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable, and it cut deeper than any blade ever could.

He set the axe down and took a few steps toward a nearby log, sinking onto it heavily. His breathing was uneven, his hand instinctively coming to rest over his chest as if he could hold the pain there, keep it from spreading. He had prepared himself for so many things in his life, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing her walk away from him again.

Steve pulled out his phone with trembling hands, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he needed. He hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear, his jaw clenching as he waited for the line to connect.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice came through, steady and familiar.

“She’s here,” Steve said, his voice shaking. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but the words came tumbling out. “Y/n. She’s back.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Bucky’s voice softened. “Y/n’s back? Where did you see her?”

“In the woods,” Steve replied, running a hand through his hair. “She… she walked right past me. I tried to talk to her, but she just—she left, Buck.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he cursed himself for how raw he sounded.

Bucky’s tone was calm but firm, the way it always was when Steve needed grounding. “Take a deep breath, man. What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Steve admitted, shaking his head even though Bucky couldn’t see him. “She didn’t say much. She looked at me like—like she didn’t know whether to yell at me or cry. And then she just walked away.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging low. “I thought I was ready for this, but seeing her… I don’t know, Buck. It’s like all the years I’ve spent trying to move on just disappeared the second I saw her.”

“You never really moved on,” Bucky said gently. “You might’ve told yourself you did, for Emma’s sake, but you’ve been carrying this with you the whole time.”

Steve closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone. “What do I do? How do I fix this? She hates me, Buck.”

“You don’t know that” Bucky replied. “She’s hurt, sure, but hate? That’s a strong word, and I don’t think it’s true. You need to give her time. Let her settle back in. You’ll get your chance to talk to her. Just… don’t let the guilt eat you alive in the meantime.”

Steve let out a heavy sigh, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I deserve a second chance, not after everything I’ve done.”

“Maybe not,” Bucky said, his voice unwavering. “But you’ve got Emma now. She’s your second chance, Steve. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re not the kind of man who gives up on the people he loves. You’ll figure it out. Just… take it one step at a time.”

Steve nodded, even though the weight in his chest hadn’t lessened. “Thanks, Buck. I needed that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Bucky said with a small chuckle. “Now get back to work before your team thinks you’ve gone soft.”

Steve managed a weak smile. “Yeah, right.”

But as the call ended and the forest grew quiet again, Steve remained seated on the log, staring at the spot where Y/n had disappeared. One step at a time, Bucky had said. But Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that, with Y/n, every step would feel like walking uphill in the snow.

And yet, for her, he was willing to try.

~*~

Y/n's arrival at the Stark family ranch was met with warm embraces and bright smiles. Tony Stark, always the charismatic presence, pulled his eldest daughter into a tight hug, his grin wide beneath the streaks of grey peppering his beard.

“There’s my girl,” he said, holding her at arm’s length to take her in. “New York’s been treating you well, huh? You look good, kiddo.”

Pepper was next, her embrace softer but no less full of love. “We’ve missed you; Y/n. Morgan’s been talking about you nonstop since she found out you were coming home.”

Y/n managed a faint smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you guys too,” she said, her tone genuine but subdued.

Morgan, her bright and bubbly younger half-sister, came running down the hall, squealing with excitement as she threw herself at Y/n. “Y/n/n! You’re here!”

Y/n laughed, catching her and spinning her around. “I’m here, Momo,” she said, using the nickname she’d given Morgan years ago. “Have you been behaving for Mom and Dad?”

Morgan giggled, nodding vigorously. “Mostly. But now that you’re here, we can have fun!”

Tony chuckled. “Don’t let her rope you into too much mischief. You’ve barely just arrived.”

As the family settled into the living room, Y/n found herself surrounded by warmth and laughter, the kind of atmosphere she had missed more than she realized. Pepper brought out a tray of tea and cookies, and Morgan immediately began showing Y/n a stack of drawings she’d made for her.

But as the afternoon wore on, Y/n’s smile began to wane. Her thoughts drifted back to the woods, to the shock of seeing Steve again, and the memories that had come rushing in uninvited. The ache in her chest was too much to ignore.

Pepper, ever the perceptive one, noticed Y/n’s change in demeanour. She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder when they were alone in the kitchen, away from Tony and Morgan. “You okay, Y/n?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern.

Y/n hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the countertop. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just tired from the trip.”

Pepper didn’t push, knowing better than to pry. “Alright,” she said gently. “But if you need to talk, I’m here. No judgment, just listening.”

Y/n nodded, grateful for her stepmother’s understanding, even if she wasn’t ready to open up just yet.

She spent the rest of the day holed up in her room, the familiar comfort of her childhood sanctuary doing little to ease her restless thoughts. Her phone buzzed repeatedly on the nightstand—texts from Nat, Wanda, and even Bucky. She ignored them all, her thumb hovering over the screen before setting it down again.

Instead, she sat by the window, gazing out at the sprawling fields of the ranch, the sun dipping low over the horizon. The golden light painted the landscape in hues of warmth, but Y/n couldn’t shake the chill that had settled in her chest.

As the evening turned into night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The ranch was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. But her mind was anything but still.

She wasn’t ready to face her friends or the questions that would inevitably come. Not yet. For now, she needed time to process, to gather her strength. Because if she knew one thing, it was that coming back home was going to be far more complicated than she’d anticipated.

The Stark ranch was quiet that morning, the warm sunlight streaming through the living room windows. Y/n was sitting on the couch, half-listening to Morgan chatter about her favourite new toys. She smiled and nodded along; her mind preoccupied with everything she’d been avoiding since her arrival.

Then the sound of a car pulling up outside caught her attention. Moments later, the front door opened, and Y/n glanced up to see Pepper greeting someone warmly.

“Come on in, sweetheart,” Pepper said with a cheerful tone.

A little blonde girl stepped inside, clutching a small backpack and looking around with wide, curious eyes. Her resemblance to someone Y/n knew all too well hit her like a punch to the chest.

“Emma, this is Morgan’s big sister, Y/n,” Pepper introduced with a smile.

Emma shifted on her feet, clutching her backpack straps a little tighter. “Hi,” she said softly, her voice as shy as her demeanour.

Y/n froze, her mind racing. Emma? Steve’s daughter? She felt her heart plummet, the weight of realization crashing down on her. She managed a weak smile and a nod, muttering a quiet “Hi” in return before excusing herself.

Morgan didn’t seem to notice Y/n’s reaction, too excited about her playdate. She grabbed Emma’s hand and led her toward the toy corner, their laughter echoing in the room as Y/n hurried upstairs, her steps quick and uneven.

Once in her room, Y/n closed the door and leaned against it, her chest heaving with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. Steve had a daughter. A daughter old enough to be in school, old enough to have a personality, and old enough to remind Y/n of everything she and Steve had lost.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as tears streamed down her face. Memories of their past, of the life they’d once imagined together, collided painfully with the reality before her. The idea that Steve had moved on, built a life without her—it was too much.

Hours passed as Y/n let herself grieve, her tears giving way to quiet resolve. She couldn’t change the past, but she could control how she faced the present. She had come back to her hometown for a reason, and running from her emotions wouldn’t solve anything.

Wiping her eyes and straightening her shoulders, Y/n got up and paced the room, talking herself into finding her strength. She wasn’t the same girl who had left this town years ago. She was older now, tougher, and more confident. She could handle this.

Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the missed calls and texts from Nat, Wanda, and Bucky. With a deep breath, she hit the call button on Nat’s number.

“Finally,” Nat answered almost immediately, her voice sharp but laced with concern. “I was about to send a search party.”

“Sorry,” Y/n said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ve just been... processing. Are you guys free? I thought maybe you could come over.”

There was a pause, then a teasing, “About time. We’re on our way.”

After the call, Y/n smoothed her hair, touched up her face, and made her way downstairs. Emma and Morgan were still in the living room, their heads bent together over a set of building blocks. Emma looked up as Zara entered, her shy smile returning.

“Hi, Y/n,” Emma said, her voice a little more confident now.

Y/n smiled back, her chest tightening but this time with something gentler. “Hi, Emma. What are you two building?”

“A castle!” Morgan exclaimed, holding up a small tower of blocks.

Emma nodded enthusiastically. “Morgan said you can help if you want.”

Y/n hesitated, then crouched down to their level. “A castle, huh? I think I can manage that.”

As the afternoon went on, Y/n found herself drawn into their world of imagination and laughter. Emma, to her surprise, began to open, chatting shyly about her favourite colours and stories while Morgan egged her on.

By the time Nat and Wanda arrived, Y/n was laughing along with the girls, a small piece of her heart mending as she realized that perhaps she could face the future after all.

The warm golden light of the afternoon poured through the windows of the Stark ranch, bathing the living room in a cozy glow. Y/n sat on the couch, her legs tucked under her, with a mug of steaming cocoa in her hands. Across from her, Wanda and Nat were sprawled comfortably, their faces alight with laughter and nostalgia. It had been years since they’d all been together like this, and for the first time since her return, Y/n felt a flicker of comfort.

“I still can’t believe you’re engaged!” Y/n exclaimed, looking at Wanda with genuine delight. “You and Bucky... It’s perfect, honestly. I always thought you two would end up together.”

Wanda blushed, a shy smile spreading across her face as she twirled the engagement ring on her finger. “He’s my rock. I mean, he’s still as stubborn as ever, but... I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Nat chuckled, her sharp green eyes sparkling with amusement. “And speaking of surprises, guess who’s dating a brainiac these days?”

Y/n arched a brow, looking at Nat. “No way. You? Who?”

Nat smirked; her tone deliberately casual. “Dr. Bruce Banner.”

Y/n nearly choked on her cocoa. “The scientist? The one who’s always on TV talking about gamma radiation and saving the world with his brain?”

“That’s the one,” Nat confirmed, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “He’s... different. Calm. Kind. He grounds me, you know?”

The conversation flowed easily, the three of them slipping back into the rhythm of their friendship, sharing stories and laughter. But as the light outside began to fade, a quieter moment settled over the group.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to Y/n, and she found herself hesitating when they asked about her time in New York. She admitted she’d been working hard but felt a deep emptiness she couldn’t shake. Nat and Wanda exchanged a glance before Wanda decided to break the silence.

"Y/n, we never stopped rooting for you and Steve," Wanda said gently. "I know it's been years, but... he struggled after you two broke up."

Y/n blinked, her heart squeezing. "What do you mean?"

Nat sighed; her tone soft but serious. "After your breakup, Steve threw himself into everything he could—work, enlisting, anything to keep himself busy. But it was obvious he was hurting."

Wanda nodded, adding, "And when Emma came into his life, she became his whole world. He’s an incredible father, Y/n, but it wasn’t easy for him. Raising a child on his own, balancing everything... it’s a lot."

Y/n swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around her now empty mug. "I had no idea. I mean, I always thought he moved on and was fine. But hearing this... it makes me feel awful."

Nat reached out, squeezing Y/n’s hand. "It wasn’t your fault, Y/n. You didn’t know. But Steve’s been through a lot."

Wanda hesitated before saying, "There’s more to his story, but it’s not our place to share it. If you’re ready, talk to him. He deserves that chance."

Y/n nodded slowly, her emotions a whirlwind of guilt, sadness, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been so focused on her own pain, on the heartbreak she’d carried for years, that she hadn’t considered what Steve might have endured.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda reached over, placing a comforting hand on Y/n’s arm. “Because we know you still care about him. And because he deserves a chance to tell you his side of the story.”

Y/n looked down at her mug, her thoughts racing. The man she had seen in the woods wasn’t just the boy she had loved and lost. He was someone who had been shaped by heartbreak, sacrifice, and resilience. And for the first time, she wondered if there might still be a place for her in his life—and in Emma’s.

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the large windows of the ranch's living room, casting a golden hue over the cozy gathering. The air was filled with warmth and nostalgia, the kind that only comes from reconnecting with old friends.

Morgan had claimed her usual spot beside Y/n, snuggled against her side as she listened intently to the women talk, occasionally chiming in with her youthful curiosity. Emma, on the other hand, had hesitated for a moment, her small hands clutching the edge of her sweater as she lingered by Morgan’s side.

Y/n noticed the hesitation and gave Emma a gentle, inviting smile. “You can sit here too, Emma,” she said softly, patting the space beside her.

Emma’s eyes brightened just a little, and she shuffled closer, climbing up onto the couch. At first, she sat with a small gap between her and Y/n, but as the conversation continued and the atmosphere grew lighter, Emma found herself leaning into Y/n’s warmth. Soon, she was snuggled against Y/n, just like Morgan, her little head resting against Y/n’s arm.

Tony stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold from a distance. His sharp eyes softened as he took in the sight of his eldest daughter surrounded by love and laughter, with two little girls nestled close to her. It was a picture of familial warmth, one he hadn’t seen in years, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

Pepper approached him quietly, her curious gaze following his line of sight. “What’s on your mind, Tony?” she asked gently, sensing the weight in his expression.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with his emotions. “Just... thinking about how much time we’ve lost with her,” he admitted, his voice low and tinged with regret.

Pepper studied him for a moment, her intuition picking up on the guilt that clouded his features. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”

Tony exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Pep, there’s a reason Y/n stayed away for so long. And... it’s partly my fault.”

Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t press him, giving him the space to continue.

“When Y/n and Steve were young, they were inseparable,” Tony said, his gaze never leaving Y/n as she laughed softly at something Morgan whispered. “They had these big dreams, but they were so caught up in each other. I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing by stepping in. I told Steve he needed to let her go so she could focus on her future, her career. And he listened to me. He broke her heart because I asked him to.”

Pepper’s hand came up to her chest, her eyes widening in surprise. “Tony... you never told me that.”

“I thought I was protecting her,” he said, his voice thick with remorse. “But all I did was push her away. She’s been carrying that hurt for years, and I don’t even know if she can forgive me for it. Seeing her now, with Emma, with Morgan... I can see what I took from her. From them.”

Pepper placed a comforting hand on his arm, her expression softening. “You made a mistake, Tony. But you have a chance to make it right. This time, you can show her how much you regret what happened. Support her, be there for her. It’s not too late to undo some of the damage.”

Tony nodded, his heart heavy but resolute. As he watched Y/n lean down to kiss Morgan’s forehead and gently brush Emma’s hair back from her face, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to make amends.

In the living room, Y/n felt the warmth of the two little girls beside her and the laughter of her friends around her, a bittersweet mix of emotions swirling within her. She had come back to her hometown to escape her memories, but it seemed they were determined to catch up with her.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to face them head-on.

The early evening had draped the town in a gentle chill, the streets glowing with festive lights and a promise of the holiday cheer to come. Steve wiped his hands on a rag as he finished up his work for the day, his mind restless. Thoughts of Y/n occupied him constantly since her return, but the weight of his hesitation kept him from reaching out.

When Bucky pulled up in his truck, Steve wasn’t entirely surprised. His best friend always had a way of nudging him toward the things he avoided.

“You off the clock?” Bucky asked, leaning casually out of the driver’s side window.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, folding the rag and tossing it into his work bag.

“Good. I’m headed to pick Wanda up. She’s hanging out with Y/n, Nat, and the kids over at Stark’s place. Thought you might want to tag along.”

Steve stiffened at the mention of Y/n. “I’ll just grab Emma from outside when she’s ready. No need for me to go in.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shutting the truck door and hopping out to stand next to Steve. “Rogers, you’ve been dragging your feet ever since Y/n got back. Don’t you think it’s time to stop hiding?”

“I’m not hiding,” Steve said defensively, but the look Bucky gave him said otherwise.

“She’s here, Steve. You can’t just keep avoiding her. Besides, it’s not just about you. Emma loves spending time there, and whether you like it or not, Y/n’s part of her life now.”

Steve sighed, knowing Bucky was right but still reluctant. “Fine. But just for a little bit.”

With a smirk, Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. “Atta boy.”

When they arrived at the ranch, the warm glow from inside the house was inviting, the sound of laughter spilling out onto the porch. Steve’s resolve wavered, but before he could change his mind, Bucky gave him a light shove toward the door.

Wanda greeted them with a grin, pulling Bucky into a quick kiss before dragging him inside. “Pepper’s insisting everyone stay for dinner,” she announced, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Steve hesitated, standing just inside the doorway, his gaze scanning the room. Y/n was there, sitting on the couch with Morgan and Emma perched beside her, their giggles mingling with Nat’s teasing remarks. For a moment, Steve forgot how to breathe.

Y/n looked up, her eyes meeting his. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken words and lingering memories. Her expression flickered—surprise, tension, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“Steve, Bucky,” Pepper called from the kitchen, breaking the moment. “Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Steve shuffled into the living room, taking a seat at the far end of the couch. Emma ran over to him immediately, her face lighting up. “Daddy! Look what Morgan and I made!” She held up a colourful paper ornament, her excitement contagious.

“It’s beautiful, Em,” Steve said, his voice warm as he ruffled her hair. Y/n watched the exchange, her heart aching at how natural and loving Steve was as a father.

The evening passed with a mixture of light conversation and awkward silences between Steve and Y/n. She couldn’t help but notice the little things—the way Steve’s face softened whenever Emma spoke, how he always seemed attuned to her needs. He was a good father, and that realization tugged at something deep inside her.

As dinner wound down, talk of Christmas filled the air. The children’s excitement was infectious, and even Y/n found herself smiling despite the tension she carried.

Steve stole glances at Y/n throughout the evening, his heart heavy with the weight of the past. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words remained stuck in his throat. Christmas was only a few days away, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this holiday season might be his only chance to set things right.

~*~

The soft morning sunlight streamed through the curtains of Steve’s modest home, casting a warm glow across the cozy interior. Steve knelt by Emma’s bed, brushing her golden hair into two neat braids. Emma, ever the chatterbox, swung her legs excitedly as she recounted her latest adventures at the ranch.

“And then Y/n said my snowman was the best one she’d ever seen!” Emma exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “She even gave him a scarf. Morgan said it looked silly, but Y/n said it was stylish.”

Steve chuckled, tying off the first braid and starting on the second. “Sounds like Y/n knows a thing or two about snowman fashion.”

Emma nodded enthusiastically. “She’s really nice, Daddy. Did you know she can braid hair like a princess? She did mine yesterday, and Morgan’s too. It looked so pretty!”

Steve smiled softly, his heart warming at the thought. “Yeah, I bet she’s good at that. Y/n’s always been good at making people feel special.”

Emma tilted her head, looking up at her dad curiously. “Did you know Y/n when you were my age?”

Steve paused, the hairbrush still in his hand. “Not when I was your age, no. But I knew her when I was a little older than you. We went to school together.”

“Were you friends?” Emma asked, her voice filled with innocent curiosity.

Steve finished the second braid, tying it off with a pink ribbon. He smiled wistfully, sitting back on his heels. “Yeah, we were. She was one of my best friends.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Really? Did you have fun together like I do with Morgan?”

“We did,” Steve said softly, his thoughts drifting back to those days. “Y/n and I had a lot of fun together. She’s always been funny and smart, just like you’ve seen.”

Emma beamed at the comparison. “I like her, Daddy. I miss her when she’s not at the ranch.”

Steve’s heart ached a little at her words. “Do you, now?”

Emma nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. She makes everything more fun. And she smells nice, like flowers. And she tells the best stories.”

Steve chuckled, reaching out to boop Emma’s nose. “You really like her, huh?”

“Yeah,” Emma said with a giggle. Then her expression turned thoughtful. “Daddy, do you like Y/n?”

Steve felt his breath catch at the question. He looked at his daughter’s expectant face, so innocent and full of trust, and decided to answer honestly. “I do, sweetheart. Y/n’s... special.”

Emma’s smile grew even wider. “Good. ’cause I think she likes us too.”

Steve’s heart squeezed at Emma’s words. He wished it were that simple.

“Well,” he said, lifting Emma off the bed and setting her on the floor, “we’re lucky to have her around for the holidays, aren’t we?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah! Maybe she can come over again soon?”

Steve smiled, kissing her hair gently. “Maybe. Let’s finish getting you ready first, okay?”

As Emma chattered on about all the things she wanted to show Y/n next, Steve couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Emma’s innocent joy reminded him of the good things still left in life—and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what was broken.

~*~

As Y/n settled back into the rhythm of her hometown, spending more time with her friends—including Steve—things began to shift in ways neither of them had anticipated. What started as casual group hangouts—bonfires by the lake, game nights at Bucky and Wanda’s, or lazy afternoons at the café—turned into something more. There was a magnetic pull between them, subtle at first, but undeniable.

It was the little things that caught Y/n off guard. The way Steve’s eyes would linger on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The soft timbre of his laugh when she cracked a joke, a sound she hadn’t realized she missed. The way he’d instinctively help her with her coat or offer her his arm when the ground was icy.

For Steve, it was harder to hide how much Y/n still meant to him. He’d watch her laugh with Nat and Wanda, her eyes lighting up in that way he’d always adored, and he’d feel that familiar ache in his chest. Seeing her bond so naturally with Emma only deepened the longing. It wasn’t just nostalgia anymore—it was the realization that the feelings he had for her never truly went away.

One chilly evening, their group decided to go ice skating at the frozen pond. Y/n, not exactly graceful on skates, wobbled her way onto the ice, much to everyone’s amusement. Steve, ever the protector, skated over and offered his hand. “Need a little help?” he teased, his voice warm.

“I’ve got this,” Y/n replied, though her wobbly stance said otherwise.

But when she slipped, Steve caught her, his hands firm on her waist as he steadied her. Their faces were suddenly close, their breaths mingling in the cold air. For a moment, neither of them moved. The laughter of their friends faded into the background as their eyes met, a spark flickering between them. Y/n quickly pulled away, muttering something about needing more practice, but the moment lingered in both their minds long after.

Another time, during a group dinner at the ranch, Y/n found herself sitting across from Steve. Their knees accidentally brushed under the table, and neither of them moved to pull away. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt through Y/n, her cheeks flushing as she focused on her plate. Steve, for his part, couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Their friends weren’t blind to what was happening. Nat and Wanda exchanged knowing glances whenever Y/n and Steve were in the same room. Bucky, always one to tease, made a comment one evening about the way Steve’s attention seemed to follow Y/n wherever she went. “You’ve got it bad, Rogers,” he joked, clapping Steve on the back.

Steve didn’t deny it. He couldn’t.

But Y/n was more conflicted. The old wounds from their breakup hadn’t fully healed, yet, every time she was around Steve, she felt a warmth she hadn’t realized she missed. It scared her, but it also gave her hope.

As Christmas approached, their longing for each other became even more apparent. Whether it was decorating the town’s Christmas tree together or stealing glances at each other during a snowball fight with the kids, the connection between them was undeniable. They were both trying to navigate the unspoken feelings that had resurfaced, unsure of how to take the next step but unable to ignore what was blossoming between them.

The nights grew colder, but for Y/n and Steve, the warmth they felt in each other’s presence was enough to melt the ice that had formed around their hearts.

~*~

The house was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fireplace and the soft hum of Morgan’s voice as she played in her room. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking Emma’s hair. The little girl’s head rested against her chest; her cheeks still streaked with dried tears. Emma had clung to Y/n after her fall down the stairs earlier, seeking comfort in her arms, and now she was fast asleep. Her bruised forehead and the tiny split on her lip made Y/n’s heart ache.

When the knock came at the door, Y/n rose carefully, cradling Emma against her, and opened it to find Steve standing there. His expression immediately shifted to one of concern when he saw Y/n holding Emma, her injuries visible even in the dim light of the hallway.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping inside, his voice tinged with worry.

“She fell down the stairs while playing with Morgan,” Y/n said gently, shifting Emma slightly in her arms. “I cleaned her up, and she’s okay now, just a bit shaken. She was scared, so I let her stay close. She finally fell asleep.”

Steve’s face softened as he approached, brushing a hand over Emma’s hair. “She used to get sick a lot when she was a baby,” he murmured, his voice low as if speaking more to himself than Y/n. “Every little thing worried me back then—fevers, colds, scrapes. I’d stay up all night, holding her, just to make sure she was okay.”

Y/n watched him, her heart twisting at the tenderness in his voice. “It must have been so hard,” she said softly, her fingers still running through Emma’s blonde curls.

Steve nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, but I just... figured it out. She became my whole world, and I couldn’t let her down.” He glanced at Y/n, his blue eyes heavy with emotion. “You’d never believe how terrified I was when I first found out I’d be raising her on my own.”

Y/n hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for so long. “What happened, Steve? To Emma’s mom?”

Steve leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he looked at the sleeping child. “Her mom, Peggy... We met while I was in the army. We were together for a while, but things didn’t work out. She... cheated on me, and when she found out she was pregnant, she didn’t tell me until after Emma was born. By then, she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be a mom. So, I took Emma and left.”

Y/n’s breath caught. “She just walked away from her own child?”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. It hurt at first, but I couldn’t focus on that. Emma needed me. I didn’t have time to fall apart.”

Y/n reached out, her hand brushing his arm. “You’ve done an amazing job with her, Steve. She’s such a sweet, kind girl. That’s all because of you.”

He glanced down at her hand, then back at her. “It hasn’t been easy, but... she’s worth it. She’s my everything.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of his story hanging between them. Y/n looked at Emma, her small body curled up against her chest and felt a wave of protectiveness she hadn’t expected. She thought of her own childhood, of losing her mother and how lost she’d felt until Pepper stepped into her life. Emma didn’t have her mother, but she had Steve—and now, maybe, she had Y/n too.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Y/n said softly, meeting Steve’s gaze.

Steve’s eyes searched hers, and for a moment, the years of pain and separation seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them in that quiet, vulnerable moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Emma stirred slightly in Y/n’s arms, and Steve gently reached out to take her. “I should get her home,” he said, his voice steadier now.

Y/n nodded but hesitated before speaking again. “Steve... if you ever need help, with anything, just let me know. You don’t have to do this all on your own anymore.”

His lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “I appreciate that, Y/n. More than you know.”

As he carried Emma out the door, Y/n watched them go, her heart full of emotions she hadn’t expected to feel. It wasn’t just Steve she was drawn to—it was Emma too, and the possibility of being a part of something bigger than herself. Something that felt, for the first time in a long time, like home.

~*~

Steve stood in the entryway of Tony's home office; his fists clenched by his sides. He had been expecting a simple exchange of pleasantries when he came to pick up Emma for the day, but instead, Tony had requested a private conversation, and now here they were.

Tony motioned for Steve to take a seat, his eyes tired, as if carrying the weight of years of regret. There was no joy or casual banter between them—only an underlying heaviness that neither of them had acknowledged until now.

"Steve," Tony began, his voice quieter than usual. "We need to talk about Y/n."

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the familiar unease from years ago returning. "About Y/n?" He let out a sharp breath, trying to keep his composure. "I don’t think there’s anything to talk about."

Tony leaned forward; his voice filled with something Steve couldn’t quite place—was it guilt? Regret? "There is, Steve. I know you’ve been struggling with this, and I’ve seen the way Y/n’s been affected by everything. I see how sad she is. I made a mistake, a huge one. You were right when you left, but now... now I’m realizing just how wrong I was asking you to break up with her."

Steve’s chest tightened at the mention of that day—the day Tony had asked him to end things with Y/n for their futures. The day that had broken them both in ways he wasn’t sure they could recover from.

"You’re right," Tony continued, a weariness in his tone. "I can see it now. She never really got over it, and neither did you. And for that, I’m sorry. I should’ve never asked you to do it. But I see it now. I can’t ignore it anymore. I just want to fix it."

Steve’s hands tightened into fists again, the anger bubbling up from the depths of his gut. He stood up, his voice growing firm, tinged with frustration. "You can’t fix it, Tony. You can’t just come in now and try to fix things after all these years. You can’t play with our emotions like that. You think it's that easy? You think I can just forget everything? Forget the hurt, the years of pain that I carried because of your decision?"

Tony flinched slightly, but Steve didn’t give him a chance to respond.

"I broke up with Y/n because you told me to. I didn’t want to. I loved her, but you—" Steve shook his head, his voice rising. "You made me believe it was the right thing to do, for her, for us. You said we had careers to build, futures to chase. You convinced me it was for the best, that we’d both be better off. But look at what happened. Look at the wreckage left behind."

Tony’s face fell, his eyes full of sorrow. "I know, Steve. I know. And that’s why I’m saying I made a mistake. I see how she’s been affected, and I know how you’ve been affected, too. But I can’t change the past."

"Exactly," Steve replied, his voice laced with bitterness. "You can’t. And neither can I. You don’t get to tell me what to do now, or how to fix things. It’s not that simple."

Tony’s silence hung in the air, thick and heavy. Then Steve took a step forward, his voice low but resolute.

"You’re right about one thing, though," Steve continued. “Y/n deserves to know the truth. She deserves to hear it from you. You were the one who asked me to walk away from her. You were the one who asked me to break her heart. So, you owe it to her to be the one to tell her why."

Tony’s face turned a shade paler at Steve’s words, the weight of what he’d done crashing down on him in that moment. He swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "You’re right. I need to tell her."

Steve looked at Tony, his expression hard. "You’re not going to fix it by telling me what to do. You’ve got to fix this with her. She’s your daughter, Tony. It’s your responsibility now. Don’t leave it to me."

Without another word, Steve stormed out of the office, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure what had set him off more—Tony’s overbearing attitude or the underlying guilt that still gnawed at him about the past. Either way, the conversation had done nothing but make him angrier.

When Steve entered the living room, he saw Emma and Morgan playing on the floor, their laughter filling the air. For a moment, he almost felt at peace, watching the two of them in their world of pretend and innocent fun. But the anger still lingered within him, a storm he couldn’t shake.

"Em," he called, his voice more curt than he intended. "It’s time to go."

Emma didn’t look up at first, too engrossed in her play. But when she did, her face lit up with a smile. "Daddy, I don’t want to go yet. I’m playing with Morgan."

Steve’s heart sank, and the frustration from his conversation with Tony flared up again. "I said it’s time to go," he repeated, more forcefully this time.

Before Emma could protest further, Steve walked over, gently but firmly scooping her up in his arms. "Daddy, no!" Emma cried out, her small hands gripping at his shirt. "I want to stay with Morgan! Please, Daddy!"

Steve’s grip tightened slightly, and he held her close, trying to ignore the look of distress on her face. He could feel her starting to squirm, her sobs breaking his resolve, but he remained firm. The situation at Tony’s office had stirred up too much anger and pain for him to process, and he couldn’t let Emma’s pleading get in the way of what he thought was best for her—at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

By the time they reached home, the tension between them was unbearable. Emma was still crying softly in his arms, her small body trembling with emotion. Steve set her down gently on the couch and crouched in front of her. His anger had faded, replaced by the overwhelming guilt of his actions.

"I’m sorry, kiddo," he said, his voice softening. "I shouldn’t have done that. I was angry, and I took it out on you."

Emma sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I just wanted to play with Morgan. You didn’t have to take me away from her."

Steve’s heart ached, and he pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I should’ve let you stay longer. But sometimes… sometimes things get complicated, and I don’t always know how to handle them. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my frustration."

He paused, feeling the weight of his words. He wanted to explain more—about the conversation with Tony, about his own struggles, about the way things with Y/n still haunted him—but he knew Emma was too young for all of that.

"You’re allowed to be sad," Steve continued, his voice cracking slightly. "But sometimes, I have to make decisions that aren’t easy, and they might not always make sense to you. But I promise you, I’m doing my best, okay?"

Emma clung to him, nodding slowly. "Okay, Daddy."

"Thank you for understanding," Steve whispered, kissing the top of her head. "You mean the world to me, Em. And I’ll always try to do better."

They sat like that for a while, the tension slowly melting away. Steve made a mental note to make things right—for Emma’s sake and his own.

~*~

Y/n knocked on Steve’s door, her jaw tight with frustration. Morgan stood beside her, holding a small basket of cookies they’d baked earlier. Y/n had noticed Emma’s absence for days now and couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. When Steve finally opened the door, his dishevelled appearance confirmed her suspicions.

“Y/n,” Steve said, his voice heavy with surprise and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“Steve,” Y/n replied, her tone curt. “I haven’t seen Emma in days. Is she okay?”

Steve sighed and stepped aside, letting them in. “She’s upstairs resting. She’s been feeling under the weather.”

Y/n eyes narrowed. “Under the weather? Steve, it’s freezing outside, and you’ve been taking her to work with you? What were you thinking?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I was thinking I don’t have much of a choice, Y/n. Not everyone has the luxury of dropping everything to bake cookies and hang out at the ranch.”

Morgan flinched at his tone, and Y/n placed a calming hand on the little girl’s shoulder before turning her full attention to Steve. “That’s not fair,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I didn’t come here to fight. I came to check on Emma. She’s a child, Steve. She shouldn’t be dragged into adult problems.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, clearly on edge. “You think I don’t know that? Do you think I want this? I’m doing the best I can, Y/n!”

“The best you can?” Y/n shot back. “Steve, you’ve always been a great father. But isolating Emma and keeping her out in the cold isn’t fair to her. Why didn’t you just bring her to the ranch? Pepper and I could’ve helped.”

Steve’s eyes flashed with frustration. “Because it’s not just about Emma! I can’t face Tony after what he said to me. I won’t let him manipulate me—or you—again.”

Zara’s anger softened slightly at his words, but she wasn’t ready to back down. “This isn’t about my dad. This is about Emma. She needs more than just you, Steve. She needs warmth, stability, and people who care about her. And whether you like it or not, I’m one of those people.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he looked truly defeated. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I just... I didn’t know how to handle it. I’m trying to protect her, Y/n. And maybe I’m failing.”

Y/n stepped closer, her voice softening. “You’re not failing, Steve. But you can’t do this alone. You don’t have to.”

He met her gaze, the walls he’d put up slowly crumbling. “It’s hard, Y/n. It’s hard to trust again, to let someone in.”

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But Emma deserves more. And so do you.”

They stood there for a moment, the tension between them easing as the weight of unspoken emotions hung in the air.

Morgan tugged on Y/n’s hand, breaking the moment. “Can we see Emma now?”

Y/n smiled down at her. “Of course.” She turned back to Steve. “We’ll check on her, and then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Steve nodded, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. “Okay.”

As Y/n and Morgan headed upstairs, Steve stayed behind in the living room, taking a deep breath. For the first time in days, the loneliness didn’t feel so suffocating.

The warmth of Emma’s hug lingered as Y/n descended the stairs, her thoughts a storm of emotions. Upstairs, the sound of Emma and Morgan’s excited chatter echoed, a stark contrast to the tension she felt building in her chest.

Steve stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his expression guarded. When he saw Y/n, his features softened slightly, but there was still an undercurrent of unease in his stance.

“How did you know?” Steve asked, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Y/n folded her arms and tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Morgan told me. She’s been upset that Emma hasn’t been coming over. And when a six-year-old is upset, they tend to spill everything.”

Steve sighed and looked away, his jaw tightening.

“Steve,” Y/n pressed, taking a step closer, “what’s going on? Why are you keeping Emma away? And what exactly did my father say to you that has you acting like this?”

Steve’s eyes snapped back to hers, conflicted. “Y/n, I don’t think—”

“No,” she cut him off, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle, Steve. I’m done with people keeping things from me to ‘protect’ me. I deserve to know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration matching hers. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is with you, is it?” Y/n’s voice cracked, her emotions threatening to spill over. “You’re shutting me out again, Steve. Just like before.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his tone defensive.

“No, what’s not fair is being kept in the dark about things that directly affect my life!” Y/n snapped. She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll go ask dad myself. Maybe he’ll actually give me the truth.”

Steve stiffened but said nothing as Y/n grabbed her coat and walked out the door, her heart pounding with anger and sadness.

She arrived at the ranch, her emotions in turmoil. She found Tony in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey by the fireplace. He looked up, surprised by her abrupt entrance.

“What did you say to Steve?” Y/n demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

Tony set down his glass, his expression shifting to one of guilt. “Y/n, I was only trying to—”

“Tell me.” She cut him off, her voice trembling.

Tony hesitated, then sighed deeply. “I told him to try and make things right with you. That I was wrong to push him to break up with you all those years ago.”

Y/n froze, her chest tightening. “You... you told him to break up with me?”

Tony nodded, his face etched with regret. “You were both so young. I thought I was doing what was best for you—for your future. I didn’t want you to be tied down or distracted. I thought I was protecting you, Y/n.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she stepped closer, her voice rising. “You thought you were protecting me? By tearing apart the only thing that made me happy. Do you even realize what you did, Dad? The years of pain and loneliness I went through. Steve and I... we could have been a family. Emma... Emma could have been my daughter!”

Tony flinched at her words, the weight of her accusation hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Y/n, I didn’t know it would turn out this way. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

Y/n shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Your mistake cost me everything. And now you think you can just fix it by pushing us back together? Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done?”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand, stopping him. “I can’t do this right now. I need to think. To process all of this.”

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving Tony sitting in silence, his guilt heavier than ever. Upstairs, Y/n locked herself in her bedroom, the weight of the revelation crashing down on her.

All the possibilities of what her life could have been played out in her mind, and for the first time, she allowed herself to mourn the life she had lost—the life she could have had with Steve and Emma.

~*~

Bucky leaned back in his chair, nursing a beer as he listened to Steve with a mix of curiosity and concern. They were seated in the living room of Steve’s cabin, the cool weekend air carrying the scent of pine and freshly chopped wood.

“So, you haven’t seen Y/n since that day?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shook his head, staring into the distance. “No. I dropped Emma off at the ranch yesterday, but she wasn’t around. Pepper took Emma in, and Tony didn’t say much.” He paused, his grip tightening on the bottle in his hand. “I’m pretty sure Y/n knows everything now. Tony must’ve told her.”

Bucky frowned. “You think that’s why she’s avoiding you?”

Steve nodded, his jaw clenching. “What else could it be? She came here demanding answers, and I couldn’t even give her the truth. Now she knows I didn’t fight for us, that I let her go because her dad told me to. She probably hates me for it.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s heavy. But are you sure she’s avoiding you? Maybe she’s just... processing everything.”

Steve scoffed. “Processing? She’s been through hell because of decisions I made—or didn’t make. I don’t blame her for not wanting to see me.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I get it. You’re carrying a lot of guilt, but you need to stop assuming what Y/n’s thinking. You’re not doing yourself or her any favour by hiding out here and playing the martyr.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What am I supposed to do, Buck? She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to me. The last thing I want is to make things worse.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Steve, you’ve got to stop being so damn noble all the time. You love her, don’t you?”

Steve hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Of course, I do.”

“Then you need to tell her that. You need to let her know how you feel—how you’ve always felt. Let her decide where to go from here. But sitting around and assuming the worst? That’s not helping anyone.”

Steve leaned back on the couch, exhaling heavily. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Bucky smirked, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Start by showing up. Go to the ranch, talk to her. Even if she’s mad, even if she’s hurt, she deserves to hear the truth from you. All of it.”

Steve looked at his old friend, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking in. “You really think she’d want to hear from me?”

Bucky grinned. “Steve, Y/n’s not just anybody. If there’s one person who can take all the messy parts of you and still care, it’s her. But you’ve got to give her the chance to decide for herself.”

Steve nodded slowly, determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right. It’s time I stop running from this.”

Bucky raised his beer. “Damn right. Now go get your girl.”

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the ranch as Steve parked his truck by the driveway. He hesitated for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly before exhaling a deep breath. It was now or never. He couldn’t let Y/n slip away again—not without fighting for her this time.

He found Y/n in the barn, busy brushing one of the horses. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, and Steve could tell she was lost in her thoughts. The sound of his boots crunching on the hay-strewn floor made her stiffen.

“What are you doing here, Steve?” she asked without turning around, her voice sharp but tinged with exhaustion.

“I needed to see you,” Steve said, his tone calm but firm. “We need to talk, Y/n.”

She spun around, her eyes blazing. “Talk? Now you want to talk. After everything? After I had to hear the truth from my father instead of you?” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “Do you have any idea what that felt like, Steve? To know you just... let me go because someone else told you to?”

Steve stepped closer, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “Y/n, I didn’t just let you go. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I was scared, and I was stupid. I didn’t know how to fight for us back then, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

She crossed her arms, her body trembling with anger and hurt. “Do you even understand what that did to me? I spent years trying to figure out why you left, why I wasn’t enough for you to stay. And now, to find out it wasn’t even your decision—” Her voice broke, and she turned away, wiping her tears furiously.

Steve moved closer, his voice soft but resolute. “Y/n, you were always enough. You were everything. I loved you then, and I love you now. I never stopped. The only reason I made it through losing you was Emma. She gave me a reason to keep going when I didn’t have one anymore.”

Y/n turned back to him, her face wet with tears. “You say you love me, but how am I supposed to trust that, Steve? How do I know you won’t walk away again the next time things get hard?”

Steve reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. “Because I’ve learned, Y/n. I’ve learned what it means to fight for the people you love. And I’m standing here, right now, telling you that I’ll never let anyone—or anything—come between us again. Not your father, not my fears, not anything.”

Her resolve cracked, and she let out a shaky breath. “Steve...”

“I’m here, Y/n,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away her tears. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Without thinking, Y/n closed the gap between them, burying her face in his chest as the tears she’d been holding back poured out. Steve wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if to shield her from all the pain they’d both endured.

“I hate that you broke my heart,” she murmured against his chest.

“I know,” Steve said softly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”

For a long moment, they simply held each other, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them but also knitting them back together.

When Y/n finally pulled back, she looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks and a fragile smile. “I’m still mad at you.”

Steve chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s fair.”

But when he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the moment, the warmth of his presence chasing away the cold walls she’d built around her heart.

For the first time in years, Y/n felt the ache in her chest begin to ease. And as Steve held her, she realized that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

~*~

The days following Y/n's emotional confrontation with her father were a whirlwind of emotions. She tried to focus on her work and the budding moments she was sharing with Steve while keeping her distance from Tony. Pepper, ever the mediator, reassured Tony to be patient, to give Y/n the time and space she needed to process everything.

One crisp evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Steve sat in the living room with Emma. She was sprawled on the floor with her colouring book, her blonde curls tumbling over her face as she concentrated on staying inside the lines. Steve watched her for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, leaning forward on the couch.

Emma looked up, her big blue eyes curious. “Yeah, Daddy?”

Steve hesitated for a second, running a hand through his hair. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded eagerly, setting her crayon down. “What is it?”

“Well,” Steve began, leaning his elbows on his knees, “how do you feel about Y/n?”

Emma’s face lit up instantly. “I love Y/n! She’s so nice, and she makes the best cookies. And she says my hair is really pretty, just like hers used to be when she was my age!”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, Y/n’s pretty great.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “What if... Y/n and I spent more time together? Like, a lot more?”

Emma tilted her head, considering his question. “Like, she’d come over all the time?”

“Maybe,” Steve said with a small smile. “Or maybe we’d all spend time together, like a family.”

Emma’s eyes widened with excitement. “Like a real family? Like, with you and me and Y/n? And Morgan too?”

“Well, not exactly Morgan,” Steve said, laughing softly. “But yeah, like a real family.”

Emma’s grin stretched ear to ear. “I’d like that a lot! Y/n makes you smile more, Daddy. And she gives really good hugs.”

Steve’s chest tightened at his daughter’s innocent words. He reached over and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “You know, Emma, you’re the most important thing in my life. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Emma snuggled into him, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “I am happy, Daddy. Especially if Y/n’s around.”

Steve kissed the top of her head, his heart full. “You’re a pretty amazing kid, you know that?”

Emma giggled. “I know.”

They sat like that for a while, the warmth of their bond filling the room. For the first time in a long while, Steve felt a sense of clarity. Whatever the future held, he knew that Emma’s happiness—and his own—might just lie in finding a way to bring Y/n into their lives for good.

~*~

As Christmas drew nearer, the air around the ranch seemed to hum with a renewed warmth. Y/n and Steve were slowly, almost instinctively, rekindling the romance that had once defined their youth. It started with small, fleeting moments—a shared laugh over a childhood memory, lingering glances across the room, and the way their hands would brush when passing something to each other.

Their friends noticed, of course. Wanda and Nat exchanged knowing smiles during group gatherings, while Bucky teased Steve about how obvious he was. “You’re like a lovesick puppy, Rogers,” Bucky joked one evening, earning a roll of the eyes from Steve.

Pepper, ever the supportive presence, quietly encouraged Y/n. “You deserve happiness, Y/n/n,” she said softly one night. “You’ve always carried so much weight on your shoulders. Maybe it’s time to let yourself feel joy again.”

Despite the happiness blooming around her, Y/n couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in her chest. Deep down, she was scared. The thought of starting something serious with Steve—something that could so easily be shattered by the distance and her demanding career in New York—terrified her. She didn’t want to risk hurting herself or, worse, hurting him and Emma.

One evening, as snow began to fall softly outside, Y/n found herself alone in the barn, brushing down one of the horses. The familiar rhythm of the task calmed her racing thoughts. She didn’t hear Steve come in until he cleared his throat softly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle.

Y/n looked up, startled but quickly recovering. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet was filled with the soft sounds of the horses and the distant laughter of Emma and Morgan playing inside the house.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Steve finally said, stepping closer.

Y/n sighed, setting down the brush. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just... been thinking.”

“About what?” Steve asked, his gaze steady but kind.

“About us,” She admitted. “About what happens when I go back to New York. About how complicated this all is.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “It is complicated. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Steve,” Y/n began, her voice faltering. “What if this doesn’t work? What if I hurt you? Or Emma?”

“You won’t,” Steve said firmly. “You won’t hurt us, y/n. I know you’re scared—I am too. But we’ve been given a second chance. Don’t you think that’s worth fighting for?”

Y/n looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, but all she found was sincerity. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do this,” she whispered.

Steve took her hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve always been. And I’ll be here to remind you of that every step of the way.”

Her heart ached at his words, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside her. She wanted to believe him, to trust in the possibility of a future together. But the thought of leaving again, of potentially breaking both their hearts, loomed large in her mind.

For now, all she could do was lean into his embrace, letting his warmth and steady presence soothe her fears. As the snow fell outside, Y/n silently hoped that she could find the courage to hold on to the love they were rediscovering.

As the horse let out a low, familiar whinny behind them, both Steve and Y/n froze. The sound triggered a memory so vivid it felt like stepping back in time.

It had been a sweltering summer night years ago, the kind of night where the air felt electric and alive. They’d snuck out to the barn after a party, giggling like children as they dared each other to step into the quiet, shadowy space.

Steve remembered how Y/n had laughed, teasing him about being nervous, though her own hands trembled slightly. He’d pulled her close, their laughter fading as the tension between them shifted, the magnetic pull undeniable. One moment, they were talking; the next, they were kissing—passionate and all-consuming. They’d stumbled back into one of the horse stalls, too caught up in the heat of the moment to care about anything else.

For Y/n, the memory brought a rush of warmth and embarrassment all at once. She remembered the way Steve’s hands had roamed, hesitant at first but growing bolder as they explored. She’d been just as eager, tracing the contours of his jaw, his shoulders, their breaths mingling in the thick summer air. It had been thrilling, terrifying, and perfect all at once.

Now, standing in the same barn, the weight of that memory pressed down on them like a tangible force. Their eyes met, the past and present colliding in a way neither of them could ignore. Y/n’s heart raced as she saw the flicker of recognition in Steve’s gaze.

“Do you remember—” she began, her voice barely a whisper.

“The horse stall,” Steve finished, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah, I remember.”

Y/n let out a nervous laugh, but it quickly died in her throat. The tension between them was palpable, and she could feel her resolve wavering. Her instincts took over before she could think better of it.

She stepped closer, closing the already small gap between them. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted softly, her eyes locked on his.

Steve’s breath hitched, and before he could respond, Y/n stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was nothing like the one they’d shared as teenagers. This one was deeper, richer, laced with years of longing, heartbreak, and unspoken feelings. Steve’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer, while Y/n’s fingers slid into his hair, anchoring herself to him.

For a moment, time ceased to exist. The barn, the snow outside, the complications of their lives—all of it faded, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable connection they shared.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Steve rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Y/n.”

Her heart ached at his words, but for the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

“So am I,” Steve said, cupping her cheek gently. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Y/n nodded, her fears momentarily silenced by the warmth of his touch and the promise in his words. For now, that was enough.

~*~

The snow crunched beneath Y/n's boots as she made her way to Steve's house on Christmas Eve, her breath puffing in the crisp air. The cabin stood warm and inviting against the wintry backdrop, its windows glowing softly. Y/n knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal Steve, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

"You're here," he said, stepping aside to let her in.

"You asked for help," she replied with a teasing smile. "I couldn't leave you to ruin Christmas on your own."

Steve laughed, his voice deep and warm. "Well, I appreciate it. There’s still plenty to do."

The hours passed in a blur of shared chores and easy laughter. Y/n helped Steve arrange the decorations, hang stockings, and prepare the dining table. They worked side by side in the kitchen, bickering playfully over recipes. Y/n couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable, so at home.

As the sun began to set, painting the snowy landscape in hues of gold and pink, Y/n found herself in Steve's bedroom, tidying up while Steve finished setting up lights outside. She opened the closet to hang up a stray coat and froze.

There, tucked neatly among Steve’s shirts, was a familiar piece of fabric. She reached for it and pulled it out—a dark, elegant dress she hadn’t seen in years. The rip along the side was unmistakable. It was the dress she’d worn the night they’d surrendered to their passion in Steve’s bedroom all those years ago.

Her heart raced as memories flooded back: the heat of their kisses, the way Steve had looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered in the world. She held the dress to her chest, her cheeks warming.

"Y/n?" Steve’s voice called from the hallway before he stepped into the room. His eyes immediately fell to the dress in her hands.

She turned to him, holding it up. "You kept this?"

Steve hesitated; his face tinged with vulnerability. "I couldn't let it go," he admitted quietly. "It was the only piece of you I had left, and... I needed something to hold on to."

Y/n’s throat tightened, her emotions warring within her. She took a step closer, her eyes locked on his. "You held on to this... all these years?"

Steve nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Because I never stopped loving you. Even when everything fell apart, I never stopped."

Y/n’s heart swelled, her defences crumbling. She closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face. "I’ve missed you, Steve. More than I can say."

He leaned into her touch, his hands settling on her waist as if she might slip away. "You don’t have to miss me anymore," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Before she could think, her lips were on his, their kiss igniting a fire that had never truly gone out. Steve guided her to the bed, his hands reverent as they explored her, his kisses trailing across her skin. Y/n felt herself surrender completely, her fears and doubts forgotten in the warmth of his embrace.

The soft glow of Christmas lights casting warm patterns on the walls as Y/n lay beneath Steve. Their connection was electric, every touch and kiss charged with years of longing, love, and a passion that refused to fade.

As they reached the peak of their shared pleasure, Steve, breathless and overwhelmed, held her close, his strong arms cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. When he looked down at her, he saw tears glistening in her eyes, streaking down her flushed cheeks.

Panic flickered across his face. “Y/n?” he asked softly, his voice shaky with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head quickly, her lips trembling as she cupped his face in her hands. “No, Steve. No, you didn’t hurt me,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. Since I’ve felt so loved, so whole. You make me feel incredible.”

Relief washed over Steve, and his features softened. He brushed away her tears with the pad of his thumb, pressing his forehead gently against hers. “You mean everything to me, Y/n,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ve missed this, missed you. I love you so much.”

Y/n’s tears turned into a soft, watery laugh, and she kissed him deeply, pouring every bit of her love and gratitude into the kiss. “I love you too, Steve,” she said when they pulled apart. “More than words can say.”

Steve pulled her into his arms, rolling onto his side so they lay tangled together, their bodies warm under the sheets. He held her close, running his fingers through her hair and pressing gentle kisses to her temple as they lay in the quiet aftermath of their reunion.

For the first time in years, Y/n felt truly at home, safe in the arms of the man who had always been her heart’s truest desire.

"I think this might be the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had," she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips tracing patterns on Steve’s chest with her fingers.

Steve kissed her forehead, pulling her closer. "Mine too," he whispered.

The warmth of their bodies, their steady breathing, and the quiet intimacy filled the space with a sense of peace. Yet her mind churned with unresolved emotions.

"I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him," she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness.

Steve’s hand gently ran through her hair, his touch soothing. "It’s okay to feel that way, sweetheart. He hurt you, and it’s going to take time. Don’t rush yourself."

Tears prickled at her eyes, but she blinked them away. "You know, sometimes I think about how different things could’ve been if... if he hadn’t interfered. If we hadn’t broken up." Her voice wavered, and she paused before continuing. "I would’ve been here, Steve. With you. And Emma... she could’ve been mine."

Steve’s chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, and he tilted her chin up so their eyes met. "Y/n, I think about that too. All the time. But we can’t change the past. All we can do is figure out how to move forward. Together."

Her eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity and love. "What happens when I go back to New York?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s thumb brushed her cheek, his expression thoughtful but determined. "We figure it out, one step at a time. Long distance won’t be easy, but if this—" he gestured between them, "—means as much to you as it does to me, then we’ll make it work. Somehow."

Y/n nodded, her emotions a tangled mess of hope, fear, and longing. She sat up slightly, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and looked down at Steve with a tender smile. "Then let’s make the most of the time I’m here."

Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his, a kiss that started sweet but quickly deepened into something more. She hovered over him, her hands on either side of his face as she poured every unspoken emotion into the kiss.

Steve’s hands slid along her back, pulling her closer as their kiss grew more fervent. Their breaths mingled; their movements synchronized as they lost themselves in each other once again.

In the quiet sanctuary of that room, Y/n and Steve allowed themselves to be vulnerable, to heal through their connection. And as the evening stretched on, their passion burned brighter, a promise that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

~*~

The cozy warmth of Steve's cabin was filled with laughter and the scent of mulled wine and freshly baked pies as Y/n and Steve welcomed their friends for the Christmas gathering. Nat, Wanda, Bucky, and Bruce gathered in the living room, the fire crackling softly in the background, casting a golden glow on everyone’s faces.

As soon as Y/n walked in with a tray of cookies, her cheeks faintly pink from the cold, Wanda’s keen eyes narrowed playfully. She nudged Nat and whispered, “Do you see that glow? Something’s different.”

Nat smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, I see it. And it’s not just her. Look at Rogers over there, practically floating.”

Y/n didn’t miss the way her friends exchanged knowing glances, but she played it cool, offering cookies and casually chatting as if her heart wasn’t still racing from earlier moments with Steve.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Steve were in the kitchen, ostensibly refilling drinks but mostly talking in low tones. Or rather, Bucky was talking.

“So” Bucky began, leaning against the counter with a mischievous grin. “You’re glowing, Steve. Care to explain?”

Steve didn’t look up from the cider he was pouring. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me,” Bucky teased, crossing his arms. “You and Y/n. Something happened, didn’t it?”

Steve tried to maintain a neutral expression, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Bucky let out a bark of laughter. “I knew it! You dog! What did you do, propose to her under the mistletoe? Finally tell her you’ve been pining after her for years?”

Steve shot him a look, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “It’s not like that. We’re... we’re figuring things out.”

“Figuring things out, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Steve groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you not make a big deal out of this? We’re taking things slow.”

Bucky leaned in, his grin widening. “Yeah, real slow. You’ve been mooning over her since high school, Steve. I’m just saying it’s about time. But hey, if you need any pointers—”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, his tone both exasperated and amused.

“Fine, fine,” Bucky said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But I’m not the only one who’s noticed. The girls are definitely onto you two.”

Back in the living room, Nat and Wanda were interrogating Y/n with their own brand of teasing.

“So, Y/n,” Wanda began, feigning innocence. “What’s new? You look... radiant.”

Y/n tried to brush it off, focusing on arranging a tray of snacks. “It’s just the holiday spirit.”

“Holiday spirit, my ass,” Nat chimed in with a smirk. “Spill. Did something happen between you and Steve?”

Y/n’s cheeks flamed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, Steve and Bucky returned with the drinks.

Bucky wasted no time. “Ladies, did you notice our boy Steve here? Doesn’t he look... lighter? Happier?”

Wanda and Nat burst into laughter as Steve groaned. Y/n covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, raising a hand. “Can we not make this into a thing?”

“Oh, but it is a thing,” Wanda said, grinning. “And we’re very happy for you both.”

Nat raised her glass. “To Y/n and Steve. Finally figuring it out.”

The evening buzzed with the sound of laughter and holiday cheer as the group of friends sat around Steve’s cozy living room, the soft glow of fairy lights reflecting off the windows. The Christmas gathering had been a heartwarming success so far, with Nat cracking jokes, Bucky bantering endlessly, and Wanda and Bruce sharing stories of their recent escapades.

As the evening wore on, a knock on the door drew everyone’s attention. Steve got up to answer it, and Y/n instinctively straightened up on the couch. When the door opened to reveal Tony, Pepper, Morgan, and Emma, Y/n felt a pang of nervousness tighten in her chest.

Tony stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/n. There was a brief, tense pause before Pepper gently nudged him. With an awkward cough, Tony approached his daughter.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

Y/n hesitated, the tension between them still palpable, but she mustered a small smile and stepped forward. “Hi, Dad.”

She wrapped her arms around him in a tentative hug, her heart heavy with the weight of their unresolved issues. “Merry Christmas,” she said softly.

“Merry Christmas, Y/n,” Tony replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Pepper stepped in with a warm smile, hugging Y/n tightly. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”

Morgan and Emma bounced in behind them, their energy a stark contrast to the adults’ careful exchanges. Emma’s eyes lit up when she saw Y/n.

“Y/n!” Emma squealed, running to her and throwing her arms around her waist. Y/n knelt to hug the little girl, her heart melting at the sight of Emma’s excitement.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Y/n said, brushing a hand through Emma’s blonde curls.

Emma looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “Are you staying the night? Please say yes!”

Before Y/n could respond, Steve’s deep voice cut in from behind her. “She’s staying.”

Y/n turned to look at him, her brow raising in surprise. Steve gave her a small, reassuring smile, and before she could protest, Emma let out a delighted cheer and clung to Y/n’s neck.

“We’re a family!” Emma exclaimed, her voice filled with pure joy.

Y/n felt her throat tighten as the weight of Emma’s innocent words hit her. She hugged Emma closer, her heart swelling with emotion.

Tony watched the scene unfold, his eyes softening as he saw the genuine connection between Y/n and Emma. Pepper placed a gentle hand on his arm, whispering, “Give her time. She’ll come around.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of warmth and laughter. Y/n stayed close to Emma, helping her with a plate of cookies and listening to her excited chatter about Christmas morning. Steve caught Y/n’s eye several times, their unspoken connection growing stronger with every shared glance.

As the night wound down, Y/n tucked Emma into bed, the little girl clinging to her hand until she fell asleep. When Y/n finally returned to the living room, she found Steve waiting for her by the fire.

“She’s happy when you’re around,” he said softly, his gaze steady.

Y/n looked down, her emotions swirling. “I’m happy when I’m around her too.”

Steve reached out, taking her hand in his. “We’ll figure it out, Y/n. Together.”

Y/n nodded, her heart cautiously hopeful as the warmth of the fire and the promise of new beginnings enveloped them both.

~*~

The winter holidays came to an end too soon, leaving behind a trail of cherished memories and bittersweet goodbyes. Y/n packed her bags reluctantly, dreading the moment she would leave Steve and Emma to return to her life in New York. The drive to the train station was quiet, filled with stolen glances and held hands. Steve kissed her goodbye with a promise, “We’ll make this work. I love you.”

Y/n smiled through the tears brimming in her eyes. “I love you too. We’ll figure it out.”

Back in New York, Y/n threw herself into work, her days packed with meetings, deadlines, and the bustling city life. But no matter how busy she got, there was always a moment she carved out for Steve and Emma.

Every evening, like clockwork, she would FaceTime them. The calls became a ritual, something the three of them cherished deeply. Emma would eagerly grab Steve’s phone, her small face lighting up the moment she saw Y/n’s face on the screen.

“Y/n!” Emma would squeal, recounting her day in vivid detail, from school adventures to her latest attempts at drawing horses—something she and Y/n had bonded over during the holidays.

Steve would join in after Emma was done chatting, his deep voice a soothing presence on the other end of the call. They would talk about their days, laugh at silly inside jokes, and share quiet moments where words weren’t needed.

For Emma, the separation was the hardest. She missed Y/n’s hugs, her stories, and the comfort she brought. Steve noticed the subtle sadness in his daughter’s eyes when she realized Y/n wasn’t there in person. He tried his best to keep her spirits high, from spontaneous ice cream nights to cozy father-daughter movie marathons, but Emma would always end the day asking, “When will Y/n visit again?”

On tougher days, when Emma’s longing became too much, Steve would sit with her, holding her close as she rested her head on his chest. “Y/n misses you too, Em,” he would tell her gently. “We’ll see her soon, I promise.”

Y/n, too, felt the pangs of distance. On quieter nights, she would look out at the city lights, missing the warmth of Steve’s arms and the sound of Emma’s laughter. But they made it work—sending each other silly photos, voice notes, and even surprise packages.

The first few months were an adjustment, but the love they shared kept them grounded. Steve and Y/n both knew the road wouldn’t always be easy, but they were committed to navigating it together.

By spring, Y/n had planned her next trip back to the ranch, a visit both Emma and Steve eagerly counted down to. Until then, the daily calls, heartfelt messages, and unwavering support from their friends kept their bond strong.

They weren’t just figuring out a long-distance relationship—they were building a foundation for a life together, one step at a time.

After the frosty months of estrangement, the air between Y/n and Tony had finally begun to thaw. It wasn’t perfect—there were still unsaid words and a lingering sense of betrayal—but it was progress. And at the heart of their tentative reconciliation was Pepper, the ever-patient mediator who skilfully navigated the emotional terrain between her husband and stepdaughter.

Pepper often nudged Tony subtly, reminding him that reconciliation wasn’t just about apologies but also about action. Tony took her words to heart, and one evening, during a quiet dinner at the ranch, he presented Y/n with a proposal.

“I’ve been thinking about the future of this ranch,” Tony started, his voice carefully measured. “We’ve been doing great locally, but there’s room to grow, especially with a more structured supply chain. I need someone with sharp ideas and a strong work ethic to lead that effort. Someone like you.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “Are you... offering me a job, Dad?”

Tony gave a small nod, his expression sincere. “Yes. I know you’re busy in New York, but this could be a way for us to work together—build something meaningful as a family. I’m not trying to pressure you, but I want you to know the doors open. Always.”

The words struck a chord in Y/n. She didn’t respond right away, instead mulling over the offer in the quiet of her bedroom later that night. She stared at the twinkling lights of the ranch, memories of her childhood swirling with the idea of a future back home.

She thought of Emma—how the little girl’s eyes lit up every time they spoke, how natural it felt to step into a motherly role for her. She thought of Steve—his steady presence, his love, and the life they’d started building together. And she thought of Tony, who, despite his flaws and the pain he’d caused, was genuinely trying to make amends.

When Y/n finally confided in Pepper about the offer, Pepper gave her a knowing smile. “He means well, Y/n/n. He knows he can’t undo the past, but this is his way of trying to build something better moving forward. No one can replace the time you lost, but maybe this is a chance to create something new.”

Pepper’s words stayed with Y/n as she started to consider the possibilities seriously. Could she truly leave behind the life she’d built in New York? Would moving back mean losing herself, or could it be a step toward the life she wanted—a life with family, love, and a sense of belonging?

As the days passed, Y/n’s heart and mind wrestled with the decision. She hadn’t given Tony an answer yet, but for the first time, she began to see a future where her career, her family, and her love for Steve all could coexist.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the fresh start she needed.

~*~

Years later, as Y/n stood at the edge of the sprawling ranch, the golden hues of the setting sun painting the horizon, she couldn’t help but marvel at how much her life had changed. The land, once just her father’s domain, now carried her mark, her vision woven into every fence, barn, and field. Taking Tony up on his offer all those years ago had been a leap of faith, but as she gazed out over the thriving ranch, she knew it was one of the best decisions she’d ever made.

The years had been filled with hard work and triumphs. She poured her heart into the business, working side by side with her father to expand their reach and modernize their operations. Over time, the resentment she had once harboured toward Tony softened, replaced by mutual respect and understanding. Eventually, she forgave him completely, and their relationship became one of genuine closeness.

Her personal life blossomed alongside her professional success. Steve and her officially became a family, their love for each other stronger than ever. Emma, once a shy little girl, grew up under Y/n’s nurturing care, thriving in the warmth of their united household. She became more than a stepmother to Emma; she was her rock, her confidant, and her greatest supporter.

She smiled, remembering the laughter and joy they’d shared over the years. Bucky and Wanda’s wedding had been a highlight, a celebration filled with dancing, teasing, and promises of forever. She could still hear Emma’s giggles as she twirled around in her flower girl dress, and the pride in Steve’s voice as he toasted his best friend.

Then there was the day Natasha announced her pregnancy. Y/n laughed aloud at the memory of Nat’s dramatic reveal at a dinner gathering, followed by Bruce’s sheepish yet beaming smile. Their group of friends, once a band of carefree teenagers, was now a circle of parents, spouses, and mentors.

Emma and Morgan grew inseparable over the years, Morgan looking up to her big sister with stars in her eyes. Y/n had a front-row seat to their adventures and milestones, from their first horseback rides to late-night study sessions. Morgan’s admiration for Emma reminded Y/n of the bond she once longed for with a sibling, and it filled her heart to see the girls so close.

But the greatest joy of all came when Y/n became a mother again. Steve and her welcomed twins, a beautiful baby boy and baby girl who completed their family in ways Y/n hadn’t even realized were possible. The house was alive with the sounds of children’s laughter, the clatter of tiny feet, and the warmth of a love that had weathered every storm.

Olivia was the perfect blend of Steve and Y/n. She had her father’s piercing blue eyes and strong jawline but carried her mother’s warm, mischievous smile and expressive mannerisms. She was inquisitive and fearless, always trying to keep up with her siblings, but with a sweetness that melted hearts instantly.

Her twin brother, Ethan, was another story. He was all Y/n—sharp-witted, endlessly curious, and a bit headstrong. He had Y/n’s eyes and infectious laughter but a softer disposition that reminded everyone of Steve. Together, the twins were an unstoppable duo, their personalities complementing each other as they navigated toddlerhood with endless energy and curiosity.

Y/n smiled as she thought about Emma, now a teenager, stepping into her own and showing such grace as a big sister. Morgan often called Emma her role model, which always made Y/n’s heart swell. And then there were Ethan and Olivia, her mischievous three-year-old twins, who brought boundless energy and joy into every corner of their lives.

The sound of boots on the wooden porch pulled Y/n from her thoughts. She didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

“Admiring your kingdom again?” Steve’s voice came, low and teasing, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She leaned back into his embrace with a contented sigh. “Just taking it all in. It’s crazy, isn’t it? How everything fell into place.”

Steve kissed the side of her head, his beard tickling her cheek. “Not crazy. You worked your butt off for this. You deserve every bit of it.”

Y/n turned in his arms, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Says the hot lumberjack who made it all possible.”

Steve chuckled, pulling her closer. “Hot lumberjack, huh? I seem to remember a certain stubborn Stark who wouldn’t take no for an answer when she decided to transform this place.”

Y/n laughed, swatting his chest lightly. “Stubborn Rogers now, thank you very much.”

“Stubborn and beautiful,” Steve said, leaning in for a kiss.

Y/n and Steve were mid-kiss, their shared moment of quiet intimacy filled with the warmth of their love and the sound of their kids playing inside, when the door suddenly burst open.

“Mama! Daddy!” Ethan’s voice rang out as he sprinted inside, his little feet thundering across the hardwood floor. Behind him came Emma, Morgan, and Olivia, who was trailing behind with a big grin and messy hair.

Emma was the first to notice the scene, her face breaking into a wide smile as she folded her arms. “Caught you!” she teased, her tone playful.

Morgan, ever the cheeky one, joined in, hands on her hips. “Big sister Y/n getting all romantic. This is too much!”

Y/n let out a groan, her cheeks flushing with colour as she pulled away from Steve. “Oh, come on. You two are impossible.”

Steve chuckled, scooping Olivia up into his arms. She giggled, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck and looking at Y/n with an impish glint in her eye. “Mama and Daddy were kissing!” Olivia exclaimed proudly, as if it were the most scandalous thing she’d ever seen.

“Yes, Ollie, and it’s perfectly normal,” Y/n replied, trying to keep a straight face while suppressing her own laughter.

Ethan, now tugging on Y/n’s hand, tilted his head curiously. “Can we kiss too?”

Y/n knelt down, scooping Ethan into her arms with a warm smile. “Of course, my love.” She planted a soft kiss on his forehead, making him giggle before he wriggled free to run.

Morgan leaned against the door frame, smirking at Y/n. “I knew coming out here was the right call. You two are too adorable to handle.”

Y/n playfully swatted Morgan’s arm before pulling her and Emma into a warm hug. “All right, enough teasing. You two are worse than the kids sometimes.”

Steve walked over, still holding Olivia, who was now playing with the collar of his shirt. “Okay, gang, who’s ready for dinner?”

A chorus of “Me!” and “I’m hungry!” filled the air as the kids ran off inside toward the dining area. Y/n gave Steve a look of exasperated affection, shaking her head.

“You’re good at wrangling them, Rogers,” she teased, smoothing her coat.

Steve leaned in close, a playful smirk on his face. “Takes one to know one, Mrs. Rogers.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She looped her arm through his as they followed their rambunctious crew toward the dining room, their home filled with laughter, teasing, and the unbreakable bond of family.

~*~

As Y/n stepped inside the warm glow of their home, the aroma of roasted turkey and freshly baked pies greeted her. The sound of laughter and chatter from the dining room made her smile as she took in the sight of her family and friends gathered around. The house was alive with joy, a testament to the love they had built and shared over the years.

Steve stood by the doorway, a mischievous grin on his face as Olivia sat proudly on his shoulders. Her tiny hands gripped his hair, and her giggles echoed through the room. "Mama!" Olivia called out, her face lighting up as she spotted Y/n.

Steve wiggled his eyebrows playfully. "I think this one is claiming your spot as her favourite, babe."

Y/n laughed, walking over to gently poke Olivia’s belly, earning a fit of giggles from her daughter. "Oh, she knows who spoils her the most," She teased back.

Meanwhile, Ethan came barrelling toward Y/n, his cheeks puffed out with candies he had sneakily swiped from the dessert table. “Mama, look!” he mumbled through his stuffed mouth, holding up another piece of candy like a trophy.

“Ethan James Rogers,” Y/n said in mock sternness, crouching down to his level, “are you sneaking sweets before dinner again?”

Ethan nodded unapologetically, his big eyes twinkling with mischief. Steve shook his head, laughing. “That’s your son, alright.”

“Definitely yours,” Y/n shot back with a wink, scooping Ethan into her arms.

As they moved toward the dining room, Bucky’s voice boomed, “Look who finally decided to join us! Took you long enough, Rogers clan.”

“Hey, someone had to wrestle these two into decent clothes,” Steve retorted, tickling Olivia’s sides, making her squeal with delight.

Natasha rolled her eyes with a smirk, bouncing Bucky and Wanda’s one-year-old son on her hip. “And yet Y/n looks flawless, as always. Teach him your secrets, girl.”

Y/n waved her off with a laugh, setting Ethan down as he made a beeline for Morgan and Emma, who were attempting to keep a tower of gingerbread from collapsing on the dessert table.

Pepper and Tony were seated at the head of the table, watching the chaos with fond smiles. Tony leaned toward Pepper, whispering loud enough for Y/n to hear, “Told you this ranch would be the heart of everything.”

Pepper patted his hand. “You got one thing right, Tony,” she teased, sharing a knowing look with Y/n.

The evening unfolded in a symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and friendly banter. Bucky and Wanda exchanged playful jabs about whose kids were better behaved, while Bruce tried—and failed—to mediate. Natasha and Steve had a competitive debate over who would win in a snowball fight, and Y/n found herself pulled into planning the inevitable showdown for the next day.

As the evening wound down and the fire crackled in the background, Y/n looked around the room. Her heart swelled as she watched her family and friends, the people who had been there through thick and thin, now all intertwined in this beautiful, chaotic life.

Steve caught her gaze and walked over, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked softly.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her heart full. “Just thinking about how lucky we are.”

Steve kissed her forehead, Olivia now asleep on his shoulder, her little hand clutching his sweater. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Y/n nodded, watching Ethan climb onto Bucky’s lap as Emma and Morgan whispered secrets across the table. “And it’s only going to get better.”

As they stood there together, surrounded by love and laughter, Y/n knew she had everything she’d ever dreamed of and more. The family she thought she’d lost, the love she thought was out of reach, and the life that had fallen into place perfectly—all of it was hers.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst #steve rogers au #steve rogers fic #Stella's Starry Winter Sky Event #Lumberjack Steve Rogers #Single dad Steve Rogers

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romirola · 6 hours ago

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Hey! First off, I just gotta say I love your work! The way you characterize everyone always feels so deep and full of thought, and it just adds onto the already interesting stories that you have going.

One character that I always enjoy reading from the perspective of in any fic is Babe, but one thing I've noticed is that there's not a ton done in regard to their dynamics with certain pack members across the fandom. While there are plenty of works out there featuring their dynamic with Asher (of course), Angel, Sweetheart, and sometimes darlin' and sam, I feel that there's rarely any exploration done with their dynamics with Milo and David. Longwinded preamble aside, I'm curious how you would describe your personal view of their dynamic with the two. Is there anything in specific you approach it with when writing?

Thanks!

Hi, Anon! Hey, thanks so much for stopping by and sending this ask. It means so much to me, and I really appreciate it. <3

Babe is an incredibly fun character to write and to read about. I love their tenacity and heart. I love their dry sense of humor, their ability to see the big picture, their courage, and even their vulnerability when the time is right.

As fun as it is to write bona fide Asher/Babe-centric stories, I also really enjoy mixing things up by having Babe interact with other members of the pack. Your question has been so much fun to think about!

I think one thing that's really important to note about Babe is that they are the FIRST unempowered mate of the Shaw Pack ever. That's a lot of pressure. To integrate into a world of magic is hard enough, but to be thrust into the role of beta-mate while trying to navigate this huge change in perspective? Babe strikes me as the type to want to know as much as possible, to fill in all those knowledge gaps as best they can, and to do so on their own because they don't want to be dependent on Asher. I headcanon that Babe can often be found at at the Empowered section of the Dahlia Library, studying as much as they can about not just shifter culture, but empowered society in general. They attend lectures, seek out classes, read on their own. Whatever it takes.

That's something I bring to bear on their relationship with David especially. Babe wants to be a capable, supportive mate to Asher. They want to make sure that his best friend and alpha views them as an asset to Asher, not a burden. So I think when it comes to David, especially early on, they often try to "prove" to him they aren't just some informed-idiot. (Apparently, they discover, that's a common phrase in magical society.) David always saw Babe as a wonderful addition to Asher's life, not so much for their knowledge (though he is often impressed by them), but because of their love for Asher. David sees the difference. Asher is more confident with them. He shares ideas more readily. He takes charge more frequently. He breathes a little easier. And David loves to see that. He never struggles with Babe, finding himself enjoying both conversation and silence with them. And lately, I've even gotten the chance to explore the deep connection I know David and Babe share. My current fic, The Prince Shifter, is an AU where I've cast Babe and David as cousins. Having that dynamic has really allowed me to explore a very comfortable vibes between them. AU and Canon, I think Babe has the guts to always tell David what he needs to hear, and David really respects that. They just... click.

When it comes to Milo, I think he and Babe hit it off right away, much to Babe's utter surprise. They know they come off as stony, stoic, even abrasive. It's usually hard for them to make friends, despite the friendliness and care lurking just below their surface. But Milo seems to take them in stride, never pushing for more than they are willing to give, yet very willing to meet them right where they are. It's fun. The pair really enjoy spending time together, plus Milo loves to see Asher fall in love with his person. There's a really small , brief moment in It Was the First Time (Things Felt Normal Again) where Babe helps Milo breathe as he suffers through a bout of "magic-stroke" (his post-Inversion injuries), and it's honestly a nice moment that I think demonstrates their bond.

Something I should probably also mention that underscores just how much Milo and David appreciate Babe: I headcanon Asher has had a string of truly awful partners. Users, cheaters, and worse. People who just took-took-took from a nice guy willing to give so much of himself over, and expecting nothing in return. It broke Asher's friends' hearts every time to see the relationship crash and burn, usually with Asher feeling devastated. David and Milo initially presumed Babe was going to be the same. Until... they realized, this was different. Babe was different. And they couldn't be more glad.

What do you think, Anon? That was long-winded, but I do so love the opportunity to talk about this stuff! Please do feel free to reach any time!

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #thank you!#redacted fanfiction #redacted babe #redacted asher #redacted david #redacted davey #david shaw #redacted milo #milo greer

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zwoftt · 4 months ago

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am i tweaking out or do i actually see vaxleth parallels with dorym. and it’s making me very unwell somebody help me

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luvmila444 · 1 year ago

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SWEET RELIEF - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: Chris can’t help but get a bit worked up while on a tutoring study call with you, when you realise what he’s doing, you only pushing him further to the edge.

content warning: male masturbtion; dirty thoughts; praise kink

word count: 2.8k

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Chris was a little embarrassed with how fast he had picked up the phone call from you, not to mention the blush that had spread across his cheeks and his quickly paced heartbeat when he heard your sweet voice ring through the speakers.

“Hey, Chris!” You smiled as you spread your small pile of assessments and study papers across your desk to get yourself prepared. This had been a regular thing on Wednesdays and Saturdays for the past two months. You guys would set up a phone call together as you would help him study as Chris was falling behind in class…a lot. You guys had to do it over the phone as both houses were always so busy due to Chris’s brothers and your family always occupying your living spaces, making it difficult to have privacy and quiet to help him focus and bring his grades up. Therefore, you resulted in two easy phone calls across the week, which Chris always enjoyed a little too much.

Chris loved that you could never see him and what he was doing at the sound of your voice over the phone. The sweet ring of it through the speakers. The way you ramble so passionately about the work. Yeah… he definitely liked having the privacy of his room for these calls more then he’d like to admit. Although he can never help but imagine what you looked like, what you were doing. Fuck… he’s been on the call for no more than ten second and he’s already getting himself worked up.

“Chris…?” He heard you voice agin. Fuck that voice.

“Yeah... I’m here, hey y/n.” He couldn’t help the smile that rose onto his lips hearing hear giggle at his slow usual response.

“Okay well glad you're here,” you say readying the paper you had recently got giving by your teacher, on to the top of the pill of books you had been working on, “why don’t you fine the paper that mr Hudson gave us today and we will work through that one today, yeah?” You say cutely but trying not to talk so fast so Chris could take in the information.

“Yeah, yeah sure…” he buries his way through his overflowing piles of unfinished homework to find the paper that was given to him today by his teacher “why did he give us the paper today, anyway?” Chris huffs, flipping to the first page that you wanted to start working on.

“I have no idea, it’s not like we don’t already get enough work given to us on Mondays and Fridays, but now on Wednesdays too? It’s getting a bit intense at this point!”

Chris hums in agreement, loving the way you get worked up about things. However, once you were done with your small rant, you let out a sign that was so quiet only the most observant person would notice it, lucky for you, Chris was that person. As you made the noise Chris felt a familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach, just imagining you making that noise in a very different scenario…

“Did you see jenny today?” You interrupted his quickly drifting dirty thought, referring to girl who passes every class, not using her smarts but her body instead, fucking her way to good grades.

“No, why? What was she doing this time?” Chris asked slowly, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and suppress his dirty thought of you.

“Woah I’m surprised you didn’t see her! She was practically pushing her tits out of her very tiny top to try and get out of this paper…. practically had all the guys drooling,” you huffed. You’d always been quite jealous of Jennifer. She could literally get any guy she wanted and could always get out of these stupid papers. It was irritating to people like you who tried their very hardest in their schoolwork and seem to go zero appreciation for it, when all jenny does is gossip, do her obnoxiously babyish laugh and pop a tit, therefore having the whole classroom wrapped around her finger. It was pathetic.

“Nah, guess i don’t really care that much about her,” Chris was very aware of Jenny’s usual inappropriate behaviour, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you all through that class. He was sat near the back of the class, so he had a good view of his surroundings and could easily see you sat a few rows in-front of him, at the perfect angle so her couple see you left side perfectly. Chris simply couldn’t understand how anyone could pay attention in that class knowing that you were in there, not jenny but you.

Your short denim mini shirt that accentuated you ass and hips so perfectly and highlighting your legs. However, to keep yourself warmer and seem more modest, you through a knitted sweater over the top, making Chris’s eager to rip it off and see what you hid beneath the layers of warm wear. God, if there was nobody else in that classroom, he would not hesitate you lift you up on the desk and kiss up your legs to your perfect thighs and up your body. He would make sure to take perfect care of you, bring his lips underneath your sweater and bring his hand to you perfectly round and covered tits.

Full, he could barely take it anymore. He could feel his harder member quickly growing underneath his get sweats, but he didn’t want to stop. No… he couldn’t stop himself.

“Huh, thats surprising, i could’ve sworn that the guys next to me literally had dribble on his chin, it was crazy.” You laughed.

Fuck that laugh. Chris brought his hand up to his crotch and felt where he had grown harder just thinking of you. He began to palm himself, trying to relieve the growing soreness between his legs.

"We should get started now." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I you barely understood what was going on it that class."

"Uh, yeah." Chris coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What did you want to start with?"

You voice begins to drift into an explanation of what was said at the beginning of the class, only worded in a simpler way, yet Chris could barely take in any of this information. You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Chris furrows his own for an entirely different reason.

He continues to palm his dick through his pants while your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants beneath his hand. Christ, i can’t actually be doing this right now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, quickly responding to what you were saying with a hum and an "ah, that makes makes more sense."

Chris doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much breathier, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, teasingly licking at his cock, as your devious eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head.

“So thats basically the first part,” you continued to explain, unaware and completely oblivious to Chris’s hand rubbing at himself on the other end of the line.

He won’t do more. He can’t, this is just so wrong of him Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak, and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy. His breathing had grown heavier, but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions.

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask, feeling as if Chris wasn’t getting everything he needed out of your words. He had to spare a glance at his incomplete work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need.

His cock was now rock hard, it was torturous. His mind began to glaze over with lustful thought of you “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, pulling his cock, which was now leaking with drops of pre-cum and the tip was a bright rosy, red, much like his cheeks.

He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you edge him and make sure he’s extremely overstimulated as you milk him dry. Chris’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm. His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Chris becomes lost in your tone as his cock twitches.

“Chris?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure.

“Yeah?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling.

“Are you…okay?”

Your question makes him halt, much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”

“You sound… i don’t know, out of breath?” You say, behind the line trying to think of why.

“Really, you think?” He hums with a small smirk on his face enjoying the uncertainty in your tone and how innocent you mind must have been. You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Chris’s lips. You had to be mistaken, as it had almost sounded like one full of pleasure that could have only been as a result of one thing...

Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…

“Chris.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again.

“What are you doing?”

Chris curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying obviously. Being tutored s-so well... by you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s wanting to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm, attempting to stop himself from stuttering his words, but he just couldn’t help it.

“You’re sure you’re good?” You asked unconvinced, as a small smirk rose to your lips.

“No. No, I’m all good, i swear.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly begun to stroke himself again, his cock angry.

“Ah huh, yeah…okay,” you knew what you were going to do, this was going to be fun. “Did i tell you how good you looked today?”

Chris’s eyes opened, looking at his phone slightly trying to keep a steady pace of his raging cock but if you were going down this road of compliments, he probably wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters pathetically, somehow unaware of the game you were playing.

“Well, you did, your hair…wow. I could just run my hands through it! How do you always get it looking so soft?” You paused momentarily, hearing Chris’s surprised whimper. “Sorry thats kind of a goofy thing to say…sorry.” You were basically just teasing him now, the basic matters of the studying gone.

“I- no i don’t think its goofy. a-at all…” his words are broken up by that heaving panting.

“God. really? You’re so sweet chris…wow,” You hum, making Chris’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke.

“R-really?” His eyelids began to feel heavy again, wanted nothing more but to see the darkness and use it as a canvas to paint his dirty images of you in his mind.

“Yeah, i mean you’re the literal sweetest” you hum lightly, “you always make sure i havea seat in class, you listen to me when i speak and when i help you i study, you defend me in-front of your friends! You’re so sweet! Such a sweet, good boy for me” you were practically grinning at this point.

Chris could have sworn that your words could have sent him spiralling over the edge.“I a-am?” He asked, almost to clarify that this was real, that you were actually saying this to him.

“Well of course, and you’re always so busy as well, yet you always make time for me in your busy schedule. You must be stressed a lot of the time. I could always help you…relax sometime, relieve some of your…tension.” You had lowered your voice now in order to have a more seductive tone to your voice now.

Chris chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My tension…?”

“I mean, yeah… i could alway give you a massage, rub you down, you know I’ve been told I am very good at giving…massages.” It was becoming blatantly obvious what you were doing now but Chris must’ve been blinded and in a lustful haze because he still seemed to be completely oblivious to what you were doing. Continuously pumping his dick eagerly and chasing his release.

The thought of you sat on top of him, rubbing all down him in order to relax him was definitely doing the opposite effect and only working him up more. Fuck. He had almost come from the thought of you taking care of him. the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm.

“You’d do that for me?” Chris whined, only imaging what else you would do for him almost sent him over the edge.

“Of course, i would baby, you would tell me where it feels good before i drag my hands down your body…” Chris let out a pathetic whimper at not only the simple thought but at the nickname as well. Baby? Baby??! Oh, my lord he was going absolutely feral at this point, “however, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.”

Chris moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?”

“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be, okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable— “

“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.”

You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear chris’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.”

Chris nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?”

“Yeah, is that okay?”

“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release.

“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making chris’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.”

At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.”

“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through chris’s body.

“W—what?”

“Come to my place, i know yours is always super hectic.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm.

“Fuck…yeah that sounds good, i-if you’re happy then s-so am i…” he was no biting his own lip so hard he could’ve sworn he was drawing some blood. He now had his back so far arched up off of his bed and was practically fucking up into his own hand.

“See, again, you are alway thinking…of me,” oh he was definitely thinking of you, thats for sure, “you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you. He watched as the white strings of cum coated and stained his dark shirt.

“Fuck” he let out a relieved groan, now not even hiding the action that he had just did.

“Maybe next time we study i should just jerk you off instead,”

Chris’s eyes widened at what you had said, before realising how blatantly obvious what he was doing was. You giggled once again hearing Chris’s heavy breathes, pleased to know that it was you who had pushed him over the edge.

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want to me,” Chris let out with a deep breathe.

Oh, you certainly would…

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A/n : thank you so much for reading, this is literally my 3rd time trying to post this because I keep making mistakes 😭😭I really hope you enjoy and if there are any more mistakes pls lmk

ily my angels 💞 (especially @gamermattsgf)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you

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artdcnaldson · 8 months ago

Text

changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you can’t have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot

Summary: your ‘casual’ fling with art isn’t working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.

FALL 2006

You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the room— the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy.

It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl he’d met because he needed help understanding the reading for class.

You’d known each other for months by then— hooking up, going on dates that ‘weren’t dates,’ spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you weren’t bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name.

Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.

You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you should’ve felt grateful. You should’ve been having fun.

But just as soon as you’d arrived, he’d slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.

“Looks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.” You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi.

Unfortunately, you’d both been ditched.

“Art isn’t my boyfriend,” you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly.

Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, he’d interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Art’s dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the it’s casual, nothing serious conversation they’d had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall.

But you were being so understanding and cool about that.

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Really?” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw.

You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. “Did Art say something to you? About us, I mean.”

The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way.

Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothers’ past. “Not directly. But you’re here together, right? And he’s still seeing you.”

“I guess,” you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest.

“If you’re worried about Tashi, don’t be,” Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. “Hey, I’m serious. Nothing’s gonna happen there. Trust me.”

It should’ve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?

Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didn’t cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart.

But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi would’ve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of.

“I need another drink,” you said suddenly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. “Do you wanna come with me?” Patrick’s eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team.

There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. “Sure. I could use something stronger.”

——

An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm.

His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.

“What were you doing with him?” He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress you’d gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs.

His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. “Who?” You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.

“Patrick.” His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. “I saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.” His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer.

So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. “Getting drinks,” you managed feebly. “Fuck, Art, I can’t concentrate while y—“

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. “Just drinks? For an hour?”

A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. “We were in the living room,” you managed between soft pants and moans. “He was telling me about the— god— about the tour.”

Art’s expression flickered slightly— a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he wore— why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.

With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeans— you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need.

He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers.

“You smell like him,” he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didn’t have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there.

His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. “Need you,” you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.

And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He should’ve been perfectly content.

As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearly— Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image.

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes.

You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournaments— severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl he’d set his sights on. That’s how you know you’re doing it right.

Why was he thinking about Patrick?

He tried to lose himself in you— in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. ‘M so close already. Gonna make me cum.

When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt.

You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine.

You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.

“You’re so gross,” you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. “Do I need to buy you a hamper?”

He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. “I have one, it’s just full.” A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. “See? I have clean clothes.”

You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt.

“What? What does it say?” You asked with a laugh. You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphic— faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. I’ve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.”

Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. “I went with Patrick a few years back.”

A smile turned your lips. “It’s sweet that you two are such good friends.” You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Did you and Tashi have fun tonight?” The insecurity in your words was palpable.

Art shrugged. “A party’s a party, y’know?” He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. “Just lost track of time. I won’t run off on you next time.”

You chewed your lip shyly. “I think it’d be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,” you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction.

“C’mere,” he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often he’d place a chaste kiss on the skin there and you’d forget why you wanted to ask him to move.

In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time he’d let you stay the night.

SPRING 2007

After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time.

Most likely not the last time.

Knowing yourself, you’d be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeks’ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew you’d be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.

You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that you’d accept just about anything he could throw at you.

No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when he’s horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. You’re game.

You’d gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards you’d painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldn’t manage.

All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldn’t even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because she’d fucking gotten injured and it wasn’t her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.

“You’ve been staring down the Reese’s Pieces for the last five minutes.” The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenly— the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. “Do you need five bucks?”

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. “I heard about her match. I just figured that you’d…“ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. “Oh.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s… it’s over. Did you want the Reese’s, or not?”

“No,” you shook your head and laughed. “I just needed…” you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?

You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You needed…

“Another drink?” Patrick suggested.

You nodded eagerly like that’s what you’d been thinking all along. “Yes. Another drink.” You paused, glancing at his bags. “Do you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She won’t mind.”

Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would.

Well, he did his best. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine.

Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes he’d written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies you’d gone to see and tickets to his matches.

“Here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. You’d already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, he’d need to go find something stronger.

You sighed and took a long drink yourself. “I dunno, the whole… thing. Art.” You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. “I mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?”

“Maybe self-respect is overrated.” He laughed and stepped closer. “Full disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. “We’re both jilted lovers who need a distraction.”

You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. “Bottoms up,” you said with a coy smile. “Let’s find something stronger.”

——

An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer.

His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didn’t notice or didn’t care to cover up.

The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot.

You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didn’t move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin.

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.

He shook his head as you tried to make him dance— your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. “No, no. I don’t dance,” he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.

“Because you can’t? Or because you think you’re too cool?” You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “C’mon, if you dance, I’ll tell you a secret.”

That did make him laugh. “What are you, five?”

With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. “See? We’re dancing,” you said, peering up at him through long lashes.

You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing… kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.

He’d done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Art’s spite would fade and they’d be friends again.

Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasn’t an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.

And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoria’s Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but you— you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh he’d slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, he’d had enough to drink that he didn’t really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done would’ve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him.

You leaned in, chest to chest. “Can I tell you the secret now?” You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I think it’d be a bad idea for us to fuck. We’re both in a bad place.”

“Mhmm. Bad idea,” he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashi’s) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.

“But I still want to.” You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like you’d take anything he’d give you and thank him for it. “We can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.”

It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm rager for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasn’t actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at.

But he was good at other things.

You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before you’d started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different making— with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.

It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasn’t the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process.

You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrow’s date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later.

His lips met yours in a messy clash— teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like he’d been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue.

You’d never been kissed with that level of need and desperation— that desire— and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.

His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim.

“That feel good?” You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly. There was something addicting about his need— you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.

“You could start by taking these clothes off,” he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.

“You’re not gonna help?” You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra.

That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. “Does Art help?” It shouldn’t have turned him on— that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrick’s touch. “Lift your arms.”

As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about), and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about either).

He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that he’d perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms.

Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.

The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeans— you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.

Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor.

“It was only, like, five steps,” you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.

When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You laughed lightly in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He nodded. “As a heart attack.” He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.”

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Yeah. Fuck. You can.”

He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly.

You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.

The sight made your stomach flip— the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.

A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach.

“Fuck,” he said lowly, peering up at you. “You get this wet from just kissing?”

Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.

It was messy— a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue.

There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he could’ve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reaction— in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face.

Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp.

He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants.

“I’m— I— fuck—“ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.

Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked up— a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that would’ve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers.

When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him.

“Holy shit,” you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room.

“Feel good?” He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. “Gonna give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasn’t much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. “You’re all messy.”

He kissed you slow— leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. You’d never kissed Art like that, would’ve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal.

You stayed like that for a while— just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips.

“Condom?” He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.

“Mhmm. Bedside table.”

He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer.

He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You sure this’ll fit me? I’m bigger than Art.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not by that much.”

“Where it counts, though.” His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadn’t quite decided how he wanted you yet.

“Turn over,” he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. “Does Art ever fuck you like this?”

He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasn’t going to give you yet. “Do you have to bring him up right now?”

No. He knew he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you.

It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrick’s thigh was touching yours— he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath.

And if that hadn’t been enough to give it away, Art’s stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.

He didn’t do anything then, but maybe he should’ve.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It could’ve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hilt— your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him.

With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Art’s cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. “What? You need something?”

One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. “More,” was all you could manage.

“Can you take it?” Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. “Because I can go slow if you need—“

“You’re such an asshole. Just fuck m—”

A rough snap of Patrick’s hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest.

Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.

But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadn’t really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.

You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.

Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine.

With each brutal thrust of Patrick’s cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe that’s what you meant to say.

You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasn’t even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that you’d somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly.

Maybe everything would’ve been a lot cleaner if you’d just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows.

Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moans— Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips.

“You feel so fucking perfect.” His words made heat flutter through you. “Need t’ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.”

You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge.

“Close,” you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. “So close— f-fuck—“

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. “Fuck— squeezin’ me so tight I can barely move— god—“

Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted.

You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally came— buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you.

You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you.

With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Art’s presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.

“So, when do you leave for your next tournament?” You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. “Soon, I bet. You usually don’t stay long.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get rid of you, Patrick.” He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

In the morning, you’d wake up squished against Patrick’s side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadn’t seen them at all.

thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3

#challengers 2024 #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #challengers fanfic #my writing

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pomefioredove · 5 months ago

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housewardens + Jamil (separately) with a reader who is their s/o and reader is low-key their simp

like they won't worship the ground they walk on, but they just.. admire..??

like reader and the character will be hanging out, on a date, or in class or something and reader just sighs dreamily and looks at them with a look of like "im the luckiest person alive." because they love them so much

and if caught the reader won't be embarrassed and will just be like "you're so pretty." or "I'm so happy we're dating"

ik it's cringe lol but if I had one of these men as my boyfriend (cough Idia cough) I would literally just admire them so much because I love them so much and they're so freaking pretty

SWEEEEP I love fluff I love a healthy couple

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ abject admiration

summary: close enough. welcome back gomez addams! type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, FLUFFY!, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship

Riddle used to hate being stared at. it felt like judgment, like he was being put on trial for something he didn't do. as if the world was just... waiting for him to make a mistake so it could punish him. the first time he catches you staring, long before you were together, he almost had your head for it. now, the feeling of your eyes on him has become a comfort, though your words of admiration, your praises and affection, still make him blush

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona couldn't even remember the last time his parents told him they loved him. so when he hears it from you, his first instinct is to push you away. he thinks it's justified; you must want something, I mean, who would be so nice to him for no reason?

well, you. you would

he'd never admit it, but these days, he goes out of his way to do nice things for you, to make himself look and smell good, just to get more of your praises

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"you're so beautiful" and Azul crumbles. as cunning as he is, you could have him eating out of the palm of your hand if you really wanted to. he considers himself a fortunate soul, because all you ask for in return is his time and affection

your compliments are better than any deal, your voice more melodious than any song. the very thought that you think he is pretty... him, of all people... well, you could bring him to his knees with a word

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

fawning over Kalim is absolutely impossible. he's not competitive by nature, but what you give him, he gives back ten times over. one kiss turns into ten, two gifts into twenty, and, of course, one praise turns into an entire soliloquy. you're lucky to have him? he's luckier than the richest man in the world, the most powerful mage, he insists even the Sorcerer of the Sands himself would fall to his knees and weep if he were to see your beauty. you're his sun, his moon, and his stars, and he never lets you forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil had never been in love, let alone in a relationship, before you. you're his first everything... and that means you're his first admirer, too. honestly, he's not really sure whether to believe you or not at first. "I'm so happy we're dating," surely, you're not talking about him...?

but you are. he can't even fathom why, but you are

...sometimes, it's better not to question everything

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil gets his fair share of compliments, and rightfully so. he's put in the work, he deserves the recognition. and, for Seven's sake, Rook is his vice housewarden- he can't escape compliments

but... somehow, they're so much different coming from you. maybe it's the way you say things, soft and gentle and full of admiration, maybe it's your voice, or maybe it's just because it's you. because he knows that when you say you're happy with him, you mean him, not the brand, not the image, not what he's expected to be. just... him. it's true love

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia.exe has stopped working

even after months of dating, you still manage to catch him off guard with your "cringe couple stuff", as he calls it. it's... very distracting. you'll be mid-game, staring at him, and when he asks if you hit your head on the way in, you'll say something like "just thinking about how pretty you are" and his brain will short circuit. it's too bad he can't patch that... he'd love to respond without melting into an Idia-shaped puddle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

being head over heels for Malleus is both a blessing and a curse. on one hand, he'll reciprocate that energy. on the other hand, he'll reciprocate that energy. even a simple "you look nice today" sends him over the moon with joy, and he will unapologetically cling to your side like the needy thing he is for the rest of the day, glaring at anyone who dares to take your attention off of him for more than twelve seconds. but, hey, you know what you like. you agreed to date him in the first place, after all

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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logansdoll · 6 months ago

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Heyyy. Ok really cheesy but I’d like to request a Logan x reader friends to lovers where it’s like an accidental confession. Maybe someone makes fun of the reader and Logan without thinking about it just starts yelling and defending why the reader is great and everything he loves about her? Ik it’s a little OOC but maybe he gets so mad (as Wolverine does) that he gets all mushy without realizing lol. Thanks ❤️❤️

lotus

while on library duty, Logan overhears two girls talking shit about you... and corrects it quickly.

CW: sorry i went in a little different direction, suggestive, profanity, takes place during the timeline of the og X-Men, these girls are bitches, etc.

"I just don't get what's the big deal about her," Maya scoffed, resting her cheek in her palm as she thoughtlessly flipped through her biology textbook.

Talia nodded, glancing up from her notes with an excitement that screamed nothing to do.

"No, seriously," she agreed. "Like we get it... you can grow shit. Big deal."

That piqued Logan's interest.

With Jean and Scott off on a date, the professor away, and you and Ororo teaching a joint class, he was slapped with library duty—watching the kids during their scheduled study period.

Now, originally, he planned on simply plopping himself down in a corner and puffing his cigar, hoping to fall asleep and just ride out his sentence.

And he was halfway there, too.

But just as he was about to catch some Zs, his hearing picked up on a conversation between two older girls who seemed to be trash talking his girlfriend.

"Word," Maya turned the next page, a grimace settling on her face when she noticed the image of a flower.

One you were very vocal about liking.

"She won't shut up about these stupid lotus flowers either... Hey! Did you guys know that the lotus is considered sacred in many Eastern cultures? And it often symbolizes purity, beauty, and rebirth!"

Talia let out an obnoxious snicker, the impression not nearly as funny as what she was making it to be.

But maybe she just hated you that much...

"You sound just like her," she commended, very much amused. "Only she's always smiling. Like I've never seen her frown before... it's almost creepy."

"Seriously creepy. But Peter can't get enough of it... you know he has a crush on her, right?"

"Seriously?!"

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, tickled by the news.

He'd caught the boy staring at you during a few Danger Room sessions, but didn't think much of it, assuming he'd just caught him while he happened to be looking in your direction.

Oh, how wrong he was...

He couldn't wait to tell you later tonight.

"Mhmm. Half the boys at school nearly fall over themselves to make sure they're not late to her class... It's almost funny."

"Funny, my ass. Why'd it have to be Peter?" Talia huffed, tossing her pencil at the textbook in frustration. "She's not even that pretty. I've had dogs that look better than her."

Maya attempted to muffle a snicker, but Logan heard it loud and clear, his brows furrowing at the horrible comment.

"I'm serious. She puts up this whole nice and innocent act, but I bet she's a raging bitch behind closed doors."

That was it.

All the stuff before was just normal, teenage jealousy; something he'd—albeit reluctantly—let slide.

But calling you out of your name?

Insulting your character?

Comparing you to a dog?

A line had to be drawn.

"Tali, you can't say that," Maya chuckled, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

"Like I care," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'd tell it to her face if I ever got the chance. Just walk right up to her and say—"

"Say what?"

The girls nearly jumped out their skin, whipping around, only to be met by Logan's arched brow, the man leaning up against a bookshelf as he puffed on his cigar.

They were at a loss for words, unable to say anything under his imposing presence.

"Don't get shy now," he goaded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on. Tell me what you're gonna say to Dr. (l/n)."

The two were practically frozen, frantically glancing at each other for assistance, Logan's eyes flicking between the two expectantly.

"Nothing?" he hummed. "That's funny... 'cause you both seemed to have plenty of shit to say earlier."

Both their faces fell almost instantly, the color practically draining from Talia.

"You heard that?" Maya squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Every word," Logan nodded. "And what I managed to gather from it was that you both just can't stand her because she's kind, passionate, pretty, and beloved."

He listed each trait off on his fingers, glancing at the two for confirmation.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

They remained silent, hanging their heads in embarrassment as Logan's confrontation had garnered the attention of the whole library.

"Well, then, how's this..." he pulled the cigar out his mouth. "I'll let you both off this time with a warning... but if I catch either of you trash talkin' anybody again, teacher or student, you're grounded."

"'Til when?" Talia asked, nervously.

"'Til I tell you you're not."

The end of day bell punctuated his statement, a flourish of shutting books and closing pencil cases muffling the girls' sighs of relief.

"Now get outta here."

He had never seen two students pack up so fast.

They were gone in T-minus ten, and once the library was cleared out, Logan allowed himself to sit down, letting out his own sigh.

He could've tore into them infinitely worse—and he honestly wanted to for that dog comment—but he figured that was the right, and legal, amount for a teacher.

But even still...

'I dunno how a girl who can only float two inches off the ground is talkin' about (n/n) havin' a shitty power...'

#james howlett #james howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #wolverine x reader #x men #x men x reader #wolverine

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ikeuverse · 7 months ago

Text

two worlds | psh

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader genres: angst, smut, slight fluff wc: 7.6k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : some swearing, alcohol consumption, controlling father, a little argument. sex on the kitchen worktop, quick female masturbation, unprotected sex (pack before use, and do it safely!!!), cumming inside, sunghoon is too soft for now, i think that's it. lmk if i missed anything.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : you and sunghoon have known each other since university, but you belong to different worlds. that wouldn't be a factor that would prevent you and him from getting together, if it weren't for the fear of confessing to each other and, when that happened, you wouldn't be able to tell him that you were going away… to another country.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : i went through so many plots until i ended up with this one. it was my work after more than a month of writer's block, so i can't say if i'm satisfied with it or not. but at least it helped me write something. all feedback is appreciated, so i hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 part 2 | masterlist ꒱

You thought it would be a good idea to go into the bar even though you had cried for countless hours before being there. Hesitating in that particular place wasn't something new for you, after all, it was where your friends met every Friday night.

You just happened to be there alone and in the middle of a Wednesday. The stress of your daily life and the weight you were carrying for fulfilling the wishes of your self-centered and petty father only made your mind spin and you succumbed to an absurd urge to drop everything and run. And you ran to the bar you knew so well. But not because you needed a drink urgently – although you knew the alcohol would be consumed somehow – but because someone there was your refuge at times like these.

Park Sunghoon was the owner of the best-known and most popular bar. Because he was the epitome of beauty, kind, and polite even in a sea of people who were completely drunk and came to that place looking to dance, rub themselves, and wind up with someone. But he was also known as your best friend since university and the guy who stole your heart.

It was hard not to fall in love with Sunghoon when he treated you so well from the moment you and he shared a few classes. When he brought you a steaming cup of coffee twice a week from his grandfather's coffee shop because you'd been there once and said you liked it. How did he remember that? You wondered every time you took a sip of the drink. But Sunghoon only thought, how could he forget?

All the details surrounding you were hard to forget and he came to realize that this was part of the little feeling that was going on between the two of you, even though Sunghoon was afraid to ask you out. Not because it would ruin the friendship, he was very forward-thinking and knew that neither you nor he would be able to do that because it was something beyond what the two of you shared. But because the worlds in which you and he lived were completely different.

You were studying to improve your knowledge and take over your father's company. You wore social clothes, high heels, and the most expensive imported perfumes so that you could meet your father's clients, who would be yours in the future, while you drank expensive wine and listened to banal conversations. At the same time, Sunghoon studied to understand how the corporate world worked, and business and to be able to take over his grandfather's coffee shop. When he passed away, he left it in his name and turned it into the bar it is today. Wearing shabby clothes, torn jeans, and blouses stained with all kinds of drink and food that he had already lost count of.

The coffee shop would have been very welcome if he was still a university student looking for a part-time job just to make some extra money, but with the end of university and a life full of bills and supporting himself, a bar would make a lot more money because he was now an adult. And adults liked alcohol, loud music, and a lot of flirting.

That's what he thought when he changed everything, from the paintings on the wall to the name of the establishment. His best friends became his partners to help run the bar and that's what helped him get a bit more of a head start on sales and popularity. Because they were well-known people at the university, and with Sunghoon being part of the soccer team and the popular kids, this consequently attracted many people who studied with them to become regular customers there.

You and your friends were one of them. Although you also liked to go to see Sunghoon and his best friends who were also your friends. That's why Fridays became a casual get-together for your group of friends.

But it wasn't today and that made you a little more apprehensive and tearful because it was the first time you'd been to the bar alone. You didn't go in with a friend or one of the boys waiting at the door to take you to the table they'd booked for the night.

Your steps were dragged and nervous as you passed people, bodies sweaty and dancing. Loud conversations as you heard someone cursing a soccer team from last night, another group of friends talking about kissing someone at the next table. You focused on every corner even though you didn't want to focus on anything and just went to the bar, lucky if any of the boys were there.

As soon as you finally got close, a few more steps and you'd be near the counter, but not before stopping and taking a look. Quickly sniffling to try to keep away the tears that were still collecting in your eyes because you didn't want any of your friends to see you cry. If you were lucky, the light in the bar would be so dark that it would camouflage your true face and you could make up an excuse and say that you just stopped by to say hello because you were nearby.

Your hands were hesitant as soon as you touched the counter in the empty space when a couple walked away after picking up their drinks and heading for the dance floor.

"Hello, welcome. What can I do—" Jay was one of Sunghoon's best friends and very much your friend too, not least because he was your best friend's boyfriend "Y/n?" his eyebrows arched in surprise and a small smile appeared on his lips as soon as he saw you.

"Hi, Jay" you tried your best not to sound shaky, although you knew that the volume of the music would mask your true feelings.

"What are you doing here?" he looked at you and then around "Is Stella or the girls with you?"

"No, no. I came alone" you pulled up a stool to sit down, your hands resting on the marble of the counter and your eyes darting to the numerous bottles behind Jay before you focused your gaze on him.

"Did you come for a drink?" he followed your gaze as you turned away momentarily, noticing that you were staring at the whisky bottles. After turning back to you, Jay sighed when you nodded slightly "On a Wednesday?"

"Are you monitoring me, Jongseong?"

"Ugh, I hate it when you all call me that, you sound like you're mad" he snapped and walked over to the side of the whisky bottles. Pulling out a bottle and a shot glass, Jay slid it in front of him and filled some of the contents.

Your eyes flicked to the label, slowly reading Hennessy. The brand was known to you, it was one of the whiskies your father used to drink. Feeling the burning sensation he supposedly felt every time he drank made you shiver, not from the alcohol itself, but from thinking about your father at that moment.

"Thank you" you said to Jay as soon as he held out the glass to you. A small smile captured his lips as you turned the glass over in one go.

"For God's sake, Y/n, take it easy" he warned "If you're having a bad day, this will only get worse."

"One more, please" you tried to ignore his caution. Jay just rolled his eyes and took the empty glass from your hand, filling it much less than the first shot.

Then the second, third, and fourth he didn't even want to say much. Although he had already put a glass of water in with the glass of whisky he had poured for you. Jay's silent request is for you to have at least a little more water next time.

You could protest and grumble at how overprotective he was, remembering how he was with Stella in the first place. Then with you and your other friends because, according to Jay, anyone who looked after his girlfriend also deserved to be looked after. That's why he was so protective and nice to you.

But this overprotection was nothing compared to Sunghoon's with you, and for a second your mind switched off from the fact that he could be there and would show up at any moment. You just didn't realize that it would be abruptly, knocking the glass out of your hand and slamming it against the counter.

"You've had too much to drink" didn't take a genius or being drunk enough to register Sunghoon's voice entering your ears. You only refused to turn towards him, but you felt the boy's presence right behind you.

"I think I'm a customer here today, so Jay, please" you ignored the fact that the glass was next to Sunghoon's hand and pulled it out to hand it to Jay.

You couldn't register his expression when he saw you pick up the glass, because your body was turned just in time along with the stool you were sitting on. Facing Sunghoon, who lowered himself to the level of your face.

"You're going home, right? I'll drive you" he said.

"Nope" you muttered back.

"We're not having this conversation here, Y/n."

"And nowhere else" your pout almost made him give in and lean forward to kiss you, but Sunghoon held back, his hands squeezing the upholstery of the seat you were sitting on and slowly rubbing the side of his thumbs against your leg.

He opened his mouth to say more, to force you out of there, or to make fun of the fact that he had been watching you for a while as you drank and talked to Jay while he served other people at the bar. He wanted to tell you more, to say that his heart was racing with worry because you were never one to drink like that and it was strange to see you so resistant. But all his words fell flat when Sunghoon looked deep into your eyes and saw you crumble.

You let the tears fall freely down your cheeks and the urge to sniffle and sob that you'd been holding in all night now surfaced when he wrapped his arms around you to hold you against his chest.

"Jay, you can take over here, right?" he asked.

"Sure, go ahead, mate" Jay said "Call me if you need anything, me and the boys will lock up here and run to you two."

You could imagine the sad smile Jay was giving Sunghoon to try and comfort him as he lifted you off the bar stool and walked with you through all those drunk people until he left. Still holding you against him for fear that someone might touch you or that you might disappear from his sight, Sunghoon didn't want anything to happen to you.

"Did you come by car?" he asked when the two of you arrived outside. The icy wind didn't even tickle your body because you were so immersed in Sunghoon's arms that you couldn't feel anything.

Pointing in the direction of the parking lot, he pulled you along with him until he was able to locate your car without too much effort.

"I need your keys" he asked, releasing your arms to turn towards you and look at you straight on.

Noticing every little feature of you since you'd arrived at the bar. The office clothes hugged your curves, and every piece of clothing looked great on you. The combinations of turquoise and gray further enhanced your beauty and every feature that Sunghoon had fallen in love with.

"No purse?"

"In the car" you said in a tearful voice, reaching for the keys in the back pocket of the pants you were wearing to hand them to him.

Sunghoon took them and unlocked the alarm for you both to get in, holding the passenger door for you until you sat down and he could close the door. Running to the driver's side and getting in too.

If it had been any other time, that silence between the two of you would have been comfortable and just what you needed amid so much confusion in your week. But it was killing you because you knew that Sunghoon looked furious. Maybe at you, you didn't know for sure, but you shrugged when you felt the tears still falling down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry" you whispered as quietly as you could, breaking the silence inside the car, which was still at a complete standstill.

The only sound coming from Sunghoon's lips were the interspersed sighs he gave, running his hands over his face and then through his hair countless times. Well, your apology shouldn't be accepted, after all, because on another occasion he would say that you didn't need to apologize. That it wasn't your fault or anything to comfort you. But Sunghoon wasn't saying anything and that made you cry even more.

You turned your face towards him to see if there was any glimmer of comfort or something you could cling to so that he wouldn't feel that way. Your eyes traveled down his figure, noticing the contrast in clothing the two of you were wearing. Sunghoon was wearing a beige shirt with a huge stain near the sleeve, probably a drink that some customer had knocked over or that he or the boys had made at the bar. There was a small tear in the collar and it was halfway down his hip. Sunghoon's torn and worn jeans gave the outfit a total charm and it made you smile through your tears because it was so characteristic of him.

"Sunghoon…" you decided to call him after you didn't get an answer from him, earning you his gaze straight away.

Sunghoon's brow furrowed at the sight of you crying next to him and his heart squeezed even tighter because he didn't know how to act in the face of so much worry and nervousness. He had seen you cry many times before, but what had gotten into him to act like that? Why was he being so rude when all you had done was go to his bar to drink and cry? Something was happening and he needed to act, but he wasn't thinking straight.

So he didn't think much of it either when he turned and raised his hands to hold your face, bringing your face close to his and leaning his forehead against yours. That act in itself was something between you and him beyond intimacy. Something the two of you shared, in a mute attempt to convey the will to go further. To break through that barrier to touch lips and kiss. But neither you nor Sunghoon had ever done that.

His thumbs brushed against your cheek, the delicate touch contrasting with the roughness of Sunghoon's skin against yours. His breath hitched against your trembling lips and you almost asked him to go further, but you held back.

"Are you going to work tomorrow?" he asked suddenly, in a whisper. His thumbs were still caressing your cheeks and you let out a shaky sigh at the question.

"I don't want to set foot in that place any time soon" you said.

Opening your eyes to find Sunghoon's gaze already on you, your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when he looked directly at your lips. But just as quickly as he did this, he managed to look away and back at you properly.

"So I'm spending the night in your apartment" he kissed your forehead, lingering his lips against your skin before pulling away and straightening up in the driver's seat "You need to tell me why you showed up here at the bar on a Wednesday, crying."

"And you'll need to tell me why you fought with me today" you pouted, hearing him laugh for the first time since you met that night.

Sunghoon agreed, starting the car's engine to get out of there and head straight to his apartment.

Staying up late talking about what had caused all this was the right thing to do, even if your body was begging for some sleep after a long hot bath. You remember telling Sunghoon that it was trouble with your father, as usual. The way the man wanted to control your life in the worst possible way, not content with having decided your future, he wanted to decide anything else that involved you.

But the subject was cut off there, you didn't want to tell your best friend that the real reason you were crying wasn't even your father's control over your life and his idiotic hunches, but that in a few weeks, you wouldn't be here anymore. You would no longer live in this country and, worst of all, you would no longer see Sunghoon. That was better left unsaid as you fell asleep in his arms, preventing him from leaving your bed after hearing all your wails, promising that you wouldn't cry about it anymore.

Even though it was hard to think that you would no longer be close to him. That, in all this time, you hadn't even managed to declare yourself or hear a statement from him. So now being in another country, with unrequited love – or so you both thought – couldn't be worse.

Either that or the little hangover that took over your body as soon as dawn broke and you opened your eyes. The slight difficulty in keeping them open when you groped around and didn't feel Sunghoon's warm body anywhere. Had he already left, then? Or had he decided to sleep in the guest room in the middle of the night? This last option is ruled out because you remember turning over a few times in the early hours of the morning or stirring in your sleep and feeling his arms around you. It was one of the times he slept in the same bed as you, doing so only when your friends went to sleep in your apartment and used the other two spare bedrooms. This was done more often than you thought, but it wasn't so important to think about it now.

Sitting up in bed after much pondering, you felt your head spin a little and your eyes finally open. Contemplating the moment when you should have been at your father's company – which would soon be yours – but here you were, in your apartment after a wave of hangover hit on a Thursday morning. It wasn't that bad, you remember doing it a few times while you were at college. The only difference was that the place would be full of university students, your friends who were supposed to meet up at the bar on Friday. But one of them was certainly there in your apartment at that moment, and you realized it as soon as you got out of bed to walk out of the room.

The smell of food invaded your nostrils as you walked down the corridor to the top of the stairs. Noises of cutlery and frying and an undeniable smell of coffee pulled you further and further into the kitchen of your apartment. Sunghoon was unbelievable and you knew he would do anything to see you well. You just didn't know that he would prepare an entire breakfast when the scene in front of you said so.

"Good morning" he smiled at you when he saw you leaning against the doorframe, sleepy and even more beautiful than he remembered.

Your smile soon followed and you almost fell back when your eyes finally caught up with him. He had slept without his shirt on, but seeing him like that right in front of you was too much. Sunghoon was wearing sweatpants belonging to Jake, who always left his or Jay's clothes at your apartment every time he went there with you, Stella, and his girlfriend. Sunghoon also had a few pieces here and there, but Jake's pants were the first he'd found the night before, so putting them on quickly to wrap you in a hug was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

"Good morning" you decided, pushing aside any thoughts and smiling at him, approaching in slow steps the slender, gorgeous guy who was preparing a mug of coffee "Is that for me?"

He hummed excitedly, putting a few things into the mug before turning and handing it to you.

"I found some things in your cupboard and I think I may have managed to replicate my grandfather's coffee, the one we had at university."

"Don't play games with me" you pouted as you picked up the mug "Are you serious?"

He leaned down to touch his lips to the top of your head, sniffing your hair and smelling the shampoo on your strands.

"You tell me" Sunghoon moved away to finish making the pancakes and arrange the bacon and eggs on the table on the other side of the counter, where he turned around and walked away from you.

Your eyes captured the whole moment as he took a long sip of coffee. It was just like his grandfather's, perhaps with a little more cinnamon and a hint of vanilla that you felt as the liquid went down your throat. It might have been Sunghoon's style, but the essence was completely his grandfather's from what you remembered from university. Smiling at this, you watched him set up the whole breakfast game while humming some tune you couldn't identify because your brain was focusing on his every move. The muscles flexed as he bent over to arrange the plates, or how his brow furrowed as he balanced the juice container on the table.

You didn't want to feel your heart squeeze at that scene because Sunghoon had already done it a few times. For both you and your friends, it was normal to see him excited about making breakfast or being so domestic. But it wasn't normal for you to feel like you might explode, that you needed to tell him that in a few weeks, you'd both be far enough apart that he'd – maybe – even forget about you.

"Hey, Y/n" his voice was desperate and snapped you out of your thoughts when you noticed him running away from where you were to come towards you. You only realized you were crying when he took the mug from your hand and ran his fingers down your cheek, collecting your freshly fallen tears "What happened? Did I do something wrong or…?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong" you sobbed quietly, your hands encircling his fists as Sunghoon held your face between them.

"So what happened?" he asked. "Is there something else bothering you?"

Yes. I'm practically moving out and we won't see each other for who knows how long. You choked on that thought as you looked into his eyes, the concern evident and the glint that adorned the dark orbs that you admired so much.

Your thoughts were consuming you as Sunghoon leaned towards you, trying to listen or hoping that words would come out of your mouth so that he could understand what was happening to you. In his mind, something at breakfast or the night before was completely wrong.

He may have overstepped the mark when he held you while you slept, keeping you close to his body the whole time. Or that he went through your kitchen and prepared a huge breakfast on a weekday when you were supposed to be in your office and you were here with him. But that didn't make sense and he just wanted to think that you were vulnerable from having bad times with your father and the weight on your back from trying to please him at all costs.

Sunghoon understood how burdened you were by this how much you disliked what you had and how your relationship with your father was, he understood from the moment you two met. That's what made you fall in love with him because he always understood you. And he fell in love with you because he saw you beyond any designer clothes you wore or jewelry your father gave you to put around your neck. He saw your eyes, your smile, he saw you for real.

And he was seeing it now, in front of him in your kitchen, and as your tears slowly dried until you stopped crying. Sunghoon thought about asking you again what had happened or if you wanted him to leave so you could be alone, but it was his turn to have his mind flooded with nothing but you when he felt your lips on his.

Suddenly, without any pretext, you simply leaned forward and kissed him.

Sunghoon's hands ran to your waist and pulled you against his body, afraid that this was his mind betraying him, or that he was daydreaming about your lips against his. But as soon as you whimpered softly to ask for permission to kiss him, he knew he wasn't dreaming.

Tongues soon intertwined and the taste of coffee in your mouth quickly passed into his mouth, making Sunghoon moan softly as he pressed you between his body and the kitchen counter. It was a repressed feeling since the time you two discovered such feelings and that you held onto until the present moment. If he had known that kissing you would be like this, that your mouth would fit perfectly on his, and that you would have the sweetest breath against his lips, Sunghoon would have kissed you much sooner. He would have taken advantage of every opportunity he had around you, your mouth, or the moments when you two almost kissed by accident. He should have done all this before because it was heavenly to feel your mouth move against his.

It was all too much and the way you were making him feel, but when your nails slid to the back of his neck, sanity had long since left Sunghoon's body. He slid his hands down your thighs and supported your body to place you sitting on the kitchen counter. The icy marble on your thighs and half of your ass where the shorts couldn't cover, you moaned against his mouth and leaned your body forward with a shiver running through you. Your chest pressed against his and Sunghoon fit between your legs, as little space as possible between the two of you.

Pulling away after a long while, he rolled his eyes to your lips to notice a thin layer of saliva and the redness of your bottom lip. Swollen and all beautiful while he wasn't much different. Your chest rose and fell to normalize your breathing and he kept his hands resting on the counter beside each of your thighs.

“Y/n” he called your name, voice hoarse like a plea for you to keep him between your legs even after the kiss was over.

"Yeah?" you answered him, hands running down his chest and feeling Sunghoon's heart speed up under your fingers when your hand stopped there. Your eyes stared into his as your legs pressed against Sunghoon's ass to press him between your legs.

“Shit” he moaned as the growing erection pressed between your legs, the heat of your still-covered pussy making him shudder.

Quickly Sunghoon's hands slid down your thighs and went to the waistband of your pajama shorts, grabbing the fabric without taking it out of place. You tightened your legs around his waist again and at that moment you saw him gain courage and roll your hips against his. Sunghoon’s dick was rock hard and you couldn’t hold back your moan as the perfect movement made the head of his dick press against your swollen clit. The wonderful friction of dry fucking as he alternated his hips between rolling and going back and forth, only to be able to draw moans from your lips each time his dick got the perfect pressure on your pussy.

“Sunghoon” you moaned his name, hands moving down from his chest to his stomach slowly. The nail scratched all the way down forming a red trail against the white skin in front of you. You stopped with your fingers on the waistband of the pants he was wearing, swallowing hard when his hand on the waistband of your shorts went down.

"Yes, my love?" he whispered. So deep making your pussy clench around nothing, and it was pathetic how you felt like this while he had barely touched you.

“Can you—” your voice hitched, your eyes closed quickly when Sunghoon's fingers entered your shorts and panties, going straight to your wet clit.

His moan made you moan too, combined with the pressure of his fingertips rubbing circles on your muscles in need of attention. It felt so good not to have to ask him for much, knowing that the impulse to kiss him was making you do this kind of thing that you didn't even know would happen. Much less him.

Feeling like you had kissed him was something Sunghoon never thought would happen, especially since you were always shyer than him. All the advances and physical contact between the two of you came from him, so he thought that, if one day there was a kiss between you and him, he would definitely make the first move. But since it hadn't happened, Sunghoon was left to enjoy that moment because he knew he was giving himself as much as you.

You could no longer hold back the desire he had to have you in his arms, at his fingertips, wrapped around his dick. Sunghoon wanted to feel you.

"That is good?" he asked as he ran his fingers down your pussy lips, parting them with the obscene sound of your wetness spreading. You would be embarrassed just to hear it, but you no longer cared as his fingers worked wonders on your pussy.

“That feels wonderful” you moaned as he circled his index finger around your entrance, feeling like you had clenched around nothing. As impatient as he is.

With a movement away, you almost cried when you no longer felt Sunghoon's fingers in your pussy. Almost grabbing him back and shoving his hand where you needed him most. But everything calmed down when you saw that he was grabbing your shorts and panties, asking you to lift your hips so he could remove what was getting in the way.

Soon the pieces of clothing were on the floor and you thanked the gods for being free down there, with his hand returning to surround your clit in circular movements. Sunghoon's nimble and skilled fingers made small drawings on your pussy while his other hand went up to your face and held it. Cupped between your cheek and neck so that he kept your face close to his while the fingers in your pussy were slid to your entrance.

“Don’t hide your sounds from me, okay?” he asked as he introduced two fingers at once, watching you bite your bottom lip hard. Sunghoon smiled when you opened your eyes to look at him, nodding as you let your moans come out freely.

The stretch of your pussy felt divine to him, his fingers covered in arousal and your walls clenching so deliciously as he went deeper with slow movements. Not because he wanted to torture you, but because he was taking his time as he felt you getting wetter and wetter so he could take his cock.

Meanwhile, his hands reached down with difficulty to the waistband of the pants he wore to sleep, pushing it down just to free the head of his dick. Because you didn't have enough strength to continue the work since Sunghoon's fingers in your pussy took away any concentration you had. He chuckled softly at your snort of displeasure at not getting what he wanted to do, then he leaned in to kiss your lips.

A tender, slow, and affectionate kiss. With your tongues moving against each other romantically, silently conveying that you two loved each other, even if it was never said in the first place.

Sunghoon removed his fingers from your pussy with a pornographic pop due to the amount of juices coming out of there. He took the opportunity to lower his pants to his feet and use his fingers, wet with your essence, to wrap around the head of his dick and smear it along with the precum that came out of there. That scene could be worth any orgasm he had as you watched him slowly masturbate in front of you, with his finger full of you and his precum. This was making you so hot that you decided to take off your pajama shirt, now matching his nudity.

You pulled him by the back of his head and kissed him. Wanting to occupy your mouth or something other than focusing on his dick that was already throbbing to be inside you, soon feeling him pull you closer to the edge of the kitchen counter and feeling his dick against your thigh.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” he asked gently against your lips, you sighed softly and agreed, whispering a slow “yes” to him.

As if he already knew your body, Sunghoon was precise in positioning the head of his dick in your pussy and sliding it from your clit, the soaked lips, and your entrance. Collecting even more of your juices until the head of his cock was in your hole. Slowly entering your pussy with almost stopping movements, just so that you felt comfortable each time he moved inside you to penetrate a little more.

Your nails scratched every inch of his skin that was visible and touchable to you, and he smiled, satisfied, knowing that those marks would remain on his skin for a long time. Not that it was a bother because Sunghoon would happily tell anyone who asked that it was his girl who had done it.

“Fuck” you grunted as his pelvis finally slammed against yours, his dick completely inside you. Big and throbbing, touching your spongy part in a slow movement that he made as he started to pull out and re-enter your pussy.

“Are you—” he moaned “Fuck, Y/n” Sunghoon’s lips found yours again.

Your hot pussy sucking his cock was the best feeling Sunghoon could have felt in his life. It was as if your pussy had molded itself to him in just a few seconds while he was inside you, no longer wanting to come out.

“You can move now, Hoonie” calling him that nickname always made something in Sunghoon light up, but the way you whimpered and then moaned, made Sunghoon's hips slam hard against yours.

He would even apologize for how careless he was in fucking you like that because he wanted to take it slow and take his time. He wanted to enjoy every movement, but the excitement of hearing you call him made something click in him.

Responding to your requests, Sunghoon began to move between your legs. His cock moved in and out slowly but hit you hard every time his pelvis met yours. The sound of skin slapping together, accompanied by the moans you two shared was the soundtrack of that kitchen. Sunghoon went back to cupping your face in his hands, cupping each side of your cheek to keep your face in place as he fucked your hips against his. Your legs wrapped around him pressing your thighs against his waist to press him further as he bottomed out, his cock reaching your cervix with each hard thrust until the end.

“You feel so good, love” he moaned close to your mouth, his gaze falling between your bodies to see his cock being swallowed by your pussy. The white ring of his excitement wetting his dick to his pelvis when he got close to your pussy.

The lazy smile he gave you when he looked back at you, his face fucked up and his eyes focused on his every move.

“Hoonie” you called him.

"Yes, love?" he leaned in, mouth brushing against his and hip movements never stopping as he tried to hear what you had to say.

It could be the horniness taking over you, or the need to say it because you didn't know when you would have another opportunity. And if it would have. He could run away and never see you again, but you would need to take that chance while you were being fucked by him in your kitchen.

Your hands reached for his hands on your face, sliding one of them along the prominent veins on Sunghoon's forearm. He sighed softly at the touch, smiling against your mouth.

“I'm in love with you” your voice followed by a loud moan as he slammed his hips against yours, his cock entering your pussy completely.

The action itself was a shock because he wasn't expecting it. Maybe hearing you say that he was doing great, that his cock was something amazing, or something related to the sex you two were sharing. But never something he looked forward to hearing, not when his dick was buried inside your pussy.

Sunghoon slowed down the pace of his thrusts, remaining with his hands on your face before taking your lips in a slow kiss, sucking the tip of your tongue to your lower lip.

“I've always wanted to hear that” he sighed breathlessly, one of his thumbs going down to your bottom lip and pressing there “Because I've been in love with you since we met, Y/n.”

It would be romantically beautiful if he didn't have his hair disheveled, sweaty, and plastered to his forehead. And if you weren't oozing excitement from your pussy onto the kitchen counter and his dick if your body wasn't on the verge of exploding. But no matter how you and him were, hearing that made things a little better for you.

“Then show me” you whispered “Make me cum on your cock.”

He just nodded without having the courage to contradict you or say how sexy you were commanding him like that. Because Sunghoon also wanted to cum and it wasn't much different from you.

Returning the ministrations of your hips against his and burying his cock in you, he accelerated the pace of his thrusts, and the sound of skin slapping filled the kitchen again. His cock buried itself deeper and deeper into your pussy and soaked between your thighs and his abdomen each time he went even deeper into you.

Sunghoon pressed his thumb again on your lower lip, collecting some of your saliva so he could wet his finger and go down to your clit. Spreading your saliva there to stimulate the neglected muscle as he fucked his dick inside you.

“Come for me then, love. I want to hear you moan my name” he whispered close to your ear, sliding his mouth down your neck and biting the place eagerly.

Teeth dug into your skin as he sped up his thrusts as he felt his cock pulse inside you and your pussy squeeze him against its walls. Sunghoon could scream right then and there when he felt you contract around him, moaning his name as he asked and writhing on the kitchen counter. Your nails dug into his shoulders as a way to balance himself, taking possession of the man who fucked you so good and squeezed your clit until he extracted the last drop of your cum.

“I want you to cum inside me” you whispered close to his ear, taking advantage of the fact that Sunghoon’s lips were still on your neck “Please, Hoonie.”

You could be a huge motherfucker and he had never seen that side of you until now. But it also wasn't complaining that you were like that with him, on the contrary. It was great to see this side of you from the angle and position he was in.

Sunghoon gave a few more thrusts into your convulsing and overstimulated pussy, going deep with his dick until jets of cum painted each of your walls white, feeling the heat take over your pussy as he slid his dick inside you. Pulsating and incredibly skilled, pushing harder and harder until he stopped cumming inside you.

He was stunned and panting, teeth sliding across your skin and a hickey left in place before he pulled away to rest his forehead against yours. Still keeping his cock inside you to have the heat of your pussy envelop him a little more.

“You…” he started saying, clearing his throat when he felt it dry. You knew what he was going to say, trying not to show any sadness and just focusing on the moment he was having. “You really meant that, didn’t you?”

“About being in love with you?” you asked, seeing him agree with a shy nod. As if he didn’t still have his dick inside you and had fucked you just a few minutes ago “Of course I do.”

“Good” Sunghoon smiled at you, kissing your lips to get out of your pussy and prevent you both from moaning loudly at the feeling of each other’s emptiness “Now let’s clean ourselves up, shall we?”

It was your turn to agree, accepting his help to get off the counter and go to your room.

You didn’t want to say anything to him about not seeing each other anymore or about how you were leaving. Many possibilities were running around your mind and you thought of something that might work. But none of them were involved in facing Sunghoon face to face after today.

"A letter? Who would send that nowadays?” Sunghoon laughed as he took the envelope from Jay's hand, rolling his eyes and pulling out a chair to sit down.

It was close to lunch and the bar wasn't even close to opening, but he and his best friends always went at that time to have lunch together and clean the bar before the night was full of the customers they always used to come to.

It was Friday and he was excited because he knew he would spend time with his friends and, more than that, he would spend his time with you. He would finally have you with him after telling you he was in love with you and hearing that you were in love with him back. Sunghoon could have sworn this was all a dream because less than two days ago he heard it, waiting for a long time since college.

But if all the waiting was made up for with the sex you two had in the kitchen, then continued in the bedroom and ended up in the bathroom of your apartment, he would be completely happy with having waited so long.

“Open it already, dude” Jay whined “Or I’ll do it and read it out loud.”

Sunghoon denied all of Jay's theatrics and rolled his eyes, opening the envelope that had no sender, only the recipient. He sighed as he unfolded the paper inside.

“It’s a letter from Y/n” he smiled at the paper when he recognized your handwriting.

Jay also smiled, remembering the day before when he received Sunghoon's call after he left your house. Telling everything that had happened, maybe omitting some details so it wouldn't be so embarrassing for Jay, but he still wanted to tell about the small statement. About how he saw the sparkle in his eyes when he heard that you were in love with him and how you shivered in his arms when he heard that it was reciprocal.

But also, how could it not? Sunghoon would be crazy if he wasn't in love with you back. He would call himself every name possible for not realizing how amazing you were and how passionate you were too.

As he read that letter, the smile disappeared and Jay did the same, not understanding why Sunghoon seemed so apprehensive reading something you had sent him. Not after the time the two of you shared.

“Hey, dude” Jay called him, but all Sunghoon did was crumple up that paper and throw it on the table.

Leaving without saying a single word he rolled up the bar door and disappeared from there.

“What happened to him?” Heeseung appeared next, startled by the noise the door made as soon as Sunghoon left.

Jay was just as confused as he was, not wanting to invade his friend's privacy, but he was worried and knew that Sunghoon or Heeseung would do the same for him if they saw him like that. So the boy did the most sensible thing, which was to crumple the paper to read the letter you had written to Sunghoon.

His eyes widened with each word before reading specific things you had written, one of them being the reason why Sunghoon had left there like that.

Maybe it was our last moment together because, in a few weeks, I'm moving to Switzerland. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I just… I was scared.

Jay put the pieces together little by little. So that was the reason that made you go to the bar crying on Wednesday, you were moving to Switzerland. And you would lose Sunghoon one way or another because you certainly had your father's hand in this decision, which certainly wasn't his.

Now all that was left was to know what the boy would do with this information, because the way Sunghoon left that bar, he hadn't taken the news very well.

#enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen sunghoon #enha smut #sunghoon angst #enhypen angst #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #sunghoon hard hours #enhypen masterlist #enhypen imagines #bay writes.

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thegracefullion · 8 months ago

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10 Generations. 10 Different Heroines. 1 Legacy. Welcome to the Literary Heroine Legacy Challenge! I’ve been itching for a good legacy to revive my love for the Sims 4, and I haven’t found one so I wrote one myself. I was inspired after reading Emma— the family dynamics, drama, and romance were everything I ever wanted in a Sims challenge. So I modernized the stories and adapted them to fit this game. Special shoutout to Designergirl81, who I met through MissLollypopSims’ Discord! The generations of Anne of Avonlea and Dorothy were their brainchildren. 💗 I designed each generation to reference a famous literary heroine. This is a very story-oriented challenge but feel free to bend, tweak, and change as much as you can! Sims Challenges aren’t meant to limit your fun. 😉 TL;DR: Play your own way while letting these rules guide your storytelling! The official tag of the challenge is #TheLiteraryHeroineChallengeTS4. Have fun! Check out the rules here or keep reading!

Basic Rules

Play on any life span you want but I recommend playing on Normal life span.

You are encouraged to play with female heirs. Of course, this is optional!

You are discouraged from using money cheats. Some generations have stories that are related to their social class— so try to stay true to the story as much as you can.

You can live wherever you want unless the generation states otherwise.

Feel free to customize each generation’s race and sexual orientation

Unless specifically stated, each generation has to finish their aspiration and career.

Even if most of these books are classics, I wrote this with a more modern take on it. You don’t need any mods or CC to fit the eras’ aesthetics— but if you want to, you totally can!

⭐ means there’s a recommended mod for this!

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 1: Elizabeth Bennett 📚 Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to play you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart. 📚

It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that all Sims 4 challenges must start with an heir. In this case, that’s you, which is surprising because everyone else in your life has decided that you are plain, especially when compared to your other two sisters. Lately though, you start to sense that you’ve been getting more attention from your neighbors. One particular Sim hasn’t been able to leave you and your family alone… and you don’t like them at all, not one bit. Well… maybe just a bit.

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Traits: Family Oriented, Hot-Headed, Bookworm OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Journalist

→ Master the Writing skill. → Live in a rundown family home passed down by your parents with two sisters until you are married. → Have a negative relationship with a neighbor. → Reject a proposal from your work boyfriend. → Build a relationship with your neighbor after you reject the proposal of your ex. → Have a scandal involving one of your sisters that your neighbor supports you through. → Fall in love and marry this neighbor then move in with him. → Have two children.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 2: Emma Woodhouse 💗 It is very difficult for the prosperous to be humble. 💗

Growing up, you were always the sheltered one. Your father was very protective of you, and therefore never let you out of his sight. Of course, that didn’t stop you from becoming well-loved by the entire town. You were known for throwing the best dinner parties and befriending everyone your father and mother knew. Needless to say, this got to your head a bit. You weren’t arrogant, you were confident. In everyone’s eyes, you could do no wrong. Well, everyone except your childhood best friend— who was never afraid to call you out for being a bit clueless at times.

Aspiration: Neighborhood Confidante OR Party Animal

Traits: Self-Assured, High Maintenance, Music-Lover OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Romance Consultant or Lawyer

→ Master the Charisma and Piano skills. → Host at least 5 gold-star dinners. → Have a childhood best friend who’s a bit older than you. For example: When you’re 17 (end of teenage years), they’re already 20 (start of young adult years). * → You can’t have good friends who are your age until your childhood best friend ages up into a young adult. → Make a new friend that you treat like a “project” until you two fall out. Choose if you two will reconcile in the future. → Profess your love to your childhood best friend during a heated argument. → Marry your best friend and live with your mother and father in your childhood home until your parents die. Have one child. *It goes without saying to only get with your childhood best friend when the two sims are both young adults 🙂 No super uncomfortable age gaps, please.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 3: Scarlett O’Hara ✨ “Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get him back.” ✨ All your life, you grew up spoiled. Your mother and father were so in love, and you almost expected to have a story as romantic and easy as theirs. However, when your high school flame elopes quickly with someone else right after graduation, you start to spiral. No longer able to get things your way, you begin to self-sabotage and jump from relationship to relationship. Deep down you know you should stop and smarten up but frankly, my dear, you don’t give a damn.

Aspiration: Soulmate— you fail this

Traits: Materialistic, Genius, Jealous OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: None until your divorce then become a Manual Laborer + Barista

⭐ Recommended Mods: Healthcare Redux Mod, Extreme Violence Mod

→ Don’t master any skill. → Have a high school flame who elopes with someone else. → Elope immediately with someone else. Have them die tragically.* → Marry another person quickly who you have bad compatibility with. Get negative romance with them right before they pass.* → Marry a third time. Have them catch you in a compromising moment with your high school flame, which leads to a divorce that leaves you with nothing. → End up working two part time jobs to keep your household running. → Have 4 kids with your 3 husbands (you can cheat for twins, if you want). *You decide how they die. I recommended having mods like the Healthcare Redux and Extreme Violence in your game for realistic roleplay reasons— but if he gets tragically eaten by a Cowplant that works too! 🙂

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 4: Jo March 🧾 “When the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.” 🧾 Growing up was not easy for you. Your childhood was incredibly unpredictable with your mother jumping from relationship-to-relationship. And when things started to stabilize emotionally, you ended up in poverty. Luckily, you had your siblings to cling to, and a passion for writing that’s unmatched. You wrote a ton of things across different genres, except for romance which you didn’t quite understand. In fact, everyone always expected you to be a little woman, not rough or wild, but you knew in your heart that’s not what you were destined to become.

Aspiration: Best-Selling Author

Traits: Creative, Unflirty, and Ambitious OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Author

⭐ Recommended Mods: Writing Career Overhaul, SNB Banking

→ Master the Writing and Logic skills. → Be best friends with all of your siblings. → Start selling short stories as a teenager to help pay the bills. → Get a best friend in high school who professes their love to you during graduation. Turn them down. Optional: Have them marry one of your other siblings. → Move away to the city to focus on your writing. Always send 30% of your income to your mother until she dies. → Due to a tragedy in the family, adopt a child of one of your siblings.* → Win a Starlight Accolade for one of your novels. → Never marry but live a fulfilling life. *They are to be the next heir to preserve the bloodline. You can adopt more if you want.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 5: Anne Shirley 📖 “I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.” 📖 You were adopted by your aunt and lived a happy childhood. Despite being surrounded by family drama, you never let it dampen your spirit. You struggled with social cues and caused mayhem wherever you went— of course, that never stopped you from making your voice heard. You were, afterall, raised by someone who was never afraid to make a point. However, unlike your aunt, you always longed for romance. You always imagined big declarations of passion— but perhaps it’s time to learn that love creeps to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways.

Aspiration: Academic OR Soulmate

Traits: Romantic, Socially Awkward, and Loyal OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Education Career

⭐ Recommended Mod: Education Overhaul

→ Master the Research and Debate skill. → Have a childhood enemy that you become best friends with in high school. → Go to University and study Language and Literature. → Fall out with your best friend while in University. → Start dating someone you meet in University but break up right after graduation. → Get a job in the Education Career and write on the side. → Reconnect with your former best friend and realize you love them. → Get married to your best friend. → Retire from the Education career and become a freelance writer in your twilight years.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 6: Nancy Drew 🔍 “I don't promise to forget the mystery, but I know I'll have a marvelous time.” 🔍 Every bedtime, your mother read you stories that she and your grandmother wrote. Among all of those, it’s your grandmother’s mysteries that impacted you the most. There was something so thrilling about being a heroic, fearless woman who helped others out. Because of this, you gained a bunch of friends who loved you very deeply. With their support, you grew up as a well-known detective who can solve any case. It was a fun life, but you eventually settled down in Henford-On-Bagley to have a family of your own.

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Traits: Generous, Nosy, and Outgoing OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Detective OR ⭐ Zerbu’s Simvestigations Mod

→ Master the fitness skill. → Be close friends with both your parents. → Have 2 best friends who are either your roommates (Discover University) or live in the same apartment complex as you (For Rent) for your entire YA life. → Get engaged to someone you meet on-the-job. → Before marrying your fiance, go on a trip to Selvadorada with your 2 best friends and explore the Jungle Temples. → Settle down in Henford-On-Bagley and have a farm life of your own. → Never move away once you settle in Henford-On-Bagley.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 7: Dorothy Gale 🐶 “If we walk far enough, we shall sometime come to someplace.” 🐶 Growing up you knew that there was more to the world than what was outside your own backdoor. Afterall, your mother was a famous detective— if she went on her own adventures, why can’t you?

With her and your father’s support, you spend your young adult life traveling. You made some great friends along the way (and even some loves), but eventually you start to wonder if there is no place like home.

Aspiration: Local Aspirations— complete at least two

Beach Life

Mt. Komorebi Sightseer

Fount of Tomarani Knowledge

Traits: Adventurous, Dog Lover, and Loves Outdoors OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Any Freelance Career

⭐ Recommended Mods: SimNation Travel, Home Region

→ Have a dog that goes everywhere with you. → Live in 3 or more worlds during your Young Adult life. → Make 3 best friends that each teach you a valuable life lesson. → After making your three best friends, use reward points to add the following traits: Brave, Savant, and Incredibly Friendly. → As an adult, realize you miss your family and return home. → Have a long distance relationship with the father of your children.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 8: Wendy Darling 🌟 “She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. ” 🌟 You grew up waiting. First, for your father’s seasonal visits… which eventually stops when you become a teenager. Next, for the opportunity to leave Henford-on-Bagley to pursue your dreams of becoming an actress. And finally, for your first love, a man who refused to propose to you, no matter how long you waited for him to. Eventually you grew tired waiting and decided to grow up. You married a sensible man, had a child, and gave up your dreams of becoming an actress. Still, you held on to the dreams of your first love and end up reconnecting in a night of passion that leaves you pregnant with his child. Realizing that he’ll never grow up, you decide to dedicate your life to your family and husband.

Aspiration: Master Actor/Actress - you fail this or the⭐ Housewife Aspiration (after you marry)

Traits: Perfectionist, Proper, and Cheerful OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Actor/Actress

→ Master the Parenting skill. → Have a distant family dynamic with your father who never lives with you. → Join the drama club and meet your first love. Optional: He has the childish trait. → Give your first love all of your major romantic milestones. → Lose touch with your first love when you move to Del Sol Valley. → Marry a man you’d consider as sensible. Have one child with him. → Have a one time secret affair that results in another child. → Dedicate your life to your children afterwards.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 9: Alice Liddell 🐰 “It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.” 🐰

There were times you felt like you never truly belonged anywhere. While everyone at home lived and abided by your parents’ rules, your head was always in the clouds. Sensibilities and propriety were never in your vocabulary, much to the disdain of your father and the rest of your siblings. Still, you were a free spirit that could never be controlled. After moving out as a young adult, you fell in love with cooking and mixology. You also met a group of misfits who were as different as you. Every Sunday, you’d host special “tea” parties with them, that broadened your worldview and made you realize that the world gets curiouser and curiouser with each passing day.

Aspiration: Master Mixologist or Master Chef

Traits: Clumsy, Foodie, and Childish OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Culinary Career

⭐ Recommended Mods: Basemental, Grannies Cookbook, Open Love Life

→ Master the Cooking and Mixology Skills. → Have a juice/nectar hobby on the side. → Have a club with people who have weird or eccentric traits.* → Fall in love with someone with the Erratic Trait. → Host “tea” parties every Sunday in your own home. ⭐ Optional: Use the Basemental Mods and have your Sims get high on dope/drunk on alcohol during the tea parties. → Dye your hair a different, brighter color. → Live in a quirky and colorful house. → Befriend a rabbit who you talk to constantly. Name them The Mad Hatter. → ⭐ Optional: Be in a polyamorous relationship with Romantic Boundaries OR the Open Love Life Mod → Have two children. *You decide what weird and eccentric means.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 10: Countess Ellen Olenska 🎨 “The real loneliness is living among all these people who only ask one to pretend.” 🎨

You appreciated your mother’s lifestyle. You saw the world for what it could become, and not what everyone wanted it to be. However, you worried about your younger sister. You saw her innocence and wanted to protect it. When you turned into a young adult, you moved away and took your sister with you to start anew. However, life was not always easy. Straight out of teenhood, you married someone from a different city and had a tumultuous relationship with him. You separate with him and continue to care for your sister. You’re able to provide for her through your paintings, which also brought you a lot of fame. When she grew up into a Young Adult, she formed an attachment with a man that… intrigued you. She married him. This kept him in your life, but made it difficult for you to ignore your feelings. One night, you find yourself alone together, and you must make a choice: stay with him and break your sister's heart, or leave forever to give them peace. You have a price to pay either way— we can't behave like people in novels without consequence, can we?

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Traits: Gloomy, Art Lover, and Family Oriented OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Critic

⭐ Recommended Mods: RPO, Wonderful Whims, Custom Relationship Bits, Soulmates

→ Master the Painting Skill. → Become a Level 3 Celebrity with your paintings. → Marry someone who isn’t your soulmate straight out of high school. Have a negative relationship with him before separating. ⭐ Optional: Only temporarily separate with him using the RPO Mod. → Be best friends with your sister. → Become soulmates with the partner of your sister without consummating the relationship. → When you’re an adult, invite your sister’s partner over, and make a choice— woohoo together and break your sister's heart, or end the emotional affair. → If you woohoo together - Tell your sister the next day and become enemies. Name your child after them. → If you end the emotional affair - Move away from your love and get back together with your ex-husband. Die without having your own children.

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iannmin · 3 months ago

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loser boyfriend san ♡ | 최산

pairing: domestic san! x reader (just san being an absolute sucker for his s/o <3), fluff (too much fluff)

a/n: realistic little moments of what san would be like because we all love san (if there are any spelling or punctuation errors, please ignore them)

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

loser boyfriend san who comes into your room in the middle of the night dragging his shiba plushie, eyes barely opened, just because you had a nightmare of being chased by a running broccoli in the middle of the streets. but he doesn't judge you, and holds you close in his arms, listening to all of your incoherent blabbering, hiccupping and sobbing, tears soaking a wet patch on his sandokki pajamas. after which, he tugs you to bed, lying beside you. the morning after, you wake up to san sprawled on the floor, hugging his shiba plushie close to his chest.

loser boyfriend san who takes pride in bringing you and your mom to the nail salon. and he absolutely does not care about the stares he receives when he links arms with you and your mom, striding in like a proud kitten. he waits patiently by your side, head resting on his arms, examining each and every procedure. "jagiya, doesn't it hurt? they are snipping off your skin!" san exclaims. oh,, such dumb boy. "san, it's my cuticles, i don't feel a thing" and when you and your mom attempt to explain to him what a french tip is, he smiles and nods sheepishly, even though you knew very well that nothing went into that boy's head <3

loser boyfriend san who claims to take taekwondo and gym classes to "man up" yet every time you fall sick he can't help but bawl his eyes out. "jagiya, it's okay, it's not your fault. it's just a little cough, that's all" you whisper while running your fingers through his hair. san, who had his head buried in between your breasts looks up at you, dragon eyes softened into swollen doe eyes. but your words didn't seem to help. he blabbers, tears beginning to well up in his eyes yet again "what if you die? what if you never wake up again because your cough killed you? what if-" "SAN. I'M NOT GOING TO DIE, IT'S JUST A COUGH"

loser boyfriend san who never fails to beat the housewife agenda by packing you cute lunchboxes when you had lessons to attend. every time you opened up the hello kitty themed lunchbox container, your friends would be in awe about how he managed to make the cute octopus shaped sausages, a heart-shaped omelette and fruits cut into different animals. once, you had forgotten your lunchbox at home and not even two hours into class, san showed up at your school running to you while frantically pointing at the lunchbox. "i can't leave my baby starving" is all he said to you before hurrying off to his school in a bike because he doesn't have a drivers license (...)

loser boyfriend san who travelled 8 hours to your parent's house without you knowing, just to ask for their acceptance to be your husband. "There is no one who provokes or quarrel with me. I can save her by fighting off bad guys because I have taken exercise hard and i can give her a lot of love because i grew up in a loving home. If you allow me, i will make her happy and comfortable all the time." and of course your parents were over the moon.

and that was the last time you had the rights to call him your loser boyfriend, because now he's your loser husband, and you still love him very much <3

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comicaurora · 2 months ago

Note

Recently with Arcane ending and the backlash/critics the second season received I've come to feel like it's even harder to start writing and creating art (as in, "if even people on that level aren't perfect, what chance do I have of making something truly good?"). How do you deal with this feeling, to start creating, knowing all the mistakes you're gonna have to make?

Well that's an interesting question. I think Arcane is actually a really good example for this. Because as far as I can tell, everything Arcane did with its story was, from the creators' perspective, a success.

I didn't see any glaring mistakes in Arcane season 2. I just saw a lot of decisions that served the themes they wanted to explore - love being unbreakable even when the participants have hurt each other unfathomably, sisters and sister cities falling naturally back into care and alliance when faced with an outside threat, the blinding allure of vengeance and rage and how it's a trap that must be actively escaped.

I think it's always important to meet a story where it's at. "I wanted the story to be a different story" is never a useful criticism. A storyteller needs to tell the story they think should be told. I think Arcane is throwing some people because season 1 in isolation looked like it could have been setting up some different threads - I was expecting them to more thoroughly explore the class divide in Piltover and Zaun and how they could navigate mending their relationship after so many atrocities and injustices inflicted on Zaun, but instead they used the sister cities as a mirror for Vi and Powder, and Vi and Powder are two people who love each other and have hurt each other and despite that will never stop being sisters, so that gets reflected back into Piltover and Zaun. I don't think that's a perfect analogy, but I do think it's the analogy they were going for.

A story cannot be every story. They picked the story they wanted to tell and executed it in the time they had, and I think they did good. That's a lesson we can all internalize as artists; my art, once created, cannot contain every possibility it held before it existed. And even if I fulfil my vision as closely as possible, some people are going to wish I'd done something else. And if those people have such a strong vision of the story they wish I'd told instead, it sounds like they should probably tell that story, since it's already taken shape in their mind. "I wish this story had scrapped its plans and themes and explored this OTHER idea" isn't useful as a criticism, but it is a very powerful artistic motivator.

#asks #writing stuff

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luvdsc · 1 month ago

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barbie girl.

if life is plastic (and therefore, nonbiodegradable), then it’s so not fantastic. honestly, who came up with that? regina george really should’ve googled about the new plastics economy.

or alternatively, pretty girls rule the world, and you find out that he’s (not) all that.

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: comedy, fluff, angst ⋮ makeover + college au word count :: 24,618 words warnings :: body issues, body image, weight mentions, insecurities, beauty is a social construct, [spoiler] did something bad, people being literal scum, so much gaslighting that you can start a wildfire and j*ke gyll*nh*al should take notes, “if a man talks shit then i owe him nothing” playlist :: pretty boys (romi) ⋆ you can’t sit with us (sunmi) ⋆ i just wanna know (katherine li) ⋆ lie to girls (sabrina carpenter) ⋆ look what you made me do (taylor swift) ⋆ leftover feelings (regina song) ⋆ number one girl (rosé) + extended playlist here. author’s note :: she’s all that is one of my most favorite rom coms ever, but i’ve always been ///: at the whole makeover idea and decided to write my own version !! the idols mentioned in this fic are just characters, and how i portray them in this fic do not reflect how i actually view them or their irl personas. as always, much love to miss lana and miss moon for being my biggest cheerleaders ᥫ᭡ ↳ part of the 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 collaboration series.

i. hiya, barbie! hi, ken!

Na Jaemin does not know that you exist.

Good looking, charismatic, and popular — it’s his world, and you’re just living in it. Or something like that. You’re decently smart, somewhat funny, and not pretty enough to stand out, but not exactly hideous according to societal standards (source: those beauty quizzes in Seventeen magazine that you used to be obsessed with when you were thirteen and in desperate need of flirting tips). If he was the main lead, you’d probably be Extra #6, maybe Extra #2 on a good day.

By your calculations, the two of you should never cross paths, like two parallel lines. Wait, scratch that, you would probably never be aligned with anything that has to do with this guy. You saw him standing outside of the door of your shared accounting classroom during your fall semester, and he spent twenty five minutes editing his picture for Instagram and ended up late for the lecture. And he probably already spent even more time selecting the final photo to edit before you arrived to class and noticed him. Absolute idiot. Absolute handsome idiot, but idiot nonetheless. A grade A himbo with a grade C in financial accounting.

Okay, so scrap the parallel lines theory, maybe skew lines are a better way of explaining it. Yeah, that seems about right, the two of you are from completely different dimensions, never meant to interact or run parallel with each other. And once again, by this logic, your paths should never cross.

“Y/N!”

You stand corrected.

Na Jaemin does know that you exist.

You suddenly remember that there was that one small group presentation in that very same aforementioned accounting class, and you were assigned to the same group as Jaemin. Armed with this rediscovered memory, you are going to revise your earlier response and say that the correct descriptor for your relationship is perpendicular lines. That sounds right. Final answer. You’re locking it in.

Your paths should have only intersected once, the two of you should be going in different directions, and even though you’re in another class with him again for spring semester this year (since all freshmen with a business major has to take the same Gen. Ed. classes), not once have the two of you had a proper conversation with each other (He asked you to pass a note one time, but that barely counts). Jaemin should have forgotten you by now, and you should be continuing on with your side character life that you’re very much content with.

So then why on earth is he shouting your name like you’re old friends and causing what feels like every person within a one mile radius to stare at you?

He’s unknowingly giving you your main character moment, and you very quickly realize that you do not feel like the Y/N in any one of those Gojo fanfics you read religiously at three in the morning when you should really be studying or sleeping.

Instead, you feel like a bug watching its impending doom as a Doc Marten boot starts to descend at an alarming speed and you can’t even try to scuttle out of the way to avoid it. Frozen in your spot, you can only watch as your university’s it boy skids to a stop in front of you after running across the grass and flashing you his million dollar smile. “Hey, Y/N, right? We have ECON 13 together.”

Starstruck, your mind to mouth filter is completely shot, and all you manage to let out is a very uncool “Uh huh.”

He laughs a little breathlessly, and you feel like all the oxygen has been knocked out of your lungs, too. Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, Jaemin tilts his head to the side slightly, the sunlight catching his profile perfectly, and your breath hitches in your throat once more.

“I know this is gonna sound really, uh, forward since we barely know each other and all, but—”

You’re barely listening to him, your heart pounding in your chest and the blood rushing to your ears. It’s pretty embarrassing to see how a mere stranger with a pretty face can affect you this much. You really thought you had a much stronger willpower than this, but it’s so goddamn unfair how this boy standing in front of you has the most perfectly sculpted face you’ve ever seen. Plus, his eyelashes? Why the hell do boys always get the prettiest, thickest, and darkest lashes?

Meanwhile, you’re out here struggling to force your perpetually straight, stubby lashes into a curl that ends up lasting only a couple hours, even when you use waterproof mascara. You still end up with flat lashes and you have to feverishly scrub your eyes to remove the blasted makeup and lose a few cherished lashes in the process.

“—with me?” Jaemin finishes, and you belatedly realize that you did not catch a single word that he said, too caught up in your inner monologue and too busy ogling. However, your heart flutters in your chest when you catch the last part of his question. Not to be too presumptuous, but it sounds like he’s asking you out. Why else would anyone randomly stop you like this and talk to you for this long? You’re positively giddy at this revelation. This is your moment, the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life, like Rapunzel waiting in her tower for the one to come and save her from her horribly mundane, repetitive life.

“Oh! Um… yes?” It’s a 50/50 chance between yes or no, and you hope that’s the correct answer he’s looking for.

Jaemin’s face immediately brightens, and he turns his smile up another kilowatt, nearly blinding you. You grin back at him, squinting a little. This must be how Icarus felt when he flew towards the sun.

“Oh shit, really? You’re really agreeing to tutor me? Hyuck—you know, our class’s peer TA—said I was a hopeless cause, and I would need way more one on one lessons outside of his hours and all that if I wanted to pass. And yeah, I know I could probably bitch at him until he caves since we’re kind of friends, but he would also hold this over my head, but he said you had the highest score on last week’s practice midterm, so I thought, ‘hey, why not shoot my shot?’” He directs another smile your way, pausing for a quick breath. Your mind is racing a mile a minute, and his smile isn’t helping whatsoever as your heart decides to join in this race as well until it sinks when you finally process his words.

“Wait, Donghyuck said that about me?” you manage to get out, a little dazed, and Jaemin confirms before eagerly continuing on with his chatter, but all you can do is stupidly nod as the word “TUTOR” spins around and around in your mind in bold, italicized, underlined mocking red letters in Times New Roman font, size 12, double spaced, MLA format, the whole shebang.

Of course, he only wants a tutor. What made you think that a boy like him would look twice at a girl like you? The only other time a guy has ever expressed interest in you is to share homework answers for Calculus back in 10th grade (For the record, all of his answers were completely wrong, but Sungchan was a cute distraction. Actually, the two of you became very good friends once you very quickly got over the fact that you were firmly placed in the friendzone. He’s even dating one of your best friends now).

“Anyways, can I have your number? I can text you to match our schedules and figure out the times to meet up for the next couple of weeks before our next midterm.” You remain wide eyed, gazing at him like a deer caught in the headlights and still attempting to fully understand everything that has just happened.

Jaemin looks at you expectantly, his hand outstretched towards you with his phone tucked between his fingers. The device dangles there for an additional ten seconds that probably isn’t socially acceptable. Grab the phone, you scream at yourself silently, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. You blink slowly once. Then twice.

“Or, I can just… uh, type in your number if you tell me,” Jaemin says awkwardly, his smile wilting slightly as he shifts from one foot to the other under your unwavering gaze and slowly retracting his hand. Finally, you come to your senses as you quickly spring into action and snatch the phone from him, tapping in your digits and adding in your name and shared class before saving your contact.

“Here,” you mutter, returning his phone, and he gives you a relieved grin. You clutch onto the strap of your backpack a little tighter, cursing the way your heart skips a beat. “I should be free most weekday afternoons since I prefer to take all morning classes, but let me know when you’re free and we can work something out.”

“Awesome! Thank you so much, Y/N, you’re a life saver.” Jaemin beams at you, touching your shoulder briefly and you feel that very same place on your body erupt in flames as your face heats up in a similar manner. “I’ll text you tonight, yeah?”

You can only numbly nod, subconsciously raising your hand and waving at him, and Jaemin chuckles, flashing his pearly whites at you again, before he saunters off and blends into a group of other equally pretty and popular students, a few of whom look over at you with vague interest before turning their attention back to the boy who just joined them.

What have you gotten yourself into?

ii. you want to go for a ride?

“I’m getting sus vibes from him.”

Flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder, Lana takes a long sip of her wintermelon milk tea with honey pearls, a spitting image of that one infamous Starbucks meme of your school’s alumni, Hyungwon (His picture can still be found floating through discord chats, and you’re ninety percent sure your school used it in one of their recruitment brochures at one point). She’s sprawled out on the beanbag in the corner of your shared apartment’s living room, her HP laptop covered in sailor moon stickers balanced across her thighs (She swears HP is the best laptop brand, but you don’t trust electronics advice from anyone who can’t even use a toaster properly).

“Have you even spoken to Jaemin? How exactly are you getting sus vibes from him?” Moon jumps in, glancing over the top of her MacBook as she takes a quick break from her latest coding project regarding polynomials, matrices, and a bunch of other math terminology you rather not think about. You left all that arithmetic jargon back in high school after you got a 5 on both AP calculus exams and got to skip all required math classes for your accounting major (Sungchan wasn’t so lucky).

“He’s a fratboy finance major.” Lana rolls her eyes.

“Point taken, but weren’t you into that senior, Jaehyun? He’s one of them. You called him your soulmate,” you interject, and she splutters for a few seconds before putting her hand up in protest.

“Listen, I was going through a perpetual mental breakdown at the beginning of this semester. It doesn’t count. You try being a pharmacy major. Thank god I switched out to English. My mental state was compromised, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“What do you mean not thinking straight? Lana, you literally chose the straightest, most heterosexual man out there.” Moon jibes, closing her laptop now with an air of conceding defeat. You have to give her props for trying to work on some assignments, but you already knew no one was going to get any work done tonight. It’s a Thursday night anyway, which means you have until Tuesday to get all the homework assigned today done. You can always work on them on Monday night and inevitably curse yourself for not getting it done earlier when you end up pulling an all nighter and show up to your 8 a.m. international marketing tactics class with raccoon eyes.

“This is bullying, and we are on an anti-bullying campus,” Lana complains, giving the two of you the stink eye before leaning over and lightly shoving the snoozing boy sprawled across the floor next to her. “Wake up, Yang. Moon and Y/N gang up on me when you’re not awake to absorb all our gentle bullying.”

The boy in question sits upright, bleary eyes and the drying ink from his notes now decorating his cheek, a lasting reminder of the makeshift pillow for his impromptu nap. Yawning, he stretches his arms, rubbing his face and making an even bigger mess of smears. “What’d I miss?”

“We were just discussing Lana‘s tragic crush on Jaehyun last year,” you say, and she makes a strangled noise next to you. “Were you up late sewing again?”

“Yes,” Yangyang grumbles, “You would think Kaneki would be so easy to cosplay since he wears all black, but the mask is taking forever to make.”

“Can’t one of your sugar daddies buy one for you?”

“What sugar daddies? If I had one, I wouldn’t be stuck in here trying to balance equations,” he moans, crumpling up another sheet filled up with scribbles and his latest attempts at answering the second to last problem for organic chemistry.

“My bad, I thought you would have some from your cosplay account.” Moon shrugs, rummaging through her large soccer mom purse for a snack and triumphantly pulling out a box of green tea Hello Pandas. “You have like 100k followers on there.”

“My audience demographic is weebs.” Yangyang deadpans. “How many weebs do you know who are rich enough to send five thousand dollars every week to a struggling college student?”

“Wait, we’re going off topic right now. What do you know about Jaemin, Yang?” Lana cuts in, and Moon nods in agreement (You try not to look too interested, but fail miserably, no doubt).

“Jaemin Na? I’ve never talked to him personally, but there’s always stories about him and his friends. Jeno is on the baseball team and notorious for his body count. He’s the one that takes up like 30% of our university’s anonymous confessions Twitter account. This is his insta, but he’s not really active on social media.” Yangyang passes his phone around for the three of you to see Jeno’s Instagram. There’s a whopping total of fourteen posts, and every picture of him with someone of the opposite sex features a different girl. Instant red flag.

“Lia is pretty big on Tik Tok,” Yangyang continues, grabbing his phone to pull up her account to show all of you. “She’s pretty and is actually really good at singing, but she's basically trying to be the next Addison Rae. Jimin models, and she’s going by Karina nowadays. I heard she tried to trademark that name or something. She posts dancing Tik Toks. She and Yeonjun collab a lot. He walks for New York fashion week and has a Tik Tok for dancing, too. I’m like 70% sure they’re only dating to boost their views. Somi is the most popular one out of them. She’s the blonde one. She’s pretty talented and I heard she signed onto the same company as the Blackpink House. She’s even done a makeup video with Vogue recently.”

“And Jaemin has a pretty large social following. He takes decent pictures, and that’s what he insists his insta is for, but let’s be real, the majority of his followers are there for his face. You should see his TikTok. He literally just recorded himself looking at the camera and put some generic caption, and he racked up like seven hundred thousand likes,” Yangyang grumbles, pulling up his account to show you all the video in question. “Like literally, what the hell is this? I have to put in so many hours making my outfits and editing my videos and all he does is smile and paste ‘Don’t have a valentine again… hope this will change soon’ on top, and the preteens are foaming at the mouth.”

“Wow, jumpscare warning next time you show me him please.” Lana wrinkles her nose at the repeating offensive clip. Yangyang merely shoves his phone even closer to her in response, and she flips him off.

“Hey, you’re the one who asked about him. Why are you suddenly interested in him? Is this your Jaehyun 2.0 phase starting up?” Yangyang grins, and Lana flicks his forehead in retaliation.

“Shut up, when are you guys gonna let that die? Besides, it’s Y/N who’s interested, not me,” Lana retorts, and immediately, the spotlight is back on you. You cough awkwardly, feeling a bit uncomfortable with all the attention.

“Uh, he just asked if I would tutor him…”

“And you said yes?” Yangyang sounds scandalized and utterly betrayed. “Why would you willingly fraternize with the enemy like that?”

“What enemy? I didn’t even know he knew I existed until this very recent development occurred.”

“Influencers like him are instant enemies to me, and as my friend, he’s your enemy by association. I can't believe you’re helping the competition,” Yangyang sniffs.

You don’t have the guts to tell them all that the only reason you accepted his tutor proposal is because you got ahead of yourself and despite all the odds and signs, thought Jaemin was asking you out. You know your friends won’t make fun of you (too badly), but that is completely humiliating, and you will be taking that to the grave.

“It’s just tutoring, don’t be so dramatic,” you scoff, making a face at him. “He texted me yesterday, and we’re meeting up at the library later today, and I reserved a private study room for two hours.”

“Oooh, so it’s a study date?” Moon teases, and your cheeks betray you with the amount of heat now emanating off of them.

“Shut up, it’s literally just tutoring. We’re going over supply and demand curves.”

“No, back up, he texted you yesterday and you didn’t tell us about him until today?” Lana interjects, holding up her hand and putting on a faux offended expression. “What kind of friend are you? We’re supposed to tell each other every nitty gritty detail about our love lives! Like Sungchan texts Moon good morning texts at eight in the morning, and by 8:30 a.m., we’re already getting a play by play about it in the group chat!”

Moon turns pink and opens her mouth before deciding against it and quietly shuts it. Yangyang silently laughs next to Lana, his shoulders shaking (You decide that you shouldn’t tell them Jaemin actually asked you in person to tutor him three days ago or else, Lana will chew you out even more).

You protest, flailing your arms around slightly in exasperation. “There’s literally zero development in my love life! I have nothing going on in it, and I can guarantee you that he does not see me in that light whatsoever.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Lana looks wholly unconvinced, and your two friends look back and forth between the two of you like two kids watching their divorced parents fight. “So… Do you need help picking out an outfit for tomorrow?”

“… Yeah.”

iii. sure, ken. jump in!

“Hey, Y/N!”

Jaemin loudly whispers a little breathlessly as he drops his bag onto the table and slumps into the chair next to yours, his chest heaving slightly. Startled, you jerk up in your chair, heart skipping a beat when you realize he’s here. You were supposed to be in a private study room, but there was a group of boys already in there, and as the most non-confrontational person to walk this earth, you decided to cut your losses and take a table nearby.

“Did you wait long? I got caught up outside the library when Somi stopped me and completely forgot,” he says apologetically, pulling out his textbooks, and you shake your head, giving him a shy smile.

“No, it’s alright. I was already here anyway, and I got some extra studying done.” You gesture towards the papers and notebooks strewn across the table’s surface, covered in your notes from today’s classes. “Should we start with today’s lesson? How much did you understand in class today?”

“Maybe the first five minutes of it only.”

You pause, glancing over at him. “Professor Hwang was ten minutes late to class.”

“Exactly.” Jaemin nods, and you stifle a laugh. He grins at you. “I don’t think you realize how much of a hopeless cause I am when you agreed to tutor me.”

“We can start from the beginning then. You have four weeks until the midterm, and we can go through every lesson we’ve had so far. I’ll make up a study schedule if you give me yours. And if you continue to go to Donghyuck’s tutoring hours too, you should hopefully be able to catch up and do well on the midterm.”

Jaemin wordlessly pulls up his class schedule on his phone, and you plug them into a Google calendar that you quickly share to his email. “So, I color coded your classes in green, and my classes are in pink. Do you have any other things that we need to work around?”

He peers over at your screen, scanning the contents. “I have my weekly frat meetings on Tuesday nights and mandatory events on other nights.”

“Alright, you can put them in and we’ll figure out meeting times,” you say, pushing your laptop towards him and he starts to add in his extracurricular activities.

“Party from 8 pm to 1 am?” you read skeptically, your eyes scanning over the event he tacked in under this week’s Friday.

“Yeah, can’t miss it,” Jaemin says, typing in more events and making sure to color code them in blue. “Don’t you have things to do on Friday night too?”

“Uh, maybe grab a poke bowl from the dining hall to go and watch another Banana Fish episode,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the small Gojo keychain you have attached to your pouch.

Jaemin stops, looking over at you. “You watch Banana Fish?”

Your cheeks grow warm. “… Yeah, why?”

His eyes light up and he asks eagerly, “Did you see the latest episode? When Golzine leaves Arthur in charge?”

The two of you continue discussing the plot as he finishes up adding in his schedule for the next four weeks, finally nudging the laptop back towards you. “Do you need to add in your stuff too?”

“Mm no, it’s fine. I already put in my classes, and I’m not in any clubs or sororities,” you answer, making sure to input Donghyuck’s tutoring hours as well before scanning over the calendar and pinpointing areas where he’s free for at least one to two hours. “Okay, should we start with meeting three times a week?”

“Huh, you memorized Hyuck’s hours?” Jaemin notes, giving you a sly smile as he moves closer to look at the schedule.

“Huh? No, don’t you always know your professors’ and TAs’ office hours?” you ask, looking up and are immediately startled after underestimating the proximity between you and the beautiful boy next to you.

“No, I’m not a nerd,” he snorts lightly, and you laugh awkwardly, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction and put a little more distance between the two of you before you go into cardiac arrest, “Right, yeah, well, anyway—”

“You were also interested when I said Hyuck mentioned you before,” Jaemin says suddenly, sitting up straight before a wide grin spreads across his face as he loudly exclaims, “You totally have a crush on him!”

“Quiet down!” You immediately shush him, the tips of your ears burning as everyone within a 40 feet radius in the library is now staring at the two of you. You’ve never received this much attention before, and you very quickly realize that you absolutely hate it. You loudly whisper-protest, stumbling over your words in a panic, “I—I don’t have a crush on him!”

“Oh, come on, your face is getting hot and you’re stuttering. You do too like him,” Jaemin laughs softly, propping his elbow onto the table and resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he gives you a once over. “I could totally make you into his type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask hotly, cheeks burning even more when you feel his eyes graze over your figure.

“Oh, it’ll be so much fun. We can go to the mall and pick out some cute clothes for you, and then swing by the hair shop. You’re definitely using the wrong conditioner and shampoo,” Jaemin continues, eying your hair for a quick second.

“Wait, wait, we’re just here for tutoring, what are you even talking about?” You ask, bewildered before grasping a stray strand of your hair between your fingers. “And what do you mean I’m using the wrong shampoo?”

“And conditioner,” Jaemin pipes up, picking up his phone to search up some better brands he would recommend. “What have you been using? 2 in 1 Head and Shoulders?”

“No,” you huff softly, your ears growing even warmer at the accusation. “I just use whatever my mom buys in bulk at Costco.”

“Okay, well, you should use this instead,” Jaemin says, showing his phone screen to you, and your eyes widen slightly when you note the price tag.

“I cannot be forking over nearly seventy dollars on shampoo and conditioner,” you say incredulously, pushing his phone back towards him and waving your hand dismissively. “And there’s no way I’m going to spend even more money on new clothes.”

“Okay, fine, I think I have some unopened bottles from sponsored deals that I can give to you,” Jaemin sighs, opening up his text messages to find his friends’ group chat. “Or my friends would have some good ones, too. Maybe we can get you some of their free clothes from sponsorships, too.”

“You guys just get free clothes?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, glancing over at you. “On second thought, Karina and Lia aren’t the same size as you, so you won’t fit them. We can just order some basic pieces online or something for starters.”

“We—We aren’t doing this,” you loudly whisper back to him, hyper aware of the other students around you who keep glancing over at Jaemin. “Let’s just focus on making this schedule and helping you pass your midterm.”

“Oh, please, doll, it’d be fun. Just think of it as a payment for your tutoring,” Jaemin persuades you, scooting closer to you and pressing his thigh against yours lightly. Your breath hitches in your throat at the pet name and his touch. You’ve never been this close to any boy before, let alone one as attractive as Jaemin.

“You’ll look so pretty, I know the perfect outfits to make for you. And I can teach you how to get Hyuck’s attention, too,” he continues, nudging you lightly, and you’re still dazed, unable to get over the fact that he’s impossibly close to you, close enough for you to count the pretty lashes framing his even prettier eyes. You wonder what it’s like to be that beautiful, what it’s like to have people falling at your feet, what it’s like to mesmerize everyone the second you walk into a room.

Honestly, if Jaemin asked you to jump, your only response would be “how high.”

“If I agree to this, will you finally pay attention?” you sigh, and Jaemin instantly brightens up, nodding and giving you another one of those smiles that makes your stomach flip flop. Your Achilles’ heel is one very persistent boy who goes by the name of Na Jaemin, and he has hit you with a direct bullseye.

“Yes, I’ll be a model student, doll.”

You hesitate for a split second before relenting. “Okay, fine, deal.”

iv. i’m a barbie girl in the barbie world.

Jaemin is easy on the eyes, but currently proving to be very difficult for your nerves during your fourth tutoring session. Your wardrobe has increased in style and size by now, and you’re dressed in a pretty lilac top that wraps around you and accentuates your curves and hides what needs to be hidden perfectly. Your jeans may dig a little more than you’d like into your stomach, but it’s your fault that you chose to wear your photo jeans instead of your sitting jeans. Also, your hair has never looked better, all thanks to the boy seated next to you.

“No, when there is a low supply, there’s a high demand. They directly affect each other,” you try to re-explain to the boy next to you, drawing out the line graph once again. He stares down at the familiar graph before looking at the written practice problem in front of him. Professors must have an insane amount of patience, you silently think to yourself.

You sigh. “Let’s put it this way. You and Jeno want to buy the same shirt, but there’s only one left in the right size. So that’s two people who are demanding the one shirt. And the store only has one shirt in its supply. So how would you describe this situation?”

“Oh.” The look of realization flashes across Jaemin’s face as your example easily snaps the puzzle pieces into place for him. “There’s a high demand and low supply. Too many people want the shirt, but there’s not enough shirts.”

“Yes, you got it!” You cheer quietly, mindful of your location at one of the library’s tables. “Now try reading through the practice problems and draw the appropriate supply and demand graphs for each one.”

“And when I’m done with this, we can take a break, and I’ll teach you how to do makeup. My friends will help,” Jaemin says idly as he reads through the first problem again.

Your stomach lurches slightly at that, and you hesitate. “Your friends?”

“Yeah, you know, Jeno, Karina, Lia, and Yeonjun. Somi, too, but she’s been busy. I can teach you basic skincare and makeup, but the girls will have to help you with the rest,” he says casually, scrawling down his first answer and the corresponding graph.

You swallow hard, your voice croaking slightly before you hastily clear it. “Are you sure? Do you think they’ll like me?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, doll. You’re like a puppy, and everyone likes those,” Jaemin mumbles idly, eyebrows furrowing as he rereads the second problem.

“A puppy?” You don’t know whether to be offended or not yet.

Oh, you know, just that you’re cute and all,” Jaemin laughs lightly, starting to write down his next answer, and your heart nearly stops in your chest. You force yourself to breathe regularly again.

“Oh, I see,” you start to answer coolly, but stuttering on the last word, internally cursing your tongue at the last stumble. You try to sit calmly and relax for the rest of the tutoring session as Jaemin slowly makes his way through the practice packet, but the knot in your stomach continues to tangle even more, growing ever bigger. Maybe you should just tell Jaemin that lunch didn’t agree with you and cut this meetup short.

But that means less time spent with Jaemin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Jaemin is nice, so his friends should be as well, you reason with yourself. There’s no need to be nervous. Even if they’re all incredibly beautiful, hot people with the most unapproachable aura you have ever encountered.

Like honestly, how is someone like Karina even real? Her face could start a modern day equivalent of the Trojan War. She is literally the face blueprint for every main female character you play in your otome games.

Turns out, Karina is even more gorgeous up close. Ridiculously close with the way she’s inches from your face as she swipes on some blush on the apples of your cheeks. You never thought you’d see the resident it girl here for you, standing in the middle of your dorm room, let alone have an actual conversation with her that extended beyond a polite hello when she stops by for Giselle. It’s already been 45 minutes, and your nerves still haven’t calmed down.

“You just need to apply a little bit here and here on both your cheeks,” she instructs you, pointing towards your cheekbones and carefully applying the rosy powder to the same areas. She pauses in the application momentarily so that you can type out a few notes into your phone covering her directions. “You can go heavier if you want the cute sunburn, Sabrina Carpenter look, but if you do too much, you’ll end up looking like my ex.”

“What?” You’re startled, glancing over at her and nearly getting blinded once again by her lethal face card. She laughs lightly, giving you a slight smile. “A clown.”

“Oh, got it,” you chuckle, albeit nervously, shooting her a quick smile. “I’ll make sure to not do that.”

“Relax, it’s easy. Just a bit of makeup here and there, and you’ll be fine. All I do is some mascara, falsies, and a good lippie when I’m lazy, and I’m out the door in ten minutes,” Lia jumps in, holding several different tubes of lip tints.

“Are you sure? That’s really it?” You ask hesitantly, glancing over the various makeup products strewn over your desk. It looks a lot more complicated than what she had just described.

“Well, maybe you might need a bit more, like concealer and foundation. And some bronzer and heavy contouring. But just stick to the skincare routine and it’ll help lessen it,” Karina sighs, dabbing some highlighter to the tip of your nose before seeing the uncertain look in your eyes, adding hastily, “But it’s so worth it, trust. You’ll look so pretty, and it comes with so many perks. Girl math is knowing you can go out with no money and just your face card.”

“Hey, you’re friends with Yangyang?” Lia pipes up, noticing the photo strip you have pinned on your corkboard, nestled between the various Mystic Messenger Seven fanart and Zorro art prints.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I am. You know him?” You answer, and she nods before leaning in and evenly applying a thin layer of periwinkle tint on your lips. “Yeah, we’re in the same German class. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

Well, you definitely can’t tell her about the raging heart on he has for his best friend, but it’s not like he really is seeing anyone either. You do vaguely remember Yangyang saying Lia was pretty and talented during his quick 5 minute minute class to Jaemin and his friends, so it’s not like he hates her either.

“No, he’s not,” you answer, hoping you made the right choice, and Lia’s face visibly brightens. “Oh, really? That’s great.”

“Okay, we’re done.” Karina announces, stepping back and holding up a mirror for you. “Not bad, right?”

“Oh, wow,” you suck in a breath, nearly gasping in surprise as you peer at the glass. You almost don’t recognize yourself. The contouring lifts up your face, slimming it down, and the blush gives you a pretty pink hue that makes you look sun kissed. Your lower lashes have nearly doubled in length with the mascara, giving you a pretty babydoll look. Karina had perfectly applied a set of falsies for you, framing your eyes delicately, and the shimmery eyeshadow and soft winged eyeliner accentuates your eyes even more. Your lips are the prettiest shade of pink, tinted and glossy.

You can’t believe it is your own reflection staring back at you.

“Now put this outfit on,” Lia says with a knowing smile, placing a shopping bag in your lap. “Jaemin picked it out.”

“Oh, really? Alright,” you manage to mumble out, dazed and still admiring yourself in the hand mirror. Karina laughs softly, nudging Lia before moving towards your door. “We have to get to a sorority meeting now, but I hope you like it, doll. And make sure to practice.”

“I love it,” you say breathlessly, grazing your fingertips against the cool glass, still in disbelief. “And I definitely will practice.”

“Mm, good, text us if you need any help! And send progress pics! We want to see how it’s going,” Lia answers, waving over her shoulder before the two of them exit your dorm. Sitting there alone, you stare at your reflection for a little longer, admiring yourself. You feel so pretty.

You finally remember the paper bag on your lap, and you immediately dig into it, pulling out a flowy floral sundress. It’s beautiful, and you quickly tug off your jeans and tshirt before going to your drawers to dig around for the appropriate bra for the dress. You manage to find it, snapping on the bra around yourself from the front before twisting it until the clasp is against your back. You hastily push your arms through the straps, tugging on either side until it’s on perfectly. You suck in a quick breath, internally preparing yourself for the battle with the next piece of clothing, a.k.a. your worst enemy: spandex. You’ve familiarized yourself with the awkward jig you have to do around your dorm until you’ve wriggled into the tight elastic enough so that it sits in the correct spot and sucks in all the right places.

At last, you won the war, but you feel sweaty now, flopping back onto your bed for a quick break. You flap your hands in front of your face, thanking whoever decided to invent setting spray. You grab your deodorant spray and douse yourself in a heavy dose of it before picking up the sundress and slipping it over your head. To your great relief, it slides on perfectly, and you quickly shuffle over to the full length mirror hanging on the back of your door. You straighten out the dress and quickly pat down any strand of hair knocked askew from your latest struggles before giving a smile to the mirror.

Dare you say it? You look pretty.

You’ve never looked this pretty before.

You happily take out the dainty gold heart necklace you had carefully tucked into your top desk drawer, struggling for a few seconds before you manage to clasp it around your neck. You quickly pull the pendant towards the front before slipping on the strappy sandals you left next to your desk. You grab the cute purse you bought last week, now packed with the perfect essentials, and give yourself one last once over.

You have nowhere to go, but you decide to take a walk to the dining hall. After all, you’re dressed up so nicely, makeup done so perfectly, you can’t waste it on another night stuffing your face with hot Cheetos and rewatching the first season of Haikyuu!!. Opening your door, you step out and nearly run into someone.

“Oh, finally, you’re done, doll. I thought you died in there or some…”

His eyes widening in utter shock, his next word dies on the tip of his tongue when Jaemin sees you standing in front of him. His mouth falls open slightly before he quickly closes it to swallow harshly, his throat running dry. He’s never seen you like this before, never imagined that you’d be this pretty. He inhales sharply, stiffening slightly as his eyes rake over your figure, seeing how the dress perfectly accentuates your figure, and settles on your face.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?” Your eyes widen slightly before your cheeks grow warm when you notice his stunned reaction.

“Um,” he croaks out, voice cracking before he quickly swallows again, silently cursing when puberty decides to make a belated appearance. “Lia texted me that you were done, so I wanted to see how it went. You look… wow.”

Your cheeks heat up even further, and you laugh a little nervously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “R-really? It’s not too much?”

“No!” He immediately blurts out before his cheeks flush carmine. “I—I mean, you look really good. You should dress like this more often.”

You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face, and Jaemin’s heart flip flops in his chest. “Really? Thank you, I will then.”

“Of course, really. I picked the dress myself after all,” He tries to joke before hastily clearing his throat. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh, no, I don’t. I was just going to go to the dining hall and grab some food,” you answer awkwardly, shifting your purse over your shoulder slightly and tightening your fingers around its strap.

“Let me take you out for dinner.” Jaemin blurts out, a little high pitched, mentally facepalming at how he sounds. “I mean, we can go over some of the harder problems in that packet since I probably need more studying anyway, and I’ll teach you a couple more dating tricks.”

“Sure, okay, that sounds good.” You give him a wider beam, and Jaemin feels his heart beat a little faster. Maybe you don’t need that much teaching from him after all. Seems like you’re a quick learner.

v. life is plastic, it’s fantastic!

“The only thing you’re fucking is stupid.”

“Shut the hell up, Yeonjun. At least I’m not sticking my dick in crazy.”

You watch the light argument going on between Jeno and Yeonjun in amusement. You and Jaemin had just finished your ninth tutoring session two hours ago, and you think he’s getting on track to actually scoring a decent grade for the next midterm. You were initially going to head towards Lana and Moon’s dorm for your weekly anime show marathon, but Jaemin insisted that you stop by the Alpha Sigma Psi house for a small party. Giselle and Karina are both part of that house, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to make a quick appearance. Good thing you spent some time touching up your makeup before today’s tutoring session.

“Hey, doll! Join the photo,” Jaemin calls out to you, gesturing you towards the area he and the rest of his friends are standing. You see another really pretty girl—Minjeong, was it?—standing on the side, holding up a phone and preparing to take the picture.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I can just take the photo instead,” you laugh awkwardly, extending your hand out towards Minjeong, but Jeno gently nudges you forward, “No way, you never take pics with us. Just one, come on, Y/N.”

“Yeah, join us!” Jaemin says brightly, tugging you towards him and you stumble slightly, falling forward into his chest. You quickly catch yourself, hands suddenly pressed against his chest, and the blood rushes to your face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you start to babble, trying to push yourself away before Jaemin quickly wraps his arm around your waist. “Nope, you’re staying here, it’s just a few pics, please, doll?”

“I—I mean, I don’t really—”

You start to say before Minjeong’s voice cuts through the air. “Okay, I’m taking it in five seconds now. So get ready and pose or be ready to live with the consequences on Insta forever.”

Everyone immediately shuffles around, and you’re squeezed even tighter against Jaemin, and you just know that he can feel your heart pounding rapidly against his chest.

“Smile, doll,” Jaemin laughs gently, squeezing your hip lightly and you inhale sharply at that, your heart rate spiking and increasing exponentially. You muster up a few shaky smiles as the flash starts to go off.

After a few more pictures, you manage to untangle yourself from the group and hurriedly go towards Minjeong. “I can take the pictures, you should join in.”

She immediately brightens up at that, giving you a kilowatt smile as she hands you the phone and slips into your original position in between Jaemin and Karina. “Oh, thanks, Y/N.”

You wait a few moments for everyone to get readjusted before you begin to snap some photos, having already mastered this from the previous hang outs you’ve joined and knowing how to take the best angles for everyone, including all the 0.5 zoom out ones. After taking some additional group and solo photos for the girls, you’re finally free of your duties. Your eyes widen when you check the time on your phone, and you hurriedly make your way over to Jaemin.

“Hey, I need to get going now. I have to get to Lana and Moon’s dorm, so I’ll see you later,” you say quickly, already beginning to brush past him as the realization sets in that it’s been over an hour when you told your friends that you would only be fifteen minutes late.

“Wait, what? Hey, hold on, doll.” Jaemin reaches out to you, but you slip past him, calling over your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late!”

He strides over, soon matching your pace as you speed walk back to the freshman dormitories. “Can’t you slow down a little bit? It’s not like you all haven’t seen these episodes before, plus we watched a few of them together after our last tutoring session.”

“Yeah, but I’m over an hour late,” you stress, slightly frazzled now as you hurriedly type out an apology to send to the group chat.

“Just breathe, okay? You’ll be fine. They’re your friends. They should understand,” Jaemin reassures you, grabbing your hand and you freeze slightly. He notices your stop and teases lightly, “I said slow down, not stop. What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing,” you stammer out a little too quickly, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. He’s holding your hand. Na Jaemin is hand in hand with you, fingers intertwined. You almost want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming.

“Well, alright then, come on, let me walk you back,” Jaemin laughs before tugging you along. “You can help me pick out which pictures to post on Insta along the way, too, yeah?”

“Oh, sure,” you say breathlessly, your heart rate quickening to an embarrassing speed when he squeezes your hand gently, and you nesrly trip over your own feet.

“Perfect, so what about this one?” He holds up his phone to show you the picture you had taken for the group earlier, and you falter slightly. Why are you feeling a little disappointed with his choice?

Jaemin notices your hesitation and says a little softly, “I know you’re a private person. So I thought you’d prefer if I posted the group photo you took. You always take the best pictures for me, too. You know my good side the best. And it’d be weird if Hyuck saw, too, right? But did you want the other photo? I mean, if you really want it, I can..?”

“No!” You hurriedly say to reassure him, squeezing his hand lightly. “No, you’re right. I don’t want my picture out there. And um, yeah, that definitely wouldn’t be good if Hyuck saw.”

Jaemin gives you a relieved smile. “Yeah, exactly. You’re not upset, right, doll? We still have that fun pic of us and our homemade pizzas from earlier that I posted on my finsta. I didn’t know making pizzas would be that easy.”

“Of course not, don’t worry about it,” you laugh softly, continuing to walk back to the freshman dormitories, and Jaemin swings your joined hands between the two of you freely.

“Mm, I’m getting free cooking and tutoring lessons in exchange for dating tips. Two for the price of one is quite the good deal for me, right?” Jaemin teases lightly, and you let out another laugh.

“You’re right, it is. You better step up your game then.”

“Oh, just you wait, you’ll get dating tips and a boyfriend, so we’ll be even,” Jaemin chuckles softly, squeezing your hand, and the butterflies erupt in your stomach once again, and you muster up the courage to say something a little more teasing.

“Is that a guarantee?”

“Well, you have a demand, and I must supply, right?”

“…I don’t think that’s how it quite goes, Jaemin. Maybe you need a few more tutoring sessions.”

“All I hear is that you want to spend more time with me,” Jaemin laughs, giving you the prettiest smile, and your cheeks warm up even more, heart stuttering in your chest. Speechless, you let him continue on, his chattering filling the air as you listen with quiet content, your hand securely tucked in his for the remainder of the walk back.

vi. you can brush my hair.

Jaemin sits on the edge of his chair across from you at the table in the dorm common area, anxiously tapping his fingers against the flat surface. You are down to the last page of the mock exam packet, carefully going over his work with a red pen. You made minimal marks on the papers, a stark contrast to the very first practice exam he had worked on near the start of your tutoring. At that point in time, he didn’t even get to the end of the exam.

“Amazing.”

You say in awe, scanning through the last problem Jaemin had completed before tallying up his final score and calculating his results. “I can’t believe it. You got an 87.”

“No fucking way,” Jaemin is wide eyed, staring at you in disbelief, and you give him a wide smile, sliding the packet over to him, so that he can look over the exam and notes you’ve written for the problems he missed.

“Yes fucking way.”

“Holy shit, this is insane,” Jaemin breathes out, carefully reading through each page, and to his utter amazement, he understands every note and explanation you had added next to each incorrect question. He looks up at you, beaming, “I really got a B+?”

“You did,” you confirm, smiling back at him. “And who knows? It might become an A if the exam gets curved.”

“Oh my god, I owe you my life,” Jaemin chuckles, staring down at the graded exam in front of him, still in disbelief. “Seriously, doll, thank you so much.”

“Oh, of course, anytime,” you laugh sheepishly, twisting the rings adorning your fingers around nervously before averting your attention elsewhere, standing up to go towards the adjacent communal kitchen and carrying your filled tote bag with you. “A—Anyway, I brought some things to celebrate a job well done so far.”

“And how did you know I would’ve done well? What if I completely bombed that exam?” Jaemin teases you, standing up and following after you.

“I don’t know, I guess I just believed in you,” you stutter out, cheeks warming up as you set down your tote bag on the counter, unable to look him in the eyes, and he freezes, mulling over your words silently.

You believe in him? Someone who’s a hopeless cause? He honestly didn’t even believe in himself, he thinks to himself, his chest constricting uncomfortably, a foreign feeling making its entrance known to him, constricting around his heart. He inhales sharply, shoving it away with an easy going smile. “Is that so? Well, thanks, Y/N. And what are we doing now?”

“Making pancakes,” you answer, busying yourself with pulling out the ingredients from your tote bag. “You need to be well fed before the midterm. Your brain needs food. And the class is at 8 am, and neither of us are not morning people, so this is as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Pancakes?” Jaemin echoes after you, glancing at the various items strewn across the counter’s surface. “Does it really take this many ingredients? Isn’t it just the box mix and water?”

“That’s the short cut way. We’re making pancakes from scratch,” you laugh softly, taking out a mixing bowl and whisk along with the measuring cups and spoons.

“But why? It’s so much easier the other way.” Jaemin whines softly, and you chuckle lightly. “Trust me, it’s worth the effort.”

You hand the one cup measuring utensil and bowl to Jaemin and nudge him towards the flour. “Help me measure out two cups of flour.”

“Alright,” he sighs, opening the bag of flour and carefully scooping out the first cup, scraping off any excess before dumping it into the bowl before repeating the process. “What next?”

“Four tablespoons of sugar,” you answer, handing him the sugar and appropriate measuring utensil before working on measuring four teaspoons of baking powder and a quarter of a teaspoon of baking soda. You pour those to the mixing bowl as Jaemin quietly measures the sugar and adds it in as well before waiting for your next instructions. You quickly drop in half of a teaspoon of salt before pushing the bowl towards him. “Now whisk this together gently, please.”

Jaemin busies himself with combining the dry ingredients as you take out half a stick of butter from the fridge (The one labeled with your name, of course. You’re no food thief, unlike someone who’s been stealing other people’s leftover takeout). You microwave it to get four tablespoons of melted butter before making your way to Jaemin’s side.

“Okay, now make a well in the center of it,” you say, and Jaemin clumsily makes an indent in the dry mixture before looking towards you for approval.

“Perfect, now add in two teaspoons of vanilla extract and crack the egg into it there,” you instruct him, and he obediently follows your directions. You measure out one and three quarters cups of milk and add it to the well before also pouring in the melted butter.

“Do I just whisk it together now?” Jaemin asks, picking up the whisk again, and you nod.

“Yes, mix it all together. It’s fine if there’s a few lumps, but it should be smooth overall.” Your eyes trail over his face, and you stifle a small laugh. “You got a little something on your cheek.”

“What?” Jaemin looks up, pausing in his whisking and you can’t help but giggle, staring at the flour dusting his cheek. “There’s flour on your face.”

“Oh, really? Can you wipe it off for me?” Jaemin laughs softly, attempting to brush at it with his shoulder but failing to reach that high.

“Oh, s-sure,” you stammer slightly, your hand quivering slightly as you outstretch your fingers and gingerly brush your fingertips against the apple of his cheek. His sun kissed skin is warm beneath your fingertips, and your breath hitches in your throat before you gently wipe away the remaining residue. You can feel his gaze searing into your face, but you refuse to look him directly in the eyes.

“There, all done,” you murmur, hastily pulling away and taking a step back. Jaemin lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. He clears his throat, setting down the bowl. “I think this is all done, too.”

“Oh, great, that’s great,” you say, immediately focusing on the bowl before carrying it with you towards the stove, turning it on. “Let’s set this to medium-low heat. And I’ll add some butter to the pan, so the pancake won’t stick.”

Jaemin hands you the leftover butter and pan for you to set onto the stove. You use the spatula to move around a pat of butter, coating the pan nicely. Once the stove is ready and the butter starts to sizzle slightly, you pour a quarter cup of the batter onto the pan, expertly flicking your wrist to rotate the pan and cause the batter to form a perfect circle. You pull out a small container of blueberries, sprinkling some of them on top.

“Woah.” Jaemin watches you, impressed. “Teach me how to do that.”

“This? It’s easy,” you laugh softly, checking on the pancake until its underside is golden and small bubbles start to form on the top. You quickly move the pan, flipping the pancake onto its other side. “You can try making the next one.”

“Yeah? Will you wrap your arms around me and give me the one on one experience?” Jaemin jokes lightheartedly, and you nearly choke. “I mean—I don’t think that's completely necessary.”

“Relax, doll, I’m just kidding,” he laughs softly, nudging you gently, and you let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, totally. Just a joke.”

Once the pancake is golden on both sides, you carefully slide it onto a plate Jaemin pulled out from one of the cabinets. Your heart rate finally returns to its normal state, and you manage to say calmly, “Maple syrup and whipped cream are in the fridge.”

Jaemin takes out the aforementioned toppings, generously slathering on some butter before pouring the syrup and spraying whipped cream onto the pancake. He cuts out a small piece and quickly spears it onto his fork before taking the bite, nearly moaning in delight at the first taste.

“Holy crap, this is so fucking good.”

“My secret recipe,” you say proudly as you start to pour the batter for a second pancake, evenly spreading it on the pan. “Was it worth the effort?”

“Yes.” Jaemin swallows, almost immediately going for another bite before he gazes at you, giving you a genuine smile, and your heart rate again increases to an alarming speed.

“Definitely worth it.”

vii. undress me everywhere.

You finish the midterm in forty five minutes, being the first one to turn in your completed exam. This means you finished twenty minutes before the class ends and consequently, either failed it spectucularly or knocked it out of the park. You really hope it’s the latter.

Despite being rather preoccupied with other matters a.k.a. your suddenly thriving social life, you managed to cram in some studying here and there because your mother would absolutely kill you if you lost your provost scholarship. Gifted kid burnout? Who’s that? You never heard of her before (Just kidding, you’ve had plenty of breakdowns and cry fests over calculating bond values and stock prices).

Now outside of the classroom in one of the open study alcoves, you drop your Longchamp bag on the empty chair next to you before tugging at the back of your jean skirt before carefully sitting down. You make sure to readjust your bra straps, tucking them under the ruched fabric of your white shirt. Tapping your fingers against the scratched surface of the table, you briefly admire the shimmery gold ombré manicure adorning your nails that Jaemin had chosen last week. You pull out a compact from the inner side pocket of your purse, carefully checking your makeup to ensure it is still in pristine condition before quickly swiping in another layer of your Buxom plumping lip gloss in the best shade: fir royale.

The flurry of text messages pinging across your screen quickly catches your attention, and you tuck your mirror and tube of lip gloss away before scrolling through them, letting out a quiet scoff at Karina’s latest melodramatic outburst in the clout chasers group chat:

[ 11:46 a.m. ] karebear ✨: guys, gals, and yuckjun

[ 11:46 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: what tf ??? why are you calling me out

[ 11:46 a.m. ] karebear ✨: shut up or else I won’t make out with you anymore

[ 11:46 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: 🤐

[ 11:46 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: are you that touch starved bro

[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: anyway as i was saying

[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: this skank in my marketing class has been copying my outfits and posting them on her insta and she has like 10k followers now

[ 11:47 a.m. ] princess lia ��: time to tear a bitch apart

[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: like look at this shit

[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: sent {10 images.jpeg}

[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: my followers are gonna rip her apart

[ 11:47 a.m. ] karebear ✨: she’s downgrading my brand

[ 11:47 a.m. ] princess lia 👑: dw girl i’ll do a response video so my followers will see too

[ 11:48 a.m. ] princess lia 👑: she can’t get away with this

[ 11:48 a.m. ] karebear ✨: loved a message

[ 11:48 a.m. ] somi amor 💋: idk… they’re similar styles but that’s what popular rn

[ 11:48 a.m. ] karebear ✨: it’s gonna be song jia 2.0 watergate

[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: just say you’re broke and go

[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: if she’s gonna plagiarize me, she better do it right like bffr walmart version

[ 11:49 a.m. ] somi amor 💋: you have proof they’re fake?

[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: i mean fake bitch fake bags right

[ 11:49 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: idk she’s kinda hot

[ 11:49 a.m. ] karebear ✨: shut up jen be like your hairline and fall back

[ 11:49 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: HELLO ?! back me up yeonjun

[ 11:50 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: um

[ 11:50 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: 🤐

[ 11:51 a.m. ] choi YJ 🦊: if you wanna be fucking stupid then knock yourself out

[ 11:51 a.m. ] karebear ✨: loved a message

[ 11:51 a.m. ] karebear ✨: hey my place tonight jun 🥰

[ 11:51 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: are you gonna listen to your own advice yj

[ 11:51 a.m. ] karebear ✨: excuse me ????

[ 11:51 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: 🤐🤐🤐

[ 11:51 a.m. ] jenaur 🤺: proverbs 26:11

“Hey, doll, what’s so funny?”

Jaemin appears next to you, and you let out a startled squeak, jumping in your seat, and he laughs, quickly placing his hands on your shoulders to steady you. You look at him wide eyed for a few seconds, his question not yet registering in your mind, and he waits patiently for your answer.

“Oh!” Your eyes light up, and he smiles at the endearing sight. “Just Karina ranting about something and Yeonjun being whipped.”

“Ah, so the usual?” He reaches for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and you stand up, pulling your skirt down once more to ensure you’re covered. The two of you start to make your way out of the Langley Hall.

“Yep. How was the midterm for you?”

He brightens up, opening the door for you and you thank him. “It wasn’t too bad at all! I actually understood like 90% of the questions and for the others, I was able to narrow down the answers between two choices, so 50/50 chance, fingers crossed I picked the right one.”

You beam when you hear that, and he returns the smile, eyes crinkling in the corners, and you pretend to wipe away faux tears. “I feel like a proud mom.”

“I think my mom actually will be proud,” he says, eyes scanning the cars parked on the nearby street before finding his. He grabs your hand, tugging you along. “C’mon, we gotta go celebrate that our misery is over until finals week. Plus, we gotta prep you when you talk to Hyuck.”

“Wait, what?” You abruptly stop short, and he nearly loses his grip on your hand. “When am I talking to him?”

“This Saturday. You’re coming with me to the Nu Chi party, right?”

“Since when? I don’t go to parties,” you protest, “They’re too loud and noisy, and beer is gross and—”

“You went to the Alpha Sigma one a few weeks ago though?” Jaemin interrupts, and you shake your head. “That was a small party though. This one is the party of the semester. What if I embarrassed myself in front of the entire school?”

“Parties are the prime time for meeting people and getting to know them because alcohol makes everyone friendlier and people don’t stay within their friend groups,” Jaemin interrupts. “Do you really believe that you’ll get him to like you by, I don’t know, one day, your eyes will meet across the classroom, and he’ll fall madly in love with you? This isn’t one of your fanfics, Y/N.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, letting go of his hand on purpose, and he frowns, bottom lip jutting out in a pout before reaching out for your hand again. You swiftly dodge him, and he whines, quickly snatching your hand up and lacing your and his fingers together.

“I hope this isn’t how you’ll treat him on your date. Thank god we’re doing a trial run right now.”

“A trial run?” you echo him, and he nods, flashing you that favorite smile of his that never fails to make you weak in the knees.

“Well, we have to make sure your first date goes perfectly so there will be a second, right? Practice makes perfect,” he says matter-of-factly, and you nod slowly in agreement. The logic makes sense somehow.

“Okay, so where would you pick for a first date?”

“Maybe a cute cafe? Oh, there’s that one place: Cloudy with a Chance of Boba!” You brighten up, thinking about that boba shop’s menu you spent a good half hour scrolling through on Yelp last night.

“Mm, the most popular place right now is that ramen place on the end of Maisie Street. It’d probably be best to go there,” he muses, tugging you along via your intertwined hands. You nearly stumble in your heeled sandals but swiftly catch yourself.

“O-oh, okay, so are we going there now?”

“Nah, let’s do the ice cream place next door to it. Not really feeling noodles at the moment.” He stops to look over his shoulder at you, and you run into his back, causing him to let go before quickly reaching out and grabbing your arms to steady you. “Woah, be careful.”

“Sorry.” You’re flustered, your cheeks now growing hotter than a furnace. Jaemin reaches forward, his finger carefully swiping at the smudged lip gloss on the corner of your lip. “Where’s your lip gloss? You should reapply this.”

Eyes widening, he then shifts and peers behind him, craning his neck to the side in all attempts to look at the back of his shirt. “There’s not a mark on my shirt, right?”

You quickly rub off any shimmery residue. “It’s fine, your shirt is dark blue, so you can’t see it anymore.”

“Oh, good. Wait, where’s your lip gloss?” You fish through your bag, pulling out the tube and handing it to Jaemin. He uncaps it, giving you the lower half of the gloss before gently grasping your chin with one hand. He leans forward and tilts your head towards him, his eyes focused on your lips. The butterflies in your stomach erupt in an instant. You try so hard to stand still, fidgeting with one of the rings on your finger behind your back.

Jaemin’s face is so close to yours that you can count every single long dark eyelash that frames his pretty eyes. His lips are the prettiest shade of carmine, and you wonder what it’s like to be Aphrodite’s favorite child. How lucky you are to already be basking in the attention of her favorite; imagine how much luckier he is to be her favorite.

The beautiful boy in front of you carefully applies the gloss for you, fully concentrating on coating your lips with a pretty sheen once again. When he glances up, he’s almost blown away by the way you’re looking at him.

You look stunning, pretty as a picture in VOGUE magazine. Not quite the cover page, but you’re nearly there. A swell of pride runs through his veins, like an artist admiring his latest masterpiece on show in MOMA.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, handing back to you the lip gloss. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

“Alright.” You follow behind him like a lost puppy, and he reaches back to grab your hand and interlace your fingers. Your heart nearly skips a beat as your cheeks grow warmer once again, and for a split second, you wonder if he feels the same way.

“We’re here,” Jaemin announces, letting go of your hand to open the shop’s door, the bell above it jingling faintly as he gestures for you to go inside.

You enter the pretty shop, marveling the clean and simple interior with circular white tables and matching garden iron chairs surrounding each one. There’s bright greenery and plants decorating the edges of the shop, and the wall is covered in mismatched frames of paintings and pictures in various sizes and colors. The cheeky neon sign displayed near the front read, “It’s not gonna lick itself!”, and you laugh softly when you see it. The display of different colorful ice creams at the front are absolutely enticing, and you’re already struggling to decide which two flavors to pick.

You finally decide on a Vietnamese coffee and honeycomb swirl, accepting it from the cashier before you start to pull out your wallet. Before you can even pull out your card, Jaemin taps his phone against the screen, paying for both yours and his.

“Never pay on the first date,” he chides you lightly, picking up his ice cream. “Always let the guy pay for the first date.”

“Oh, but shouldn’t we at least split it?” You ask sheepishly, walking towards a table near the back that he gestures towards. He follows behind you, picking up some spoons and napkins.

“If the guy is so broke that he can’t pay $7 for your ice cream, then he shouldn’t be out dating anyway. He should be getting a job,” Jaemin retorts, tugging your chair out for you before sitting across from you and handing you a spoon and napkin. “Don’t you watch that Shera lady? Sprinkle, sprinkle and all that jazz. Maybe you can split for the future dates, but if the guy has any basic decency, he would pay for the first one.”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind,” you sigh, taking a hefty scoop of your ice cream and having the first bite. It’s delicious, and you make a mental note to buy a pint and bring back to your dorm to share with Giselle later.

The two of you continue to discuss various appropriate topics to broach on a first date (“Hey Jaemin, you like cheese? My favorite’s Gouda.” “… Please do not ask that.”). You quickly jot down bullet points in your Notes app, your fingers flying over the screen as Jaemin instructs you on good conversational starters and body language.

“So you just need to touch him on his upper forearm and then pull away. Stroke his ego and say he’s funny or some shit like that. At least you don’t have to force yourself to laugh with him though because Hyuck is naturally funny anyway. And he’s good at keeping up the conversation and a people person, so it won’t be awkward even for your first date,” Jaemin continues as you nod, rapidly typing what he says.

“And at the end of the date, touch his shoulder again, glance down at his lips for a brief second before making eye contact. If he’s bold enough, he’ll go for the first kiss. But then just immediately smile and say you had a great time before he can lean in. After that, he won’t stop thinking about that moment, and it’ll drive him crazy, and he’ll be texting you for a second date within the next day.”

“Mm, okay, I think I got it,” you mumble absentmindedly, engrossed in writing down the last few bullet points and Jaemin leans over to take a closer look at your phone, his eyes flitting over the screen.

“So for the last point, do I have to deny the first kiss then? Smile and walk away before he leans in and…”

You start to ask until you look up, and your breath hitches in your throat at the close proximity, your and his noses almost brushing. Jaemin is so pretty, even prettier when you can count the few freckles dotting his face, can clearly see the mesmerizing golden flecks dotting his irises, can admire the way his lips look so soft and curve into the picture perfect smile. Your heart thumps wildly, nearly falling onto the floor along with your jaw when you glance up from staring at his lips and see that he’s already looking back at you with the softest expression on his face.

“You don’t have to,” Jaemin murmurs, and your heart stutters in your chest as he moves in closer, his lashes brushing against your cheek, and suddenly, his lips are pressed against yours. They’re pink and soft and slot perfectly against yours in a way that has your heart skipping beats and stomach doing cartwheels.

Eyes widening, you freeze up, letting out a quiet squeak of surprise, before he pulls away, giving you an amused smile. The lingering warmth on your lips makes your cheeks heat up, and you have to break eye contact, stammering over your words as you gently graze your fingers over your lips in wonderment.

Jaemin laughs softly as he leans back in his chair. “We’ll have to work on this too then. You’re kissing like it’s a Park Shinhye kdrama.”

You’re still dazed, cheeks growing even warmer as you avoid his gaze, fiddling with the loose thread on the hem of your skirt. “That was my first kiss.”

Jaemin pauses at the realization, his cheeks flushing slightly before he clears his throat, giving you a half smile and a light chuckle, “Oh, really? That’s cute, doll. Well, I’ll teach you some tips, so you’ll be better at it by the time you ask Hyuck out. At least you got a decent first kiss, right? No big deal.”

“Yeah, no big deal,” you echo softly, your heart still racing at breakneck speed. You pretend to focus on the remnants of your ice cream in the bottom of your paper cup, fingers gripping around the container tightly.

Jaemin was right.

You don’t think you’ll be able to stop thinking about this moment anytime soon.

viii. come on, barbie, let’s go party!

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

Moon asks worriedly, helping you with your makeup as you sit, perched on the edge of your bed. She uncaps your eyeliner as Lana fusses with your shirt, smoothing out any of the wrinkles. “Actually, I can’t do it. You do it, Yang. You’re an expert at this.”

“Alright, give it to me.” Yangyang comes over, grabbing the eyeliner and expertly draws on the wing above your right eye. “Years of cosplay have finally come in handy. Although, I still can’t believe you’re putting in all this effort for Jaemin.”

“I need to look pretty. He usually does my makeup for me, but he’s busy right now,” you mumble, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously. “It’s my first time going to a party. I can’t embarrass him when he’s a ten.”

“Yeah, in rupees,” Yangyang scoffs, and Lana frowns at you, stopping in her tracks. “Don't talk about yourself like that. You’re already pretty, and if anything, you should be embarrassed to be seen with that slime ball. I can’t believe he doesn’t even have the decency to pick you up. Why are you the one going to his place?”

“He has some frat meeting right now,” you answer, glancing down at your newly manicured nails. The pearl color shimmers under the light, and you can’t help but admire it even more. You wish they were a little shorter, but they really do look quite pretty.

“What meeting? We’re in the same frat. Also, hold still,” Yangyang huffs, holding your chin as he draws on the left wing over your eye. “We need them to look like twins, not cousins twice removed.”

“I don’t know, he just said there was some meeting,” you mumble, holding perfectly still until he finally finishes. “Maybe it was a one on one meeting or something, who knows?”

“I still think he’s shady,” Lana grumbles, and Moon nods as well. “Yeah, like the first kiss thing?”

“It’s no big deal,” you wave your hand dismissively, hopping off of your bed and taking a look at yourself in your mirror. “Better to get it over with, right? I mean, imagine being this old and not having your first kiss yet.”

“Is that what he said to you?” Moon huffs, affronted, and you shift in your place uncomfortably. “No, of course not. It’s just—everyone gets their first kiss when they’re like fourteen or fifteen, right?”

“That’s not the point,” Lana says indignantly, tucking your hair behind your ear carefully. “You wanted it to be special, didn’t you? It just feels like… he took something away from you.”

“He didn’t. I wanted this,” you answer loudly, ignoring the way your stomach flip flops as you try not to think back to that moment. He kissed you, he really does like you back, he might have not said it out loud, but he knows how much it means to you (Wouldn’t he?).

“Okay, as long as you’re happy,” Moon gives in, and she and Lana exchange a worried look that goes unnoticed by you. But what can they do? They can continue to try convincing you, but it will never work when it falls on deaf ears.

“I am,” you insist, avoiding your friends’ gazes and staring at yourself back in the mirror. Moon attempts to lift the mood again, offering you a tentative smile in the reflection. “This whole thing is like a whole emotional rollercoaster, and Yangyang is definitely not tall enough to ride.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m literally almost six foot tall,” Yangyang shoots back, and you laugh, relaxing once more as you watch your friends start to bicker again.

“Listen, you can’t be delusional and short. Pick a struggle.” Moon counters, and Lana agrees, handing you your phone to tuck into your pocket. “She’s right. You carry yourself with the confidence of a much taller man.”

You smile fondly as the bickering between your friends continues. You miss them, you realize with a jolting pang of regret, you haven’t been hanging out with them as often as you used to. In fact, the majority of your weeks are spent with Jaemin and his friends.

It’s your first cold dose of reality, and you’re hit with a startling truth. You haven’t been a very good friend lately.

—

Lana drove you to the Nu Chi Theta house, and you felt like a kindergartener being dropped for her first day of school. Your face feels hot as a wave of embarrassment rushes over you as you notice the amount of glances you receive from the insanely pretty girls and boys already on the front lawn and streaming out from the front door. You quickly exit the vehicle, hurriedly waving good bye over your shoulder before making your way into the house, almost tripping over the raised walkway.

You wander around the house, searching for Jaemin and quickly sidestepping a through the couples and other students dancing around, nearly getting bowled over by someone you recognize from your school’s football team. He gives you a quick once over before offering a half apology, eyes set on another girl on the other side of the room. You take a deep breath before pushing your way into the next room, finally spotting Jaemin with his friends, minus Jeno and Somi, by the staircase and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly, squeezing through two couples busily making out in the doorway and wincing slightly when you jostle both of them, causing them to give you dirty looks before resuming their activities.

“Oh, hi, Y/N!” Karina says brightly, giving you a perfect smile and reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“My first frat party? Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” you laugh, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear nervously before fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Jaemin gives you a small smile, and you return it with a slightly shaky one, your eyes flickering towards the fading pink, glossy lip mark staining the collar of his shirt. The color is much too dark to be Jaemin’s, and your stomach churns slightly.

“You look so pretty, Y/N, I love the confidence,” Lia chimes in, gently pinching the fabric of your skirt between her manicured fingers. “I love this, you’ll have to let me borrow it sometime.”

“Oh, of course! You can borrow it anytime,” you agree quickly, flashing her a slightly forced smile before glancing over at Jaemin again, unsure what to do.

“Where do you shop?” Yeonjun asks, glancing over at your outfit. “The shirt is nice, too.”

“Oh my god, yes, we have to go shopping together sometime, and you’ll have to show me all the good places,” Karina cuts in, nudging you gently before letting out a sigh, looking over at Lia. “God, I’ve been feeling so fat lately, like freshman twenty might be getting to me.”

“No, same, I’ve been extending my gym sessions and doing Pilates,” Lia huffs softly, and you remain silent, switching your weight around on each foot, glancing over at Jaemin helplessly.

“I need another drink. You coming, Y/N?” Jaemin finally speaks up before brushing past Yeonjun, and you hurriedly follow behind him, careful not to fall behind or get swept away. He quickly pushes through to the kitchen, finding a spot next to the counter covered in various bottles of cheap alcohol and stacks of red solo cups dispersed in between.

“You want one?” Jaemin asks, extending a shot of vodka he just poured out towards you, and you shake your head before he gives a wry smile. “You sure? It’ll help with the nerves. You were shaking back there.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “You noticed?”

“Everybody noticed,” he snorted, handing you the cup, and you wince slightly before holding your nose and downing it in one go. “Give me another then.”

“Atta girl,” Jaemin hands you another shot and you take that one just as quickly, making a face that causes him to smile subconsciously. As he pours himself a cup of beer, he spots Donghyuck by the pool out back, and a knot settles in his stomach uncomfortably. He almost doesn’t want to tell you, and he doesn’t know why. It’s just because he worked so hard to make you look this good, and his loudmouth friend gets to reap all the benefits, he tells himself, taking a swig of his drink, Donghyuck doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Ignoring all the stop signs and whistles going off in his head, he gestures towards Donghyuck outside, clenching the red cup in his hand a little tighter than normal. “There’s your chance. Gotta do it before the alcohol wears off.”

“Oh, um, actually, I wanted to talk to you,” you stammer out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear again (It’s one of your habits when you’re nervous, and he thinks it might be his favorite). He pushes down the growing knot in his stomach.

“We’ll talk later, yeah? You can’t miss this,” Jaemin insists before nudging you in the direction of the pool outside despite your soft protests.

“W-wait, I jus—” you say desperately, but Jaemin merely waves you off before disappearing back into the party inside. You let out a sigh, shoulders sagging slightly. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him after all the effort he put in these past four weeks.

You’ll tell him later.

—

“Oh? Where’s your little Barbie doll, Jaemin?” Karina simpers as she lazily taps her pretty manicured nails against the half filled red solo cup in her other hand when Jaemin returns to his original spot. “Have you gotten bored of playing with her yet?”

“It’s not like that,” Jaemin answers hotly, “She’s… fun. She makes me laugh.”

“How? By looking at her?” Yeonjun snorts, chugging his own cup before crinkling it in his fist. Jaemin wants to throw up. “We thought you just did this because you’ve been having a dry spell and were bored. Where is she anyway?

“She’s talking to Hyuck right now,” Jaemin mumbles meekly, shoulders slightly hunched over as he stares into the depths of his own solo cup.

“Really? I mean, is she even his type?” Lia asks skeptically, straightening up in her spot to see if she can spot you or Donghyuck anywhere. “If anything, I thought her friend—the pretty English major one—would be his type. How is she anyone’s type?”

“Hey, he turned her from a four to a solid eight. She might even go up half a point once you introduce her to an exercise and diet plan.” Karina says offhandedly, raising her cup towards him in mock salute before taking a sip.

“Yeah, how are you going to do that? It’s not like you can even sugarcoat it for her because then she’d eat it too,” Yeonjun throws out with a smirk, and Jaemin feels sick to his stomach, the nauseating feeling growing exponentially and gnawing at him as his friend continues, “I mean she’s probably already on the seafood diet because she sees any food and just eats it. How can you even stand her, Jae? The way she just follows you around like a puppy. Isn’t it annoying?”

“God, I know, the way she basically chases after us like a lap dog is so pathetic. At least she takes good insta pics for us though, so she’s somewhat useful. But we had that one really good group photo at that last party, and she totally ruined the picture. You can’t even crop her out because she had to stand next to you, Jae,” Lia complains, rolling her eyes, and Karina laughs, taking out her phone and scrolling through her photos.

“Oh my god, I know the exact photo you’re talking about. It’s this one, right? She practically threw herself into your arms,” She flashes her screen towards the group, and Jaemin wants to shrink and crawl into a hole somewhere and die. Was it the best photo of you? No. Was it the worst? Maybe close to it. You’re standing sideways and still taking up more space in the photo than the others, and the flash photography did not do any favors for you. You stand out even worse than Will Smith in the sunflower costume meme. He cringes inwardly, noting the way your skirt had rolled up and you’re smiling a little too widely. He makes a mental note to help you practice better, more flattering poses later on.

“You know that famous baby hippo? Moo Deng? I think we found her twin from the future,” Yeonjun barks out a laugh, reaching over and zooming in on you as Karina smirks before putting away her phone. Lia giggles and glances over at Jaemin, scrutinizing his reaction before a sly expression makes an appearance on her face, saying coyly, “You have a crush on her, don’t you?”

Jaemin flushes, embarrassment coating his cheeks, and he immediately snaps, “Shut up, I might be lonely, but I’m not despera—”

“Oh, Y/N!” Lia says loudly, effectively cutting Jaemin short. “How did it go? Are you and Hyuck gonna be the new couple on campus?”

Immediately, his heart drops even further to his stomach, and Jaemin whirls around to see you standing a few feet away. Did Lia know you were there? How long were you standing there? Did you hear them? Did you hear every horrible thing they said about you?

“Oh, Donghyuck said he wasn’t interested, but he was nice about it,” you say, offering a vague smile in Jaemin’s direction, and he nearly breathes a sigh of relief as his heart starts to slow back down to its normal rate. A part of him is glad that Donghyuck rejected you, and he nearly misses what you say next, too caught up in this unfamiliar feeling.

“I think I’m going to head back to my dorm. I’m a little tired. Thank you for inviting me.”

With that, you turn away and walk off, but something still doesn’t feel right to Jaemin. It’s a split second decision but for once, he puts his heart over his mind and chases after you, ignoring the increasing whispers from his friends and their eyes searing into his back.

ix. raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by na jaemin.

Jaemin is right on your heels the entire time you walk back to your dorm. All he receives is stony silence from you that he fills with babbling nonsense, asking you what’s wrong to no avail. When you finally enter your dorm, you turn to him at last, and he perks up. However, the two words that come out of your mouth have him deflating faster than Yangyang’s ego when Alice called him a shitty kisser with too much saliva (“You’re supposed to make me wet down there, not up here. Honestly, dude, if I wanted to drown myself, I would’ve jumped into the ocean.”).

“We’re done.”

You decide to bite the bullet.

After freeing your feet from their pointy death contraptions, you peel off each layer of clothing one by one, unzipping the mini skirt and kicking it away before tugging at the spandex, unleashing the breath you’ve been holding in since 8 a.m. to fit into it. There’s still indents marking the dips in your waist and your thighs, a lasting reminder that stays like an embarrassing stain. You fling that abhorrent piece of elastic elsewhere, and it falls near the end of your bed, out of sight behind the pile of textbooks you haven’t touched for the past three days.

“Hold on, what are you talking about? We made so much progress. You wanted to do this,” Jaemin protests, following after you and picking up the discarded garments you threw haphazardly. He waves around the skirt like a white flag. “You wanted to be in the popular crowd, and you got it. You’re this close to dating Hyuck. Yeah, he might’ve said no now, but we’ll come up with a new plan—You can bounce back from this! Why are you quitting now?”

Removing the off-the-shoulder pink top that restricts your arm movement, you quickly slip on an oversized sweater before reaching back and unhooking the strapless bra whose underwire has been digging into your ribs for so many hours, a sigh of relief escaping between your teeth. You toss it onto your chair without another care in the world, and it lands next to the shirt in a heap.

“Because this isn’t me. This isn’t what I like.”

“Of course, it is. This is still you: just new and improved,” he insists, frantically attempting to hand you your discarded shirt and pleather skirt. You ignore them, opting to pull out and put on your favorite pair of stretched out gym shorts from middle school that you had shoved in the back of your closet to make room for all the flashy clothing Jaemin picked out for you. “We’re having fun. You’re popular and pretty now. You’re almost dating Donghyuck. You have everything that everyone wants. You’re the girl the boys want to be with, the girl all the other girls want to be.”

You shake your head, reaching for the packet of makeup wipes near your sink. “It’s not what I want.”

Jaemin scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. What are you talking about? This is what you asked me to do.”

You throw him a scathing glare, and he takes a step back. “God, Jaemin, for once in your life, take off the stupid rose colored heart shades, and you’ll finally see all the red flags around you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaemin asks defensively. He thought everything was going according to plan; he’s going to pass macroeconomics, and you got to talk to Donghyuck and are this close to scoring a date with him. People notice you wherever you go, the two of you receive compliments, his friends like you, everyone likes you.

“I have to pretend to like things I hate and hate the things I like. I have to do things a certain way, act a certain way, pretend this is all effortless. I don’t know if people are being genuine or pretending like I am. I hate this—this fake version of me.” You spit the words out like fuel to a fire, and you stand there in all your blazing glory, ugly uniform shorts and all.

“My thighs keep chafing. My feet have blisters everyday from these boots. This foundation makes me break out even more, and I can’t type up my notes in class or write fast enough because of these nails, and my grades almost took a plunge. I’m basically freezing my tits off out there in a shirt I don’t like. The lashes make my eyes itch, and this skirt is so short that I have to keep pulling it down every five seconds before I end up flashing someone.”

You don’t recognize the girl in your mirror anymore. You pluck off the falsies lining your eyes, scrubbing furiously at the layers of expensive brand name makeup covering your skin. You wipe off every inch of it until your bare face stares back at you, slightly puffy, blemishes, faded acne scars and all. You feel like you can breathe a little better now.

“Did you really think it’s easy being one of us? Do you think people will notice you if you show up in sweats with Cheetos stains?” Jaemin stares at you incredulously. “This is how it is. I don’t get why you’re throwing it all away like this.”

“And yet, you were all for it when I threw away everything before.”

“Because you asked for it! You asked me to—to make you into someone Donghyuck would date!”

“You don’t get it.” You whirl around on your heels to face him instead of the mirror, and the anger and intensity laced in your voice nearly blows him away. “I like myself the way I am. I never hated myself. I may be insecure about how I look sometimes, but who isn’t? Yeah, I like wearing cherry lip gloss and mascara sometimes. It’s fun trying out new hairstyles and clothes and learning to do better makeup. I like getting dressed up for special occasions. I like doing these things on my own terms. But this? What I’m doing to myself right now? This isn’t the same. Am I supposed to keep up this charade for the rest of my life? If I do eventually go out with Donghyuck, am I gonna have to keep lying to him? To everyone? I want people to like me for me. To actually know me.”

“If this is how you feel, then why would you keep doing this?! If you hate it so much, then why?” He’s frustrated, carding his fingers through his hair as he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you’re angry over this. You look gorgeous, so what’s the problem?

“Because I liked spending time with you!” you burst out, “I never liked Donghyuck—I liked you. I wanted it to be you. It was fun at first, I did like it at first, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not. I can’t be friends with someone who’s ashamed of me.”

There’s a jolt in his heart when he hears your confession, but the second jolt comes quickly afterwards at your last words. Denial is the first stage of grief, and he pales at your final declaration. “What are you talking about? This whole thing is so that Dongh—”

“Oh, please. You can drop the act. This isn’t about Donghyuck anymore. This is about you being too embarrassed to be seen with someone who doesn’t fit your aesthetics.” You air quote the last word for emphasis, and his jaw tightens at that. “You’d rather drop dead than go out with a four like me, right?” You smile sardonically at him. “I may be a four on a seafood diet, but my ears work perfectly fine, Jaemin.”

You heard it all, and Jaemin feels like he is going to throw up. All he can do is scramble and grasp for the last remaining straws, protesting vehemently, “I wasn’t the one who said any of that!”

You laugh humorlessly, “Is that supposed to make it better? You’re better than them because you didn’t say it out loud? You didn’t deny it or defend me either, so what’s your point?

His mouth goes dry, and he opens and shuts it several times. Swallowing harshly, he barely manages to croak out a weak reply. “That’s— I didn’t mean—I only really thought that before I knew you.”

“And that’s just it, isn’t it? You already judged me before you even knew me based on how I look. Even now, you still judge me.” He starts to open his mouth again, but you merely shrug as if you’ve accepted this for all your life, and he closes it meekly, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably, unable to meet your eyes

“That’s okay. I’m used to it. That’s how it is for people like me. I know I’m not someone people fall head over heels for immediately. I’m the one who reaches out to people first. Guys don’t fall over at my feet, wanting to carry my books to class for me. The pretty girls ask me to take their Insta pictures for them. I don’t get free drinks at the bar or invited to all the parties. I’ve never been asked out by a total stranger, and no one writes their number on my cup of coffee,” you say matter-of-factly, a resigned smile on your face, and it has him curling into himself internally, his conscience slowly eating away at him.

“And you know what?” you continue, “That's life. That’s okay because I’m happy with who I am. I like who I am. If I have to give myself up to get Donghyuck or you to like me, then he’s—you—are not the one. I shouldn’t change who I am for a boy—or anyone for that matter.”

“That’s not—We were doing this for you. You wanted… you wanted this makeover. You wanted this.” He’s desperately clutching onto the end of the rope, and you’re holding the scissors to cut it off. You show him another half smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“It stopped being about me. It started being about what you wanted, what you liked, what you wanted me to be. I was your charity case, your little Barbie doll.”

You tilt your head to the side, studying the boy in front of you and he silently squirms under your scrutiny. “Tell me one thing, and be honest. Did you even know I existed before Donghyuck mentioned me as a tutoring option? Before you needed me for a grade booster? Would you have liked me then?”

Would you have liked me then? Your question echoes in his mind, and Jaemin freezes, dropping the clothes in his hands. You know. You know he likes you, and the embarrassment creeps up on him in the form of carmine dusting his ears and cheeks, like spilled wine on white linen.

“There are over one hundred students in the class,” he objects. “Sorry for not fighting my way through all of them to find you and have a crush on you sooner.”

Jaemin seems to not realize that he just confirmed his feelings for you aloud, and perhaps, if he had told you this a few weeks ago, you would have been ecstatic and called up Lana and Moon the second he was out of earshot. But this is now, and you’ve grown exponentially since then.

You give him a wistful smile, and as the dread piles up in the pit of his stomach, he knows this is the start of his downfall (or perhaps, he’s already been falling this entire time). He slipped from the pedestal already long ago, and it’s only a matter of time before he hits rock bottom. The higher the pedestal, the harder the fall from grace.

“I sat in front of you diagonally. You asked me to pass notes to my friend. You know, the girl who sat next to me? Alice? The one you asked out and went on a few dates with at the beginning of the semester?” You state the facts calmly, and his eyes widen at that. “It’s okay. But you must’ve remembered that we were in the same group for a presentation last semester, right?”

Jaemin stays silent, and you have your answer. It’s one you’ve known deep down in your heart all this time, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less. After all, someone can announce they’re going to punch you, you can even see the strike coming to your gut, but simply knowing doesn’t do anything to ease the painful aftermath.

You chuckle humorlessly, fingers uncurling and recurling into fists as your nails press moon shaped crescents into your palms before you look him straight in the eyes. “I don’t fit into your cookie cutter life or match your rose colored Instagram filters. I don’t have the perfect model figure or the perfect face. I don’t look like the girl of your dreams, and I know that it just fucking kills you inside that you fell in love with me.”

Jaemin flinches, curling in on himself when he finally meets your gaze and finally sees the absolute hell fires of fury and repugnance ablaze in your eyes. You know that he loves you, and he’s ashamed that you’re right. You’re absolutely right.

Why is he so afraid of loving you?

He loves how smart you are, how witty you are, how funny you are, how genuine you are, how you understand every obscure Haikyuu!! reference he makes, how you laugh at his jokes, how you dm him the funniest memes on Instagram, how you wear your purple scrunchie around your wrist during every exam for good luck and how you let him borrow it too. He loves how you treat him as more than just a pretty face, how you actually listen to him and make him feel like what he says matters, how you make him feel different—special—like he doesn’t have to compete with all the other Barbies and Kens out there. He’s much too vain, much too superficial, much too selfish, much too proud to admit it out loud, but he’s in love with you, and yet, he can’t bring himself to love every single part of you.

And the truth of that matter is the ugliest of all.

But there are standards that he has to uphold, why can’t you understand this? He lowered his standards for you, and you still couldn’t meet them. You have the personality already, you are this close to being the ideal girl, and well, you both have to make changes. It’s the prince and princess who live happily ever after, not the prince and the pauper, or god forbid, the ogre (No offense, Shrek). This is real life, and society has unspoken rules. He sacrificed so much for you, he put his reputation on the line, so why couldn’t you do this for him? After all, love always has some sacrifices.

Right?

But when Jaemin looks at you now, there’s everything, but love staring back at him. You look at him like he’s a repulsive piece of chewed gum stubbornly stuck to the bottom of your Steve Madden heel. It strikes a nerve and completely eats him to the core, but he pulls himself upright because nobody talks to him like that, nobody looks at him like that, certainly not someone like you. He invented you, he made you into the next Princess Mia, the next Cady Heron, the next Serena van der Woodsen, and this is how you show your gratitude?

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me. You act like I’m the first person to judge first based on looks. Everyone does it. Am I supposed to strike up a conversation with every girl on the off chance she’s everything I want? Do you think anyone would fall for you immediately when you looked like that? The saying is ‘love at first sight’, unless you’re one to believe in the whole ‘love is blind’ idea, which you clearly do,” Jaemin snaps, sneering as he eyes you up and down. His heart and mind are screaming, crying, begging for him to stop, but his pride dropkicks him headfirst into the hole he dug for himself, raging for him to get the upper hand again.

“How is it my fault for not knowing you’re the whole package when the wrapping doesn’t match the contents?”

The unfiltered words slip out of his mouth, and he immediately regrets it, closing his eyes, but it’s too late. He sees the instant look of devastation that appears on your face, and it hits him like a boxer’s punch to the chest. He starts to backtrack to no avail. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.

“I am never going to be enough for you, am I?” you whisper, your breaths stuttering in your chest as your initial sarcasm turns into quiet truths now that eat away at him. “I’m either too much or too little. There’s always going to be something you’ll want to change, something you want to fix.”

“Y/N… I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It was an accident. I just—”

Jaemin can’t continue on, his voice trailing off as he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to keep apologizing, he’ll do anything it takes to take back what he just said, but the damage has already been dealt. He’s always known he’s an asshole, sure, but this is beyond anything he’s ever said or done in the past. He just secured the seat of honor in Dante's ninth circle of hell, and there’s no return ticket.

“You just what? You thought it would be okay to say anything to my face just because it’s not up to your standards?”

Jaemin’s face pales. “N-no, I—this isn’t how it's supposed to go, I just—It just slipped out, can we start over?”

A public rejection from any boy or girl would hurt infinitely less than the words Jaemin spat in your face. The things that his friends said before within earshot? You could take it because you couldn’t care less about them at the end of the day. But this? This was coming from someone you trusted, someone you care about, someone you lov—No, you don’t even want to think about that.

Jaemin never loved you. He never even liked you. The harsh reality slaps you like a cold shower in the middle of a winter night, and you want to curl up into a ball under your covers and cry until you fall asleep.

And yet, you will not let him humiliate you any longer. The spell has been broken. Cinderella is back to her rags, and her Prince Charming is nowhere to be found. She’s stuck as a toad that’ll never change. Eyes watering, you inhale sharply, laughing quietly in disbelief before you straighten up and your face hardens.

“Are you actually listening to yourself? You think we can start over? You treat people like they’re disposable, like they’re nothing, and once they don’t match with your theme of the week, you toss them even faster than the time it takes for you to choose an outfit.” Your chest is heaving, and the tears threaten to fall, but you push on, swallowing the lump in your throat. He reaches out for you, and you take a step back, shaking your head.

“You can’t hurt people and expect them to just let it go. I get it, I know I’m not the thinnest, or the nicest, or the funniest, or the smartest, or the prettiest. I know that I’m hard to love. I get it, Jaemin. I’ve always known that.”

You choke on the last sentence, swallowing hard to stifle the hiccup that bubbles up in your throat. “But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like shit.”

Rapidly blinking back your tears, you march over to your door and throw it open with such force that the doorknob could have left a dent in the wall. You don’t want to cry, you’ve always been an angry crier, and you desperately want the tears to stop. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry and hearing your confession. He doesn’t deserve any of that. Jaemin doesn’t deserve your tears, and he certainly doesn’t deserve your love.

“Get out.”

Jaemin stares at you, mouth agape like a fish on land. You gesture heatedly towards the outside, choking slightly. “What are you waiting for? I said get out.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Am I a joke to you?” you quietly ask, and his eyes widen.

“No! No, Y/N, you’re not, I jus—”

A single tear manages to escape despite your best, frustrated efforts, and Jaemin instinctively reaches out for you. You swat his hand away, angrily swiping away the stray droplet with the sleeve of your sweater. His heart wrenches in his chest as his hand dangles limply by his side. You’re crying because of him. He caused that, and he feels like the biggest piece of shit in the world.

You refuse to let any more fall, glaring at him through the unshed tears and entirely disgusted with the boy standing in front of you. “Don’t touch me. I’m not crying for you. I’m crying because I’m so angry I wasted all my time on someone who never cared about me.”

That’s not true—I love you, he wants to say, but his mouth refuses to form the words because his pride won’t loosen its grip on his heart. He loves you, he’s in love with you, why can’t you see that?

You steel yourself, taking one shaky breath before looking pointedly at the door and repeating yourself, “Get out. Leave me alone.”

Numbly, he makes his way over to the door, ears ringing. You glower at him, the intensity searing and digging into the side of his face. When he stands outside of your dorm, he struggles to turn around and face you helplessly. Your eyes soften for a moment, and it shoves the dagger deeper into his chest when he recognizes that look. It’s the same look he wore when he first saw you, and the shame that emerges nearly chokes him. The mixture of pity and disappointment painted across your face revolts him entirely, and he feels like he’s going to vomit. Jaemin is utterly humiliated.

Your gaze intensifies once more when you stand up to your full height, stare unwavering and chin raised up. Gripping the doorframe tightly, you drive the final words into his heart like a stake.

“I am too good for you, Jaemin, and I will never love someone like you. I deserve better.”

And for a split second, you almost convinced yourself when you said that.

You shut the door in his face.

Jaemin calls your name through the door several times, desperation ringing clear in his tone, but it falls on deaf ears. Apologies are a fool’s best friend, and you’d be a fool yourself to believe them. Holding your breath, you wait until you hear his footsteps echo down the hallway, until the solitude greets you like an old friend. And at last, you drop the facade and let yourself cry. Back pressed against the door and head bowed, you finally let go until all the tears are gone and you’re gasping for breath, the quiet hiccups and sobs bursting forth and breaking the silence in the same way he broke your heart over and over again.

You love him.

There’s no one to blame, but yourself. In the end, it’s all your fault that you were in this mess. How can you be so stupid? You can put lipstick on a pig, but it would still be a pig. Built up insecurities will bubble up to the surface no matter how much mascara and blush you apply. The warning signs were all there in flashing technicolor, but they were all tied up with shiny ribbons and deceiving perfect smiles. They lit up your usual drab life of blacks, whites, and grays, and you were blinded by the glitz and glamor— blinded by him. It is hard to see the red flags and stop signs through the rose colored Instagram filters. You trusted him and gave him your heart when you should’ve known it’d end like this.

You got greedy and tried to steal the spotlight, and you received it, front and center. You are the joke. You are the punchline, the comedic relief, the center stage of a slapstick comedy show. This is what you get for going off script.

Because you love him.

You were supposed to continue to delude yourself into thinking that you don’t want to find love, that you enjoy being on your own, that you enjoy being single, that you are perfectly content with never experiencing romance instead of facing the cold harsh reality head on: no one sees you as desirable or dateable. And when your friends tell you that you’re not missing out on anything with dating, you were supposed to nod and agree, when secretly, you desperately wish you can experience that for yourself instead of living vicariously through your friends’ love lives or the 3 a.m. scrollings through cheesy romance fanfiction on Tumblr. You’re been fine all these years, haven’t you? You were doing so well living on your own.

But you love him.

It’ll come when you least expect it, that’s what they tell you every time, but what are you to do when you can’t help but expect it your whole life? What are you to do when you so desperately want to know what it feels like to be loved in that way? God, when is it going to be your turn? When is it your turn to daydream about someone and know that they’re daydreaming about you too? When is it your turn to have someone walk you home? When is it your turn to hold hands with someone? When is it your turn to feel the giddy butterflies and experience a good night kiss? When is it your turn to be kissed in the rain? When is it your turn to experience the romance you can only dream about?

How much longer will you have to be patient? How much longer do you have to wait, living in denial over the soul crushing reality of it all? How many more stars do you need to wish upon until you learn to accept the painstaking truth? You weren’t meant to be loved in this lifetime.

God, you love him.

It’s embarrassing when it shouldn’t be. You just want to be touched by hands that care, loved by a heart that beats for you, desired by someone who thinks you are enough. It’s the way you would give up ten years of your life in a heartbeat to experience being the prettiest girl in the room just once and have people look at you. The overwhelming shame washes over you when you never had your first kiss until now with a boy who never cared about you, never went on a date before, never had a boyfriend before, and you have to lie and say it’s by choice when it’s not. It’s not. You have so much love to give, you have so much space in your life to share, you have so much time to spend with that special someone, but the grains of the hourglass are spent waiting and longing for a stranger who will never come.

The thought of it all just makes you sick. It makes you sick that you wish so terribly that someone would just look in your direction for once. For once, you want to be looked at in that way like all the female protagonists experience in the movies. And you know your value shouldn’t be based on desire and objectification, you absolutely know it, but it still hurts when you go out with your friends and you’re the one dancing alone or sitting back and watching the purses. You’re the one standing there by yourself, while every single one of your pretty friends is being approached by someone. It still hurts so fucking bad when you try to put yourself out there, but guys have already moved past you or don’t even acknowledge your existence simply because of your face or a number on a scale. And when he came into your life and gave you one measly ounce of attention, you ran with it when you should have run away. It’s absolutely exhausting, leaving you out of breath and on the verge of throwing up, to chase after someone who never even looked at you, to chase after their attention, praying to god that they’ll one day make you feel like you are worth it, that you’ll finally feel some sort of value.

Forget ever being loved, you weren’t even wanted.

There is no such thing as happily ever after’s for the extras. Girls like you don’t get to star in love stories. Why did you ever think it would end differently?

You love him.

And he ruined you. Even worse, you let him.

You wish you never met Na Jaemin.

x. i can’t go out tonight. *fake coughs* i’m sick.

You would like to give a formal apology to Bella Swan for not understanding why she was so depressed over Edward leaving her for six months and making fun of her. In your defense, you were like nine years old when the movie came out, and you were more interested in Barbies back then (Plus, you were Team Jacob because you wanted a pet dog at the time).

You didn’t even go through a break up, but it sure as hell feels like one.

You probably would continue to wallow in your misery for weeks, clutching onto the only two men you could ever trust in your entire life: Ben and Jerry’s while watching every iconic 90s and early 2000s rom-coms on repeat if it weren’t for your best friends. But enough is enough, and you get that you shouldn’t be spending weeks crying over a boy who hasn’t even spent one second thinking about you. It’s just hard to take that first step back up again when you feel like you tripped and fell all the way down to rock bottom.

And so, you finally let your friends into your shared dorm room, and you definitely do not miss the poorly disguised look of disgust and shock when they see the giant mess on your side of the room (You’re very grateful that Giselle has been staying at her boyfriend’s place for weeks now). It’s an intervention at this point—one that you desperately need, and you know it.

“Okay, give it to me straight,” you sniffle, still wrapped up in your comforter like a giant burrito and clutching onto the ice cream carton like a lifeline. You know that your friends will just rip it off like a bandage, and you have mentally prepared yourself for it. Your voice comes out wobbly still from the tears, and you hate it. “I know I was stupid for letting a guy walk all over me like that. I know if any of you were in this situation, I’d tell you that you’re better than that and to get over him, but it’s just so hard to do it.”

“He who shall not be named is a scumbag, and I’m gonna kill him the next time I see him,” Lana states, pursing her lips together. “I hope he has a bad hair day every single day because I know he’d be screaming, crying, throwing up if he could never get a perfect selfie ever again.”

You choke back a sob, giving her a watery smile. “That would destroy him.”

“Good. Fuck him. Metaphorically, not literally. Why should you care if you are the girl of his dreams or not? Be the girl of your dreams. You’re gorgeous, smart, and funny and he’s just some guy who still doesn’t know how to use the correct ‘your’ in an Instagram caption.”

You can write down a thousand and one reasons why he was the most horrendous, most awful, most vile person to ever grace your life. But at the end of the day, why does it matter? What good would it do? You still love him, and that’s the worst pill to swallow.

“I just—I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“Y/N, if you believed that Jaemin wasn’t a shitbag for the past four weeks and all the time before that in his life, then you can believe in yourself right now for two minutes and listen to me,” Lana says firmly, clutching onto your shoulders and forcing you to look her in the eye as she continues on, “Remember the Barbie movie? He’s just Ken. Ken doesn’t have a good day unless Barbie looks at him.”

“Yeah, like channel your inner Gina Linetti. Listen to Chelsea Peretti. ‘Men used to hunt.’ What’s Jaemin doing? He’s pushing twenty and doing aegyo on camera,” Moon chimes in, and Lana nods furiously in agreement before elbowing Yangyang in his rib not-so-subtly. “Contribute to the conversation, Yang.”

“Hold on, I’m thinking,” Yangyang says, pausing in the middle of your room and placing his hands on his hips.

“Oh congrats, I didn’t know you could do that. But stop because you’re not good at it at all,” Moon says, completely ignoring the dirty look he throws at her immediately. The little exchange brings a small smile to your face and it feels nice to laugh. You’ve forgotten how to do that. You miss your friends. You’re grateful for them for not giving up on you when you already have.

“Come on, let’s go see ‘Crazy Rich Asians.’ It’ll be fun. We can watch Lana fangirl over seeing her favorite actor,” Moon encourages you, and Yangyang nods in agreement. “Yeah, she picked a better man after the Jaehyun fiasco.”

“Oh my god, let it go. I didn’t like him that much,” Lana huffs softly, grabbing one of your spare pillows and launching it square into his face in retaliation, and he lets out out a high pitched shriek that makes you giggle.

“Weren’t you gonna go see it with your best friend, Yang?” You ask, glancing over at him and he shakes his head, a slightly sour expression on his face. “Nah, she’s going with Dejun already.”

“So unfortunately, we’re stuck with him now,” Moon says solemnly as Yangyang immediately throws her a dirty look. The look on his face makes you laugh, and it makes you feel a little better and your heart a little lighter.

You shouldn’t have to beg someone to love you; the right person will never make you beg. The right person would never chip away at you, erasing different parts of you, until you fit their picture perfect mold, until there’s nothing left of you. You would never have to call your friends at 4 am, drunk and crying for their validation, praying to whatever higher being is up there for them to take you back. Your friends have never looked at the scars and freckles dotting your skin and suddenly deemed you as unlovable. Your best friend wouldn’t call you fat and point out every single one of your insecurities. You are not unlovable because you decided to eat a third taco or decided to not wear makeup today or didn’t shave your legs. You may fight with your parents and siblings, but never once have you felt unloved by them. Never once did you have to get on your knees and plead for them to love you back.

You know you are worthy of love because your friends and family make it look so easy. They have shown you what love is really like time and time again. You’ve been a shitty friend these past few months, prioritizing a boy over the ones who really matter. They’ve been so patient with you this entire time, and with an open heart, you realize that it is time you finally start properly loving them and yourself too.

You are loved.

xi. that’s so not fetch!

Jaemin slinks out of the lecture hall, noting the dirty looks your friends have sent him from the other side of the room. He’s been standing outside of the classroom before the session starts for the past few weeks in hopes of catching you, looking like a complete creep (and definitely feeling like one). But what’s he to do when you wouldn’t return any of his texts or calls? It’s humiliating, and he feels smaller than an ant under a microscope.

He pretends to leave class early, staking out in the bathroom across from the classroom. Counting down the minutes, he sees the first wave of students pouring out from the classrooms and finally spots you. His heart jumps to his throat, and his hands begin to grow clammy.

You’re back to wearing your loose jeans and basic t-shirts, your favorite purple scrunchie wrapped around your wrist and an old Jansport backpack slung over your shoulder, decorated with pins of all those familiar characters from his favorite anime. Your face is bare, aside from tinted lip balm, and you’re smiling. You’re laughing at something your friend next to you says, and with a sinking heart, Jaemin realizes that perhaps maybe you are pretty in the slightest way.

He finds himself taking one step towards you, then another, maneuvering around the other students rushing to leave. He’s getting closer and closer, if he called out your name, you would hear him. But you wouldn’t stop for him this time. He knows that.

Jaemin is getting closer, just a few more steps until he can just stretch his hand out and tap your shoulder, and his heart is pounding so hard in his chest until a pretty manicured hand grabs his upper arm lightly.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”

He pauses, turning around and seeing Somi staring back at him in surprise as she continues, “I thought you don’t have any classes at this time.”

“Yeah, I—” he hesitates, glancing over at your retreating figure and Somi follows his gaze, her eyes softening as she lets go of his arm.

“Oh, were you waiting for her? Sorry about that,” she apologizes, pulling away and he shakes his head, shrinking back. Maybe it was for the better that you got away. It’s probably a sign from the universe telling him to let it go.

“No, it’s okay. She doesn’t want to talk to me anyway,” Jaemin admits at last, starting to slink off, and Somi furrows her eyebrows, a puzzled expression gracing her face as she hurries slightly to catch up with him, matching his pace. He exits the building, crushing the graded economics midterm with a red 89 circled at the top in his fist and shoving it haphazardly into the side pocket of his backpack usually reserved for his water bottle.

“What are you talking about? The two of you are practically glued at the hip. She adores you,” she laughs softly, tilting her head slightly as she glances over at him. He ignores her look, continuing on his way off of campus and towards his safe haven: a small dog friendly boba shop snug in between a bookstore and a 24 hour laundromat he frequents more often than he likes to admit.

“I honestly thought you’d ask her out at some point.”

Jaemin winces at that, her light response rubbing salt into his open wounds, stitches torn and bleeding, and he spits out the next words defensively, his pride rearing its ugly head again. “No way. I never liked her like that. She’s not my type at all. Have you seen her?”

“What is wrong with you?” Somi frowns at him, stopping in her tracks, and he halts, unable to look at her and throwing out a dismissive “What?” In her direction.

“Why are you talking about her like that? I thought you liked her,” she answers, staring at him in disbelief, and he curls his fingers into fists, gripping tightly as a multitude of conflicting emotions war inside of him. He starts to walk again, barely glancing over at Somi.

“She was just my tutor. I passed my midterm, so I don’t need to be around her anymore.” He responds weakly, uncurling and recurling his fingers into fists as he desperately tries to stay calm.

It was so much easier to pretend around his other friends. Aside from Jeno, they always took his words at face value, never one to pry. And Jeno would never push him, knowing that he would eventually come to him at his own pace. But Somi? He’s forgotten about how she can be after she’s been so busy with her schedule, missing out from the majority of hang outs for her social work and events, and their class schedules never overlapped. She can spot a lie a mile away. She actually cares. In a way, she reminds him of you, and he can’t bear to meet her gaze anymore.

“She’s your friend,” Somi retorts, following him into the boba shop, briefly stopping to pet the adorable Samoyed wagging its tail near the entrance. “You spent more time with her than any of us, except maybe Jeno. And you weren’t just studying in the library. I’ve seen her on your finsta and close friend stories.”

“Okay, and now she’s not. She’s not my friend anymore,” Jaemin answers sharply, punching his order into the self service machine. “It happens. People stop being friends. So back off, Somi.”

“Jeez, what is your problem?” she snaps back, following him towards the back, settling on a pillow in one of the comfortable nooks converted into a small seating area across from him. “I caught you following Y/N, and now you say you’re not friends?”

Jaemin hesitates, fiddling with one of the decorative pillows in his lap. “We got into an argument.”

“Yeah, but friends fight. You can apologize, right?”

Jaemin is silent.

Somi stares at him, and he wants to curl into himself. It’s the very same look you gave him before you shut the door in his face, and he feels the bile in his throat already. Her voice is quiet. “Jaemin, what did you do?”

“I—,” he whispers, breaking off and clenching his fists. He is already replaying that moment in his head, seeing the look of utter devastation on your face, and he wants to run away. The ugly truth is front and center, and he is unable to ignore it any longer.

“I fucked up, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Jaemin bursts out, burying his face in his hands and unable to face his friend. He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. “I said some shitty things to her, some really fucked up stuff.”

“Like fucked up as in messy drunk thoughts or fucked up, fucked up?” Somi says softly, hesitantly, as if she doesn’t want to believe her friend is the worst of the worst. Jaemin’s heart sinks even lower than rock bottom as he continues to hang his head low.

“I…” Jaemin’s voice is less than a whisper as he finally confesses the horrible truth to someone for the first time. His voice cracks as he recalls every single disgusting thing and insecurity he flung back into your face.

“I said that it would be stupid for her to believe in love at first sight, that she wasn’t up to my standards, that it’s her fault, that I was ashamed of her, ashamed that I even liked her because of the way she looked.”

The silence is deafening, and Jaemin feels the same wave of humiliation wash over him as it did on that very night. Somi is speechless, and he can’t bear to look at her, one hundred percent knowing that there would be a raw look of utter disgust and horror on her face because that is the exact way he would look at himself. He sits there in silence as the guilt and shame pile up even higher; he is past the point of wallowing in self pity, already drowning and gasping for breath.

“Jaemin… she was your friend,” she murmurs, gazing at him, mouth agape as the shock finally settles in, and he flinches slightly at the past tense. “She actually cared about you. She made you happy.”

“I know,” he says softly.

“She was the best thing that ever happened to you.” Somi continues quietly.

Jaemin sucks in a sharp breath, biting his bottom lip. “I know.”

“Then why?”

Because I was stupid, he thinks silently, Because I am a coward. Because she embarrassed me. She made me feel small. She made me feel insignificant. She made me look at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in my life, I absolutely hated what I saw staring back at me.

“I don’t know,” Jaemin whispers, staring down at his lap in resignation and unable to swallow the truth.

He knows.

xii. you can’t sit with us.

You continue to avoid Jaemin in Macroeconomics, choosing to slip into class at the very last minute. You see him waiting in front of the classroom every session for the past three weeks, searching for you, but you opt to go to the professor’s office hours every time before class and end up walking with her to class as she answers your questions about the assigned readings and problems. Alice saves you a seat in the front row, and you never told her but you’re grateful when you realize she must have asked her other friends to sit around the two of you, effectively barricading Jaemin from any attempt at sitting next to you. Finals week comes and goes with the winter break following suit, and you think he has finally given up on any attempt at reaching you.

But life has an unfortunate penchant for bringing up things—or people—you wish to forget when you least expect it. It was supposed to be an ordinary Thursday four weeks into the spring semester, and you’re exiting your last class of the day, tucking your laptop into the cute tote bag you bought from the New York Strands bookstore as you walk across campus.

“Y/N.” Jaemin appears in front of you, and suddenly, all the air in your lungs seem to have been sucked out. It’s almost embarrassing how two months of self progress can be toppled over as easily as a house of cards. Your brain says to hate him, but one glance at him still has you weak in the knees. You take a deep breath, counting to three before walking around and ignoring him entirely.

“Please, can we just talk for five minutes? I’m sorry.” He desperately reaches out for you, and you can see some people starting to take note of the two of you, their gazes on your back.

“Leave me alone, Jaemin.” You continue to walk away, hiking up the strap of your bag higher over your shoulder, desperately trying to quell the stupid colony of butterflies in your stomach that have laid dormant for so long. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Please, just five minutes—three minutes—and I’ll leave you alone forever. Listen to me,” he says in a quiet tone. It was an order, a request, and a plea all at once.

You pause, scrutinizing him for a few moments before grabbing his arm and dragging him away from prying eyes. You stop on the secluded side of the building underneath the magnolia trees before dropping his hand. “You have two minutes. Talk.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Good to know you’re self aware. You’re finally experiencing some character growth.”

Jaemin grimaces at your stony expression. “Okay, that was deserved. I truly am sorry, Y/N. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and I’m an asshole who took advantage of you. You do deserve better. You deserve someone better than me. But I want to be that person. You make me a better person.”

You stay quiet, and Jaemin fidgets around. “Is that… is that okay? I know it’s selfish of me, but—”

“You’re right, that is selfish of you.”

Jaemin falls silent at that, face flushing before he speaks up meekly, “Can’t we start over? Try again?”

In that moment, you truly pity the boy in front of you. The lost expression on his face tells it all as he desperately clutches onto whatever lifeline you’re willing to toss out. But he’s causing you to drown, and you need to cut the cord and put yourself first for once. Maybe you can change him. But you can’t do this to yourself again.

You take a deep breath and pinch yourself, reminding yourself that this is the same boy who broke your heart because it wasn’t pretty enough for him. “There is no trying again. You never tried, and I’m done trying for you. Jaemin, you don’t love me. You’ve never felt that way towards me.”

“Yes, I have! I do! I really do,” he protests, and you shake your head, taking a step back. He starts to take one step forward towards you and hesitates, staying in his original spot. Your gaze is cold, and he finds himself wishing that you would look at him in the way you used to.

“You love the idea of me: the one you built up in your head,” you say, tone growing quiet. “But I’m nothing like her. To some degree, I think I might be the first genuine connection you ever made with a girl. You liked the way I felt about you and how I acted for you. I changed everything about myself for you, I would’ve followed you anywhere, I would’ve done anything for you, and you took advantage of that. You took advantage of the fact that I love you.”

You may not truly know what love is, but you know it’s something he never gave you. It stings, knowing that even after all of this, you still secretly, desperately long for the type of love you know will always be out of your reach. A part of you wants to believe him, but this time, you listen to your mind instead of your heart.

Jaemin’s head shoots up at your confession, eyes widening in belated realization, and you curl your lips inward, biting your lower lip. You love him. You love him, he now knows, and to your surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Three steps forward and two steps back is still one step in the right direction.

“One day, you’re gonna find someone who’s finally enough for you—someone who’s worth making pancakes for,” you say wistfully, pausing for a minute before gathering the courage to continue.

“And you’re gonna fall in love with them. Like really love them. You’re gonna love them so much that you’ll try your hardest to be enough for them. You’re gonna try so fucking hard to be the one they want, the one they love, that you’ll do anything for them. You’ll even change yourself for better—or for worse.” You grip the strap of your tote bag even tighter, a dull pang in your heart making its appearance, and Jaemin winces, lowering his eyes as the regret and guilt pools into his stomach.

“But sometimes, it won’t be enough. It’s not going to be enough,” you continue, swallowing hard. “And it’ll never be enough for them. You’re willing to move heaven and earth for them, but they won’t notice. Or maybe they don’t even care. No matter how hard you try to love them, it won’t matter unless they want you. Unless they choose you. And it’ll hurt like hell. It’ll hurt every single time you see them, every time you hear them, every time you think of them.”

Your voice softens, shaking slightly as you take in a wavering breath before pushing forward. “And when it hurts, you’re going to think of me. You’re going to remember me because that’s when you’ll understand what it feels like. That’s when you’ll know how I felt. How it feels to not be enough. How it feels to have your heart ripped to shreds by someone you care about—someone you love.”

His heart drops, and you give him a wistful smile before it quickly disappears, and your expression schools into one of indifference. You continue to walk forward confidently, brushing past his frozen figure. You see your friends waiting for you on the other side of the lawn, and you look over your shoulder at Jaemin one last time, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself.

“And you know what? I hope to fucking god it hurts you as much as you hurt me.”

The world continues to spin, you keep moving forward, and he remains rooted in his spot, unable to look away from you. There are so many Barbies and Kens out there, so many more Na Jaemins who will come into your life and sweep you off your feet, and you’ll make them feel special and more than a pretty face, he belatedly realizes, he’s disposable and so easily replaceable, but there’s only ever going to be one you.

As he watches you walk away, Jaemin thinks he is starting to understand.

EPILOGUE.

Life likes to play cruel jokes, and the senior year gives you the most hilarious one of all in the form of your final capstone project. Last you heard about Jaemin, he had switched his major to pre med (which was ironic to you since that field would require him to care about other people, which he clearly proved to be incapable of). However, your university decided to implement a cross collaboration between the various schools, and it’s just your luck that you find yourself paired up with Jaemin. Giving him a tight smile as you take a seat across from him in the library room he reserved, you take out your laptop.

Jaemin had asked earlier if you wanted to request a new assigned partner, but you highly doubt any professor would switch up a pairing on account of one person being guilty of being the greatest asshole to ever exist (Plus, you’ll come across many guys like him in your field of work, so you might as well start building up your tolerance now).

It is the final time you will meet up with him before the big presentation, and the two of you work together in silence, only breaking it to discuss the project topic. It is neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, settled somewhere in between—kind of like a purgatory for relationships. You’ve stopped thinking about him a while ago already, but seeing someone who once was a part of your life always brings back memories, whether wanted or not.

“I met someone.”

Jaemin breaks the ice, unable to hold it back any longer. He feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn't get this off of his chest. There is a slight pause in your writing before you resume, but he knows you are listening.

“I met her after… after our…” He trails off. He doesn’t know what to call it—what the two of you had. An almost relationship. “… After us.”

You continue to write, taking note of several points to be discussed based on your slide. He puts down his pen, clasping his hands together as he fiddles with one of the rings wrapped around his fingers.

“I made her blueberry pancakes.”

You sharply inhale for a brief millisecond before you jot down another bullet point. One, two, three, four, five bullet points until you can breathe normally again. You’re twenty two years old, but you suddenly feel like you’re eighteen again. You sometimes loathed your younger self, but because of her, you learned so many things (Forgiveness is one of them).

“I don’t know what else to do, except keep making her pancakes.” Jaemin sits there idly for a few moments, entirely unaware of your inner turmoil, before he laughs derisively, “She’s in love with my best friend. She never told me, but I can just tell.”

There’s another pause from him. Staring down at his notebook, he swallows hard, the lump in his throat never fully going away. His voice cracks as he whispers out his question:

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Your pen stops moving across the paper, dropping to the side. There’s a black scribble from where it fell. You still continue to look at the index card, focusing on the college ruled lines until they become a mosaic blur of blue, black, and white.

“Eventually.”

Your tone is impassive, and his head snaps up at your reply. You pick up the pen again. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s staring at you, an unrecognizable expression in his eyes.

Perhaps, it would have been different if you had met the present day him back then instead. Perhaps, it would’ve worked out. Maybe he would have made another girl fall in love with him, broke her heart, and come out unscathed. Or maybe he would still be the same as his past self if he hadn’t met you. It’s the butterfly effect; you don’t know what would have happened, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

By now, you have mourned him for longer than you have loved him.

“Y/N, you were never hard to love. I was bad at loving. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

And this time, you know he truly means it—that Jaemin truly understands. It is good that he has learned and tried to become a better person. You just wish it didn’t have to come at the expense of you.

Your first love teaches you what love isn’t.

The threads holding the pieces of your heart together these past three years have always been so fragile. Just one tug at the heart strings, and everything unravels so easily, like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. You’ve nearly forgotten what heartbreak feels like, the old wounds opening up for a long forgotten friend that you had prayed you would never meet again.

You discover that it hurts even more the second time around.

“I wish I fell in love with you back then.”

His tone is forlorn, a silent resolution wrapped in happenstance. You continue to write down more notes for your part of the presentation, the soft scritches of your pen against paper almost masking your quiet response, and Jaemin nearly misses it.

“So did I.”

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