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shuaflix · 5 months ago

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the xu minghao dilemma

❝ i was having more fun talking about how objectively and subjectively good i look. ❞

PAIRING ▸ xu minghao x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, humor, suggestive, coffee shop au, college au, childhood friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slow burn, weed consumption, tooth-rotting fluff, lowkey jeongcheol and verkwan if you squint, everyone being whipped for minghao, a somewhat heated makeout scene, friend group antics as per usual, minghao being the living embodiment of a green flag, ft. yooyeon from triples

SUMMARY ▸ like most film students, you find yourself experiencing the worst creative block of your life when you're tasked to film a documentary for your final project. enter: your old childhood best friend turned stranger, xu minghao—an (incredibly handsome) ex-dancer and barista who just might be the spark of inspiration you need to make the best film of your academic career. on the flip side, minghao needs this film to win him the scholarship that lets him dance again. despite all, your circumstances don't stop your old, repressed feelings for minghao from resurfacing.

PLAYLIST ▸ insomnia by zerobaseone • kidult by seventeen • meme by &team • heart surf by kep1er • glue song by beabadoobee

WORD COUNT ▸ 20,606 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this is for user junyangis my favorite bot

“THE TIGER: ICONIC SYMBOL OF THE WILD, AND AN APEX PREDATOR THAT WE FEAR AND ADMIRE.”

You panned your camera to focus on Yoon Jeonghan, who was currently sifting through the mess of papers and notebooks across his desk. All of the drawers were turned out with their contents scattered across the carpet. His frantic search for his missing vape had been going on for the past twenty minutes, and you were certain this was his fifth time going through his belongings again.

Normal people, such as yourself, would’ve given up within the first five minutes, but your best friend’s resilience was admirable. His unwavering persistence was exactly the sort of character you wanted to showcase in your films. Without the context of the vape addiction, of course.

“And here,” you continued in the best David Attenborough impression you could conjure up, “we see a tiger in the wild.”

“Go to hell, dude,” Jeonghan snapped back. You squinted at him through your viewfinder to catch him carding a frustrated hand through his hair. “My Circadian rhythm needs flavored air to function.”

The tiny red light flickered once, then vanished as you stopped recording. “Try regular air. It’s good for you—and free.”

“Yeah? Then maybe this is my calling to get sober.”

(It was important to note that Jeonghan tended to say this very frequently.)

He finally rose from the corner of his dorm room where he had strewn the contents of his drawer all over the floor. Jeonghan crossed over to where you were sitting—on his bed, leaning against the wall with his Doraemon pillow—and plopped down beside you. His eyes, glazed-over and half-lidded, were fixed on the ceiling, as if he was going over each groove in the drywall.

For the past two hours, you had been agonizing over ideas for your documentary. Jeonghan was typically great when it came to bouncing ideas off each other, so you often pestered him until inspiration struck. Today didn’t seem like a particularly stimulating day for either of you, though. Your best friend paid attention for maybe half an hour, but even he started running out of ideas for potential documentary content.

“By the way,” he added, still stuck in a faraway trance, “do not use whatever you just recorded for your film project. I don’t consent to being exploited for views.”

It had been weeks since you came to terms with the fact that Jeonghan didn’t want to be the subject of your documentary. You had a semester to complete this project for your documentary class, and although you still had a decent amount of time left, you were starting to get worried because most of your classmates already started outlining their ideas. You hadn’t even found your main character yet.

There were quite a few reasons why you wouldn’t have chosen Jeonghan in the first place; it didn’t just chalk down to his disinterest in being filmed. You wanted to capture someone with a story—a progression or growth that tugged at the heartstrings of your audience—and using someone you weren’t already close with would help you film more objectively.

You raised a brow at your friend. “You? I was clearly filming a wild animal in its natural habitat.”

“Recording without two-party consent is tasteless,” he reminded. “And just for that, I’m not telling you the incredible, brilliant idea I just had.”

“You haven’t exactly shared that many incredible, brilliant ideas for me to feel disappointed about that.”

“No, trust me. It’s really good.” He used his elbows to prop himself up, shooting you a wide grin. His resolve to withhold his proposition crumbled within seconds of his excitement. “It’s the best idea I’ve had since that one time I stole Seungcheol’s towel and t-shirt while he was showering.”

You glanced at him through the corner of your eyes. “All you did was make him walk around shirtless.”

“Exactly.” Jeonghan returned your look with far more judgment than you had given him. “That was the best part.”

The memory was hard to forget. During your freshman year, you were living in the dorms where your RA was Choi Seungcheol. It was safe to say that a solid majority of the people on your floor had eyes for the dreamy Resident Advisor. Jeonghan only contributed to the noble cause of fan service by ensuring that Seungcheol would end up having to walk through the hallway with his glorious abs on display, his chiseled body beaded with water droplets.

“So what’s your idea? Ask Seungcheol if I can film a strip tease?”

“No, it’s—wait, that’s so good. If we can get that greenlit, you should totally—”

“Nope, definitely not doing that,” you interjected with a firm shake of your head. You were not going to present a half-naked Seungcheol as your final project. “Give me something more PG-13.”

“Boring, but fine.” After mocking a pout, Jeonghan’s lips immediately curled up in a smirk. “Xu Minghao.”

The very mention of his name made you straighten up. You hadn’t spoken to Minghao in years, and although your friends would tease you about being his childhood friend, you didn’t see your past with him as anything worth mentioning. After all, being close friends during middle school was nothing compared to the plethora of memories you made after the two of you grew distant.

“Huh?”

“Xu Minghao,” he repeated. “Streets are saying he’s quit dancing.”

You frowned. “Minghao quit dancing?”

That couldn’t be right. Minghao? The same Xu Minghao who snuck out of his house to practice for hours in dance studios? The same one who took eight trains, walked fifteen miles, and hitchhiked to get to dance camp on his own? The same one who shed tears when he won his first dance competition?

Dance was Minghao’s life; it came as naturally as breathing to him. You so clearly remembered his overwhelming passion that drove him to practice tirelessly for years. Just watching him move to the beat made you feel like he was born to express himself that way. You couldn’t imagine your childhood friend, who had been dancing his entire life, to just throw away all his hard work and talent on a whim.

“Streets also mentioned he hurt his foot real bad. Poor guy can’t compete at nationals anymore.”

“Streets?”

“I’m protecting anonymity, okay?” After you peered at him for a moment, Jeonghan caved under the pressure of your stare and added, “Fine. It was Seungkwan.”

You scoffed. All credibility of the rumor vanished like a wisp of smoke.

“Seungkwan also claimed Vernon needed to go to the emergency room when he got a paper cut,” you replied, unimpressed.

“No, I think it really is serious this time. You can check it out for yourself, if you want,” Jeonghan said. “He’s working at the café like, every day now.”

“His mom’s café?”

“Mmhm. He stopped for a while ‘cause of school, but he just picked up his shifts again.”

“And you think that’s what I should do for my documentary? Minghao quitting the one thing that could be worth filming?”

“I don’t think he actually wanted to quit,” Jeonghan said, looking down at his intertwined hands in his lap with a puzzled expression, as if the Xu Minghao Dilemma™ had been keeping him up at night. “I don’t know what it is. Seungkwan said he seemed kind of off when he was talking about it.”

You were quiet for a moment, and Jeonghan continued, “You also find it weird, don’t you? It doesn’t make sense that he’d just quit like that.”

“I mean, if something’s really going on with him, then I don’t think it’s right for me to ask if I can turn that into a documentary,” you said.

“I’m not saying that, but…” He trailed off before shrugging. “I just think it wouldn’t hurt to check in on him.”

You arched a brow at him. “Why don’t you check in on him? Aren’t you two friends?”

“We’re bros,” he corrected. Cue a dramatic groan from you, which was promptly ignored as Jeonghan elaborated, “our way of showing that we’re there for each other is by queueing up on League together or talking about the Roman Empire.”

“Jeonghan, you have never once mentioned the Roman Empire.”

“Jokes on you, I did a research project on it in middle school.” He shut his eyes to wave off the tangent he started going off on. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you’re a girl—a woman. Women get to the point. They get things done.” He gave you a resolute nod, and you were starting to wonder if he was simply trying to use flattery against you. “Hence why I think you can figure out what’s going on with Minghao.”

You sighed. “But Minghao and I haven’t even spoken in so long. I don’t want to overstep.”

“Look, I’ve texted Hao—even met up with him in person—but the guy won’t budge. He just gives me that customer service smile of his and says he’s fine.”

“And what makes you think I’ll be able to do anything?”

“I’m not saying you will, but I think he’ll turn around when he realizes more people are concerned about him.”

On one hand, you didn’t exactly have any sort of relationship with Xu Minghao that gave you a reason to visit him. Did he even remember your name? You could only imagine the confusion drawing his brows together upon seeing you after years of silence. Or perhaps he wouldn’t care at all. The two of you could probably pass by each other as complete strangers, and he wouldn’t experience the same flicker of old memories that made your heart ache.

On the other hand, you truly were curious. And it wouldn’t hurt to visit the old café, either.

Plus, you would never admit it out loud, but part of you had been waiting for an excuse to talk to your old friend again.

You felt utterly stupid as you stood at the entrance of the café.

First, your heart was beating unbelievably fast for something that shouldn’t have been this difficult of a feat. It was a coffee shop, for crying out loud. All you had to do was walk inside and order something without making a fool out of yourself. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

Second, it was hard to pretend like you were only here for coffee when your only intention was to check up on Minghao. Now you were wondering if you should’ve texted him first, but that probably would’ve taken you a few days to work up the courage to send.

And the cherry on top of your miserable cake was that you didn’t even like coffee. Maybe you could get something to eat, but you weren’t big on pastries, either. You just had to force yourself to get whatever seemed the most appetizing and hope that Minghao took notice of you.

That was another thing; you didn’t even know what hours he worked. Your plan was to work in the corner of the café until you saw him coming in. Knowing your luck, he probably didn’t even have a shift scheduled for today. Still, you were determined to wait it out since you had come this far already.

With a shaky breath, you pushed open the door and were immediately greeted by a rush of warmth. You instinctively tugged your cardigan tighter around your frame as you scanned the space. It had been years since you stepped into the café, but everything was about the same; almost all the tables were occupied with teenagers or lone adults who came to get work done, the back wall had a space reserved for people to leave cute notes and drawings, and a familiar barista was eyeing you from the get-go.

There he was, watching you from the counter. Clusters of stars encased in two midnight pools.

Xu Minghao, who you skillfully managed to avoid interacting with for the past six years, was looking at you with the same familiarity that stirred in your chest.

Your first reaction was to flee, but you would’ve looked ridiculous running out of the shop, so you walked to the nearest empty table first. Did people look for tables before they even ordered? You were starting to forget how to normally function as you set your bag down on the smooth oak wood.

“Sample?” a gentle voice called from behind you as you were fumbling with getting your laptop out of your bag. You looked over your shoulder to see Minghao with a tray of bite-sized slices of cheesecake with toothpicks sticking out of the top. A warm smile graced his features, so dazzling to the point where it was blinding. “It’s one of our signature desserts here.”

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, disoriented as you picked up one of the cheesecake bites. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be at the front whenever you’re ready to order.”

He left before you could get another word out, and you shoved the cube of cheesecake in your mouth so that you didn’t look completely frozen (which you were). Minghao probably went around giving samples to every customer, but surely he recognized you, right? It wasn’t like the two of you were completely oblivious to each other’s existence. Minghao had to know you two had mutual friends from the Instagram stories and posts you were featured in.

Moreover, his leg seemed fine. Boo Seungkwan had once again proven to be an untrustworthy source.

You worked up the courage to walk to the register after going over the menu about twenty times, finally deciding on getting a mango fruit tea. As soon as you were in front of Minghao, though, your predetermined order disappeared from your head and the menu looked like a blur of words.

Your mind went completely blank.

“Uh…” You were floundering for something to say—anything. Coffee was the only drink coming to mind, but you weren’t sure the caffeine would be good for your nerves. “I'll have, uh…”

This was so stupid. You waited for minutes on end to decide on your order and ended up looking like a complete fool in front of Minghao.

“Would you like a recommendation?” he offered smoothly, as if this was a routine response for him. You wondered how many other customers lost their train of thought upon seeing his face.

“Yes, please.”

“I know it's chilly outside, but our fruit teas are pretty popular. And, if I remember correctly, you've always been a fan of mango,” he said. You swore he was trying to avert his gaze now, although he had been maintaining proper eye contact up until this moment. “Injeolmi toast is a favorite here, too. I know you like injeolmi, unless your tastes have changed…”

Wow. Maybe you were off the mark all along. Minghao clearly hadn't forgotten you; in fact, he remembered more of you than you could even recall yourself.

“Mango fruit tea—that’s right. That’s what I wanted to order.” You let out an awkward laugh, brushing your hair over your shoulder to distract yourself from how hot your chest felt. “Then I’ll order both. I’ve never had injeolmi toast, but I do still like injeolmi.”

His face broke into a bright smile—the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Oh, good. I was worried I didn't remember correctly,” he admitted sheepishly. After entering your order into the tablet, he turned the screen around for you to pay. You were so focused on tipping that Minghao startled you when he asked, “How’ve you been?”

When you looked up, his gaze was sincere. A torrent of warmth rushed through your body.

“Good. I mean—college, you know?” Everything you wanted to say sounded garbled in your head. You didn’t even know where to begin. “I barely have any free time these days outside of assignments and working on sets.”

“Oh, right. You’re in film, huh? How’s that been for you?”

“It’s been good so far. I’m actually getting ready to film a documentary right now.”

He looked up at you with wide eyes, gleaming with genuine interest. Since Minghao had been no more than a stranger to you these past several years, you hadn’t expected to see such sincerity in his enthusiasm.

Your heart must have skipped a beat or two.

“A documentary? About what?” But then his attention was lost, his eyes unfocusing to glance at the customer waiting impatiently behind you. You immediately felt guilty for taking up so much time, but then Minghao said, “I get off in an hour. Are you still gonna be around?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Great. Save a chair for me.” He flashed one of his shining, award-winning smiles again. “Your order will be out in a few minutes, Y/N.”

The injeolmi toast was cold.

It tasted good enough for you to not mind, but when you saw someone else carrying a tray of the steaming bread, you figured that Minghao simply forgot to heat yours up. You were disheartened that you were doomed to eat cold, chewy injeolmi, but the sweet and nutty flavor was so delectable that you ended up scarfing it down within minutes anyway. The café seemed rather busy around this time, so you didn’t put it past Minghao to rush your order.

The mango fruit tea was incredible, though. By far the best fruit tea you’ve had. It was compelling enough for you to download Yelp to leave a glowing five-star review.

When you opened Café du Soleil’s page, you noticed that your dear friend Seungkwan (credentials: Yelp Elite Squad) had already left a review mentioning the same drink.

★★★★★ Nov 7, 2024 Incredible customer service. I love Xu Minghao. The mango fruit tea changed my life for the better.

You left a review about the mango fruit tea and injeolmi toast (conveniently leaving out the fact that yours wasn’t warmed up). A much more comprehensive review than Seungkwan’s, you would say.

Your nerves were still buzzing from your conversation with Minghao. It had been years since you two had spoken to each other, and now you were waiting for him to get off his shift to catch up with you. If you maintained a friendship with him all these years, then maybe all of this would feel natural. Maybe this would’ve been your designated table to wait for Minghao after his shift, spending time with him after work and walking home together.

An hour passed by faster than you thought it would. The first ten minutes felt agonizing, watching the minutes tick by painfully slow, but once you were consumed in a discussion post for your Narrative Production class, Minghao was making his way over to you before you knew it.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, pulling out the chair across from you to sit down in. Your eyes followed the slice of cheesecake he brought over on a plate before he nodded toward the empty plate on your tray. “What’d you think of the toast?”

“Really good,” you gushed. You opted to leave out the part where your bread was cold. “I was almost about to go up to order again.”

“Ah, right.” He pushed the plate in your direction. “This is for you.”

“Oh,” you answered, startled. “How much was it? I can pay—”

“No, don’t worry. It’s on me,” Minghao cut in smoothly, signaling his objection with a wave of his hand. “I forgot to ask you if you liked the sample earlier, but I ended up bringing it over anyway.”

Just as you remembered, he was always thinking about others first. Minghao was so earnest in his words and actions that it was hard for you to grasp that he was real. Even in his adolescence, you remembered he had a different air of maturity from the other boys just because of how kind he was. You wanted to pick him apart and dissect his brain to figure out if he was just biologically wired to be perfect.

He was so different now—not completely different but just enough to set you on edge. Minghao had grown into his features so beautifully and still spoke in that calm and soft voice, but there was this newfound confidence he carried that seemed almost unshakeable.

With the way he was staring at you so intently, you felt pressured to give your opinion on the cheesecake right away. You forked a sliver of the cake into your mouth, hand hovering over your mouth as you chewed. Mostly because you were trying to swallow as fast as possible so that Minghao would stop being so laser-focused on you.

“It’s good,” you mused. “I should come by more often.”

He perked up at your words, and soon Minghao was enthusiastically asking you to give him a recap on everything that was going on in your life. You hardly knew where to begin—or, rather, where to pick up after the two of you stopped being close.

You told him about how your parents disapproved of your film major, how it took months of convincing and begging until they realized that you were serious about your passion for filmmaking. He listened intently as you talked about all the short films you made on your own to persuade your parents, and he even watched one of them on your phone, giving you nods of acknowledgement and an impressed hum.

The conversation bled into different aspects of your life, and Minghao was able to join in while you two talked about how you met your mutual friends. You explained how you met Jeonghan and Wonwoo at a party, somehow hitting it off so well that you two ended up hanging out the morning after. Minghao met Jeonghan when they were placed in the same orientation group, and you thought about how funny it was that the world was small enough for you two to have grown apart and still ended up with mutual friends.

It was getting dark outside by the time Minghao was giving you the rundown of how he met Seungkwan, detailing the encounter in a way that made Seungkwan seem a little insane. Apparently, Minghao had gotten Seungkwan’s number at a dance workshop and the younger boy spammed him with texts one night until Minghao agreed to hang out. Thankfully, Minghao found Seungkwan’s persistence to be charming. A stark contrast from how you went home early during your first time hanging out with Seungkwan because you were so overstimulated.

When Minghao started talking about going to a dance workshop with Jeonghan, you realized this was your opening.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, feigning a casual tone, “Jeonghan mentioned that you were quitting dance?”

A sad smile dawned on his face. “At least until I finish college. I just needed to take some time off to focus on school.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But weren’t you supposed to have a competition at the end of the year?”

“Nationals,” he clarified. “I’ve been pushing back my withdrawal, but I’m gonna have to do it soon.”

You noticed his gloomy expression, and it was making you remember Jeonghan’s words about how Minghao probably didn’t actually want to quit. If he really wanted to drop out of the competition, then you were certain the corners of his mouth wouldn’t be tugging down, nor would the light in his eyes dim.

The Minghao you once knew was honest about his feelings. He unapologetically wore his emotions on his sleeve, and he prepared himself for every possible outcome so that he could keep a strong front. You always admired how he was able to stay so calm and collected as the world weighed on his shoulders.

Now, the Minghao before you looked like a kettle sputtering water from its spout, a whistle away from overflowing completely.

It was a bold question for someone you weren’t close with anymore, but you asked, “You don’t want to withdraw, right?”

With his mouth set in a grim line, Minghao shook his head. “If it was up to me, I’d still be dancing.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“It’s just… complicated,” he said. “Our café’s been doing decently, but it’s not enough for it to stay up and running. We were barely keeping up with rent and now they’ve upped the prices, but…” He moved his leg from under the table so that it was stretched out to the side. “I tore my meniscus around four months ago. It’s a lot better now—still sore sometimes—but we had to pay for physical therapy on top of everything. I’ve had to pick up shifts here because we’re so understaffed now, so there isn’t really enough time for me to focus on dancing.”

“If we had enough money to cushion our rent for the next three months, I think this place would be saved,” he continued, “but if I’m gonna make that happen, I have to dedicate all my time here.”

Oh. You sent Boo Seungkwan a mental apology for ever doubting him about Minghao’s injury. Perhaps he wasn’t as unreliable of a source as you assumed he would be.

You knew that the situation must have been serious for him to quit dancing, but you didn’t expect the café to be at stake. Of course, you had zero knowledge on what it took to be a dancer at a national level, but you just couldn’t wrap your head around Minghao giving up this easily.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s my decision.”

You asked, “Are you okay with that, though? Not dancing?”

“It is what it is.” He shrugged. “Our studio’s tuition on top of competition fees, private lesson fees, and workshop fees… it’s just not feasible for me to be able to keep doing this right now. Of course I could just practice on my own in the studio, but we just don’t have enough people to cover every shift here.”

You nodded along. He really sounded as defeated as his explanation made you feel, and you realized you were going to have to recount this to Jeonghan to get him to give up. This situation was far too nuanced for either of you to push Minghao to keep dancing out of pure passion. Sometimes that just wasn’t enough.

Minghao eventually had to go to close up the shop, and you had to turn down his insistent offers to give you more food until he basically shoved a bunch of pastries into your arms before you left. As you walked back to your apartment, braving the icy bite of the wind, one thing was for certain: you were most definitely not making a documentary out of Xu Minghao’s tragic story.

“I’m running a survey,” you declared, “because this is a democracy and I value all of your opinions.”

You had called for an emergency meeting the day after you met up with Minghao. Your friends were all sitting haphazardly around your room; Seungkwan had his legs up against the wall and his body sprawled across your bed, Jeonghan was right next to Seungkwan, Junhui was sitting on top of your laundry basket despite being scolded about crushing it, Vernon was on top of your desk, and Wonwoo was the only one sensible enough to be sitting in a proper chair.

Jeonghan scoffed. “She just doesn’t want to do the Minghao documentary.”

“There is no Minghao documentary,” you said. “There was never a Minghao documentary.”

“There was”—Jeonghan paused for long enough for the rest of them to think he had finished talking—“to me.”

Junhui leaned forward, nearly toppling over the laundry basket. Vernon was able to hold it down with his foot in time, although Junhui hardly even noticed his friend’s silent efforts to save him.

“What’s the Minghao documentary?” he asked, his eyes bigger than ever. “Like, Xu Minghao?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan answered. “Wouldn't you watch a Xu Minghao documentary?”

“I’d pay to watch a Xu Minghao documentary,” Junhui said, reaching over to high-five Jeonghan, who was extremely pleased that someone else supported his cause. “What can I say? He's a beautiful man.”

“Okay, there is no Xu Minghao documentary,” you repeated. “It's more of a… Xu Minghao dilemma.”

“So you called us here because of Xu Minghao,” Vernon chimed in.

“No,” you replied pointedly, “I called you here because I really value your guys’ opinions and want to hear your suggestions about what I should include in my documentary.”

“Xu Minghao,” Jeonghan supplied.

“Except for Jeonghan. I don’t value his opinion.”

“I think someone should die,” said Junhui with bright, sparkling eyes. “Something super tragic.”

“Or we can all live,” Seungkwan said.

Vernon offered, “Or how about something more sentimental—”

“—where everyone dies,” finished Junhui.

“Okay, that wasn't what I was getting at,” Vernon said with mild concern crossing his features. “You scare me.”

Seungkwan, distressed at this point, spoke up louder to rehash, “Why don’t we all just live?”

You let out a resigned sigh. “Jun, let’s keep in mind that I’m filming a documentary for a college film class, not a Marvel movie.”

This was going nowhere. Clearly, you misjudged when you decided your friends were the people to go to for serious inquiries. At this point, you were considering following up on the email you sent to the local ice skating rink a month ago, outright begging them for the chance to film their team practicing. (Spoiler: They ghosted you.)

“How about the geology department?” Wonwoo suggested, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re researching crustal processes during the Hadean geological period right now. Exciting stuff.”

Because Jeon Wonwoo was an incredibly persuasive man (mostly because of his lethal attractiveness), you were immediately swayed by the idea. “Wait, that’s an incredible idea, Wonwoo.”

“That is the worst idea I’ve heard in my life,” Seungkwan blurted out. “If you make a documentary about the geology department, I will personally come to the screening of your film myself just to throw tomatoes at you.”

As much as you hated to admit it (or, rather, hated to admit it in the presence of Wonwoo), Seungkwan had a fair point. Presenting a documentary about crustal formations was probably categorized as a form of social suicide. You had no true interest in the topic to make it sound interesting, and the only selling point would be geology major Jeon Wonwoo and his face of the century. The lackluster content coupled with your indifference toward rocks was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make geology sound interesting. You entertained the idea for a few seconds before recollecting the time when Wonwoo got four shots deep and started rattling off about the demand for lithium in China. Your freshman year self was almost charmed before those beguiling minutes stretched into long, torturous hours of Wonwoo breaking down geopolitics until you blacked out.

No, you could not make geology sound interesting.

“Thank you for that visual, Seungkwan,” you said. “Now that I’ve returned to my senses, I’ll accept ideas that aren’t about Xu Minghao or rocks.”

“What’s wrong with the geology department?” Wonwoo spoke up, his hand shooting up in the air to get the room’s attention.

Jeonghan snorted. “Dude, what’s she gonna film? Planet Earth?”

Wonwoo accepted his defeat wordlessly as his arm slowly retreated back to his side.

“Not that I don’t think you can come up with better ideas,” Vernon started carefully, “but why are you so against making a documentary about Minghao?”

“I’m not against it,” you clarified. “It’s simply out of the question. He doesn’t even have time to dance right now because of how busy he is with the café.”

“If that’s the issue, I can literally ask around to see who’s interested in working there,” Jeonghan said.

“Minghao’s going through a lot right now. I personally think it’s insensitive to push him to do something when he’s got so much on his plate.”

The men finally quieted down at your words, and you came to the realization that your girl friends would have probably been more useful for this sort of conversation. Maybe it was because the guys were all on good terms with Xu Minghao that they were pushing for you to ask him to work with you. It was the only conclusion you could come to with how insistent they were on you choosing Minghao.

Then, Jeonghan spoke up, “Didn’t you say you wanted to make an impact with your documentary? What if you could really help him out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just think about it.”

Your forehead creased. He clearly did have something in mind and just wanted to complicate matters for you, but you held your tongue instead of pressing Jeonghan further.

Later that night, while you were laying in your bed with your laptop warm on your stomach, you could only think about Xu Minghao and his sad smile when he talked about quitting dance. He didn’t really want to quit, but there was just too much going on for him to juggle that along with the countless other balls being thrown at him.

But was it right for him to just quietly let go of his dream? A passion that he had chased his whole life?

If you were in his shoes and you had to give up your dream of film, you weren’t sure you could go down without a fight. Even when your parents were against film school, even when everyone around you questioned your abilities, you pushed yourself to take on every opportunity that came your way. Your situation had never been as dire as Minghao’s, but you could imagine how he must have felt for his dream to crumble in the palm of his hands. With the right amount of support, you believed he could mold that dream together again.

In the still hours of twilight, you opened up a Word document and started typing away like your life depended on it.

“You look like shit.” Kim Yooyeon’s eyes were wide when she watched you walk out of your room right when she was about to leave for her 8:00 a.m. lecture. She was in the middle of her bowl of cereal when you crossed her on your way to the couch. “Did you even sleep?”

Your hand flew up to gently prod at the tender skin under your eyes. “Do I really look that tired?”

You all but fell against the couch, sinking into the cushions like it was quicksand. Normally, you could pour yourself a cup of coffee and get through the day, but you had accumulated enough sleep debt over the past few weeks to reach your breaking point.

Your roommate snorted. “Remember when you stayed up for three days straight during finals week last year? You look exactly like how you did back then.”

Thanks to Jeonghan’s cryptic words, you ended up spending the entire night researching and planning ways for you to help Minghao—or, at least, what you thought would help Minghao. Your document spanned almost forty pages, and you weren’t even sure if you would be using any of it. Your intention was to share your proposals with Minghao in hopes that he would find at least one of them to possibly work out.

The problem was: you were seconds away from falling asleep on the spot and your eyes felt sore every time you blinked. There was no way you could make it to Minghao’s coffee shop and deliver your pitch in this state.

“I stayed up all night working on something for Minghao.”

Yooyeon’s spoon clattered against the bowl. “Xu Minghao?”

You gave her the same rundown you gave your friends yesterday—a much more vague one because you didn't want to get into the nitty gritty details of Minghao’s life, especially when Yooyeon probably didn’t even care. Plus, you were too tired to get into the specifics. By the time you were finishing up your story, your mouth was hardly moving in time with your brain and your eyelids were drooping. You weren't even sure if you were speaking coherent sentences.

Yooyeon had her bag slung over her shoulder and was asking you something. You couldn't quite tell what it was because you were hanging by a thread at that point, but you definitely heard Jeonghan’s name at some point—maybe. All you could muster was a noncommittal sound before you drifted into a slumber.

A flash of red behind your eyelids roused you from your dreamless sleep, but you didn’t have time to squint before the nuisance of a light source was instantly blocked. You opened your eyes to see Xu Minghao sitting by your feet, using his hand to block the ray of light that shone through the window and landed directly on your face.

Perhaps you overreacted, but you were sure anyone would scream at the sight.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Minghao stood up, alarmed.

Clearly.

You scrambled to sit up while he awkwardly shifted to the middle of your living room.

“No, Minghao, I was just warming up my vocal cords,” you deadpanned. “I don’t think it’s weird at all that you’re inside my apartment while I’m asleep.”

“Oh.” Minghao went still for a second. You watched the puzzled look on his face morph into one of dread once he seemed to understand how odd the situation looked. “Oh.”

After a few more moments of gawking at you, he started again, “This looks pretty bad.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“I swear it’s not as creepy as it looks. Jeonghan said you wanted to see me, and then your roommate let me in. She told me to just wake you up, but I felt bad after a while. That’s why I just let you sleep.”

That must have been what Yooyeon was asking you while you were half-conscious, and you probably stupidly agreed despite not catching anything she said. This wasn’t how you wanted to talk to him; you needed time to mentally prepare yourself to meet Minghao—preferably in an outdoor setting where you were appropriately dressed—but now he had caught you completely off-guard.

It looked like he had just gotten back from the gym with his flushed cheeks and the sleeveless top that showed off his toned arms. When he raised his arm, you could even catch a glimpse of the infinity tattoo inked across his shoulder blade.

“I can leave,” he suggested, unsure.

“No, stay,” you said. “It’s just that I was gonna go see you on my own. How long have you been waiting here for, anyway?”

“Maybe ten minutes? I tried calling your name, but you asked me to let you sleep a little longer.”

You flushed, mortified. On top of accidentally inviting Minghao over to wait for you to wake up, you were sleep-talking in front of him too? Any semblance of professionalism you had was crashing and burning before you.

“I think I was sleep-talking with my roommate, too. That’s probably why she thought I needed to see you now,” you explained with a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry about that.”

Minghao laughed and took a seat once he realized you weren’t going to shoo him out of the apartment anymore—or perhaps now he felt less guilty about showing up unexpectedly.

“So we’re even, right? Your stalking is forgiven,” you said, “but not forgotten.”

His eyes went wide with mock surprise, feigning a gasp. “Stalking? I could sue you for defamation of character.”

“Then sue me,” you challenged. “I have an outfit that I’ve been dying to wear in a courtroom.” Minghao raised his eyebrows with mild interest before you reached for your laptop on the coffee table. “Anyway, I wanted to show you something that could probably make you rethink that defamation lawsuit.”

You then turned to face him and clasped your hands together out of sheer desperation. “Please let me make you the star of my documentary.”

Minghao blinked at you for a few seconds before asking, “The documentary for your class? You want me in it?”

You nodded eagerly. “It’ll be all about you—your dancing, the café—everything that shows how hard you’ve worked for your dreams.”

“I don’t know, Y/N…” He looked slightly uneasy at the prospect. “I might not have the time for this. I already have shifts at the café every day.”

“I think I have a solution for that, too.”

“That’s great and all, but either way, I don’t even know how much longer we’re gonna be able to keep the café running.”

“But Minghao, listen, I have it all planned out.” You scooted closer until your knees were bumping against his, and you angled your laptop for him to see the screen. “There’s a scholarship offering twenty thousand dollars, and they’re asking for a video submission on what success means to you. It’s specifically for the arts—something you’re passionate about.”

“You mean…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the screen.

“I say we kill two birds with one stone; I film the documentary for my final project while you use it to win that cash prize.”

Minghao looked from you, to the screen, and to you again. There was a suspension of fear across his face that was coupled with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. It looked as if stardust had scattered across his irises and lit them up.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” he started before mouthing the words again in disbelief. “That kind of money could save the café.”

“And pay for nationals,” you added. “I stayed up all night planning this out. If you trust me, I think we can actually make this work.”

“You really think so? But do you really think people would be interested in watching something that’s just about my life?”

“No doubt about it. That face sells,” you deadpanned, which caused the tips of his ears to go an endearing shade of red. “I wouldn’t have done all this work if I didn’t think we could pull it off.”

“This is all assuming I even get selected.”

“I’ll make sure you do. It’ll be my best work yet.”

After Minghao spent a considerable amount of time scanning your document over and over again (you were pretty sure the words were probably burned into his brain by now), the corner of his mouth quirked into a mischievous smile. “So, how good are you?”

“Good at what?”

“Filmmaking. I’ve never seen your work.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “I’ll have you know that I’ve had plenty of experience. I’m just using you for my big break.” You didn’t realize you had stiffened up until you let your body relax. “Do you want to see something I’ve filmed?”

“Can I?”

“Of course. I can’t have you agree to something before you know the standard of quality you’re getting,” you said with a prideful puff of your chest that deflated too quickly when you realized that you would have to show Minghao something so vulnerable. Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal for him, but you shed your heart and soul into your craft; it was precious to you. You opened the video file and looked at him expectantly. “We don’t have to watch it.”

“No, I want to,” he said in a voice so earnest that you wanted to believe him. He focused on the file name at the top of the video player. “A Bite of Summer—what’s it about?”

“It’s pretty short. I’ll just play it for you.”

You hit play and moved the laptop onto Minghao’s lap instead, watching both the screen and his reaction to your videography. He was so zeroed in on the film that he hardly seemed to notice the way you kept glancing at him.

Summer was sweltering. Growing up, you always spent your summers surrounded by friends and family, whether it was going to the beach or going to the park. Living in the moment was simple back then; you weren’t confined to responsibilities and commitments that kept you from enjoying what life had to offer. In fact, some of your best summer memories were shared with Minghao. The two of you laughed without a care in the world as the warmth of the sun enveloped you.

Once you entered high school, however, summer felt so humid that it was suffocating. You were up to your neck in assignments, exam preparation, and part-time jobs. It became difficult to enjoy your youth when you had countless hours of work to do. Coincidentally, it was your first summer spent without Minghao; you weren’t sure if things would’ve been any different if you two were still friends back then, but maybe it would’ve simmered the ache in your chest.

Your short film, A Bite of Summer, was created amidst your summer blues. The film was about a girl named Rhea who meets her younger self at the beach she once used to frequent during the summer. It represented the relationship the older you had with your younger self; you were excited to grow and move forward as the seasons changed, but summer was always a bittersweet reminder that you had no time to grieve over your childhood. You didn't know what you lost until it was gone, but perhaps that made the memories even more precious.

You were still looking at Minghao, but you could hear your main character, Rhea, asking her younger self, “Are you ever scared of growing up?”

Minghao was watching intently, hanging onto every word. You weren’t sure why you felt so nervous about him watching. In your last year of middle school, you and Minghao began to have long conversations about how terrifying it was to grow up. He would open up about how much pressure he felt from balancing dancing and school, and you would tell him how you felt like you couldn’t breathe in the summer heat. Perhaps he had forgotten by now. Perhaps he wouldn’t connect your film back as being so personal to you.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his reaction during the scene where the younger Rhea reaches for the older Rhea’s hand, gripping tightly even as cold waves started to lap at their feet. Minghao watched quietly, dark eyebrows pulling together as he focused.

“I am,” the younger Rhea answered.

“You are?”

“It sounds exciting, but nothing scares me more.” You watched as Minghao’s lips parted, chestnut eyes glistening when she continued, “Maybe it doesn't feel that way because you don’t have to live through those hard times anymore, but I’m glad the good times stuck. That means this feeling will pass”—their hands dropped to their sides—“and yours will, too.”

And that was when a tear fell from Xu Minghao’s feathery lashes.

You’ve never witnessed anyone cry over the work you created. Sure, it tugged at your own heartstrings since it was so personal to you, but to watch someone else have such strong feelings over your film made tears well up in your eyes.

“Are… are you crying?” you stammered out, a tittering laugh following as Minghao used the pads of his thumbs to smear his tears off his cheeks. It was a pretty sight, like watching wet clay come undone before you.

“It was really good,” he mumbled, giving you the most adorable pout you had ever seen on an adult man before turning his head away to keep wiping at his tears. “I’m serious. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m just surprised. I’ve never seen someone react like that to my work.”

If you were just a little braver, you probably would’ve thanked him first before telling him that you were touched. You would’ve told him that no one had ever peeled back your layers without making it uncomfortable—sometimes even painful—but he handled you with so much delicacy. You would’ve told him that this film was about you, at your core, and perhaps he had already picked up on that, but you would’ve been brave enough to express yourself.

But you weren’t brave, so you just smiled at the lone tears that streaked Minghao’s face before he wiped them with his sleeve.

“Seriously, you’re incredible,” he said, still staring at the paused video on your laptop. The corner of his mouth lifted. “That was so short and it still made me cry.”

You couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across your face. “You’re actually crying.”

“Well, yeah. Are you having fun watching me suffer?”

Was it borderline psychopathic that you were smiling while Minghao cried? Probably. On the other hand, you were simply glad you didn’t burst into tears alongside him. You nearly felt like you could’ve with the way he got so emotional about your work.

“A little,” you admitted. Surprisingly, that got a smile out of him. “I’m just happy you like it.”

“I do,” he said. A pause, then, “Why’s it called ‘A Bite of Summer,’ by the way?”

You scoffed. Actually, you had your reasons, but no one had ever asked you about that film specifically.

“I hate summer, that’s why,” you told him. “I can’t stand the heat.”

“Really?” His brows lifted. “I think summer’s pretty overrated, too.”

You cracked a grin. “No, you don’t. It’s your favorite season.”

“Hey, I can still acknowledge my favorite season’s overrated.”

He grinned and held the palm of his hand out to you. You were confused before Minghao gently grabbed your wrist and put your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and giving you a firm shake. Your hands were too clammy to be gripping Minghao’s calloused palms, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Use me however you want, director,” he continued, and the sparkle in his eyes was something magnificent. “I’ll be your best star yet.”

“No lawsuit?” you asked.

Minghao laughed. “No lawsuit.”

You were sweating like you had just run a marathon. (You practically did; the distance from your apartment to Jeonghan’s location in the library was a mile and a half, and you were sprinting half the time.)

Since you needed some time to plan out your filming, you exchanged contact information with Minghao and told him that you would contact him when you were ready. Your nerves were buzzing with excitement now that you actually had a subject for your documentary. Conversations with your classmates would no longer make you feel like you were desperately hurrying to catch up with everybody else.

Your friends usually claimed the big table on the third floor. It was positioned at an optimal location next to the bathrooms and the elevator, so you were quite proud of your unassigned-assigned table. Junhui and Wonwoo were normally the ones who spent the most time in the library, whereas Seungkwan and Vernon usually only stopped by if they wanted to mess around.

“You bitch,” you spat, pointing an accusatory finger at Jeonghan, who was trying to frantically wave off clouds of smoke when he coughed in surprise. You collapsed into the chair next to him, catching your breath while Junhui and Wonwoo hardly batted an eye. “You should be prosecuted for vaping in the library, by the way.”

“I know, right?” Junhui frowned disapprovingly. “Take it outside, Jeonghan.”

“Addiction kills,” Wonwoo added, doleful.

“I was gonna ghost it!” Jeonghan cried in defense, lowering his voice toward the end once he realized they were, in fact, still inside the library. He turned back to face you. “Anyway, why am I a bitch again?”

“You invited Minghao into my apartment!”

“Okay, a lot of accusations here. What about a hi? A hello? A congrats-on-finding-your-vape-Jeonghan?”

You fixed him with a glare. “It’s one accusation that has already been confirmed, Jeonghan. Start talking.”

“Yooyeon told me that you needed to see Minghao. All I did was pass along the message,” he explained before a smirk grew on his face. “So what did you need to see him for?”

“Oh, right.” You cleared your throat. “I’ve decided on doing the Minghao documentary.”

Jeonghan’s lips parted in surprise, the corners of his lips twitching upward again. “Oh my god, you’re actually doing it! I mean, I had a feeling after Yooyeon called me, but…”

“Good choice,” Junhui said. “He’s an absurdly attractive man.”

“Phenomenal face for the cameras,” Wonwoo agreed, humming along.

“Okay, since when were you guys the Xu Minghao Fan Club?” You looked around the table and shook your head once you saw Junhui’s dreamy expression. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Point is, the Minghao documentary is in motion and I have a shit-ton to plan.” You turned to face Jeonghan. “You said you’d help out at the café, right? You’ll get paid, of course, but Minghao can’t keep taking shifts every day.”

“They’re still having money problems?” Jeonghan asked.

“Unfortunately, but he said that hiring part-timers is better for them financially.”

He hummed, nodding along to your words. “Well, I didn’t say I’d be helping at the café, but I’ll find you someone.”

“They’ll still have to be interviewed, of course. Oh, and they’ll have to be trained, and—”

“Don’t even worry,” Jeonghan assured. “I have the perfect person in mind. Actually, I think I can find you a few more, too.”

“I’m a little scared.”

“When have I ever let you down?” Before you could point out that there had actually been a few instances, Jeonghan seemed to realize the flaw in his question and added, “Rhetorical question. Anyway, just leave it to me.”

To an extent, you did trust him. Not only was Jeonghan involved in several clubs and organizations on campus, but he was also a freshman orientation leader for two years in a row. This was especially useful in the sense that he had connections to students you had never even seen in your life; when you used to have inquiries on subjects you wanted to film, you always asked Jeonghan for any references, and he almost always had a name in mind.

After a pause, your friend gave you a quizzical look. “Did you run all the way over here just to say that?”

“Uh…”

“You know you could’ve just texted me, right? Or called? Modern technology works wonders, Y/N.”

“Oh—right.”

Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so excited over something that you full-on sprinted to tell your friends. It begged the question of whether you would be this ecstatic if you weren’t filming a certain someone. The ice skating rink surely wouldn’t have gotten this reaction out of you.

You were fairly certain you knew the reason behind your lapse in judgement, and it was becoming clear that Xu Minghao was tangled right in the center of everything.

Filming started the following Monday.

You captured Minghao throughout his everyday life at first, which meant you had to follow him around all day to compile footage. Mentally, you weren’t very prepared for this. Following Minghao from campus, to the café, to his dance studio, and wherever else he decided to venture made you feel as if you were intruding. It was as if you were peaking into a world that you weren’t allowed into.

He wasn’t that great when it came to school as a kid, but now Minghao really tried to study hard, even if that meant dozing off in the middle of reading a page of his textbook. Just a few days ago, he invited you over for a movie, and you were really supposed to be editing your footage, but you caved within minutes of him asking. You remembered Minghao had always been a sucker for coming-of-age movies, but you were dumbfounded when he shed tears during Little Women. (What you wouldn’t dare tell him was how endearing you found him).

You toed the line as someone between a friend and a stranger; perhaps to Minghao you would be considered a friend, but you weren’t quite sure why you couldn’t see yourself fitting in that space again. Still, as you filmed him and shot his interviews, you were so intrigued by the new sides of him that kept coming up, as well as the parts you nearly forgot about. It felt strange to hear such sincere accounts of Minghao from the interviews with his instructors and peers, yet to be the one behind the camera that couldn’t hold onto him before.

Today, he was waiting for you at 11:30 a.m. sharp outside of the Arts building. It had been a little over a month since you and Minghao started working together, but you were more worried about the scholarship deadline than your own assignment’s deadline. Filming was going smoothly, but you still needed to get interviews from his friends and family. Editing the dance footage was going to take the entire night since you were in the studio for hours.

You were overwhelmed, to say the least.

Minghao was finished with classes for the day while you had an annoyingly long gap between your morning and evening classes. You were supposed to shoot some B-roll, but that completely slipped both of your minds as you were well into scarfing down the breakfast wraps you two had bought before sitting on a cold bench.

Dark, gray clouds moved like smoke across the sky. It was getting chillier, and you were suddenly reminded of when you’d wait for the school bus with Minghao in middle school. He was always carrying around hand warmers back then, offering you one without fail whenever you started to shiver. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder without thinking too deeply about how close you were. Now, with the awkward gap between you two, you wished you could go back to those simpler times.

Maybe you were already considered friends. Maybe you were overthinking all of this.

You rarely analyzed your other friendships this thoroughly.

You would rather shrivel up and die than admit that you missed being the closest to Minghao, but whenever he said something particularly sweet or gave you that gentle smile where his eyes crinkled at the corners, you felt your heart soar just a little higher. Maybe—just maybe—if he pressed enough, he would get it out of you.

“I told my mentor I’m gonna keep practicing for nationals,” he said once he was waiting for you to finish the last few bites of your wrap, “and I told my mom about the scholarship. It took some time trying to convince her that it could actually work.”

“She was against it?”

“At first, yeah. I mean, I don’t blame her. We’re doing this on the off-chance I get selected—nothing’s guaranteed.” He gave you a crooked smile. “But, at the end of the day, it could save our café, so she’s touched that you’re trying.”

You took the last bite of your wrap instead of replying. Of course Minghao meant well, but you couldn’t help but feel your stomach pitted with anxiousness at the mention of how everything was riding on this film. It made you feel even worse because Minghao had more to lose than you did. Nationals and an assignment grade; it was almost ridiculous how high-stakes his situation was compared to yours.

“Jeonghan actually managed to find part-timers for the café,” he continued. “They’re coming by in the afternoon.”

“That’s good news, right? You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised. We hardly get people who wanna work there.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s not as convenient as an on-campus job, so most people aren’t willing to walk that far for a part-time job when they can easily find something closer.”

You didn’t mind the commute yourself, but you only visited the café occasionally; it would’ve been a different story if you were heading to work there every single day. You hoped whoever Jeonghan found was actually committed to their job.

Then, Minghao asked, “What’re you gonna be filming today?”

“I was thinking we can get some footage of you training the newbies,” you said. “Speaking of, now that you have more employees, does this mean you won’t have to work at the café as much?”

He grinned brightly. “My shifts are cut down to three days a week now. I’ll have plenty of time to focus on dance. We have other employees to train the new guys, too, so it’s not all on me.” Minghao then leaned in a little closer (making you laser-focused on stepping on every crunchy leaf at your feet to ignore how your brain was spinning) to say, “Jeonghan thinks there'll be a lot more girls coming to the café.”

“Because of the new baristas?”

He shrugged. “They’re good-looking guys.”

You thought back to the demographic of cafégoers when you first visited Café du Soleil. The majority were, in fact, teenage girls. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you discovered that Minghao’s face was the selling point, but to have multiple men like him working there? Not only were you worried that the coffee shop would turn into the Ouran Host Club, but you simply couldn’t picture even more people of the same visual caliber as Xu Minghao.

Before you could reply, Minghao noted your pause and asked, “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Curious about what?”

When you looked at him, his gaze frantically scattered about before he returned to looking down at his wadded-up wrapper. You wouldn’t have found it weird if you caught him looking at you, but the fact that he looked away so quickly made you feel conscious of how warm you were getting under your jacket.

“Just wondering if they’re really all that. I find it hard to believe that whoever Jeonghan called is gonna bring in more of a crowd than you already do.”

Minghao looked baffled before he chuckled. “I don’t bring in a crowd.”

“There were so many girls when I visited yesterday! Didn’t you notice them giggling after you left their table?”

“They were probably just giggling over whatever teenage girls giggle over.”

Minghao was oblivious by nature. He was also a man, therefore he was stupid.

Coupled together, it was a disastrous combination that resulted in wildly attractive Xu Minghao being utterly useless when it came to recognizing that he was blessed with a first-rate genetic sequence.

“Hao,” you started slowly, “teenage girls giggle over guys.”

“Oh.” He frowned, and you held yourself back from rolling your eyes as you witnessed him take actual offense to what was supposed to be a compliment. You figured he had deeply misunderstood what you were getting at.

“Cute guys,” you corrected.

“Oh.”

You straightened up and stared back at him, bewildered. “You don’t even know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Your—” Unable to articulate what you were trying to say (partly because it was far too embarrassing to outrightly call Minghao attractive), you made a dramatic gesture to refer to his face. “That!”

To your horror, he turned incredibly smug. “What, my face? What about it?”

“Uh…”

“Are you trying to say I look good, Y/N?”

This just in: Xu Minghao was a sick and twisted man.

In this very exact, very precise moment, you felt the most vulnerable you had ever been in front of the dancer, and he was using the very opportunity to humiliate you even further.

“I’m speaking objectively,” you said.

“You’re objectively saying I look good.”

“Yes.”

“What about subjectively?”

“Can we circle back to the café instead?” you offered, buffering as if you had to muster up the strength to push the words out through your teeth. “I’d much rather talk about the café.”

“Really? I was having more fun talking about how objectively and subjectively good I look.”

A groan fell from your lips. “You objectively and subjectively need to shut up.”

Minghao laughed at your reaction before standing up and reaching into his pockets. “C’mon, let’s get going before it gets late,” he said and pulled out a hand warmer from his coat, holding it out to you. “Here.”

You took it from him. “What’s this for?”

“You’ve been shivering this whole time.”

While Minghao chatted your ear off on the way to Café du Soleil, all you could think about was how he surprisingly paid attention to the little details about you that most people would miss. You were formulating a rough theory in your head: Xu Minghao had to be some sort of otherworldly being because there was no other explanation for how perfect he was.

Yoon Jeonghan was going to the deepest circle of Hell.

As soon as you saw Choi Seungcheol in an apron, you knew your insufferable friend had an agenda of his own when he was scouting out potential baristas. To Jeonghan’s credit, the other two baristas he found seemed like they had been objectively scouted (no offense to Seungcheol, but you were 99% sure Jeonghan just wanted a chance to see the man as frequently as possible).

“That’s Chan.” Jeonghan jerked his chin in the direction of the younger guy who was fumbling with the cash register, and then you followed his gaze over to the barista who was fixing an acrylic pin of Elphaba from Wicked to his apron. “And that one’s Seokmin.”

Apparently, Jeonghan met Lee Seokmin through a hiking club. More specifically, Jeonghan met Seokmin at a hiking club party while they were trying to puke their guts out in the same bush.

Lee Chan, on the other hand, was a family friend’s son that Jeonghan adored. You recalled him bringing Chan to a college party once and never again; the high school senior was later given twenty bucks to keep his mouth shut about Jeonghan hitting his vape.

After his eyes lingered on his eye candy (read: Seungcheol) for a ridiculously long amount of time, Jeonghan finally noticed the reproachful look you were giving him. “What?”

“I know damn well you just wanted to get Seungcheol in an apron.”

“No,” Jeonghan sneered, as if he was disgusted by your accusation. “I was trying to see him with his sleeves rolled up. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever, dude. They both boil down to you being a whore.”

“Hey, I mention a hiring notice to the man I want,” Jeonghan started with an air of confidence, leaning back in his seat to take a sip of his latte, “and you turn yours into the star of your film. We’re basically birds of a feather here.”

You nearly choked over your own drink (the mango fruit tea—again), and you were suddenly grateful that Minghao was currently training the newbies behind the counter despite feeling jealous earlier about them getting most of his attention. It was a relief that you two were alone at a table and out of earshot. Jeonghan needed to stay far, far away from Minghao; he was clearly not to be trusted to run his mouth around the dancer.

You gave him an incredulous look, ignoring the burst of heat that exploded within your chest. “First of all, lower your voice before someone hears you and actually takes you seriously. Second of all, what?”

“What’s wrong with me wanting Seung—”

“I’m talking about the other part!”

“I said what I said—and if you think about it, you’re crazier than I am.”

“Excuse me?” Your whisper might as well have been a shout. You quieted down again before speaking, “I’m not crazy, and I don’t want Hao.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jeonghan replied, unconvinced, “So you’re telling me that you didn’t feel any sort of way after he gave you a piggyback ride home from the club last week?”

It would be impossible to forget, even if you were blasted out of your mind. After much persuasion from Seungkwan and Jeonghan, you were convinced to invite Minghao last-minute to your night out. You were already several drinks in when he finally showed up at the club, so your first instinct was to throw yourself into his arms. Not your finest moment. But he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer by the waist, so you couldn’t help but let yourself get carried away.

Several shots later, you found it impossible to walk with how your balance was completely off. Minghao, being the knight in shining armor he was, opted to carry you home on his back while holding onto your heels.

You settled for saying, “He was just being nice.”

“That wasn’t my question, and I don’t think he was just trying to be nice.”

“Is it so hard for you to believe that he’s just a genuinely good guy?”

“Well, he is, but it’s not like you guys just film your little documentary and move on with your lives after,” Jeonghan said. “He hangs out with you, texts you every day, finds literally any excuse to invite you over, and you guys even bought matching pajamas!”

“They were on sale!”

“Lots of things were on sale, Y/N; it was literally Black Friday.”

“It was Cyber Monday,” you corrected in a grumble.

“You specifically chose the pajamas to wear with him.”

“We’re friends,” you insisted, although it sounded like you were more so trying to convince yourself than Jeonghan. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the undercurrent of your emotions tugging at your ankles, but that was not a revelation you were meant to have at Café du Soleil with Minghao in your vicinity. “We’re just doing what friends do.”

Jeonghan slurped his drink in a ridiculously loud manner. You shot him a disapproving look.

“You know what I think?”

You were certain that you didn’t want to hear what Jeonghan thought, but nevertheless, you entertained his attempts to provoke you. “What now?” you snapped.

“I think you’re still hurt by how you two drifted apart—you and Hao,” he said, “and you’re probably thinking it’s gonna happen again. That’s why you’re too scared to admit he’s being a little more than nice to you.”

Bullseye. Jeonghan had watertight intuition when it came to the people he was close with, and you were no exception. His words were so on the mark that you felt vulnerable and exposed, like your skin was suddenly clinging too tight around your bones.

The thing was, you still couldn’t exactly remember how you and Minghao grew distant. You recalled the throng of memories of when you two were friends, but everything leading up to your falling out was hazy. Could you even call it a falling-out if there weren’t necessarily any hard feelings? He certainly hadn’t done anything that made you want to block him out of your memory (it was Xu Minghao, for God’s sake), but you couldn’t imagine why you would be so hurt over growing apart from an old friend.

“You really chose the worst possible time and place for this conversation,” was all you could mutter in response.

“We have air conditioning and cheesecake. What could possibly be better than this?”

Whether Jeonghan was selective about what he chose to be perceptive about or simply didn’t understand the gravity of this situation, you couldn’t tell; you just gave him a dumbfounded stare. “Anywhere else! Anywhere else would’ve been better!”

“You’re so picky.”

“And you can’t read the room.”

“You know what I can read,” he started with a cheeky grin while his eyes focused on something—or someone—else behind you, “Xu Minghao’s name tag.”

“Oh, do you like it? I drew Seungkwan’s dog and Vernon’s cat next to my name,” came a breezy voice from behind you, making your heart plummet to your stomach.

How long had he even been standing there? You thought you could just ignore Minghao, but you found yourself turning around to see his two pets he doodled on his nametag. Unfortunately, they were cute, but you were still too mortified to give him a proper reaction.

“How—how long have you been there for?” you stammered. “Did you hear what we were talking about?”

Minghao raised a brow. “Not long. Why? Is it something I’m not supposed to hear?”

You balked before answering, “No,” but the inflection in your tone made you sound as if you were questioning yourself.

(Jeonghan made direct eye contact with you and mouthed the word pussy. You made a mental note to deal with him later in a potentially homicidal manner.)

“By the way, Jeonghan, the guys you brought in are doing great,” Minghao went on to praise. “I don’t think we even need to train them for that long. Seokmin’s a natural at this.”

Jeonghan let out a wistful sigh. “I knew I recognized his potential.”

“Didn’t you guys meet at a party? How’d he manage to show barista potential?” you asked.

“I was thirsty and he brought me water.”

Nice. That was one way to prove himself, you supposed.

Then, Minghao turned his attention to you. “Were you gonna get some more shots today? Chan says he won’t make a run for it if he sees the camera this time.”

Earlier, you were trying to film Minghao showing Chan the proper technique of steaming milk, which Chan hardly was able to pay attention to because he was too busy gawking at the camera. As soon as Minghao was done talking, the high schooler hurried into the break room.

“I think I got everything I needed,” you answered, tilting your head up to see him smiling fondly down at you. The look in his eyes made you feel like something syrupy was trickling down your throat, as if you were drowning in his endearment. “Why’d you call Jeonghan over here, anyway? He’s pissing me off.”

As expected, your words got a rise out of Jeonghan. “All I did was sit here!”

“And you opened your mouth. That’s basically a misdemeanor.”

“Jeonghan, quit bothering her,” Minghao scolded. (“What? What the hell? What did I do?” Jeonghan went on to complain. “This is going in my Yelp review, by the way—one star for betrayal and terrible customer service.”) He looked back at you with a softened gaze as Jeonghan’s maundering turned into background noise. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?”

You were about to head out, but your legs suddenly didn’t feel like moving once Minghao looked at you with those warm eyes of his that made your insides feel like they had been doused in kerosene and lit aflame.

Jeonghan, who was hell-bent on his mission to push you and Minghao closer as much as you resisted, appeared to take your hesitation as an opportunity.

“We’re going back to my apartment to smoke,” your friend declared. Although that had never been the plan, you kept your mouth shut to see where Jeonghan was going with this. “You coming, Hao?”

Minghao snuck a glance at you. “Tonight? I don’t know. I might be free.”

“Holy shit,” Jeonghan gushed before Minghao’s words could even properly register in your ears, leaning over the table to put his hand on top of yours. “I should invite Soonyoung. Remember? The guy from our orientation group that you thought was cute?”

Of course you remembered Kwon Soonyoung. How could anyone forget a face like that? But you wanted to reach over the table and strangle Jeonghan for bringing him up in the worst possible context and potentially screwing up your non-existent love life for good. As you fought down your murderous tendencies and glanced nervously between the boys, however, you noticed a muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitch.

You started, “Soonyoung? I mean, sure, but—”

“Actually, I’ll be there,” Minghao cut in, his face void of emotion. “What time?”

Jeonghan simpered, quite pleased with himself. “Eight?”

“Sounds good.”

Without another word, the barista walked off, leaving you in stunned silence. Did you just witness Xu Minghao get jealous? There was no way for you to spin this as anything else; it was pure, unadulterated envy that bled out of him.

As your face grew increasingly hot, you spoke in a frantic, hushed voice, “He cut me off. He cut me off! Have you ever seen Hao that mad? I’ve never seen him that mad.”

But Jeonghan didn’t seem the least bit worried at all. In fact, he looked far too smug. “He’s really mad, isn’t he?”

“What’d you say all that for? I don’t think I can handle Hao and Soonyoung in the same room after this. I haven’t even brought up Soonyoung since last year, you douchebag!”

“Relax,” Jeonghan replied coolly. “I’m not inviting Soonyoung. I just said that to fuck with Hao.” A Cheshire-like grin spread across his face, and he pulled out his phone to start tapping away in front of you. “I’ve never seen him that jealous before. Maybe you should wear something nice and lace—”

“Shut up,” you interrupted with a scowl. “There were never any plans to begin with, were there?”

“Yes, there were—now,” he said, causing you to groan at the end. “I just told the group chat about it. You can thank me later.”

“I am not thanking you for the amount of torment you just put me through,” you said, hesitated, then stiffly added, “but thank you.”

“See? I’m always looking out for you.” He gave you a sincere look. “Now do me a solid and please get Seungcheol to show up.”

“I knew there was a catch.”

yoon jeonghan: smoke sesh at my place @ 9 yoon jeonghan: be there or our friendship’s over

boo seungkwan: i have no weed boo seungkwan: lost my vape too

you: real hustlers would never make excuses

wen junhui: she’s right

vernon chwe: i have your vape seungkwan

boo seungkwan: wtf give it back boo seungkwan: wait my vape with vernon’s saliva 🤤

vernon chwe questioned “wait my vape with vernon’s saliva 🤤”

you: alright chill

boo seungkwan: if i close my eyes i can almost taste him

vernon chwe: um. vernon chwe: i'd like to give it back because it’s yours but idk if i should anymore

jeon wonwoo: Why are we having a smoke sesh on a random ass day jeon wonwoo: I have a midterm tomorrow

boo seungkwan: leave tomorrow’s problems for a Tomorrow You

jeon wonwoo: True jeon wonwoo: Ok see u guys there

yoon jeonghan: i’ll provide the smoke sesh essentials

wen junhui: i have 11 edibles wen junhui: each person gets 1 and fight to the death over the rest

boo seungkwan: pog

you: thanks for that

jeon wonwoo: Amazing

vernon chwe: incredible

You were blasted out of your mind.

True to his word, Jeonghan didn’t invite Soonyoung to his gathering; and true to your word, you roped Minghao into bringing Seungcheol along.

You were initially worried that things would be awkward between you and Minghao, but he seemed to be in a significantly better mood by the time you got to talk to him. He didn’t even know that this whole night had been Jeonghan’s maniacal plot to set you guys up, so Minghao was completely oblivious when Seungkwan ushered him to sit next to you on the couch.

The night started off with Junhui passing out his edibles and auctioning off his last three to whoever did the best animal impression (one went to Minghao, one went to Jeonghan, and one went to Vernon). You were content with your one edible because you never had that strong of a weed tolerance, and halfway into watching Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle, you felt your eyes starting to grow heavy.

There were two types of people when high, though: one was you, who could probably be considered motionless and inanimate; and the other was someone like Seungkwan, whose not-so-wise ideas seemed to increase tenfold.

And, of course, since Harold and Kumar wanted to go to White Castle, Seungkwan and Vernon wanted to go on an adventure, too.

After much planning (which you weren’t part of because your body felt as if it was sinking into the couch cushions), your friends mobilized their efforts to come up with a scheme to bring back food from three different restaurants at once. They split themselves up into teams; Jeonghan and Seungcheol were going to Taco Bell, Seungkwan and Vernon were going to Panera Bread, and Junhui and Wonwoo were going to Chipotle.

If you were sober, you probably would have reminded them that UberEats still existed—or that they should probably look up the closing hours.

Naturally, you and Minghao were left in Jeonghan’s apartment. You didn’t mind because they promised to bring back food, but Jeonghan had definitely orchestrated getting you alone with Minghao. This meant you were probably expected to make a move or do whatever else was deemed entertaining in their eyes.

“Why didn't you go with them?” you asked Minghao. Everything seemed much more amusing to you all of a sudden, like the tuft of his hair that just wouldn't stay down.

“I’d rather stay here.” He shrugged and nudged your arm with his elbow. “Why? Do you want me to go?” he teased.

You reached over and patted down the strands of hair that kept sticking up. “No, stay. I need a witness if Jun’s edibles kill me.”

He laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”

“I am.” You placed a hand against your chest, right where your heartbeat thundered at lightning speed. “Please don’t be mad at me if I flatline.”

“No, you’re fine,” he said, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. His heartbeat was fast but probably not as fast as yours. “See? They’re the same.”

You thought Xu Minghao should’ve done the right thing for your heart and not look so devastatingly good all the time, but he always managed to catch you off-guard with that sickeningly sweet smile of his. He also should’ve been making an effort to not touch you so casually when your heart was already running at a million miles per hour. It wasn’t very fair that you were cursed to control your emotions every time you saw him from a decidedly good angle (which was almost every angle). You needed to bury whatever you were feeling before he entered a dangerous territory of your heart.

On second thought, you weren’t sure you could keep him out.

“No, they’re not,” you said. “I think it’s because of the weed and the fact that you’re very close.”

You swore you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips, but Minghao expertly concealed it by raising a brow at you instead. “Oh? You’re blaming it on me now?”

“Blame is a strong word.”

Even he couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin from appearing on his face as he leaned in closer. “Then why am I such a problem for your heart, Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “You just are.”

“Does it have anything to do with me being objectively good-looking?”

You groaned. “You won’t let that one go, will you?”

“Unfortunately for you, I think I like where this is going.”

Something very dangerous was brewing in your chest.

You weren't sure if it was the weed that was making you bolder, but the haze was surely letting down your inhibitions. Instead of feeling like you were sinking deeper into the couch, you felt like you were gravitating closer to Minghao.

“Will you ever give me an answer?” he asked, and your breath caught in your throat when he delicately held your chin with two fingers, turning your head to look at him.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He pouted, and then you mocked his pout in return.

And just when you thought he was done messing with you, Xu Minghao dipped his head to seal his lips over yours, kissing your pout away.

Alarmed, you pulled back immediately, your eyes wide and unblinking as you stared at him in shock. He didn’t seem all that fazed himself, but he pressed his lips together tightly and withdrew his hand slowly. It was a short-lived kiss, but you were so close to getting hooked and losing all semblance of self-control.

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly.

“W-why are you sorry?” you stuttered, pitchy.

“I should’ve asked first.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

You shook your head to clear the mess of tangled thoughts. This was the worst possible conversation to be having while you were both high out of your minds, but you were also feeling a lot more courageous now that you knew that Minghao actually wanted to kiss you.

You wanted to kiss him, too. Now that you had a taste, you couldn’t resist thinking about how his lips would feel against yours again, how he would touch you again with such tenderness.

“Sorry, I thought you were asking,” you said.

“Asking what?”

“To kiss me.”

“Oh.” Minghao went silent for an entire minute. (You counted the seconds.) You watched as he stared blankly into space before the weight of your words seemed to finally register. “Oh.”

Your face felt hot. “Don’t just oh me.”

Minghao chuckled in response. He shifted so that he was turned toward you, one of his hands finding purchase on the back of your neck and the other on your knee. You nearly forgot how to breathe as you were so focused on how his touch burned your skin.

“No, I was just thinking about how cute you are,” he clarified.

“Huh?” You were pretty sure your voice was an octave higher, judging by how Minghao now looked even more amused by you. “Cute?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” His hand started to inch up from your knee, torturously moving up and down. You swallowed thickly. “I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You choked out a laugh. “Are you kidding?”

“I’m dead serious,” he insisted, and you could tell he was by the way his eyes darkened and his hand slid higher up your thigh. “You know I’m not a liar, Y/N.”

When you didn’t respond, he lowered his voice and continued, “You know, a big part of dancing is about the finer details.” Minghao’s hand dragged across your skin so slowly that you couldn’t hold in your trembling breath full of want. “I always make sure to pay extra attention, so I think you can trust me when I tell you you’re pretty.”

For a moment, you were floundering for words. You were already feeling dizzy by his mere touch, and then he went on to say something that made you feel even more feverish. Xu Minghao truly was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Here,” he said, “let me just show you.”

He moved the hand on your thigh to grip your chin again, pressing a few tentative, experimental kisses to your lips before finally capturing them in a longer, desperate manner. Your heartbeat was hardly a rhythm anymore, just a steady line of white noise that rushed loudly in your ears. Kissing Minghao was addicting, and as you moved your arms to wrap around his neck, you found yourself losing the last shred of control that was keeping you from him.

By the time Minghao made the daring decision to slide his hand up your shirt, you two had been kissing each other senselessly. Your legs were haphazardly strewn across his lap while he bent you down to kiss you at a better angle.

Part of you was worried that this was moving too fast; the other half was begging you to speed up.

You couldn’t make sense of anything when his tongue slid against yours so languidly, sending delightful shivers up your spine. One of your hands moved up to entangle your fingers in his roots, tugging just enough to have him groaning into the kiss.

Just when you were certain things were going to escalate further—and god, did you want them to escalate—a loud knock at the door had you and Minghao pulling apart like two magnets with opposite poles.

“I don’t have a key!” Junhui’s muffled yell was heard through the door.

You and Minghao exchanged a look before he stood up to get the door. You ran a hand through your hair to look presentable again, even though your half-lidded eyes were a dead giveaway that you were floating elsewhere, high up in the clouds.

With his taste still on your lips, the tangle of an unspoken truth wound itself tighter around your throat.

You used The Kiss™ as an excuse for some space. The excuse you gave Minghao, however, was that you “needed a week for editing.”

This was a (white) lie for two reasons:

Minghao wasn't going to interfere with your editing process to the extent of needing to completely push him away.

You definitely did not need a full week for editing.

The cherry on top of your excellent decision-making was that it only took you a little over a day to start missing Minghao again.

The worst part of it all was that being the sweetest man to grace this planet, Minghao understood you right away and stopped texting you immediately. And, of course, you started to overthink his silence, as if you weren’t the one who needed time.

After you and Minghao had been rudely interrupted by Junhui and Wonwoo, the two of you carried on like nothing happened. Apparently, Jeonghan had been very strategic about where he made everyone go to pick up food: Chipotle was close by, and he claimed it was important that you and Minghao didn’t spend too much time alone in case things got awkward; and the other two were mostly for Jeonghan’s convenience (Panera Bread because he wanted a charged lemonade, and Taco Bell because it was the farthest away and gave him more time to be alone with Seungcheol). There were good intentions, yes, but you were bitter because the only part of Jeonghan’s plan that was supposed to benefit you was the part that ended up cockblocking you.

The guys made it impossible for you to get some alone time with Minghao for the rest of the night. You couldn’t even see him the next day because you ended up sleeping in so late that Minghao was gone by the time you woke up.

Going back to your apartment the next morning felt like The Walk of Shame.

Now, you were sprawled across the couch in your living room, laptop warm on your stomach as you sifted through your camera footage. Yooyeon was sitting on the carpet and doing her nails at the coffee table. Earlier in the morning, when you gave her the rundown of the events from last night, The Kiss™ had her jumping on the couch for so long that you ended up banishing her to the floor.

“After everything you just told me,” Yooyeon said, “I think you should just tell him how you feel. Don’t mince your balls. Just get right to the point.”

“Mince my balls? I don’t think that’s an expression.” You paused for what felt like forever until the appropriate idiom dawned on you. “It’s mince your words, dumbass, not mince your balls.”

“Mince your words, mince your balls—same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

“Okay, but you two have had this weird back-and-forth for, like, a month now,” she said. “It’s not like he’s gonna say no to a date.”

“But what if he does say no?”

Yooyeon rolled her eyes. “You guys literally kissed. Pretty sure that’s a free pass to ask him out.”

You thought back to Jeonghan’s words, how he suggested that you were still hurt by you and Minghao drifting apart in middle school and that you subconsciously thought it could happen again. It was uncharacteristic for you to hold a grudge this long, though, but you really couldn’t remember what was the turning point that made you feel like you had to walk on eggshells around him.

After putting your headphones over your ears, you clicked on the next video file to decide whether you were saving it for the film or not. The thumbnail that popped up was Minghao’s arm around your shoulders while you were trying to record the both of you sharing takoyaki outside. It was one of the videos that you took for fun in the middle of your shoot, but the sight made your heart flutter in your chest.

“I’ll feed you,” Minghao in the video said, a wide grin on his face as he stabbed a toothpick into a takoyaki ball and inched it closer to your lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Your face twisted as soon as the searing hot takoyaki hit your tongue. You remembered how you were about to drop your camera and spit the takoyaki out, but in order to not embarrass yourself in front of Minghao and everyone else around you, it was crucial that you kept your composure.

“I said it was hot!” Minghao exclaimed when you shot him an icy glare.

As you attempted to eat the takoyaki without burning your tongue, some of the batter dribbled down your chin. You let out a muffled yelp when it scalded your skin, pointing frantically at the mess you were making. It looked like your lips were trying to frame the word tissue, but you immediately covered your mouthful of takoyaki with your hand.

Minghao laughed at you, a dimple carving into the corner of his lip. “Stay still. Let me get it for you.”

The video cut right while Minghao was wiping your chin with a spare napkin. You remembered how gentle his hold was on your face, as if you were fine china. The fond smile fixed on his face wasn’t doing your heart any favors. You glanced over at Yooyeon to make sure she was too preoccupied with her nails to catch the growing smile that kept creeping onto your lips.

When you opened the next video file, the thumbnail wasn’t a frame you recognized. Minghao was in his dance studio, facing the camera at the full-length mirror to capture his entire body. You remembered the exact day he must have filmed this because he let you attempt to braid his hair on the bus ride home.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m recording this without your permission,” he started, a mischievous grin playing on his face. “Since you’re out getting snacks, I’ve decided to vlog the choreo I just came up with.”

This time, you realized too late that your face had broken into a smile so affectionate that Cupid may as well have sent an arrow right through your chest. You were seven minutes into watching Minghao trying to master his self-made choreography when it finally hit you that you had spent the entire month with Minghao—laughing, hanging out, watching movies, going on long drives, studying at his café, and getting to know him all over again. All of that was under the pretext of filming your documentary, but now that you were realizing there was no excuse for you to be around him anymore, a strange feeling of apprehension consumed you.

You could say that you and Minghao were friends now, but your life had become so intertwined with his that you weren’t sure how you would feel when things went back to normal.

Your attention snapped back to your laptop screen when Minghao stopped dancing to speak to the camera again.

“I know you’re probably procrastinating on editing this, so you owe me five dollars if you haven’t watched this by the 19th,” he said. You checked the clock to confirm that it was, indeed, past said date and well into the week after. Just as you were about to make a note to send Minghao the money, he lowered his voice and continued, “But, since you watched till the end, I’ll tell you a secret. You can’t tell anyone, though, especially not Jeonghan!”

You noticed his face was flushed a faint shade of pink when he confessed, “Now I’m only telling you this because it’s been bothering me for weeks. You never brought it up, but… I intentionally didn’t warm up your injeolmi toast that day because I wanted you to bring it back so that we could, um… talk, I guess. I still can’t believe you ate the whole thing without realizing.”

Your heart stuttered—tripped, fell over, got up again, repeated the process—and, oh, you were a discombobulated mess on the inside.

Minghao chuckled to himself and started going off on a tangent about the injeolmi toast, but you were unable to move on from what he had said. (“You know it’s supposed to be warmed up, right? I figured you just didn’t know because you’ve never had it… maybe I should’ve given you the wrong drink instead.”)

The answer was jammed in your throat like a pill you couldn’t swallow: you liked Xu Minghao.

And, strangely enough, the feeling wasn’t unfamiliar.

You remembered exactly what it was like to long for the sun. You’d fallen in love with all of Minghao long before. A rush of repressed feelings from your middle school years bubbled to the surface, and perhaps they didn’t make any sense to you in the past, but it was all too clear now. What you felt for Minghao wasn’t anything new; your first love blossomed long ago, and you plucked out all the petals of your feelings before they could grow any further.

You just didn’t nip enough of them in the bud.

If you remembered correctly, you and Minghao started growing apart the day he got his first girlfriend. It wasn’t that you two had a proper argument or fell out, but you safeguarded yourself from the heartbreak by distancing yourself until you were out of each other’s lives. He must have been too caught up in his new relationship to realize it himself, but of course you couldn’t blame him when you were the one who pulled away first.

But things were different now. You were different now.

In the past, you made sure to swallow your feelings down, no matter how painful and thick they were lodged in your throat. Now, however, despite how hard you tried to suppress them, you felt as if you were glowing in the light of reciprocated love. It was maddening—agonizing even—but so wonderful.

“I think I like him, Yooyeon,” you blurted out, only looking in your roommate’s direction when you heard her knocking over her collection of press-on nails. The mess was hardly a concern to her right now, though. “Minghao, I mean.”

“Can I tell Jeonghan?”

You reached around your laptop to grab a throw pillow and whack her over the head with it. “I’m having the most insane revelation of my life and pouring my heart out to you here, and your first instinct is to tell Jeonghan?”

“Okay, damn, I’ll give it a few hours.” Yooyeon set her phone back down and turned around to face you again, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Now tell me everything. Like, everything. I need you to explain from start to finish.”

“That might take a while,” you warned.

She snorted and picked up her nail file. “I think I can make time in my very busy schedule.”

Your interrogation with Yooyeon didn’t take a few hours, as you expected it would; rather, your discussion cut into the late hours of the night, keeping you and your roommate up until dawn. Jeonghan joined over FaceTime at some point and screeched loud enough for you to worry about noise complaints (Wonwoo made a guest appearance, too), but you also learned that your friend group had seen this coming from the beginning. You weren’t sure how you felt being the only one out of the loop, but Jeonghan made sure to point out that you were just completely oblivious.

You didn’t exactly discuss your next steps, though. Yooyeon mentioned asking Minghao out on a date, but you weren’t sure how to do that without acknowledging The Kiss™ first. You had to bring it up somehow, but you kept putting it off to work on editing.

Thinking about Xu Minghao proved to be dangerous for your motivation. It had only been a week but you instinctively kept checking your phone to see if he texted you. (Spoiler: he didn’t.) It took all of your willpower, but you forced yourself to push him out of your head and focus on getting the documentary done.

Editing was torturous. You practically spent all day and night glued to your laptop, whether it was in the dining hall or in your bed. For something that was only supposed to be ten minutes long, there were hours of footage for you to get through, some of which ended up being unusable, much to your frustration.

Finally, though, after long days of tirelessly working, the finished project was in your hands.

Of course, Minghao was the very first person you told. You were so giddy that you called him immediately, your heart soaring when he picked up on the second ring. In under an hour, you found yourself running to Café du Soleil to show him the documentary.

Upon seeing Minghao’s bright face, before you could even get a hi out, he crushed you in his embrace. You breathed in the addicting scent of his cologne—gaiac wood and cedar. It was clear that neither of you wanted to pull away, but you took a step back first.

“Congratulations,” he praised, rubbing small circles on your upper arm with his thumb. “Do I get to watch it now?”

“If you have ten minutes to spare, we can watch it together,” you said, pulling out your laptop once you reached your usual table. “I wanted you to be the first person to see it.”

“I’m off my shift,” he replied, pulling up a chair right next to you, “so I’ve got time to kill.”

You handed him an AirPod to listen along with you. Sound was one of your favorite parts of creating a film—setting the atmosphere, building the tension, playing with senses and emotions—so you really wished you could give Minghao the full experience, but since you were in a public setting, this would have to do.

The documentary opened with Minghao at his dance studio, sweat glistening on his toned muscles as his body moved to the beat. The demanding choreography coupled with his exhaustion didn’t stop him from showcasing an almost flawless performance. There was a brief exchange with his mentor before the scene cut to an interview with Minghao explaining how his passion for dance started and how he had grown into competing in national-level tournaments.

You added a compilation of clips from Minghao’s previous performances, as well as accounts from his peers about how hardworking and motivated he was. His mentor gave a particularly heartwarming speech on how driven Minghao was as a dancer and how he put his all into everything he did. The part you were the proudest of had to be getting Jeonghan to give his two cents on being Minghao’s friend, and you were pleasantly surprised that he took it seriously and said something sweet.

“To me, success is about working hard despite my circumstances,” Minghao said. In his interview clip, he took on a more serious tone. “I don’t have to be the best dancer in the world as long as I’m doing what I’m passionate about. At some point, I think I lost myself for a while… but someone special pulled me out of that slump and pushed me to keep going. I can’t thank her enough, honestly.”

You knew it was coming because you put the clips together yourself, but your face still grew hot regardless. Minghao being right next to you wasn’t exactly helping your case or making you feel any less flustered. Perhaps most people watching your documentary wouldn’t realize who he was referring to, but you knew that he was talking about you.

The film then got into Minghao’s financial struggles with the café, showing segments of his mother talking about Café du Soleil and how much the place meant to her family. You then showed the new part-timers being trained (with extra screen time for Seungcheol, as per Jeonghan’s suggestion—or, well, persuasion), and Seokmin even gushed about how much he looked up to Minghao in his own interview.

The documentary ended with a few words from Minghao, switching back and forth between the dance studio and the café. The screen then faded to black with the bustling sounds of the café gradually fading out.

It was only when your screen was dark enough to see your reflection that you realized there were tears in both yours and Minghao’s eyes. You already watched it about five times yourself, but something was different about watching it alongside the person you worked with for over a month to bring your ideas to life.

And, apparently, you two weren’t the only ones tearing up.

Minghao flinched when he turned his head to see the part-timers sitting at the table behind them and peering at the laptop screen. “Fuck, you guys scared me.”

“Sorry,” Seokmin apologized, hastily wiping at a stray tear. “It was just so beautiful.”

Chan gave you a nod of approval. “The only thing it needed was more screen time from me.”

“You literally ran away every time you were on camera,” you said, swiveling around to look at the two baristas. “Were you two just sitting behind us this whole time?”

“Yes,” Seokmin confirmed. “We appreciated the subtitles.”

Truthfully, you were extremely satisfied with their reactions. Your short film, A Bite of Summer, bringing Minghao to tears was enough to rile you up for days, and now you had two other people who got emotional over a documentary you filmed and produced with your own two hands.

“You really outdid yourself,” Minghao murmured, and when you turned to him, he was looking at you as if no one else was in the café except you. He reached his hand out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

With a shy smile, you said, “It wouldn’t have come together without you.”

Through your periphery, you noticed Seokmin and Chan exchanging a look.

“Alright, they’re having a moment,” Seokmin announced, standing up and gesturing for Chan to follow him. “Let’s get back to work.”

Minghao, whose ears were a bright shade of red now, tried to awkwardly laugh off the embarrassment. There was a twinkle in his eyes when he looked back at you, and you burned up all over again once you remembered how his soft lips felt against yours. Unfortunately, one of the symptoms of having a crush on someone was that your mind often went blank and filled itself up with all things Xu Minghao instead, so you couldn’t exactly think straight right now.

“I’ve finished the application and essay for the scholarship,” he said, “so I guess all there’s left to do is submit.”

“I’m sure no one else had an incredibly talented film major directing and producing their video,” you joked.

“No, you’re right. If I don’t get the scholarship after this, I might take it personally.”

“Oh, please,” you muttered quietly, “you’re too nice.”

“I’m not that nice, Y/N.” To your surprise, Minghao’s eyes hardened. You had never seen such an expression on his face, and it made your stomach instantly sink to your feet, but he bounced right back to his cheery self soon after. “I’ll walk you home after we submit these?”

“Y-yeah.”

Minghao pulled his own laptop out of his bag while you copied the link to your video in Dropbox. You pasted the link into an email, but your finger hovered over the send button for far too long. Once it went through, you were officially done with this project; it no longer tied you to Minghao.

You sucked in a breath and sent him the link.

You could only stare at your Canvas submission page. The link to your documentary was already pasted in; all you had to do was hit submit, but you felt so anxious. Maybe you missed one of the guidelines, or maybe you needed to watch it again, but you knew deep down that you replayed it several times and it was as close to perfection as you wanted it to be.

“Hao, I’m scared. Let’s submit ours at the same time.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have anything to be scared of, but yeah, let’s do that.”

It took another thirty minutes for Minghao to prepare himself, though. He read over his application and essay again, handing it over to you afterward for a second look at it. When Seungcheol eventually entered the café for his shift, Minghao had him take a look at it, too.

Finally, you and Minghao were both ready with your submissions. You both had your cursors hovering over the submit button just before he slipped his free hand over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Ready?” he asked.

With the heat of a thousand suns burning your cheeks, you nodded eagerly.

You submitted your film.

It felt like a truckload of weight had been lifted off your shoulders, but the feeling of relief didn’t come without the slight unease. You looked over at Minghao, who had just submitted his and was being clapped on the back by Seungcheol, and you felt weird. You felt so incredibly proud of yourself, but another part of you couldn’t accept that it was over now.

“Hey,” Minghao said softly, grinning when your eyes met his. “We really did it.”

You sort of melted under his gaze, the corners of your mouth hitching up into a lovesick smile. “Yeah, we did.”

With that, his hand slipped out of yours to tell his mother about finishing the scholarship application, and you felt cold again.

Minghao offered to walk you home, but you could hardly hold a proper conversation with him; your head was a mess.

Maybe it was wrong for you to feel this way after your week of radio silence, but something about this felt so final. You were scared that once you reached your apartment, you would go back to the life you had before you reconnected with Minghao. As much as you told yourself that you were just overthinking, there was a nagging fear in the back of your head. Maybe it was from the high of submitting your project, but you felt a rush of adrenaline course through you.

You wanted to hold onto Minghao one more time and tell him how you felt.

It had been on your mind ever since you had your revelation yesterday, and sitting next to him in the café and pretending like you weren’t mad for him was nearly impossible. As you two trudged down the cobblestone street, your hands balled into the pockets of your coat, you realized that something along the lines of a confession was ready to burst through your lips. Minghao kept droning on about a holiday-exclusive drink that was coming to the café, but you couldn’t even listen to him properly without your brain screaming at you to tell him how you felt.

It was when he brought the conversation back to your documentary that you found the perfect opportunity to bring up the secret video he filmed.

“We must’ve filmed hours of content,” he was saying, throwing his head back and groaning at the mere thought. “I can’t believe you watched all of it—wait, did you watch all of it?”

“I did watch everything, Hao,” you said quietly.

“Hm? What was that?”

“I knew that the injeolmi toast was supposed to be heated up,” you blurted out. Minghao froze in his tracks and stared at you, wide-eyed, and normally this would’ve made you shy away immediately, but you wanted to be braver. You stopped walking too, and you raised your head to meet his eyes. “I thought you forgot to warm it up by accident, so I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

At your sudden admission, Minghao was speechless, even more so when you continued in a breathless ramble, “And I want you to know that the only reason I chose this subject for my documentary was because of you; and I missed you all of last week because all I could think about was how you kissed me; and I really fucking hate summer, Hao, but you made me fall in love with the sun.”

“And… and I like you,” you confessed. “I liked you back in middle school, and I like you again now.”

Minghao’s jaw went slack as he searched your eyes, as if looking for a lie in your words, as if he could hardly believe that what you were telling him was real.

“Are you serious?” he asked quietly, almost scared that you would say no. He walked closer to you. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Your courage threatened to falter, but you kept his gaze even as he reached out to hold your face with gentle hands. “I’ve never been this honest in my life.”

With a shuddering breath, he said, “You’re telling the truth.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Do you even know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?” Although Minghao spoke in a murmur, your words died on your tongue the moment he started talking, especially after his eyes dropped to your lips.

You could only blink back at him in stunned silence.

“You were my first love, too,” he confessed.

His words struck you right in your chest. The winter bite no longer chilled you to the bone; if anything, a wildfire was ripping through your body. For a split second, you wondered if you were actually on fire, so you remained perfectly, unmovingly still until you realized that Minghao was waiting for you to answer.

You swallowed hard. “I was? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I guess I was scared it would ruin our friendship… but I didn’t do a very good job of salvaging it, anyway.” You could see the regret painted on his face, but then he steeled his nerves. “I don’t care if I don’t win the scholarship, Y/N—I mean, I sort of care—but no matter what happens, I’m happy just being with you.”

Your heart beamed.

Even days ago, the mention of your past with Minghao would’ve been a sore spot for you. Now, however, you didn’t want it to keep weighing you down like an anchor buried deep within the sand. Maybe you were both just stupid kids who didn’t know what to do with their feelings.

But all of that hardly mattered now that your souls found each other again. You weren’t ever someone who was big on the idea of destiny, but if there were stars out there that predetermined fate, they must have been shining for you and Minghao.

This time, you initiated. It was almost effortless how your arms found themselves circling around Minghao’s neck, drawing him closer to you. His eyes looked as if they were still in a dream, but after a few seconds, his gentle hands found your waist.

“I’m happy as long as I’m with you, too,” you said, your voice only loud enough for him to hear.

Minghao let out a breathless sort of laugh, almost like he was still in disbelief, and you smiled before pressing your lips to his. Compared to your first kiss, which was charged with lust and intoxication, this one was so loving and calm that you lost yourself in him so easily. He smiled into the kiss, and you couldn’t help yourself either once you felt his lips curve up against yours.

His hand found your chin, pulling away for a brief moment to take a good look at you. Let the high of your reciprocated feelings sink in. Your eyes flitted from Minghao’s lips to his twinkling eyes, your heart doing a series of backflips and spins when you saw his lips curl into a smirk.

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice, “I think I can get used to this.”

And when his lips found yours again, you were sure your souls touched, too.

(“So, are you gonna tell me if I’m objectively good-looking now?”

“Let it go, Hao.”)

EPILOGUE

Vernon scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know if I was tripping out, but I swear they just had us watch Kim Mingyu doing tricks on a skateboard for ten minutes straight.”

“I think that was an actual film.” Seungcheol looked through the pamphlet of student films that were being screened and read, “Kim Mingyu Does a Kickflip—yeah, that’s the one.”

“Whose bright idea was it to make us take Jun’s edibles?” Jeonghan, who was fitted in a formal suit and tie, complained as he slouched deeper in his seat. His eyes were a few shades too close to red to pass as sober, but he was at least able to function on his own. “This shit has to be laced with something.”

“This is your fault, dude,” Seungkwan replied, exasperated. He didn’t seem as faded as Jeonghan was, but he looked more like he had just woken up. “You told us this would be more fun if we got high!”

“Okay, and who listened to me?” He sat up to catch Seungkwan, Vernon, and Wonwoo’s guilty heads hanging shamefully. “Exactly.”

Yooyeon shot you a withering look. “They're stressing me out.”

It was the night of your film’s showcase. After you passed the class with flying colors, your professor recommended your documentary be screened during the showcase for all the film majors in your year. It was an annual event, but only a certain number of films were selected from the students. In short, this was big for you. You invited your friends, of course, although you were starting to regret it now that you had to put Seungcheol and Junhui in charge of babysitting them.

“Jeonghan, you really didn’t have to dress up like that,” you said once you noticed the contrast between his formal attire and Seungkwan’s sweater and jeans ensemble. “This isn’t even a formal event.”

Jeonghan leaned over Seungcheol to tell you, “This is important to me, okay?”

“Aw, Jeong—”

“I have to be the hottest one here.”

Alright, then.

“Jeonghan, remember what we’re actually here for,” Junhui prompted, motioning to the front of the theater.

You put a hand over your chest, touched. “Jun, you’re too sweet, I—”

“To see Minghao’s gorgeous face on the big screen,” he finished.

You decided you were going to let them finish their sentences from now on.

Minghao, who was sitting next to you and gripping your hand, raised your hands to press a kiss to each one of your knuckles. He saved his public displays of affection for rare occasions, such as your grand showcase.

You two had been dating for the past five months at this point. It wasn’t much of a surprise to any of your friends, but what did change was that Minghao spent a lot more time with your friend group now. (Sometimes you worried if they liked him more than you, but you weren’t one to vie for attention.) It was also safe to say that you two weren’t exactly out of the honeymoon phase yet. Your heart still fluttered whenever he did anything particularly sweet, and Minghao still went bright red whenever you were feeling a little bolder.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice tickling your skin. “You said your professor recommended submitting it to a film festival, right?”

“Mhm.” You grinned and used the hand he wasn’t holding to pinch his cheek lightly. “Your face could be seen by thousands.”

He laughed. “It’s really all about you, not—” Minghao paused when his phone buzzed from inside his pocket. You two exchanged a nervous look before he fumbled to pull it out. “I think it’s them.”

A week ago, the announcement of the scholarship recipient was supposed to be sent out. However, there was a complication that led to them postponing the results until today. You and Minghao had been on edge all week, but having to think about the outcome on the same day as your film showcase was nerve-wracking.

“It is them.” Minghao bit his lip when he saw the sender in his notifications. He looked over at you and squeezed your hand tighter. “I’m gonna open it now.”

With suspended breath, you tried to gauge his reaction as he opened the email. (It wasn’t very hard to read Xu Minghao’s expression when he wore his heart on his sleeve.) He took so long that you thought he was reading over each word twice, but then you watched as his expression morphed into one of pure astonishment.

“What is it?” you asked. “What does it say?”

“I…” He swallowed thickly. “I got it.” He turned to you again, mouth twitching into a grin. “I actually got it!”

Your life had been going so smoothly recently that the scholarship results had been plaguing your thoughts for the past few weeks. You didn’t have to worry about your project anymore, so saving the café and getting Minghao his chance to compete had been weighing heavily on your mind.

Now, though, upon hearing those words and seeing his eyes light up, you felt like you were glowing yourself. They selected Minghao, and they watched your film. Your work was going to save his mom’s café. It was going to let him keep chasing his dreams.

You let out a yelp so loud that dozens of heads turned in your direction, but you didn’t mind any of them as soon as you reached over your armrest to tackle Minghao into a hug. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I knew they’d pick you,” you told him. “There’s no one else who deserves it more.”

“It’s seriously all because of you,” he said. When you pulled apart, Minghao looked absolutely winded from being so overjoyed. “I have to tell my mom as soon as we get home. She’s gonna be so happy that we get to keep the café running.”

Jeonghan, who was brazenly eavesdropping, patted Seungcheol firmly on the chest. “Hear that? You just got saved from unemployment.” He reached over Seungcheol (again) to dap up Minghao.

You felt someone tap your shoulder from behind, and you craned your neck around to see your professor gesturing for you to go up on stage. That was your cue to introduce your film, and you gulped down the bundle of nerves that rose up your throat.

Yooyeon squeezed your shoulder as you were getting up. Shakily, you straightened up, smiling weakly when your friends started cheering obnoxiously loud for you. Minghao caught your wrist before you walked to the front and gave you a reassuring squeeze that managed to calm your jittery hands.

You recognized a lot of your friends from your classes, so it wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you were hopeful that the unfamiliar faces would be cheering for you by the time they saw your documentary.

“We know her!” Jeonghan and Seungkwan were screaming from the top, pointing you out to every stranger in their vicinity. “That’s our friend!”

At the right wing of the stage, you were handed a mic and instructed to walk out to the center. You had never been in front of a crowd this huge, but seeing your friends in the seats melted away whatever fears were holding you back.

“Thank you everyone for coming out today,” you spoke into the mic, smiling when it resounded throughout the grand auditorium. “My name’s Y/N, and I’m so excited to share my documentary: The Xu Minghao Dilemma.”

TAG LIST ▸ if you made it all the way here, thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed xu minghao's dilemma 💗 first and foremost, this was written for @junyangis so shoutout my film major inspo. i tried to emulate the film student experience to the best of my ability so i hope it delivers 🙏 also you might notice the banner has jeonghan as the writer which sort of sounds misleading but it's because he was the one orchestrating everything between mc and minghao, so i thought it was fitting :') first fic of 2025, yay!! i hope to share more of my works with you this year & sending my love to everyone reading this right now ♡ thank you to everyone who asked to be part of the tag list as well !! 🫂

TAG LIST ▸ @jenoentry @wonudazed @aaniag @ily-cuz-i @fancypeacepersona @tokitosun @jeonnyread @reiofsuns2001 @markleeloveletter @dawn-iscozy @fennecnco @kookiedesi @nijisanjigenshin @xylatox @cookiearmy @nightshadeblooming @sillyuin @outrologist @flowerrpwrr @melonacco @sknyuz @enhasrii @skzdesi

#svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #minghao fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen #seventeen x reader #xu minghao #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #minghao imagines #minghao scenarios #svt soft hours #seventeen soft hours

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viaxslz · 2 months ago

Text

. 【 ARRANGED ℳARRIAGE 】

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 !reader, cw: arranged marriage au, slight angst, fluff (ig), kissing, strangers to lovers (if that’s what they call it), super duber long (ok might not disappear but who knows), not proofread :P, hyung line ver.

HAN

Han Jisung –(aka husband who swears he’s not panicking while definitely panicking) From the moment you said “I do,” Han Jisung looked like he was fighting for his life. He was sweating through his suit, grinning way too wide, and stuttering so much during the vows that the officiant asked him twice if he was under duress. You weren’t thrilled about the arranged marriage either. You didn’t know each other, didn’t choose each other, and for the first few weeks, it showed. The atmosphere in your shared home was polite but tense like two interns accidentally assigned the same group project, silently wondering who would flake first. Jisung tried his best. He’d attempt conversation over breakfast: “Do you… like toast?” “I mean, of course you like toast, who doesn’t like toast—wait, are you gluten-free? Should I die?” “Sorry. That was dramatic. I’ll stop talking. Unless you want me to talk. Then I’ll talk forever.” You stared at him like he was a sitcom character that got lost on the way to his own show. The man was nervous. Constantly. He’d bump into chairs and say “sorry” to them. He’d knock on the bathroom door even when it was clearly open. He’d rehearse things in his room before saying them to you. One night you overheard: “Hey, Y/N, how was your day? No, too fake. Try again. Okay—Hey, Y/N! How’s the weather in your heart tod—no. Ew. What the hell.” You almost laughed. Almost. But the truth is, Jisung wasn’t acting. He was just genuinely trying. Genuinely overwhelmed. Genuinely scared of screwing up something that had already started with zero consent or choice. One night, you came home exhausted from work, dropped your bag on the floor, and groaned into your hands. Jisung, who had been pretending to study something on his laptop, panicked. “Oh my god. Did someone yell at you? Did you eat today? Did a bird attack you again?” “…Again?” He scrambled into the kitchen like a sitcom wife from the ‘50s, muttering, “I can cook—I mean, I can microwave—no wait, I made eggs once without the shell—wait, do you like eggs??” You burst out laughing. You didn’t mean to, but it just happened. And Jisung froze, blinking like he’d just won a Grammy. “…Was that a laugh? Did I do that? Did I—should I bottle this moment? Is this my peak?” You couldn’t stop. You laughed until you cried, and he stood there, looking both victorious and deeply confused. That broke the wall. After that, everything became easier. You talked more. Shared dumb jokes. Started watching random shows together at night while Jisung made running commentary like: “If they kiss now I’m suing.” “I relate to this character deeply. He’s tired and scared and emotionally repressed. Sexy.” You noticed he was actually really smart. Quick-witted. Sensitive. And kind. Like the kind of kind that doesn’t make a show of it, he just does things. He once quietly fixed your phone charger without telling you. Left sticky notes on your notebook when you had a stressful day. Learned how to make your favorite comfort food just in case. But he never crossed a line. Never forced closeness. Just waited. Patiently. Softly. Then, one rainy night, you found him asleep on the couch. Hugging a pillow. Mumbling in his sleep: “Y/N… don’t leave…” You froze. The next morning, he woke up to you making breakfast. He shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess, eyes still puffy. “Morning…” You turned around. “Why would I leave?” He blinked. “Wait. Huh?” You walked up, poked his chest gently. “You were talking in your sleep. You said not to leave.” Jisung turned red in real-time. “I—I—NO I—THAT WAS A DREAM—NO—IT WAS A QUOTE—I WAS REHEARSING A LINE—IT’S FOR A PLAY—SHAKESPEARE. YEAH.” You laughed and kissed his cheek. He stopped breathing. You whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered, “I think I love you.” Then screamed into a pillow.

Now? Jisung still panics over toast. Still practices conversations in the shower. Still dramatically falls to the floor if you compliment him too sincerely. But he also wraps his arms around you at night like he never wants to let go. Says “I love you” like it’s a reflex. Like it’s the air he breathes. Your marriage may have been arranged. But the love? That part was his choice. And every single day, he keeps choosing you awkwardly, dramatically, wholeheartedly.

FELIX

Felix – (aka sunshine husband who has no idea how to act cold so he just gives you cookies instead) You expected a lot of things from an arranged marriage. tension, silence, maybe even mild resentment. What you didn’t expect was a man with a literal Tupperware container of homemade brownies on your wedding night, shyly holding them out like a peace offering.“Hi… um. I baked these. I don’t know how to start conversations so… chocolate?” You stared at him. He stared back, looking like a golden retriever that got dropped into a corporate meeting by accident. The beginning was awkward, of course. You weren’t strangers, but you weren’t close either. You tiptoed around each other in the house, always polite, always a bit too careful like roommates who accidentally got married and didn’t want to make it weird. Felix, for his part, was trying. So hard. Too hard, honestly. He’d overthink everything. “Do you want me to knock before entering the kitchen?” “Is it okay if I call you… uh… your name?” “I organized the pantry alphabetically. Is that weird? Should I undo it?” You: “I just wanted cereal.” But then came the baking. It started small, a cookie here, a muffin there. Then suddenly it was “surprise banana bread Tuesday” and “midnight croissant therapy.” You’d wake up to little notes by the coffee machine: “Today might be rough, so I made cinnamon rolls. You got this.” “Don’t forget to eat, okay? There’s matcha cake in the fridge. Love, not-so-legally-your-husband.” And that’s the thing about Felix. He wasn’t trying to impress you. He just cared. Genuinely, openly, maybe even recklessly. You caught feelings faster than you were willing to admit. How were you supposed to not fall for the man who learned your coffee order by week two, remembered your deadlines better than you did, and looked at you like the sun was doing him a personal favor by existing through you? Still, neither of you really acknowledged the shift. He stayed sweet. You stayed guarded. And your house became this soft little bubble of tension-filled domesticity, where nothing happened but everything was happening. Then one night, you had a breakdown. Work was suffocating, your family was pressuring you about the marriage, and you just… snapped. You stormed into the kitchen, tired and overwhelmed, and finally said it: “This wasn’t supposed to be real, okay? You weren’t supposed to be nice. You weren’t supposed to make me feel like this was a home.” Felix looked like you’d punched him in the chest. Slowly, he set down the cake batter he was mixing. “…Do you want it to be real?” You: “What?” “This marriage. Us. I… I know we didn’t choose this. But I wake up and think about you. I go to sleep hoping you had a good day. I bake because it’s the only way I know how to show you that I care without scaring you off.” You didn’t say anything. He smiled, sad and small. “I didn’t want to make this harder for you. But if being nice made it worse, I’ll stop—” You kissed him. You pulled back. “Sorry. Was that—” “Do it again.” Now? Felix still bakes at 2 a.m. Still writes notes on the fridge. Still organizes the pantry like a spreadsheet. But he also kisses your temple before you leave the house. Holds your hand during grocery runs like he’s afraid to let go. Whispers, “I know we didn’t choose this but if I had to do it again, I’d still choose you.” The marriage might’ve started with a contract. But the love? That came frosted, warm, and wrapped in a Tupperware full of effort. And you’ve been choosing him back ever since.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin – (aka the emotionally constipated husband who shows affection by roasting you into submission) You didn’t expect him to be warm. Honestly, you would’ve been suspicious if he was. Seungmin greeted you on your wedding day with a polite nod and the emotional availability of a tax form. No smile. No small talk. Just a: “I’ll take the guest room. Don’t leave your dishes in the sink.” Romantic. At first, it was like living with a very tidy ghost who silently judged you for breathing too loud. You tried initiating conversation, but all you got were one-word replies: “Good morning.” “…Morning.” “How was work?” “Fine.” “Do you need anything from the store?” “Decency.” You were this close to throwing a pillow at him. Or a toaster. Whichever was closer. But you noticed something strange. Despite the deadpan sarcasm and constant eye-rolling, he… listened. Mentioned once that you liked strawberry yogurt? Magically appeared in the fridge. Said you had a meeting on Thursday? He reminded you like a snarky Google calendar. Offhandedly said your back hurt? There was a hot pack on your desk the next morning. But when you tried to thank him, he’d brush it off with: “I didn’t do it for you. I just hate hearing you complain.” Uh-huh. Sure. Over time, the silence shifted. It didn’t feel tense anymore just… calm. Comfortable, even. You started eating meals at the same time. Watching the same dramas on opposite ends of the couch. Bickering like a married couple without actually being one. You: “You know, if you smiled once in a while, you’d be kind of cute.” Seungmin: “If you talked less, I might live longer.” You: “You love me.” Seungmin: “Blink twice if you’re hallucinating.” But he didn’t move away when you scooted closer on the couch. Didn’t object when you started doing laundry together. Didn’t stop you when you fell asleep on his shoulder one night and mumbled, “Don’t leave.” He just sat there, tense for a moment… then relaxed, and whispered, almost too softly to hear: “I won’t.” That was the beginning. One night, you found him in the kitchen at 1 a.m., making ramen and quietly humming. You padded over in your socks, leaned against the counter, and mumbled, “Did you ever want this? Us?” He didn’t look at you right away. “No.” Ouch. “But now that I have it… I don’t want anyone else.” You blinked. “That was weirdly romantic for you.” He shoved a spoonful of ramen into your mouth. “Shut up before I take it back.” Now? Seungmin still teases you mercilessly. Still roasts you in front of your own plants. Still rolls his eyes when you do something mildly annoying and mutters, “This is why I should’ve married a cactus.” But he also tucks you in when you fall asleep on the couch. Picks up your favorite snacks without being asked. Keeps one of your hair ties on his wrist and pretends it’s not a big deal. He’s not loud with love. Not obvious. Not flowery. But he’s consistent. And in the end, being loved by Seungmin feels like this: No grand speeches. No dramatic confessions. Just someone who stays. Quietly, steadily. And never lets go.

JEONGIN

Jeongin –(aka the flustered baby husband who talks back but blushes when you talk nice) Jeongin walked into the arranged marriage like a man headed to war. Not dramatic at all. Except he was dramatic about it. Silently, of course. He was young, successful, trying to prove himself in his field and suddenly he was being told, “Surprise! You’re getting married to someone you barely know. Smile for the wedding photos!” He did not smile. He grimaced. Your first few days of married life were… quiet. Not hostile, just awkward. You felt like you were both house-sitting the same apartment with unspoken rules and polite small talk. You’d pass each other in the hallway like coworkers forced onto the same project. “Hey.” “Hey.” “Did you eat?” “Kind of. You?” “Cool.” Silence. But Jeongin wasn’t cold just reserved. You caught him staring sometimes. Not in a creepy way. More like he was trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to be a husband when he still googled how to fix a leaky faucet and forgot to switch his laundry. He wasn’t emotionally constipated just emotionally under construction. And then the sarcasm kicked in. Jeongin, once he got comfortable, became the king of side-eyes and muttered jabs. “Oh wow, you’re cooking? Should I call the fire department now or later?” “You fell asleep watching that drama again. I took a picture. It’s blackmail now.” “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I have to like your taste in socks.” But you noticed something interesting. He’d grumble when you asked him to do something but he’d still do it. He’d tease you for being forgetful but he never forgot your schedule. He’d pretend to be too cool but blushed like crazy when you complimented his shirt. And when you started teasing him back? Oh, he short-circuited. You: “You look good today, husband.” Jeongin: blinking rapidly “Wh—pft—I—shut up.” You: “Are you blushing?” Jeongin: “NO. You’re just standing near something red.” You: “i’m standing next to you.” Jeongin: “……” It became a routine. Casual affection buried in banter. Emotional intimacy hiding behind post-it notes and shared ramen bowls at midnight. He made a habit of waiting for you to get home before he went to bed. You made a habit of telling him everything you liked about him just to watch him get flustered. Eventually, something changed. One night, you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, and you casually asked, “Do you still wish this never happened?” He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then, without looking at you: “At first, yeah. I thought it’d ruin my life.” Pause. “…But then you walked in. And you didn’t try to change me. You just… stayed. And now, I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” You looked at him, heart thumping. He turned to you, cheeks pink. “This is the only time I’m being soft. If you bring this up tomorrow, I’ll deny everything.” You didn’t bring it up. But you did kiss him. And he kissed you back like someone who finally figured out what home felt like. Now? Jeongin still talks back. Still gets flustered when you say “my husband” too easily. Still pretends he’s too cool to cuddle until he’s asleep on your chest with his hand fisted in your hoodie like a security blanket. He’ll tease you in public. Laugh at your clumsiness. Say things like: “Wow, imagine marrying someone like you.” And when you pout, he’ll smirk and lean in real close. “…Lucky me.” He might not have chosen this at the beginning. But he’s choosing you now every single day.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor @queenofdumbfuckery

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #han x reader #han fluff #felix x reader #felix fluff #i.n x reader #i.n fluff

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katsukistofu · 11 months ago

Text

it took me by soap-rise

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 4k words — fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ of course your public nuisance no. 1 has to hog your favorite shower stall the day you forget your body wash in it.

Katsuki was honestly starting to suspect he wasn’t your type.

Which one, was something he’d never even bother to consider. He’s ripped up more confession letters than he can count after three years. Graduation was just around the corner and he still hates social media, but even he knows how popular he is on it because of his classmates whining about it all the damn time. He knows he’s well-liked, and it’s not just his ego talking.

Genuinely it's a thought that would never occur to him, if only Eyebags wasn’t lounging around you all the time, casting annoyingly cocky glances at him as he taps your shoulder and leans in to whisper whatever the fuck it is in your ear whenever he passes by the two of you.

Not that he cared.

Two, when Dunce Face dared you to say who you thought was the most attractive guy during a game of truth or dare in the common room last year, while he pretended to be disinterested when he very much in fact was not, you had offhandedly answered with that half-n’-half bastard’s name, who could not be more polar opposite to him.

Again, he really couldn’t give less of a fuck.

Not like he’s been thinking about it since then. Totally. Not.

Katsuki also hasn’t been thinking about how it should be him whispering in your ear instead of that purple haired extra, the endless list of things he could say to make you squirm and blush in your seat.

Of course, that doesn’t happen because you’re too busy arguing with him, like usual, about the new group project Aizawa just assigned. Something about reconnecting with their roots before graduating. With you two as partners, much to the amusement of your classmates.

“We should work on the script first!” You insist while he leans back in his chair, observing you get more and more worked up.

It should be irritating as hell, your hand gestures, your matter of fact tone, but what’s really bothering him is that it’s not. He’s not sure when that started happening.

“It’s better to prepare the interview questions we’re going to ask our parents when we visit each other's homes.”

He snorts. “What are we, some ditzy news report crew? We’re not gonna waste time doing that, we should just visit your place first, then mine and get it over with.”

You spin away from him before he can open his mouth again, and raise your hand.

Aizawa slowly turns to you with a sigh, already knowing what you’re about to ask.

“No.”

“But Mr. Aizawa!”

Eyebags casts an amused glance in both of your directions, and Katsuki scoffs.

No way in hell was he letting you switch and downgrade to an extra like him.

“What, you’re chickening out?”

You ignore him. “Can I please switch partners?”

“No,” Aizawa deadpans.

“But—“

“No. One more word from either of you and you’re getting zeroes.”

The both of your mouths snap shut, and you glare at each other.

“When you’re a pro, you don’t always get to choose who you team up with.”

Aizawa rubs his temples.

“And you’re supposed to be my top ranking students. You’re not first years anymore, so act like it.”

You hang your head. Like a scolded puppy, Katsuki notes.

“Yes Mr. Aizawa.”

From the corner of his eye, you flip him off under your desk and his lips can’t help but twitch. Does he really still piss you off that much after all this time?

Without hesitation, Katsuki flips you off back.

‘Fucking teacher’s pet.’ He mouths with a smirk.

‘Asshole.’ You mouth back.

Aizawa sighs again, throwing a pointed look at Sero and Denki who are struggling, and failing, to hold back their giggles behind you.

This was going to be a long week.

It’s the day after the group project was assigned, and you’re still reeling from the fact that out of everybody you had to get paired up with, of course it had to be your crush.

Hey Siri, does it make you a masochist if for the past three years you've been in love with a guy that’s laser-focused on his personal development and has zero interest in dating anyone other than his career, ever?

Are you a masochist if you kind of find that kind of hot?

Just when you were starting to make a pros and cons list with Mina the night before to try and ick yourself out, too. But even that was getting increasingly hard to do.

His growth was undeniable, and you curse at him for being almost as mature as he was attractive now.

Well, towards everybody except you.

Three steps away from the door to your room, you freeze in place as your brain stops your usual ramblings of the blond boy to register two alarming facts.

One, the bottle of body wash you usually use was not in your hand like you thought it was.

Two, it was in fact, still in the shower stall you left it in.

Pink house slippers slap against the floor’s carpeting as you race back to the showers with a death-like grip on your towel.

You’re slightly out of breath as you clutch the doorway of the showers, and just as quickly as you enter you find yourself exiting lightning fast at double the speed, nearly launching yourself against the wall of the hall outside.

With your heart racing uncontrollably, tips of too familiar blond hair disappear into the stall you were in moments ago.

Too familiar, for your liking.

But that strong jawline you caught a glimpse of was unmistakable.

Your irritating classmate slash crush you were trying to get rid of was taking up your shower stall.

Okay technically it wasn’t yours but it was the one you used everyday, each morning and night. You’d claimed it when you first stepped foot in it at the beginning of your first year.

So basically, it was yours.

And you definitely don’t remember that bastard ever using it until today.

A screech jolts you from your thoughts. He must have turned the water on, which you can hear, but strangely there was no steam wafting out at all.

The realization creeps up on you like the sound of running water that trickles down and echoes throughout the room.

Hold on.

What was this idiot doing taking a cold shower at four in the morning?

The all too familiar soothing scent of cherry blossom fills the chilly air, and your eyebrows furrow even more in confusion.

And was that your fucking body wash he’s using?

You take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. He’s bigger than you, probably stronger too, that stupid gym freak, not to mention taller than you.

But your fingers were still itching to whip out your quirk and shoot a moonbeam at his crotch.

Because why the fuck was he using your L’Occitane Cherry Blossom Bath and Shower Gel?

Trying to sneak a glance to confirm your suspicions, the obvious shadow of Bakugo is visible through the glass, and you duck back into the hallway.

Oh my god, it is him.

Taking a cold shower in the morning like a crazy person. Although you hate to admit it, that would explain his perfect skin. Everyday you wake up and see his flawless face, you go to bed praying that he gets a blemish.

The shower turns off, and you let out the breath you were holding. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, but when it came to your possessions, you weren’t about to be a doormat.

You cross your fingers and pray that he’s wearing clothes.

“Bakugo! Come out here, we need to talk.”

He snorts, already recognizing the chiding voice about to round the corner, and turns. “Picking a fight with me outside of class? Thought you had more self-respect than tha–”

Bakugo is then sharply cut off.

By you hurling into his very naked, very bare chest.

He forces his eyes to not linger on the dip of your collarbone, and as he looks down on you he sees you struggling to do the same in his direction.

You accidentally make contact with his eyes.

The rare, amused look on his face sends something strange and hot down your spine, and you force yourself to turn away so sharply you think you dislocated your neck.

Bakugo smirks. “Wasn’t nearly this focused when we were working on our project.”

An embarrassing noise escapes from your mouth, and his lips curve ever so slightly on his handsome face at the sound.

He’s never seen you this flustered before.

It’s kind of cute, he admits this time.

Despite your clearly humiliated state, you point an impressively steady finger at the object in his hands.

“That’s um, that’s mine.” You awkwardly clutch your towel tighter, suddenly feeling very naked in his presence. Seriously, why didn’t you put a shirt on before coming back?

His eyebrow raises and he lifts the bottle slightly. “This?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he says disbelievingly. “Don’t see your name on it.”

You sigh in exasperation, did he always have to be so uncooperative with you? “It’s mine, okay? Just give it back.”

Bakugo's eyes narrow as he studies you. Like you’re a puzzle piece he’s trying to make sense of.

And as much as you hate to admit it, the focused look on his face was annoyingly attractive.

“That’s funny.”

You open your mouth, your patience is on the last straw and you’re about to yell back ‘what is?’ and snatch the bottle out of his hands when he smirks, holding it high out of your reach above his head with his bicep, still gleaming with water from his shower.

“Because this is mine.”

You blink at the water falls from his raised arm onto your nose, not registering what you’re hearing. Looking away from the pink translucent bottle above your head, your eyes meet his again.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.”

You can’t help but stare at him incredulously.

“I don’t think I did.” Confusion could not be clearer than glass in your voice.

“You—You use L’Occitane?”

He averts his eyes from the droplet that falls from your still wet hair and rolls down what skin you have exposed, disappearing into your thankfully tightly wrapped towel.

“Dude. You are so not cherry blossom bath and shower gel material.”

He snorts. “Fuck is that supposed to mean.”

“I don’t know! I thought you’d use like, Dove MenCare or five in one.”

“Five in one? Are you stupid?”

“Apparently! But—Oh my god can you stop flexing your biceps for one fucking second.” You groan. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Why were you looking?”

“I can’t help it! They’re distracting me and—“ You clap your hands over your mouth, glancing at his slightly amused expression with horrified eyes.

“Distracting you?” His voice is low, and you curse at the way your stomach flip-flops.

“Um.” Fuck. Where did that even come from? “I meant, uh.”

“Trying to take it back now?” He smirks. “Coward.”

“I am not a coward!” You glare at him. “And I’m not feeding into your ego.”

“You just admitted you were staring at my biceps and thinking about what body wash I would use.”

Okay, so you’re just digging yourself a deeper grave. Your cheeks are warmer than the shower you took earlier, and you can’t even deny it.

“Creep.”

You huff. “Okay fine, I’m a creep. Just give me my body wash back.”

“Told you,” he starts walking away, towel still wrapped around his waist. You pointedly look away towards the wall. “It’s mine, dipshit.”

“Wha–” You whip your head around just as he disappears behind the corner, too tired and irritated to even chase after him, and with a sigh you walk into the shower room, heading for the stall you used earlier.

Your eyes widen as you stare at it in embarrassment.

There your bottle of cherry blossom body wash sits, untouched in the shower caddy.

As you head back to your dorm room, the body wash safely clutched in your hand, you wonder.

Was it too late to call in sick for today?

Aizawa did not in fact let you call in sick, and you're painfully reminded of everything that happened in the morning as you complain to Hitoshi about it. Your best friend snickers as students file into the cafeteria behind his seat.

“You’re so stupid.”

You take the opportunity to shove a sweet roll into his open mouth. “Shut up! I’m going to pretend like it never happened.”

Hitoshi snorts, taking the bread out of his mouth. “Good luck with that. But hey,” He leans in with a mischievous grin, and you glare daggers at him. “Isn’t this the most progress you’ve made since you started liking him since, what, first year entrance exams?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He takes his sweet time eating the roll in his hand instead of elaborating, like the petty asshole he's always been. Your fingers tap impatiently on the table of the cafeteria as you wait while he chews.

After what seems like an eternity, Hitoshi finally swallows.

“I mean, you’ve never really made a move on him this whole time. Kind of just been a spectator, like a creep.”

Warmth rushes up your neck as you’re reminded of what Bakugo called you yesterday. Creep.

“I can’t help it! The only time we ever speak is during class projects, and even then we’re always arguing. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“I know.” Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Woop woop. 3A’s own live little romcom.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Okay, but after I finish this soup.” He blows on his steaming spoon, and pauses as a thought occurs to him.

”If he didn’t like it though, he would’ve told you by now.”

You can’t help but perk up at that. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He spoons the soup into his mouth. “Oh. This is good, why didn’t you get any when we were in line?”

“...The red color reminded me of his eyes too much.”

Hitoshi sighs.

“For your birthday, I’m going to admit you to a mental hospital.”

“It’s not that bad!” You insist and he snorts derisively.

The both of you know you’re lying.

The ride to Katsuki’s house after class is awkwardly silent.

Your folks conveniently went out of town to visit some relatives you’ve never even heard of yesterday, so the both of you were left with no choice but to interview his parents only.

The train is almost full, and every seat in the car is taken except one.

“I’m standing.”

Katsuki grabs onto the handle above his head, a silent signal for you to take the only seat left and watches with barely concealed amusement in his eyes as you hurry to sit in front of him without a word other than a small ‘thanks.’ So skittish today.

He’s not sure if he likes it though. You being quiet around him.

You’ve said less than two sentences to him since this morning, and he almost misses your snappy quips.

Almost.

He hides a sly grin. It’s all his fault you’re acting like this, and he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

You’re putting your earbuds on, and just before you put the left one in, he snatches it out of your hands and puts it in his ear.

Your eyes widen cutely, too stunned to speak.

"Just don't play anything shitty." He turns his attention back to his phone, ignoring all the smoochy faces the group chat's sent him about you as he sends his mom a quick text to tell her you two are on the way.

With a shy nod, which he can't help but note is so unlike you, you scroll down on your own phone and click on a playlist.

Katsuki's eyes widen in surprise not even five seconds in.

The instrumentals, those vocals. He knows this song.

He loves this song.

"You listen to Pierce the Veil?"

You blink up at him. "Yeah. I do."

He can't help it. The edge of his lips twitch as he recalls what you said to him yesterday, and he mimics your exact tone.

"Dude. You are so not post-hardcore alt rock material."

The expression on your face is priceless.

Katsuki never uses his damn phone camera but he almost wants to snap a picture right there and then.

Except of course, you do the unexpected.

You giggle at him.

He can't help but feel a little proud. Take that, stupid fucking Eyebags.

"I guess you're right," you laugh behind your hand. "Jirou recommended me some songs last year and I've been a fan ever since."

"Then what's your favorite lyric by them?"

"Oh my god." The grin on your lips spreads a warm, sweet feeling across his chest, like strawberry jam on hot toast. "You're one of those people that see someone wearing a band shirt and go 'Oh you like them? Name five of their songs.'"

He scoffs. "I do not."

"You totally do."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "You trying to distract me from the fact you're a fake fan?"

You fake a little gasp. "Me? Never." There's a thoughtful hum that comes from your lips, and he observes you as you take a moment to think.

"My favorite lyric has to be 'been counting the stars and scars, how I’m becoming a work of art.'"

The Divine Zero. Fuck, he loved that song too.

"Huh. Guess you know your shit."

You huff proudly, so similar to a dog happily wagging its tail that he resists the urge to pat your head. "Of course! What's your favorite lyric?"

He smirks, staring directly into your eyes.

"I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin till your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention."

Your lips fall into a flustered 'o' shape and you turn away when he finishes, nodding. "That's, uh, that's a good one too."

He bites back a laugh as you hurriedly switch playlists, and a familiar R&B tune starts singing in his ear instead.

Mitsuki’s face greets the two of you as she opens the door.

“Katsuki! You're here early—oh!"

She spots you.

“You’re one of those cute maid girls from last year’s cultural festival!"

Your cheeks flush as you remember. That stupid day when Denki’s suggestion finally won the class vote. She was visiting for Bakugo’s role as an oni in the haunted house, and happened to stop by the maid cafe in the class where you and the rest of the girls were working. “Yes ma’am.”

“I didn’t know you were Katsuki’s girlfriend.”

“What?” Your mouth drops. “Oh, I’m not—“

“You brat! You never told me you were going out with a sweet, pretty girl like this.” Mitsuki scolds in her son’s direction. Your cheeks grow warm as your curious eyes can’t resist trailing over to see his reaction.

"She's not my girlfriend, Ma."

Oh my god, was he blushing?

Mitsuki sighs in disappointment. His crimson eyes meet your widened ones for a split second, then he's brushing past the both of you and heading inside the house.

His mother smiles at you apologetically. "Sorry about him, his puberty came late."

You can't help but snort. "It's okay Mrs. Bakugo, I'm used to it."

"I heard that!" A yell comes from down the stairs.

Mitsuki and you share a mischievous glance, and she ushers you inside. You take off your shoes and look around.

So this is where Bakugo grew up.

There's the smell of green tea in the air, and was that a vanilla candle burning somewhere? Framed photos of Bakugo with his parents are on the wall as you walk into the living room, and you can't help but coo at the one where his chubby baby cheeks are smeared in frosting while he blows out a candle shaped like the number three.

The interview flies by in a breeze. You do most of the asking.

Okay, you’re the one asking all of the interview questions. A warm mug of steaming green tea is placed next to you on the coffee table from your cross-legged position on a cushion.

Bakugo sits next to you, unnervingly silent ever since his mom's outburst from before, as he types up his mother’s and occasionally his father’s responses on his laptop.

It’s funny, the way you think he doesn’t notice your shivers.

"Ma." He glances up from the keyboard. "Do you need to turn the AC up so damn high all the time?"

Mitsuki rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. "It's warm in here!"

He sighs, eyes flicking over to you, and starts getting up from his spot on the floor.

You stare at the hand he holds out to you. And with great interest, so do Masaru and Mitsuki, who mutters something to him that you better be her daughter-in-law within the next three years.

"Come on," Bakugo says gruffly, tugging you to stand.

You stumble a bit as you walk through the hallway with him and up the first few stairs. "Where are we going...?"

"My room. To get you a fucking jacket."

“No, I don’t need it—!” You're cut off with a sneeze.

He groans, and shrugs off the black fleece-lined one he's wearing and bringing you into him by tightly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” He grumbles. He's so close you can see how unfairly long his lashes are, and you're not sure if it's the sheer nervous adrenaline from him being so near or the scowl in his voice but you giggle, feeling bold.

“It’s sexy to see you prove me wrong.”

His eyes widen, and he quickly recovers.

“You’re so fucking weird.” There’s an unmistakable fondness you catch in his voice as he says that, and you shiver this time for a different reason.

"Your jacket's too big on me." You flop your newly acquired sweater paws in his face.

“Shut up.” Bakugo snorts as he zips it up for you in one smooth motion. “Fucking baby.”

“You're the baby!" You retort. "I saw your pictures on the wall."

There's a groan from him. "No you didn’t.”

"What, they're cute! I'm gonna send one to the class group chat."

Bakugo shoots a glare at you, and you teasingly wiggle your phone screen in his face. "Don't you dare."

"Hmm, okay I won't. Only if you do something for me first."

He smirks. "Fine, what do you want?" Bakugo leans closer to you, and your cheeks burn hot. "A kiss?"

You were not expecting that.

The way your eyes linger hopefully on his mouth looks like he's right. "Um."

"Um?" He huffs a laugh with his face hovering in front of yours. Bakugo's hot breath teases your lips, and you can't think.

Fuck it, you don't even care if he's just joking anymore. If this is your only chance, you're going to take it.

"Yes."

Bakugo cocks his head to the side, irritating to the very end even when you're on the brink of giving in. "Yes what?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as you blurt out, and you can almost hear Hitoshi cheering in the distance.

"YesIwantyoutokissme!"

"Fucking finally." Your eyes flutter open at his murmur, what did he mean by that? But you don't get to spend another second thinking about it because suddenly his soft lips are on yours and your heart skips a beat as you realize Bakugo is kissing you.

It's feels almost scarily natural to lean into his touch, like a gravitational pull getting stronger and stronger the longer you're near him, and you wonder why you didn't sooner. You numbly acknowledge the growing sweatiness of your palms as your nose bumps against his gently.

His comforting hands cup the back of your head, tangling his calloused fingers in your hair as he guides your mouth against his. A delicious little sound escapes from you the moment you break away from him and it only makes him want to close the gap between you again with more hunger, and he nips at your bottom lip like a starved man.

"Knew you always liked me, by the way." Bakugo gives you a wolfish grin, as the both of you pull back for air, leaving a trail of saliva still connected to your lips in your wake. He slyly glances at your dazed self sideways, flashing you a rare sight of his canines.

"Was just waiting for you to stop being such a damn pussy about it."

#it took me by surpriseee the hatred in his eyess #y’all fw l’occitane cherry blossom bath and shower gel #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo oneshot #bnha x reader #mha oneshot #not this being the first mouth to mouth kiss i’ve ever written here lmfaoooo #idk ig physical intimacy means sm more to me than just kissing #but it seems fitting here so #enjoy <3 #it might be bc i’m asian and pda seems weird to me LMFAO

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iniquitousyearning · 2 years ago

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enemies w/ tension. | slytherin boy headcanons

author's note: feralism inside. readers be advised. eighteen plus.

- your enemies reaction to you bending over in front of them.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, as your enemy, was an absolute arsehat.

He’d purposely go out of his way to make your life a living hell whenever he bloody could.

The teasing and pranking was relentless; from accidentally spilling a particular shimmering potion on your white uniform blouse, rendering it perfectly see-through and exposing your bra to everyone in potions class, to pulling out your seat when you weren’t looking; he’d done it all.

He was an absolute menace, but you also knew there was something more to it than that, something possessive, something obsessive.

And you thought this for a multitude of reasons, but the main one being that he admitted he was into you while drunk at a common room party. which of course he denied the next day, and every other day since, choosing instead to be as annoying as ever.

but on this particular late evening, assigned as partners for a class project, you found yourselves alone together; the tension high and the banter relentless.

“Draco, please stop acting like a bloody child for five seconds.”

He’d roll his eyes, fighting a smirk. “Pleading for mercy are you? How adorable.”

You’d huff, staring at him with your arms crossed out of frustration as he held your quill above his head, just out of your reach.

“No, I’m pleading for you to stop being so goddamn insufferable. Give me my quill.” You’d hiss, entirely irritated.

Of course he’d just laugh, wetting his lips as he analyzed your frustration, revelling in the fact he’s so clearly gotten you going.

“Here.” He’d sneer, all before tossing it half-way across the room. “Go fetch.”

by this point, your blood was boiling, but you wouldn’t miss the glint in his eyes, the one that told you he was enjoying this a little more than he should be.

With a frustrated sigh, you pivoted sharply, seizing the perfect opportunity. As you closed in on your quill, a deliberate hair flip cascaded over your shoulder. Slow and sensuous, you bent at the hips, hands trailing down your sides, tracing the subtle sway of your body reaching for the quill. Picking it up achingly slow, on the ascent, you locked eyes with Draco over your shoulder, a sly smirk playing on your lips.

Draco’s typically poised demeanor faltered as he watched, an involuntary pause freezing his features. His steely gaze, usually cloaked in arrogance, softened into a momentary bewilderment.

The realization hit him like a revelation, and before you could even process it, he was up and out of his seat, one hand gripping the back of your head as he loomed over you.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice was torn, shredded. “Quite the fucking tease, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You blinked, grinning. “I simply picked up my quill.”

His grip on the back of your head tightened, his pupils blown wide with lust. All his restraint was gone.

“You’re a fucking filthy little thing “ he leaned in closer, wetting his lips as he glimpsed yours. “Do that again and I’ll fuck you right here, right over this desk.”

Blaise Zabini.

Blaise fucking Zabini. Your enemy? You guessed you could call him that.

Mainly because all the guy ever did was sabotage your bloody love life. Every single damn chance he got.

And not even in a traditional asshole type of way, like by scaring dudes off or threatening their livelihoods--oh, no.

he scared them off by just being himself.

You’d known Blaise since first year, being that the two of you are from the same house and share the same friend group,

but, all the two of you have ever done, since day bloody one, was banter and bicker like a pair of fucking first years.

But as you matured, that friendly banter slowly transitioned into something more, something that neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

Something that you knew was about to boil over, at any given moment. and perhaps, that moment was today.

you sighed in frustration, watching as the guy you’d been talking to all night began to make his way through the crowd, finally taking the hint and excusing himself after Blaise had just ever-so-kindly invited himself into your conversation.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” You took a sip of your drink, glancing at a smirking Zabini through narrowed lids. “Do you not want me to find love? Do you truly hate me that much?”

“I did you a favour, trust me,” he’d quip, flashing those perfect pearly teeth at you. “Dude would have bored you death.”

“The great Zabini, doing me a favour?” Your eyes widened, and you’d stifle an amused scoff. “Sure you’re feeling okay?”

As Blaise was poised to respond, you fumbled with your wand, inadvertently dropping it onto the wooden floor of the common room. Acting on instinct, you bent down to retrieve it, sensing Blaise's eyes lingering on your backside for an unnecessarily long moment as you slowly straightened up.

And when you finally looked over, you watched as he brought a hand up to his mouth, attempting to hide his grin as he shot you a knowing, wide-eyed glance, his body tensed as though he was fighting to restrain himself.

but after only a few seconds, he’d step closer, his hand grazing your arm as he leaned in.

“Excuse me miss, but I think you’ve made me drop something,” he’d pause, watching your eyes as you met his.

“I’m sorry?” You snorted. “what are you-“

he’d pull you closer, bringing his mouth toward your ear. “you made me drop my fucking jaw…”

you’d blink, caught off guard. “Blaise-“

“That ass is fucking perfect,” he murmured, wetting his lips. “cant hide it anymore, princess…i want you bad.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

“Enzo-earth to bloody Enzo,” you emitted an audible groan, sinking back down into the chair beside him.. “can you please at least fucking attempt to help me?”

Enzo was uninterested in your pleas, truthfully, he was uninterested in anything you had to say. Paying no heed, he sat slouched, head nestled in his arms on the desk, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

you sighed. this was going to be a long damn class.

“Enzo, please? you can sleep after class-“

He grumbled softly under his breath, neglecting to raise his head from the desk. However, he pivoted it towards you, his bleary brown eyes meeting yours.

“can you knock it off?” his voice was a shredded rasp. it was clear he was exhausted. “don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?”

You scoffed, irritation evident on your face. This was the typical Enzo conversational experience--a constant exchange of snark and jabs. It baffled you how a man so fucking attractive could also be so damn daft at times.

“i don’t, actually,” you huffed, trying to keep your composure. “but i certainly get tired of your ignorant attitude.”

that managed to get at least a chuckle out of him, even if it was a half-assed one.

“spicy today, i see.” his lids fluttered back closed as he muttered, “bite me, darling.”

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you teased, your voice taking on an arrogant tone. “masochist.”

Enzo emitted a snort, a hearty chuckle escaping from his chest in response to your suggestive jab. Progress was evident, and you sensed the need to elevate things to the next level if you intended to secure his assistance.

Making sure his eyes remained closed, you slyly nudged your quill, sending it tumbling off the table and onto the floor. A mischievous smirk played on your lips as it hit the ground, and Enzo's eyes snapped open, fixing on you.

Maintaining the intense eye contact, you slowly leaned over in the chair, letting the seductive sway of your movements accompany your reach for the fallen quill.

you could feel Enzo's gaze following your every movement as you retrieved the quill with a lingering touch--all while a subtle, suggestive smile danced on your lips.

the second you straightened out, Enzo sat up straight, clearing his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he fought to collect himself.

“what’s the matter, Enz?” you quipped, unable to control yourself. “thought you were tired?”

“don’t play with me, angel.” he muttered, leaning closer. “please, Merlin, don’t fucking play with me.”

you’d snicker. “help me with this assignment and i’ll let you touch it.”

“deal.”

Mattheo Riddle.

you and Mattheo were enemies for one reason, and one reason only--his suffocating arrogance.

perhaps you were the only girl in the school who called him out on his bullshit, perhaps you were the only girl in the school who didn’t fall flat at his feet anytime he simply breathed.

and Mattheo, well, he wasn’t used to this type of treatment. and he certainly wasn’t keen on the fact he couldn’t get you in his bed with a mere second long glance.

of course, you were fully conscious of the fact he was hot as fuck, but your self-respect and dignity outweighed your sexual desires, which in turn, created fiery spats every-time the two of you were near each other.

And so, here you were, paired with him for a research assignment; the two of you alone in the library on a Sunday night, while he was totally hungover. And as insufferable as ever.

“Mattheo, give my fucking textbook back.”

He’d groan, rolling his eyes as he tucked the book under his arm, hugging it to his chest while seated sluggishly.

“Come and get it back, then.” He’d utter, smirking. “I promise I don’t bite…hard.”

You fought back a scoff. “You won’t be able to bite at all if you don’t cut it the fuck out…it’s almost ten o’clock we need to start this.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, again, his tongue piercing the inside of his cheek as he pulled the book out from under his arm, and stood up, moving over to the bookshelf behind your chair.

With suffocating snark, he knelt down, shoving the book onto one of the shelves lowest to the ground, all before turning back around and smirking at you, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging casually as he cocked an eyebrow.

“You told me to give it back.” The arrogance in his tone was nauseating. “You didn’t specify where.”

“First of all, that’s the wrong shelf,” you’d mutter, watching his eyes follow you as you pushed up from the chair, veering closer. “And second of all, you’re not funny.”

Mattheo poised for a sharp retort, ready to counter with his usual biting wit. However, his words stumbled into silence as he observed you drawing near.

With a swift, almost calculated movement, you bent at the hips to retrieve your book beside him. The fabric of your skirt dared to venture higher up your thighs than convention allowed, leaving Mattheo momentarily entranced and rendering his intended response obsolete.

But the second you straightened out, meeting his eyes, lips teasing a knowing smirk, he was on you.

Your back slammed against the shelf as he grappled your hips, shoving you back. he towered over you, his lips pressed directly against your ear as he growled;

“You shouldn’t be bending over like that in front of me,” his voice was torn, shredded, and he finished the sentence off with a sharp “ever.”

your heart was hammering. “Why not, Matty? Didn’t enjoy the show?”

“You have no idea what that ass of yours does to me,” he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Every fucking day I imagine railing it--I imagine fucking the attitude right out of you…you should know better than to tempt me.”

Theodore Nott.

“Look at that,” Theodore quipped, his snarky grin practically evident in his tone of voice. “top of the class again. how does that L feel, huh?”

you grumbled, rolling your eyes so far into the back of your skull that you were seeing white.

“don’t get cocky, Nott.” you nearly snarled, the frustration seeping from your lips like breath. “it’s not a good look on you,”

theodore merely chuckled, knowing that was a complete fucking lie.

cockiness was an infuriatingly good look on him, and that was solely due to the fact that the objects of his arrogance were damn impressive achievements that could make anyone green with envy.

the man was unfathomably smart for an arrogant jock whose life was dedicated to being the best quidditch player to ever exist.

clucking his tongue, he’d shoot you a knowing glance. “you sound jealous, bella. what’s your grade?”

as he tried to lean over to glimpse your mark, you pulled your paper away from him, scowling. “how about mind your own business, hm?”

he’d chuckle. “never been known for that, have i?”

Before you could formulate a response, Theodore snatched the paper from your hands, leaning away to sneak a glance at your mark. Your groan of irritation resonated, signaling your exasperation with his antics.

Annoyed, you reached over to grab your paper back, your low-cut blouse exposing more of your chest than you’d intended.

As soon as Theodore’s eyes fixed on your chest, noting your breasts practically spilling out of your shirt, he paused; his fingers involuntarily releasing the paper without further fight, his lips parting and eyes darkening.

“merlin,” he’d breathe, his voice torn. “you trying to give a lad a fucking heart attack, wearing a shirt like that?”

your cheeks grew warm, his eyes not once breaking from your chest as you straightened back out in your chair, adjusting yourself.

“it’s rude to stare, Nott.” you’d say, fighting a grin. “didn’t your mommy ever teach you that?”

Theodore let out a low groan, edging his body closer to yours. His lips dangerously neared your ear, and he couldn't resist sneakily glancing down your shirt, unable to control his wandering gaze.

“it’s rude to tease, Bella,” he’d purr, his voice a dark murmur. “and truth be told, i can’t quite help myself…”

you huffed, unable to stifle your smirk. “sounds like you need a refresher in manners.”

“Oh, principessa,” he’d retort, his voice laced with need. “you can refresh me in anything you want as long as i can see more of those perfect tits of yours.”

Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle was an absolute brilliant genius;

a good man. a private, by-the book type of student.

and if you were being completely honest with yourself, this was precisely why the two of you didn’t quite get along.

it seemed as though Tom had it out for you, as though he had some sort of personal vendetta to make your life a living hell.

At every opportunity, he wielded his prefect powers to land you in trouble for something. Perhaps, in all fairness, you should have known better than to sneak into the restricted section of the library or prowl around the castle late at night,

but, gods. couldn’t he just cut you some bloody slack for once?

Admittedly, you were afraid to cross Tom. You weren't eager to be on his bad side, but at the same time, you weren't prepared to entirely abandon breaking the rules and having fun just because you were aware he could catch you.

so instead, you learned his schedule, where he’d be and at what times, knowing how to effectively avoid him.

the man was a cunning genius, you knew he could effectively destroy you if he so pleased.

but, on this particular night, he was set to be patrolling the dungeons for at least another two hours, giving you plenty of time to sneak into the library and do a little research.

and everything was going extremely well, hidden in the restricted section, blanketed by the nights encompassing darkness, when you noticed your shoelace was untied.

Bending down to address the matter, a peculiar sensation tingled through your senses as you completed the task. A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at an approaching presence, and just as you straightened up, the hushed cadence of footsteps drew closer.

Before you could pivot to face the intruder, their looming silhouette materialized behind you.

A towering figure, their breath, warm and palpable, brushed over your ear as they leaned in, setting your nerves on edge.

“you shouldn’t be bending over like that in public,” the voice was a deep, dark rasp in your ear, the arrogance in the tone unmistakable. “some people might think you’re a little slut.”

heat rushed you, your thighs clenched. “and what if i want some people to think that?”

immediately understanding your suggestive remark, Tom wasted no time before grappling your hips and spinning you around to face him, one hand slithering around your lower back and grasping a palmful of your ass.

“filthy whore,” he’d growl, his voice shredded now, barely restrained. “breaking the rules and showing off that perfect ass for anyone to see…calls for punishment i’d say.”

his teeth found your neck and you whimpered, clutching onto him. “i’m-“

Tom pulled back, meeting your eyes. “bend over the desk, now.”

#sorry #i got extremely carried away #18+ au.

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catboybiologist · 1 year ago

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So.

Re: tumblr bans of transfemmes.

Let's ignore PhotoMatt for a moment. Manbaby tech CEO doubling down on a stupid decision and making himself look like more of an ass doing so is not a new phenomena.

Tumblr has consistently said, in both public statements and leaked internal communication, that they're essentially running a skeleton crew.

They keep saying that they don't have the resources to moderate, manually review posts, have any kind of appeal process, or anything. So, as people have widely received communications about, they seemed to have automated a significant portion of the moderation to operate solely on the quantity of reports (probably with a basic filter, eg quantity of reports regarding a certain post, within a certain timeframe) to automatically ban or shadowban accounts.

And so, they wipe their hands, both to the users, the public, and their own consciousness, and go about their automated operations.

All of this is likely true. Tumblr, at this point, is essentially abandonware internally, a kind of weird vanity project/dumpster ground for server infrastructure for Automattic. Likely, they don't want the bad press of "shutting down" fully. Or maybe the trickle of revenue they get here just barely exceeds operating costs, so why not keep it around?

Whatever is the case, the bans are a result of an automated process working in the background. I'm giving them some benefit of the doubt here, of course, we can't know anything for certain- but it seems like the individual bans are not based on any specific, manual action.

And that doesn't fucking excuse anything.

Because at some point, multiple people sat down at tumblr, and decided how to cut costs.

And they decided that the bare minimum of report abuse prevention was one of the first things on the chopping block.

Before the boops. Before GUI reconfigures.

They decided to cut something that is necessary to manage online communities.

They decided to cut something that ensures any targeted group will have any kind of community online.

And then, after all of that, the only manual intervention is doubling down on the shitty decisions that the automated systems make, and plucking reasons out of their ass for why they were the right decisions all along.

It's pure silicon valley brain. Blame the computer often and always. Use it to shield the active decisions you made when designing the computer that way. Treat it as a fact of life as opposed to something they actively made decisions for.

Is tumblr staff hitting the banhammer on each transfemme one by one? No.

Is tumblr staff deliberately crafting a system that allows TERFs and other conservative bigots to get rid of the "undesirables" for them? Yup. But they sure as hell are trying to not say the quiet part out loud. If they can always point the finger somewhere else, to the advertisers, to the automated systems, to the TERFs, then they can always have juuusssttt enough plausible deniability.

But being the "queerest place on the internet" requires concious acknowledgement that queer people will be targets of harassment, and you will have to protect against that.

Side note, this is why I do try to keep my blog at least somewhat SFW. Its one of the main reasons why I choose not to reblog all of the posts I'm tagged in- if the post is overtly NSFW, I've probably seen it, appreciated it, and consciously decided my level of interaction with it mostly based on how "tumblr friendly" it is. Is that bowing down to them? A little. It's also my choice. I value the community I have here. The pushes that y'all have given me gave me the strength to transition, and honestly gives me a lot of motivation to research HRT biology as much as I can, among many other things.

Yeah, I post pictures that are clearly meant to be found attractive in ways that are generally not socially acceptable , but never actual NSFW. I would like to think that I'm pretty safe from bans, but hey. Who knows. I don't want to lose my follower base, and the community around it.

And yeah, I'm gonna annoyingly remind you of the other places to find me, make sure to check my pin. If you don't know where to go, just find me on reddit and go from there, I'll post about it if anything happens.

#I hope this rant is at least somewhat intelligible #im in lab late night and typing this out as fast as i can in between experiment steps #stay safe out there yall

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vampyastro · 6 months ago

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✧𝕬𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘✧

~𝖕𝖙 𝟜~

Things I say may not resonate with you as everyone’s birth chart is very different and impacts them in different ways. I am not a professional astrologer, these are just some observations I’ve made over the years dealing with different placements. Hope you enjoy!

✩ Gemini moons are full of contradictions! They tend to always contradict what they say because their minds can be so crowded and overwhelmed. They also like to learn many things and their tendency to overthink/the multiple different perspectives they see can lead them to change their minds often. However, this isn’t always a bad thing because it allows them to be very open minded and always willing to listen to others ideas.

✩ When a Scorpio mars gets mad, it can feel as though all hell might break loose. The anger these natives bottle up inside of them and eventually release can be very scary.

✩ Having Libra and Cancer placements can make natives the biggest people pleasers and it can be very distressing for them. Saying ‘no’ isn’t going to end the world and it won’t make people hate you, I promise. You are more than enough! Have a bit more confidence in yourself, people are very drawn to your loving nature and there is so much good in your heart. Don’t let yourself get taken advantage of when people try to prey on your weakness, you’re better than that.

✩ Leo Venus nativesmay love theater and art. They like to express themselves and they shine while doing so! Their passion is radiant and they have beautiful souls. They are capable of so much love and they channel that into their art.

✩ Cancer mars can be a difficult placement to have. They feel emotions very deeply and intensely. They have a tendency to be natural caregivers; very empathetic souls. This can cause them to be in fear of hurting other peoples feelings and have their emotions bottled up until one day it all pours out. This can be very cathartic for them but also distressing. Strong feelings of jealousy and yearning can be seen with this placement. To all the cancer mars out there, just know we appreciate how tender your nature is! Don’t be so scared of things, you will be fine! (Side note, cancer mars reminds me a lot of mitski songs)

✩ Pluto in the second house can have deep self esteem issues. They may place their worth on their possessions as they feel they aren’t enough and due to the transformation powers of this placement, their income may be unstable. This leads an internal struggle between trying to fulfill the soul and placing less worth on what they have around them.

✩ Prominent virgo placements can sometimes be super overbearing. These people may need to double check everything and have a hard time relaxing. They can struggle with anxiety and can have control issues. In turn this can also make the native unhealthily retreat into their own minds as an escape from what they feel is chaos. Virgos, you’re doing great. Sometimes it’s good to take a deep breath and live in the moment.

✩ Aquarius placements (especially Sun and Venus) as well as Cancer placements are very good gift givers. Aquarius placements always come up with creative ideas that the person receiving usually loves! On the other hand, cancer placements value sentimental gifts. They may look for something that will touch you emotionally or it may be something they would cherish if they were the one receiving the gift.

✩ Capricorn risings really like to take the initiative! They can be the one in group projects to assign everyone roles and make outlines for the group. They like to seem responsible and dependable and they very much are!

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰! *:･ﾟ✧

𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓝𝓮𝔀 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 ♡

#astrology #dark astrology #zodic signs #zodiac #astrology notes #astro notes #astro observations #astro

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year ago

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DOWN BAD- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to… lovers?)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Peter Parker constantly nags you, and you hate his guts (naturally). So what better way to mellow the hate by being paired together for a class project? And why, if you hate his guts, do you want to touch him so bad?

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing etc…

Notes: It’s been a while, I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty! I hope you enjoy nonetheless, I had a fun time writing, and I really did miss it (Taylor Swifts new album really inspired me too!) I am using my phone to post for the first time, I hope to go back and format/ edit if need be when I can use my laptop again. Thank you for all the support :)

“Don’t look at me like that.” You huffed, eyes sharp as daggers as your cool gaze slid over to your target and struck its mark.

Peter Parker. Bullseye.

You could feel his lingering attention solely focused on you, a coy smirk upon his lips as he tapped his pencil against the wooden desk, its dull echo like nails on a chalkboard. A taunting metronome in the back of your mark as he leaned over to tower over you in his seat.

It was too close to yours for your liking.

“Like what pipsqueak?” he murmured, drowning out the professor's droning voice as he dragged on. You wished you could hit him with the textbook in your bag. Both of them, honestly.

“Like you’re thrilled for this. Don’t act like you like me.”

“Well I do like you.” He smiled, beaming ear to ear.

For him, it was the best day of his life. Getting randomly paired with “whoever you’re sitting next to, I don’t care.” (the professor's words, not yours), was a thrill for him, he got to pick on the quiet, shy girl more than usual.

Which would be a shock, considering the sheer amount he did already, always finding his way next to you to tease you, especially with and to his stupid jockey friends. This project was worth thirty percent of your grade. You couldn’t afford this.

“Well I don’t like you. So fuck off.” You heard a low whistle from behind you, a chuck alongside it from his friends. “Kitty has claws?” Peter whistled, eyebrow raising in mock surprise as you shifted your legs to the other side of the chair, angling away from him.

“Oh you’re in for it now Parker” Bucky laughed as you covered your ears in an attempt to drown them out. You felt like you were in middle school again, the way they mocked you. And what made it worse was that it got to you. Not that the jokes and remarks meant anything much, but it was just the sheer annoyance of it all.

You had thrived to be a straight A student your entire life, and in this class… you could feel them slipping. Taking a deep breath, you clenched your pen harder in your hand, pressing so hard the page snagged as you wrote.

You could still feel his eyes on you, flickering over from under his glasses ,his muscles flexing subtly under his blue t-shirt. You pretended not to look, and to not focus on the fact he was extremely attractive. You spent the rest of the hour doing just that, scolding yourself for any indecent thought you had ever had about him, ever. By the time the professor had snapped his laptop shut, the projector turning dark as students started to talk amongst themselves as they packed up, you had half a page of notes, max.

“I’ll be in touch.” he leaned down and whispered, hand lingering by your chair as he slipped by. “Fuck you.”

He just threw his head back and laughed, his friend group joining him as he looked back. And winked. You groaned. This was going to be three weeks of hell.

—————————————————————————

It was a Thursday when you got a text from him. An unknown number flashed on your screen as you lay face down on your bed, contemplating life and if this class was seriously worth it or not.

The buzz of the phone had your head snapping up, confused until it suddenly dawned on you.

Unknown: Think we should start brainstorming for this thing pipsqueak?

Well fuck, you thought, wanting to throw your phone across the room. This class wasn’t that important, right? (It was).

Taking a deep breath, you sat up as your thumbs started to fly across the screen.

You: Who is this?

Unknown: I’m hurt, pips. Truly.

You: I think you have the wrong number.

You smirked. Okay, who were you kidding… this was kind of fun. Kind of.

Peter: It’s Peter, you jerk. Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?

You: Peter who? Doesn’t ring a bell.

Good. Knock him down a few pegs. You giggled to yourself, quickly stopping once you realised why exactly you were kicking your feet like a school girl, for who exactly. You layed back down, head muddled with meaningless thoughts that jumbled as you waited for his response. Grabbing a stuffie, you hugged it close to your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you caught your breath, grounding yourself. Why on earth did this mean so much to you? Why did his texts, something so easily ignorable- suddenly a waiting game?

Peter: Ha ha, very funny pips.

You: How did you even get my number anyways?

Peter: Long story, I had to go on a bit of a hunt. A friend, of a friend of a friend, you get the point. I can be very persuasive ;)

Nope. You thought. Don’t give into this.

You: I’m sure.

Peter: You wanna come over on the weekend or meet at Braxston’s to start… brainstorming?

You: I don’t want to do anything of the sort, but if that gets this over with as soon as possible- then sure. Only one of us has a brain to storm anyways.

Peter: You’ll regret that pips.

You clicked off your phone, a ghost of a smirk on your face. His threat surprisingly didn’t seem like a real threat, but actual light hearted teasing, not the kind he often did.

Fuck. You were supposed to be hating him. You did hate him. It was only three weeks with him. You weren’t sure if you meant that with relief or disappointment.

————————————————————————————

It was disappointment.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rubbed your creased temple. It was nearly midnight , and your books were still scattered across the desk you occupied, the library a ghost town considering it was a Friday night. Braxston library tended to be on the empiter side, which is why you preferred it. It was the oldest library on campus, smelling of old pages and cedarwood.

Sometimes, when you needed a break you would get up and run your fingers across the leather spines, or climb the ladder for a change of view of the stained glass windows. But tonight, you lacked the motivation to even bother standing. It had been a long night, filled with cramming and stress. Pen and highlighter stained your hands as you shook them out, cramped and aching. For the last hour you had solely focused on the final you and Peter had to pull out your ass, coming up with backup plans with the worry he would abandon you completely.

Topics, ideas, theories- god you didn’t even know anymore. Your body lacked caffeine, your iced coffee long gone. You grew tired of this mindless work, sliding off your headphones to admire the near empty room around you.

Suddenly, you wished it was completely empty.

Peter looked just as shocked to see you, eyes widening in surprise, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair ruffled and eyebags prominent as if he had fallen asleep and been startled awake.

“Pips? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow?” He made his way over to you, inviting himself to lean over you, on your desk. You stared up at him with a look of amusement.

“We don’t have to meet at all. It’s very bold you assume I’m here to see you, of all people.” you snorted. His eyebrow raised. “So who are you here to meet?”

“Two papers and exam prep. You?”

“More or less the same” he smirked, and you felt butterflies start to churn in your stomach. “Sounds like great fun. I’m sure they’re lovely.” you said, snarky comment slipping out before you could stop it, turning in your seat as you often did around him so he wouldn’t see the fluster and nerves in your demeanour whenever you were near him.

He leaned down, breath warm against the column of your neck. You couldn't breathe. You could not fucking breathe with him this close to you. The rich scent of his cologne made you dizzy, it intoxicated you as you stared at your laptop screen, as if it possessed the knowledge of the entire universe.

“You know, you can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about” you snarled softly, staring at the coy, cockly little smirk you wanted to wipe off his face as he stood. “Sure you don’t.” He nodded his head towards your screen, with a wink.

“Good song.” he smiled, before he was off. You continued to stare at him as he walked out the door, not looking back once. Not a care in the world as he slipped on his own headphones, and around the corner.

Eyes moved down to stare at the pause button of your song, lyrics burning into your ears at the thought of him listening to it- and enjoying it.

Down bad, waking up in blood, staring at the sky, come back over and pick me up- fuck it if I can’t have us, I might just not get up, I might stay down bad.

You were so incredibly fucked.

———————————————————

You took a deep breath. Then another.

You let the crisp, cool night air wash over your burning skin, the faint smell of weed tickling your senses, probably from a house down the street. It was a pretty busy neighbourhood, full of students you recognized from afar on campus. You didn’t associate with the more ‘popular’ kids, if that could even be considered a thing past high school.

You tried to shake off the uneasiness that stuck with you, cracking your knuckles as you tried to prepare yourself to not only see Peter, but to interact with him- in his house. Most likely for hours. You knew you probably looked like a complete idiot out on the sidewalk, just near his house but you had to muster some form of courage.

All you could see was a faint light from what looked like the living room, and a light upstairs- you presumed his room. No sign of life other than that.

You thought of his words, how twisted they sounded. You can’t avoid me forever. You’re gonna have to confront me at some point, pip.

Fuck it.

You slipped from your hiding spot (from Peter, you were placed behind a large tree in his front yard, but god knows what people driving by thought), and mentally prepared yourself for his roommates to answer the door, making fun of you before he put the cherry on top. Practically leaping up the porch stairs, you raced to the door, knocking quickly.

You wanted this over and done with. Your palms were clammy and your stomach churned viciously as you heard footsteps near the door. It took everything in you to stay rooted to the ground and to not flee, and when Peter appeared, you feared the opposite.

How the hell you were supposed to move with him in that slutty little fit, a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his waist, his v-line and happy trail on full display… his toned abs and arms in a little white muscle shirt… gods you didn’t know. You were sure your tongue fully hung out of your mouth like some cartoon character as you took him in.

“Took you long enough” he said with a snort, adjusting his glasses, sliding them further up his nose. You didn’t even know he had glasses. Did he wear contacts? Had he worn them and you just didn’t notice? No, surely that wasn’t the case, you noticed everything he did. It was like he sucked all of the air out of the atmosphere whenever he walked in a room. It was suffocating, in a way. Of course you had to look at him, and you were sure you weren't the only one.

“I was admiring the greenery.”

“I saw that. I wasn’t sure the maple needed to be examined that long.” he smirked, and your felt your fists instinctively clench.

He had saw you- so you were fucked and now the only logical thing to do was to run into a brick wall. Perfect, got it.

“I enjoy living in the moment, and I don’t take nature for granted.’ you huffed, attempting to compose yourself as he stepped aside, motioning for you to enter. “I’m sure. Don’t worry it was cute.” he smiled, running a hand through his tosseled hair.

You slid off your shoes, setting them next to his worn in converse you always saw him wear. You noticed the other pairs were missing, not even a missing lace to be found.

“Where are your roommates?” you asked as entered, surveying the open space. It was surprisingly tidy for a boys place, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Peter rushing around attempting to clean up before you came (though you doubted he would ever do that). Still, it was nice to think about.

Little traces of “boy” still lingered, silly little signs scattered across the walls, flags and such, empty, crushed beer and poking out from the recycling bins. “I kicked them out, because I figured you would want to contentrate.” he said.

Yeah like I’m going to be able to conetrate with you looking that fucking fine. Ha.

“That’s considerate. I’m surprised you even know what that is, Parker. I’m impressed.”

He snorted, throwing a little look back your way as he lead you up the stairs, presumably to his room. “I’m surprised you know how to walk up stairs. You have Bambi legs.” he teased, mocking your clumsiness. You cursed him internally. Maybe out loud too, judging by his laugh.

You tried to stifle down the butterflies. You were not about to flirt with him. You were not about to let your developing feelings expand. You hated him. He was mean and he was an asshole.

You were simply here to get this project done. That’s it.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” was all he said, turning down a hall to an open door, light glowing faintly- beckoning to you. You appreciated his refusal to use the overhead light- not that you’d tell him that. He’d probably look at you like you were insane.

“I see you clean for girls you bring over.” you noted, observing his (surprisingly) decently clean room.

“Bold of you to assume I cleaned. Maybe I’m always this tidy.” he smirked, arms flexing over and behind his head as he sat down in his office chair, man-spreading as he stretched.

You tried so hard not to stare. And failed miserably.

“I would’ve thought you cleaned up for ladies you bring to bed.”

His eyebrows arched. “Should I have prepared then?”

Something like churning fire burned in your belly, slithering lower and lower.

“Don’t start with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it pip.” he smiled coyly, knowing he had gotten you flustered. “May I?” you nodded to his bed, trying to ignore your feelings as you sat down. Fanning your skirt out, you tucked your legs in before opening your bag, attempting to cover your thighs with your bag as much as you could- his cool gaze staring lasers into your bare skin.

“So… if we have to base this on a creature in the wild…”

“Jumping straight to the point aren’t we?” he asked and you frowned in confusion.

“What did you want me to do foreplay or something beforehand?” you asked, your word choice more than intentional. You swore a little pink tinted his cheeks as he swiveled around.

“Right to it then. Okay, I was thinking spiders. Specifically their venom and social behaviours.”

You blinked. Jesus okay he had thought about this. This was not what you were expected.

“Elaborate Parker.”

He smiled. “ From what I’ve seen, not a lot is known about the venom entirely. From a predator-prey aspect.. I’ve mainly seen stuff on specific components evolving to target specific sites on cell membrains of prey tissue, we could work with that to start. Maybe expand on the social aspect and evolution.”

You were stunned. This was… more than you could’ve hoped for. Suddenly you felt bad for all the doubt aimed towards him over the few days leading up to this meeting.

“Hmm. I like it.”

“Did you have any ideas you had brewing in that genius brain of yours?” he asked, making you blush internally.

“I had some stuff just in case, but it was just random jots I’m not too proud of.”

He scoffed. “You came prepared with backup stuff?!”

You just shrugged. “Do you blame me?”

“Kinda.” he laughed. “Start thinking of me more highly pips. I even have access to a brown widow, we could do some experiments.”

You winced at the thought of actually studying a spider up close, but it was part of the job. Whatever could get this done the fastest, and you had to applaud him for providing some of your own evidence you could actually showcase.

He caught your wince, and you could feel the teasing start to start. It was like bait for him, he loved it. “The spider may bite, but I won’t. That is, unless you want me too.” he winked, and you fought the urge not to chuck your laptop at his handsome face.

“You’re gross Parker.”

“Oh I’m sure you think I am. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

You were going to strangle him. “Let’s just focus and get this project done as soon as we can, yeah? Please.”

You riffled through your bag, grabbing different coloured pens and your notebook, skimming through your random thoughts and jots.

“Whatever you say pip.”

“Start researching Parker.” And that was that.

—————————————————————

A few hours had passed, and so far you were quite impressed with how much the two of you had gotten done. For the most part, the two of you had stayed on opposite sides of the room. If he wanted to make a move, he wasn’t physically doing it, and his roommates still hadn’t come home yet.

Though as the hours passed, he had made his way closer to you- ever so slightly. From his desk he nudged over closer and closer, his laptop landing in his lap as he worked.

“What source are you working from right now?” you asked, not bothering to cast your gaze up as you continued to type, fingers flying over the keyboard as you bit your lip in concentration. You failed to notice his eyes darting between your lips and your breasts that poked out slightly as you slouched over, licking his lips hungrily.

“Some research paper. Here.”

You let out a little oomph in surprise as he plopped down beside you, sprawled across his bed as he enveloped you in his makeshift fortress. He stared at you with such longing you felt faint, having to stop your work to pull yourself together.

Fuck.

He nodded towards it, and you realized you had been staring at him longer than you intended, forgetting about the paper completely. “Oh, yeah okay let me look.” you murmured, taking the laptop from his hand to slide it across your lap, the fan whirling softly, the warmth of it adding more coals to the fire you felt already.

He was still staring.

Please look away before I want to kiss you. Or do more then kiss you. I’m supposed to be hating you, stop please.

You tried your best to read and concentrate, but it was next to no use. All you could focus on was him, his fingers drumming on the comforter near your thigh (what man has a comforter anyways?!), and his gaze on you, that was heavy with something. Want, perhaps? Lust? Or you were delusional. Very possible.

“It’s um, it’s good. I like it, I think there’s lots of good… stuff here.”

“Good stuff huh?” he asked sarcastically, a smirk plastered across his face.

He knew. The fucker knew you were down bad.

“Yeah. You know what I mean.” you grumbled, staring back down at your screen.

“I do know what you mean. Do you know what I mean?” he asked, hand inching closer and closer to your thigh- teasing you. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself.

You could push your hatred aside for just a few minutes. It was okay, just this once. Right?

You bit your lip, and fuck if that didn’t turn him on even more. Nodding to him, as if he could speak to you telepathically.

Yes, this is okay. Please touch me. Just a little, even is fine.

“Maybe you should explain a little more, Parker.”

His fingers skimmed the edge of your skirt, warm to the touch as they stroked your skin softly, just a whisper of him lingering. Goosebumps lingered in their wake, and you pushed your laptop off to the side, not caring where it landed on the bed. Just not next to him.

“How much more?”

His voice was low. Deep. Needing. You wanted more.

Another stroke of his fingers on your thigh, closer to where you wanted him the most made you shiver, toes curling. His gaze never left yours, never faultered. Instead of its usual lightness, his teasing and bullying- his eyes were dark with lust. Nothing but his full attention was on you, and you couldn’t help but shudder as he leaned in closer.

Another hand landed on your thigh. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough as you nodded quickly. “Mhmmm..- oh!” you let out a little gasp as he swiftly grabbed you, swinging you over to straddle his lap, tossing you as if you weighed nothing.

You hated that you found it hot.

He smirked, leaning forward- so close you could feel his thudding heart with a small hand gesture sliding across his chest, could feel his breath catching. Just a small little gap between his lips and yours.

“You’re going to regret this.” you murdered, fingers curling into his shirt, twisting the soft fabric.

“I won’t. Will you?”

“I might.”

His smile grew.

“ I still hate you, you know.”

“I know. And you look so damn hot when you do.” He pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin, needing you closer and closer despite the two of you practically forming one being.

A clash of teeth and tongue happened, rough and harsh- full of hate and need. A hatred for your need for him. Why did you need him? Of all people?

Because he was so fucking fine.

A hand slipped under your skirt to cup your ass, squeezing it slightly. You ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it as your hips moved on their own account- causing a groan to slip from his lips.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

“This is so wrong.” was all you could moan as his lips worked their way down your neck, tracing your jaw before nipping at your earlobe.

“I don’t do right, pips. You know this.”

“Mhm. But you hate me.”

He laughed against your skin, and you rocked your hips again, a little slap to your asscheek making you jolt.

“Whatever makes you sleep better at night, pips. Whatever you want to think.” he sighed, massaging the skin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

You needed his lips on yours. You didn’t want to even try to decipher what his words meant, your head was foggy with want. You were slipping into a puddle of bliss, finally letting the restraint you held on a tight leash go- freeing the want and pure desire.

Yes, you wanted him. Yes, you hated him. And yes, he teased you. It hurt- but this didn’t. This was a soothe to his constant jabs, a salve to the wounds he caused.

“You feel so good. I want you so bad.” you confessed, causing him to moan again.

Yes. Yes, please.

“You’re killing me.”

“Good. It’s payback for the way you treat me.” you smirked, kissing him again. Hard, fast, rough. Mean.

Until he just… stopped.

Pulled away slightly, making you raise an eyebrow with confusion. His cheeks tinted slightly pink, hair messy and eyes wide with excitement, eager to keep going. To go further. So why did he just- stop?

“Parker?”

He smiled coyly.

“Don’t we have work we need to be doing?” he asked sarcastically- and you felt your stomach drop. He was teasing you. He was doing this just to get under your skin, to leave you high and dry and needing. Knowing damn well nothing could possibly get done now but him.

“You- you just want to get back to work? After that?”

“I want to do the dirtiest things imaginable to you, pips. I want to do so many things. But if we keep going and get nothing done, you’ll regret it and hate me. If we get work done, you’ll hate me too. I rather you hate me but feel secure with this, at least.” he murmured, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

It was tender, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “So you just, want to work? Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“Gods no. But it’s too easy if I just give it to you like that. You know me, pips- I tease. Maybe if you’re good and get more work done we can have some harmless, regretless fun.” he winked, sliding his hands down to your hips, picking you up again to toss you gently on his pillows, kissing your hand with a wink as he stood to go back to his desk.

Oh you were fucked. So, so fucked.

“I heard that.” he laughed, and you buried your head in your hands. This was going to be a long three weeks indeed.

3K notes · View notes

obsessedwithceleste · 4 months ago

Text

Love on Lockdown

Blaise Zabini x reader

Summary: You’ve been locked in with Blaise Zabini one too many times for this to all be accidental

word count: 3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You had never had an issue with Blaise Zabini. Sure you had never been best friends or the like as he had always been one of the more reserved and quiet ones of the group, but you still enjoyed his company. One might even say you admired the boy’s subtle charm, tact, and top marks in your year. The handsome face didn’t hurt either. All that to say is there were definitely worse people to be locked in the bloody potions ingredient closet with.

“Damn it. The potion will go bad and we’ll have to restart the whole thing if it sits too long,” Blaise grunts, shoving at the door as it scrapes stubbornly against the floor.

The two of you had been taking advantage of the extra credit assignment offered in your potions class, staying late to brew a simple calming draught. All would have been well if not for a certain poltergeist with a penchant for causing mayhem.

It had started with Peeves serenading the both of you with an almost 30 minute long rendition of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. In opera. When it was clear you both still had most of your sanity in tact, the poltergeist switched tactics to swiping your ingredients when you weren't looking. But this, this really took the cake.

Really you probably should have seen it coming. It was right up Peeves' alley to pull a stunt like this, yet, like fools, you and Blaise had stupidly walked into the ingredient storeroom together in search of another crocodile heart as Peeves had sent the last one flying out the window. As soon as you were inside, the door was swung shut with a loud clang and a gleeful shriek from the meddlesome poltergeist.

“That stupid little- Peeves let us out!" You shout, banging on the door.

It's no use however as you here the poltergeist's laughter fade away.

"I should've let Draco and Matt hex that bloody ghost when they had the chance” you huff in annoyance.

Turning, you light your wand as you browse the shelves. “Aha!” Reaching up, you pluck a wrinkly, rock looking item off the shelf. “One crocodile heart.”

“Wonderful. Lot of good it’ll do us while we’re in here, and our potion is out there.” Blaise mutters, pointing his wand at the door’s lock again.

You ignore him, going instead to examine the door yourself.

“It’s not locked, just jammed shut,” Blaise says, leaning back.

“How cross do you think they’ll be if we just blast the thing off its hinges?” You ask, examining the rusted metal.

“You’re joking. You’ve been spending far too much time with Matt and Draco. That’s a horrible i-“

“Diffindo”

With two clean flicks of your wand, the door is off its hinges and on the ground with a loud thud. The both of you look at the door, then at each other.

“Well, at least we won’t have to start the potion over,” you say finally, stepping over the fallen door and making your way over to the potion station where your project is still a glistening shade of blue.

“Bloody hell,” you hear Blaise mumble as he joins you.

You almost miss the sly smile he tries to suppress.

“Do try not to get yourself all locked up,” Mattheo shouts after you with a cackle as you make your way toward the old shack that housed the Hogwarts quidditch supplies.

“Oh remind me why I volunteered to help you again?” You shout back, flipping the boy off. Rancid bastard.

Ever since you and Blaise had, against both of your better judgement, told your friends what had happened that day in the potions classroom that landed you both a week’s detention, they hadn’t let you forget it. Propping the door open with an old broom, you begin digging through the old junk. You didn’t even know why they found it so amusing. Realistically the whole situation had only lasted a few minutes at most, hardly note worthy in your opinion. On top of that, it had been several weeks since the incident. Initially you had thought it would blow over rather quickly, but here Mattheo was, still poking fun at it.

The only silver lining of the whole situation was that you and Blaise had actually begun seeing each other outside of group settings in order to escape the near constant teasing. It was strange. You couldn’t remember another time they were this caught up on a bit.

“Need help?”

Feeling a light tap on the shoulder and with the sudden noise, you let out a yelp, backing into the rack behind you. A box of quaffles goes flying, dislodging the broom holding the door in place, and slamming the door shut.

“Sorry,” Blaise says awkwardly, glancing around the cramped shed guiltily.

“Oh it’s fine. Just spooked me a bit is all. Didn’t hear you come in,” you reply as you continue your search through the jumbled supplies.

“I’d be surprised if we actually find any more beater’s bats in here. Mattheo has been running through the things lately. Has to be the third one broken this month,” Blaise comments as he begins to help rummage about.

“Maybe he should start taking notes from your book then. You haven’t busted through a single bat yet this season, but somehow Mattheo is single handedly running Quality Quidditch Suppiles out of supplies,” you reply in exasperation.

Blaise lets out a small laugh. He’d been doing that a lot more lately; and every time, you could feel your heart start pounding in your chest.

“That’s what I’ve been telling him, but you know how he is. Doesn’t listen to shit. Oh look!”

Before you have the chance to turn to see what he’s on about his chest presses against you as he reaches up and over you. Out of the corner of your eyes you can see his toned, muscular arms around you and you try not to stare.

“Probably the last set in this dump,” Blaise says, pulling a box of the very top shelf.

You take a gulp, composing yourself.

“Oh perfect. Let’s get out of here,” you reply, turning to open the shed door.

It doesn’t budge. You try again, harder this time. Nothing.

“Oh for Salazar’s sake,” Blaise mutters, dropping the box on the floor as he too tries shoving the door open.

“They are so never going to let us live this down,” you groan as you both pound on the door.

After a minute you both slump to the floor, staring up a the blasted wooden rectangle. You look at the door, then at Blaise, and slowly begin to reach for your wand.

“I could always just-“

“Absolutely not. One week of detention with Snape was enough for me, thanks,” Blaise interrupts, snatching your wand from your hand.

“Oh, I was only joking. Mostly. I’ll be careful this time,” you protest, leaning over to snatch your wand back. “Come on, give it back.”

Blaise just leans away further, another laugh escaping him as he holds your wand further out of reach.

“Blaise, please,” you laugh, leaning into him further.

It only takes a moment for your eyes to meet his, and for his eyes to flicker down to your lips before you realize just how close the two of you are. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he lets out an awkward cough, pulling away slightly.

“Sorry.” Blaise clears his throat, handing your wand back. “Anyway, we’ve been gone a bit, the others’ll come looking for us. No point blasting the door down.”

“Right,” you agree, suddenly finding the ground to be rather fascinating.

Shockingly, it doesn't take the rest of the day for your friends to come and rescue you, but you don't particularly care for the look on Mattheo's face when the door to the shed is finally pried open.

"Not one word Riddle."

“Do you hear that?” You ask, stopping in your tracks as you try to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

“What, the cat screaming bloody murder?” Blaise asks seeming rather uninterested.

The two of you were on your way down to the library to study for the upcoming charms exam. And also to escape the chaos that seemed to follow Mattheo and Draco wherever they went.

“Yes, but listen. That’s Pansy’s cat. Darn thing probably got itself stuck in one of the passage ways again,” you sigh, making your way over to the wall of paintings that the meows of distress seemed to be coming from.

“That sounds like Pansy’s problem if you ask me,” Blaise says, but he still follows you over.

“You see a cat sneak through here?” You ask a painting of a rather disgruntled looking knight.

“Yeah. Blasted thing ‘as been screaming behind ‘ere for ages,” he replies.

“We’ll get him, open up.”

“Wouldn’t if I were you, but suit yourselves,” the knight says matter of factly before swinging open to reveal a narrow passage way and Pansy’s cat scratching manically at the walls.

You gesture for Blaise to follow you as you step over the threshold, coaxing the cat towards you. It only takes a bit of convincing before the grey tabby is securely in your arms. As you go to leave however, you find that your feet are strangely locked in place.

“What the-“

Next to you, Blaise tries taking a step towards the exit as well, only to find that he too was locked in place.

“For the love of fucking Salazar, you’ve got to be joking,” he says finally after a bit of struggle.

“What do you think it is? Epoximise?” You ask, straining to try and see if you could see anything sticking you in place.

“Likely. Would be nice right about now to be studying for that charms exam so we knew how to undo it.”

You’re about to cut your losses and begin screaming for help when the portrait door swings open once more revealing one Mattheo Riddle. His smug grin falls when he sees the two of you glaring back at him. You were going to murder him.

“Oh shit.”

“What in Salazar’s name did you do Riddle?” You ask between gritted teeth.

“Okay hear me out, let it go on record now, this wasn’t intended for you two,” the boy says sheepishly. “Blaise’ll thank me later though,” he says under his breath, quietly enough that you don’t quite catch it.

Blaise does however, and you see his hand tighten around his wand.

“Cut to it Riddle,” he snaps.

“Sorry, sorry! I might have been playing a little prank on Pansy. And Malfoy. They started it though! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Mattheo-“

“Alright! I was messing around with that sticking charm from class, did a little meddling, made it so I could set it up like a little, ah, what’s it called? A mouse trap! But with the cat instead of cheese. Obviously.”

“Just tell us how to get out! Salazar Matt, we didn’t ask for your whole evil plan,” you exclaim in exasperation.

“Oh! Real simple, just need a kiss!” Matt replies, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Really Matt? A kiss?”

“It wasn’t meant for you two! It was for Pansy and Draco!”

“Oh my god, you’re not even creative. Mistletoe. You just made magical mistletoe,” you say in frustration.

“What?”

“Nothing! It’s a muggle thing.”

Before you can lose your nerve, you reach up quickly, grabbing Blaise’s tie and pulling him down. Your lips are only touching for a few seconds before you let the boy go and, with your newly freed feet, rush out of the passage way.

“Immobulus,” you mutter as you stomp past Mattheo who freezes in place.

As soon as you’re out, Pansy’s cat leaps from your arms, scurrying off.

“We really just going to leave him there?” Blaise asks, following you out.

“That sounds like Mattheo’s problem if you ask me,” you reply, hoping Blaise hadn’t noticed quite how flushed your face still was.

He just lets out another low laugh as the two of you continue on your way to the library, both trying to ignore the way your fingers kept brushing as you walked.

"That's a muggle game. I thought you lot were supposed to despise everything to do with muggles. Wait, actually, where did you all even learn what seven minutes in heaven is?" you ask in confusion, watching with bewilderment as your friends situate themselves in a rather crude looking circle.

Your eyes can’t help but find Blaise who looks completely unbothered by all this, despite his usual aversion to these little games that Pansy so loved to drag everyone into. You weren’t quite sure what was going on between the two of you, and you weren’t entirely sure if you desperately wanted to be locked in the closet again with the boy, or if you wanted to run the hell away.

Pansy places an empty bottle of fire whisky in the middle and beckons you to take a seat next to her.

"Does it really matter where we learned it from? Come sit," she says, brushing off your concern.

And that's how you had ended up here. Pressed up against the wall, in the dark, with your arms wrapped around Blaise's neck, his hand covering your mouth as he pressed kisses down your throat.

One moment you were both protesting as your friends all shoved you into yet another closet, confiscating your wands, and locking the door. And the next, Blaise was whispering in your ear as his hands made their way to your waist and you melted into him.

It was definitely not what you had expected to happen. You had no idea where the sudden burst of confidence from Blaise had come from, but you weren’t about to complain.

"If we're going to be stuck here, we might as well make the most of it, no?" he had murmured, tilting your head up with one hand, forcing your eyes to meet before slowly, carefully pressing his lips to yours.

You didn't pull away and that seemed to be all the encouragement Blaise needed as he pressed your bodies together. You could feel your heart trying to beat out of your chest as his lips moved against yours, warm and soft, mind turning to a muddy haze.

You barely register the gasp that escapes your lips as Blaise begins to trail kisses down your neck, and don't even bother to fight back as his hand presses against your mouth with a low laugh before he continues back up, finally meeting your lips again.

It all comes to a shattering stop though when the banging starts.

"Hey! Knock knock love birds! Time to open up!"

And just like that, you're momentarily blinded as light rushes back into closet and you hope to Salazar that you're some semblance of put together.

It had been a long fucking week and all you wanted to do was collapse onto your bed and cuddle your damn boyfriend. Was that too much to ask?

"Go, go, go, go, go," you hiss, racing into your dorm room, Blaise hot on your heels.

As soon as you're both in the room, you slam the door shut and turn the lock with a hasty "Colloportus".

"Think they saw us?" Blaise asks, pulling you onto the bed and into his arms.

"I don't care. I just want like, ten minutes without hearing Draco and Mattheo and Theo and Enzo fighting like wild grindylows," you groan, burying your face in the boy's chest.

The boys had begun trying to drag you into their latest scheme and you simply wanted nothing to do with it. You weren’t even entirely sure what the whole plot of their scheme was as you had been actively ignoring most of what they were saying at dinner. All you knew was no matter how many times you or Blaise told them that locking Draco and Pansy in a closet together on purpose was actually a horrible idea, they wouldn't listen.

"At least you're not the one who shares a dormitory with them," Blaise remarks with a laugh. “They were going on about how I’m ‘an expert’ at not knowing how to properly function a door earlier.”

"Yoohoo! We know you two are in there!" Matt's voice calls from the other side of the door.

"And here we see Blaise and y/n in their natural habitat. A locked room." Theo quips as the other boys fall into a mix of laughter and other jabs.

"Maybe if we pretend we died, they'll get bored and go away," you mutter, hoping the obnoxious train wreck outside your door couldn't hear.

"Perhaps we didn't properly appreciate all the time we spent all locked up. Only way to get some peace and quiet in this castle," Blaise agrees as the knocking on your door continues.

"Alohomora!"

The door slams open revealing a very smug looking Draco surrounded by his accomplices.

"Oh good, we were worried you might being doing something nasty," Enzo says, inviting himself and the other boys in.

Oh perfect, the circus had arrived with its clowns.

"As we were saying before you two so rudely escaped, we were thinking, since my whole cat trap didn't exactly go as planned, do you two have any ideas on how we can get Pansy locked up with Draco? Since it worked out so well for you?" Matt asks.

You glare at the intruders.

"Get. Out."

"Fine, fine, just asking! Thought you might want to help a ferret out," Matt says, raising his hands in surrender as he now has you and Draco both glaring daggers at him.

"Out."

"We're going, we're going," he replies as he and the other boys slowly begin filing out.

"And lock the door behind you!" Blaise calls out as the door finally slams shut. "Salazar those buggers don't know when to shove off."

"I don't even want to think about them," you reply rolling your eyes before pressing your lips to his.

You really needed to start looking into a better locking charm.

Anotha year, anotha Hogmarch challenge from @thatdammchickennugget

#slytherin boys #hogmarch2025 #hogmarch challenge #blaise zabini #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini fanfic #blaise zabini fanfiction #slytherin #blaise zabini x y/n

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slaybinnie · 21 days ago

Note

I loved your sieun fic, it was so cute and intimate..

do you mind doing something similar with suho but they make up after suho gets jealous over how much the reader is spending with a male classmate.. please and thank you🩷🩷

JEALOUS BABY

ׂ╰┈➤ suho x fem!reader

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), explicit language, jealousy lol, no protection used (sorry), slight communication avoidance, slight breeding kink (🤭)

about: suho feels that you’re spending a little too much time with your new classmate. he feels a little down about himself and avoids you.. but don’t worry, he’ll make it up to you.

note: anon! i'm so sorry it took me so long to answer. i've been so busy doing school work but im free now. here you go! hope you all love it < 3

╰┈➤ WORD COUNT: 4k

Suho trusted you. He really did, but Mingyu? Not so much.

Mingyu was the new transfer student at school and of course you just had to have an open seat next to you for him to sit in. Suho usually isn’t a jealous person. You have had guy friends, but this time it’s different.

Mingyu was tall, muscular, smart, not a fighter. Sometimes Suho felt that he couldn’t amount up to that. Even before you started dating Suho he’s been a fighter. Even though Suho only fought to defend, a hole still burns in his heart with the thought of you hating him for it.

The first week of Mingyu's arrival had been normal. You introduced him to your friend group and even helped him navigate the school. Suho had been nothing but supportive. That was just who Suho was. He was (usually) understanding and secure in your relationship.

But as the days of Mingyu being around turned into weeks, something shifted.

It was the little things that started to bother Suho. Mingyu would linger after class to ask you questions that seemed a lot more personal than academic. He'd save you a seat in the cafeteria when Suho was running late from his own classes. He'd even walk you to your locker when Suho couldn’t.

Suho noticed everything

“How was your day?” Suho asked one afternoon as you met him by the school gates.

“Good! Mingyu and I worked on the chemistry project during free period,” you said, adjusting your backpack strap. “Oh, and he asked if I wanted to go to that new bubble tea place downtown this weekend to continue working on it.”

Suho's jaw tightened subtly and his eyebrows furrowed. “This weekend?”

“Yeah, Saturday afternoon. The project is due Monday and we're nowhere near finished.” You looked at him with concern when you noticed his expression. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Suho replied quickly, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking we could spend Saturday together, but your project is more important.”

You reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers. “We can do something Sunday? Or maybe you could come with us? I'm sure Mingyu wouldn't mind.”

The thought of watching Mingyu charm you for hours while pretending to focus on schoolwork made Suho's stomach hurt. Hell no. “No, it's fine. You two should focus on your project.”

That Saturday, Suho found himself walking past the bubble tea shop three times, each time catching glimpses of you and Mingyu through the window. The last time Suho walked past, he finally stopped and thought about what he was doing. Gosh, he had to look like a stalker, he thought.

Suho exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding before he forced himself to walk away.

Monday morning was supposed to be better, your presentation was finished and now Suho had you all to himself. Not. Your friendship with Mingyu had blossomed outside of a school environment. You couldn’t believe how much in common you had with him, and so couldn’t Suho.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of stolen glances and forced smiles. Suho watched as you and Mingyu discovered shared interests in everything. Every time you mentioned something new you'd learned about Mingyu, Suho felt a little piece of his confidence chip away.

“He's really funny,” you'd say after repeating some joke Mingyu had made during lunch. “You know the volunteer hours we have to do? He chose to volunteer at the animal shelter on weekends.”

Of course he did, Suho thought bitterly. Perfect Mingyu probably saved orphaned puppies in his spare time while Suho spent his weekends nursing his bruised knuckles and mopping restaurant floors for extra cash.

The breaking point for Suho came on a Thursday afternoon when he arrived at your usual meeting spot by the school gates to find you weren't there. He waited for fifteen minutes before his phone buzzed with a text.

Y/n: Baby! I’m so sorry! Mingyu needs me to go over a couple exam questions with him. Meet you at home instead?

Suho stared at the message, his chest tightening with an ache. This damn Mingyu guy. This isn’t the first time plans have changed because your friend needed help but Mingyu just irked Suho. He was jealous.

Instead of heading to your house, Suho found himself walking through the neighborhood, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his mind racing. By the time he finally knocked on your door, the sun was setting and his mood had soured.

“Suho!” You opened the door with a big smile. “I was wondering when you'd get here. Come in, I ordered your favorite food.”

He followed you inside quietly. “How was your talk with Mingyu?” Suho asked, trying to keep his voice calm as you both settled on the couch with your food.

“Oh, it was fine! I just explained why he got a couple answers wrong then we talked a little about music. He was telling me about this music festival he went to last summer. Apparently, some of my favorite artists were there. Small world, right?”

“Right. Small world.” He picked at his food, his appetite gone.

You sensed something was and sat down your fork and turned to face him fully. “Are you okay? You seem... down?”

Suho wanted to tell you everything. About how he felt like he was losing you, about how Mingyu seemed perfect in all the ways he wasn't, about how the thought of you realizing you deserve better kept him awake at night. Instead, he just shrugged.

“I'm fine.”

“Suho.” Your voice was gentle. “Talk to me.”

He looked at you and saw the genuine concern in your eyes. But instead of reassuring him, it only made him feel worse.

Before Suho could respond his phone buzzed. “A delivery, I got to go.”

You watched Suho grab his jacket and head for the door, confusion written all over your face. Something was definitely wrong, but he was shutting you out completely.

The next few days were torture for Suho. He kept showing up, kept being the supportive boyfriend, but there was a wall between you two that hadn't been there before. Every time you mentioned Mingyu's name, Suho felt that familiar twist in his chest. Why couldn’t he just tell you what was wrong?

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell you. He just didn’t want to seem like a controlling boyfriend. This feeling was new territory for Suho. He'd never been the jealous type because he'd never had something this precious to lose before.

Friday afternoon, Suho was cleaning tables at the restaurant where he worked part-time when his phone buzzed.

Y/n: Movie night tonight? I miss you :(

His heart clenched. He missed you too, desperately. He had to make things right tonight. No matter how it makes him look.

Suho: I’ll be there after work. 10:30 PM.

Y/n: Yay! I love you I love you I love you.

Suho laughed at your reply and for the rest of his shift, he was thinking about you.

The clock on your living room wall read 10:45 PM when you heard Suho's familiar knock at your door. You'd been curled up on the couch in your favorite oversized sweater and soft shorts, having already set up snacks and a movie queued that you both loved.

“Hey,” you said softly as you opened the door, immediately noticing the tension in his shoulders.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was quieter than usual, his eyes softening the moment he saw you. Despite everything weighing on his mind, you still had that effect on him. He loved you.

You led him to the couch and he settled beside you.

“I picked a movie,” you said, reaching for the remote, but Suho's hand gently caught your wrist.

“Can we... can we just talk first?” His thumb traced small circles on your skin, a nervous habit you'd noticed over the months you'd been together.

You turned to face him fully, tucking one leg under you. “Of course. What's been going on, Suho? You've seemed a little upset this week.”

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at where his fingers were still wrapped around your wrist. When he finally looked up, there was something vulnerable in his eyes that made you frown.

“It's about Mingyu,” he said quietly.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Mingyu from school? What about him?”

Suho took a deep breath, and you could see him gathering courage. “I've been... I've had this feeling in my chest. Like I can’t help but feel upset or annoyed when he’s around or when you talk about him. And I hate myself for it because I know you haven't done anything wrong. You're just being a good friend to him, the same way you are with everyone. But watching you two together, seeing how easily you connect with him.” He paused and bit his lip, searching for the right words. “It makes me feel like I'm not enough for you. I’m jealous of him.”

The confession hung in the air between you, and Suho immediately looked like he wanted to take it back. His hand started to pull away from your wrist, but you caught it, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Suho,” you said gently, your heart breaking a little at the pain in his voice. “Look at me.”

His eyes met yours again. “You think you're not enough for me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, “He's everything I'm not. Smart, clean record, probably going to some fancy college. His biggest worry is probably which volunteer opportunity looks best on his resume, while I'm over here with fighting and doing part-time job barley getting by and trying to help my grandma with rent.”

“Stop.” Your voice was firm. “Don't talk about yourself like that.”

You shifted closer to him on the couch, bringing your free hand up to cup his cheek and he leaned into your palm.

“Suho, you want to know what I see when I look at you?” you spoke as your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “I see someone who only fights to protect people he cares about. I see someone who drives me home after late study sessions even when he's exhausted from work. I see someone who always makes sure I get home safely.”

“I see the person I fell in love with,” you whispered, then his eyes locked with yours

“I was feeling annoyed,” he admitted pouting, “Annoyed that he was getting your time and attention. You’re my baby only.”

And that’s your Suho. Playful and silly. You couldn't help but smile at his confession, the way he got possessive but still managed to be endearing about it. “Your baby only?” you teased gently, watching as a slight blush crept up his neck.

“Don't tease me,” he mumbled, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I was being serious about the jealousy thing.”

“I know you were,” you said, your thumb still tracing gentle patterns on his cheek. “ I'm being serious too when I say you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Mingyu is just a friend, Suho. He could never be what you are to me.”

Suho's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. When he found none, his shoulders seemed to relax for the first time in weeks. “I feel stupid.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nodded.

“I get jealous too. Do you know how many times I wanted to fight the girls and boys around us because of how they look at you? How they talk sweet to you.”

Suho pursed his lips and replied, “You shouldn’t get jealous, they’re not you.”

“Exactly my point,” You replied smiling.

The two of you stared at each other before Suho spoke again, “I’m sorry for how I treated you this week. It wasn’t fair to you. And I love you,” he said, the words carrying all the emotion he'd been holding back for days.

“I love you too,” you whispered back before his lips were on yours.

The kiss started soft, almost hesitant, as if he was asking for permission to be close to you again. But when you melted against him, your hands fisting his shirt to pull him closer.

“I'm never letting my insecurities make you worried again,” Suho murmured against your lips. “You're too important to me.”

“Good,” you breathed, trailing kisses along his jaw. “Because I was starting to go crazy without my boyfriend giving me proper attention.”

Suho pulled back slightly, a familiar spark coming to his eyes. “Proper attention? Are you saying I've been neglecting you?”

The playful tone in his voice made your stomach flutter with anticipation. “Very much so,” you said confidently.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping to that low register that made your pulse quicken, “I guess I have to make it up to you.”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. The atmosphere in the room shifted into something more heated.

“Suho,” you whispered, your voice already breathless as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Hm?” he hummed against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“I need you,” you admitted, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Come here,” he murmured, guiding you to straddle his lap properly. The new position brought you directly against him. You both gasped at the contact.

His hands slipped under your sweater, his palms warm against your skin as he slowly pushed the fabric up and over your head. You weren't wearing anything underneath. Suho's breath caught as he took in the sight of you.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands skimming up your sides to cup your breasts gently. “So perfect.”

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Suho…”

He leaned down to press kisses along your collarbone, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “Let me show you,” he whispered between kisses, “let me show you how sorry I am.”

His mouth traveled lower, pressing gentle kisses to the swell of your breasts before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped at the feeling, your hands tangling in his hair as he showered his attention on your nipples.

“You taste so sweet up here,” he murmured against you, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he moved to give the same attention to the other side. “I could spend hours doing this.”

The thought sent heat coursing through your body, and you tugged gently at his hair to bring his face back up to yours. “I want to feel you,” you whispered against his lips. “In me.”

Suho's eyes darkened at your words, but he didn’t want to go that far just yet. “Can I taste you first?”

“Yes. Please do something.”

He smiled, that soft, loving smile that was reserved just for you, before his lips were on your body again. Gently, he rolled you onto your back, positioning himself above you. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice heavy with desire as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your shorts.

“Yes,” you breathed, lifting your hips to help him slide the shorts down your legs.

He took his time with you, pressing kisses to your exposed skin and his hands caressed your thighs. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs brushing teasingly close to where you needed him most.

“Suho, please,” You begged.

He groaned at your neediness. One of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers ghosting over your folds, now slick with your arousal. He stroked you slowly at first, teasing, watching your reactions like they’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “All this for me, even after I was such a dick?”

Your hips buck against his hand in response, and Suho leaned up to kiss your throat, dragging his lips across your skin as his fingers finally pressed more firmly against your clit. When he finally settled between your legs all the way, his eyes found yours.

"I love you," he said simply, before his mouth was on your cunt to show you exactly how much he loved you.

His tongue slid through your folds slowly, like he was trying to savour the way you taste. Suho didn’t stop until he licked up every bit of your arousal and dragged his tongue all the way up your cunt, making your whole body jerk. The moan you let out was loud and desperate.

Suho glanced up at you through his lashes, his lips shiny. He offers you a soft, almost smug little smile.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he murmured, his voice thick and heavy. “My poor baby, I’m so dumb. I’ve been neglecting you this week huh?”

His words spark a new wave of heat through you. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Yes. Please. I need your mouth,” you whisper, tears starting to well in your eyes.

Suho groaned and the sound vibrated against you as he licked a long, slow stripe over your clit before wrapping his lips around it again.

Your head fell back against the pillows of the couch as your fingers tangled tighter in his hair. The knot in your stomach became relentless with every lick of his tongue.

“Suho. I'm gonna cum if you don’t stop.” your voice broke into a whimper.

He didn’t stop, instead he doubled down and lapped at your cunt faster. His tongue wrapped against your clit while two of his fingers slipped inside you with little resistance. The stretch made you cry out, and he moaned against you, like your pleasure was the only thing he needed to survive.

“Let go for me,” he whispered, fingers thrusting slowly, curling just right as his lips wrapped around your clit once more.

Your body shook as your orgasm hit and a sob of his name left your lips. Your thighs tightened around his head and you tried to push his head away, but you were too weak and Suho kept going, lapping as much cum up as he could.

“Suho, please! Too sensitive.” You pleaded.

Suho pulled off you with a pop, and gave your clit a soft kiss before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He kissed up your body until he was hovering over you, his eyes full with lust.

“You okay?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You nodded shakily against his lips, still catching your breath. “Y-Yeah.. I’m more than okay. I think I just had the best orgasm of my life.”

Suho chuckled softly, brushing his nose against yours. “You’re so perfect.” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the weight of him against you. You could feel how hard he was, his length was throbbing against your thigh, and when you shifted, he let out a moan.

“Please, Suho. I want you inside me.”

Suho licked his lips and pulled back to take off his remaining clothes. When he pushed his pants and boxers down, his cock sprang free, thick and hard.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of him, and his mouth twitched into a smirk as he leaned back over you, catching your lips in a slow, heated kiss.

He reached between your bodies and guided himself to your entrance. He pushed in slowly and carefully, giving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch burned in the best way, your walls clenched around him as he filled you inch by inch until he was fully inside you.

“Fuck,” Suho whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re so warm. So tight.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, making sure he had no room to pull out. “Move, please,” you breathed.

Suho drew back slightly, then rolled his hips forward again, slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch of him. His pace was unhurried but intense, each thrust drew moans from your lips as he rocked into you. His eyes never left your face, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your expression.

“Faster,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your nails dug into his shoulders.

Suho nodded then continued, his movements getting faster with every thrust. Your living room echoed with the sound of gasps, whispered names, and the quiet slap of skin on skin.

Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him to you, grounding yourself in the feeling of him. “Suho,” you moaned, fingers sliding into his hair, holding on as he moved faster.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You were made for me. You’re mine. I love you so much.”

Your eyes welled with tears, not from pain or even pleasure, but from the overwhelming love you felt from him. You lifted your hand to hold his jaw, brushing your thumb gently beneath his eye. Suho slowed down with your action.

“You’re the only man I want.” You cried out.

He smiled, a real one, the kind that reached his eyes and softened his tense face. “I know that now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Suho rocked into you again, slow and deep and your body arched into his. His free hand slid between your bodies and his thumb brushed gently over your clit in slow circles that made your whole body jolt. You moaned softly, your hips rolling to meet his.

“Just like that,” he encouraged, his breath warm against your cheek. “Do that again baby, roll into me.”

You let your hips move again, trying to match his rhythm but it was a little sloppy. Soon, you felt another wave building but this time it was softer and slower. “Suho… Suho,” you whispered, grabbing him tight. “I’m going to cum again…”

He rested his forehead against yours, “Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

His fingers moved faster on your clit, while his cock inside you dragged slow and deep. It was overwhelming for you in the best way. Your body burned in pleasure as you finally came, your whole body shaking.

You cried out his name and your legs trembled around him. Your hands were gripping his arms as your vision blurred. Suho held you close, slowing his movements, kissing your tears away.

You were still coming down when Suho groaned, his pace faltering. “I’m so fucking close,” he choked, burying his face in your neck. “Wanna come inside you.”

Your hips tilted up sloppily without thinking. “Do it,” you whispered, breathless.

Suho cursed under his breath and snapped his hips harder, deeper, his rhythm growing even more frantic and desperate. “Fuck. You’ll look so fucking pretty stuffed with my cum,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Want you to fill me up. Wanna feel all of you.” You begged.

That broke him and with a choked moan, he came, his hips pressed flush against yours as his cock twitched inside you.

You gasp and you felt his release inside of you. Your legs tightened around him automatically for the 100th time today, like your body was trying to keep every drop in.

Suho was out of breath above you, panting against your neck and quietly saying your name over and over.

“Fuck, you’re everything to me,” he whispered as he slowly pulled out of you, drawing a soft moan of out the both of you.

When the room fell into a peaceful quiet, Suho stood up then gently helped you up from the coach, guiding you to the bathroom. “Let’s take a bath.”

Suho ran the water while you sat on the bathroom counter, watching him with sleepy, content eyes. When the tub was finally full, Suho carefully helped you into it alongside himself.

“Is the temperature okay?” he asked softly, settling behind you so you could lean back against his chest.

You hummed in approval, letting your head fall back against his shoulder.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, and you could feel the tension finally leaving both of your bodies.

“I really am sorry for how I’ve been acting. For this whole week I mean. For shutting you out instead of just talking to you,” Suho apologized.

“I’ll really accept your apology if you make sure to skip all your training sessions with Sieun next week and cuddle me instead,” you said.

“Deal.” Suho said smiling.

It got quiet again before you asked the questioned that was nipping at you a little bit, “How do you want me to deal with Mingyu?”

Suho was quiet for a moment, considering “I don’t want you to do anything,” he finally said, “He's your friend, and I trust you. I'm sorry I let my insecurities get in the way of that.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was really okay.

“I'm sure,” he said, pressing another kiss to your head. “Besides, I realized something tonight.”

“What?”

“He might be smart and perfect and all that,” Suho said, his voice getting playful, "but he's not the one who gets to fuck you.”

You gasped and playfully hit his chest. “Suho!”

Done! My 2nd fic of whc! Thank you guys so much for reading 🥹 Thanks for all the love on my sieun fic as well!

I’d love for more people to rec any writing and request! I also write for the groups who are listed on my masterlist!

#weak hero class #whc #whc1 #whc2 #whc x reader #whc imagines #whc smut #whc1 x reader #ahn suho #ahn suho smut #suho #suho x reader #suho smut #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 1 smut #weak hero class smut #choi hyunwook smut

284 notes · View notes

lilacgaby · 9 months ago

Note

biker! bakugo PLEASE i'm choking

˗ˏˋride or die

pairing: biker!katsuki x nerd!reader

summary: you'd been partnered up with the hotheaded speed racer, katsuki. who knew he'd end up more interested in you then the races he'd win?

tags: fem!reader, use of she/her, cursing, racing, college au!, no quirk au!, smart reader, studying, projects, reader has glasses, pet names

(a/n: i couldn't resist doing a trope 😖)

wc: 2k

flashing lights, money bags, and trophies were just another thing to katsuki.

It had begun when he was young, as a teenager becoming infatuated with motorcycles. he'd been gifted one when he became the driving age, and it'd become history ever since.

he was naturally adept at the sport, winning every competition he'd ever stepped foot in. but because of his mother, he was still forced to attend college.

it wouldn't be that bad if it wasn't so boring. he'd joined a friend group of fellow bikers, none on his level though. despite his reputation for being a bad, mean, and crude guy,

he'd never miss a class.

he walked in just before the bell rang, sitting towards the back of the class. there was no one close to him, well except you.

with your computer at the ready, notebook wide open, and the clicking of your pen you prepared yourself. your glasses already sliding down your nose as you begun to take basic notes on the slides.

katsuki found himself staring at you often, he didn't know why. maybe it was his boredom, or the focused expression on your face. maybe it was because you were really cute.

his heavy boots clanked around as he put his feet up on the table, not even bothering to pretend he was paying this lecture any mind.

he was lost in though, he honestly couldn't even figure out his own reasoning. but he finally looked off of you to note the huge letters on the board, project requirements. he mentally groaned and read over them, all pretty easy for him to accomplish except for..

the required partner. he didn't have any friends in this class and he sure as hell wasn't going to ask some loser. his eyes were glancing back at you instinctively, your pen was in your mouth as you were lost in thought.

‘a pretty loser’. he thought. ‘why not.’

he was walking over to you before he even recognized his movements, you were packing up your things into you bag when you noticed him. with eyes wide you looked up into his. “yo.” he smirked, hand behind his head.

“hello..?” you replied, confused as to why he was talking to you. you only knew him from the rumors that he was just a rich racer attending school for the hell of it. his expensive leather jackets and sleeves of tattoos you'd seen when he took it off only confirmed those for you. besides that, you'd never noticed him before, not speaking to anyone in this class in general. “can i help you?”

“yeah, we need a partner or some shit. y’ in or not?” his hands were on his hips as he awaited your answer, you finished packing your tote bag and shrugged. “it's cool with me, but i don't have a ride so we–”

“i got one though. so we can do this shit at my place tomorrow.”

“uh.. okay.” he held his hand out to you. you were confused and tilted your head, to which he scoffed. “your phone.”

you made an “o” sound with your mouth, handing it over to him. he had the audacity to snap a quick photo of himself before setting it as his contact photo, filling in his name and number before handing it back to you. “we can start this bull tomorrow, i need it done quick. i got something today and comp season is soon. i can't be busy.”

“uh– okay.. bakugo.” you read his name off of his contact, “that's fine for me.”

“just send me your address tomorrow, i'll come pick ya up. see ya.” with a wave of a hand he left you, holding your phone in your hand still very confused at what just happened.

‘bakugo. what a weird guy.’ you looked over the selfie he took of himself, his eyebrow piercing clear from the shot. your face flushed slightly, but you quickly left since you didn't want to be the last one out.

your day ended as usual, taking the bus home and petting your pet cat. finishing up assignments in the week early but leaving the annoying class for sunday, and sitting down to watch tv.

you were channel surfing, idly yawning as you were looking for something to watch while eating. you eventually landed on the sports channels, you were about to skip through them all when the sight of a familiar face broke you out of your mind.

“bakugo?!” you exclaimed, startling your pet. you couldn't believe it, he was actually racing professionally. and he was good, like really good. you found yourself with your jaw dropped and heart racing as he drove, crazy overtakes and high speed at every turn.

your food was now cold as your eyes had been locked on the race for forty minutes. as bakugo crossed the finish line, winning officially you cheered, fist pumped in the air.

the national anthem played as he was paraded around, cameras in his face as they handed him the trophy. a knowing smirk on his face as he celebrated.

once your excitement died down, you bit into your freezing food, opting to go pop it in the microwave.

as the bowl rang in circles, you realized.. he wasn't expecting you to ride on one of those was he?

yes he was. the next day after you texted him your address, you prayed that he'd come to you in a sports car. a regular car, just something that didn't involve you in something so tiny.

you heard him arrive before he even texted you, the roaring of his bike cutting through the music you were listening to. he arrived outside your apartment with a motorcycle, a spare helmet in his hand as he knocked on your door. “oh, no way.” you eyed him as if he was crazy, and he only laughed. “come on, it's just a bike. i'm the fucking best so don't worry babe.” he took your bag out your hands for you, helping you onto the back of the bike.

his hands were on your waist as he lifted you, steadying you. “hey, i got you.” was all he said before handing you the pink helmet, a bow on the side.

he hopped on in front of you, kicking back the pedal keeping the bike still. “hold on to me.” you put your hands onto his waist. “go slow.”

“i don't promise nothin’.” he roared the engined. “but i'll try for you, pretty girl.”

you squeaked as he sped off, your face now squished against his as you held onto his waist impossibly tight. “this is not slow!” you sped down the streets, way over the speed limit. you should've just taken the damn bus.

“can't hear ya.” you could hear the smile on his face as he sped up. “asshole!” you shrieked again as he popped a tiny wheelie.

after the ride of your life, or the possible end of it, he helped you off. you had shaky legs as you held on to him, chest heaving. “you're crazy.” he didn't let go of you, body supported by him as you walked into his house.

“i'll be back, gotta put the ol’ girl in the garage. make y’rself at home.” he walked out, leaving you calming yourself down. his house was huge, you looked around as you poured yourself a glass of water.

he walked back in, waving you to follow him. “come on, we can start over here.” you followed him into his room, a large setup on his desk. black silk sheets adorned by orange and red comforters laid upon his bed. it was actually pretty well decorated. “you just gonna look all day specs?”

you shook your head and sat next to him. “so, we just have to code a basic game, easy right?”

“yeah. this'll be a piece of cake.”

and a piece of cake it was.

he was actually really smart, fun to talk to. the game was created piece by piece, finished up easily, way faster than expected. but you hung around longer than necessary.

even though you finished the project in a week, it's been about a month and you still would go to katsuki’s house everyday.

lazing around his room on his bed, him holding your waist with one arm while you were hung over his body. scrolling on your phones, sneaking photos of each other, getting impossibly closer.

he'd take you out on drives, actually going slow now and riding around with you. he'd take you to his favorite shops, laughing when you manage to stomach the spicy ramen he enjoyed.

he'd take you to eat ice cream after, sitting in the parking lot watching the moon rise.

“yo, [name].” he pushed up your glasses with a finger. “what?”

“be mine, okay?” your face flushed, you swore the atmosphere grew hot. “uh.. okay.”

“cool,” he breathed. “now i have to ask you the actual important question… [name].” your heart beat sped up as he grew closer to you, caressing your face with his ungloved hand. he took a deep breath before saying,

“will you come to one of my races?”

your face fell and your eyebrows shot up. “that's the important question??”

“hey don't be rude. it's important to me and that shit took a lot outta me.”

that made you laugh, holding your stomach while he started at you with a straight face. you finally calmed down enough to say, “well, duh. of course i'll go. maybe you'll be extra lucky with me there too.” you joked.

“im sure i will [name].” he kissed you afterwards, tilting his head as the moonlight made you look ethereal.

being there was a lot different from just watching on the tv. you had a pass to walk around the pit area, katsuki kept you glued to his side. he explained to you how everything worked, where you'd be able to sit and watch him, and showed you his personal room.

you saw as he raced, your heart in your throat as you saw how dangerous the sport really was.

after all of it, after he won, he threw himself onto you and kissed you, trophy in his other hand.

when it was time to go though, you didn't see his motorcycle anywhere. “hey, ‘suki? where's the bike?”

he walked up to a black sports car, leaning against it. “i wanted to take her out for a spin ya know? switch it up.”

“you had a car this whole time?!”

“yeah, but how else would i get to see your cute face?”

"i'm going to kill you."

"you won't, you love me."

#biker bakugo save me aaaa #lilac asks❤︎︎#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugo x you #bakugo fluff #katsuki x you #bakugo drabble #mha x you #bakugo oneshot #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x reader

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contract-crawdad · 2 months ago

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Apartment 21 Theories and Headcanons

Let’s overthink Lyle’s weird as hell living space.

First off! The titular Lyle! Going to try to keep this section limited to what we can learn about Lyle through his apartment rather than just thoughts about Lyle himself, as he is possibly the single most-discussed character in the whole game. And we can infer a lot!

Jeanne’s dialogue confirms that apartment 21 is actually Lyle’s apartment, seeing as she does consider him her neighbor. It’s not a situation where Lyle moved into someone else’s abandoned apartment after the apocalypse started.

The D&D M&W stuff makes it clear that Lyle’s a fan of tabletop games! Do you suppose he’s part of an ongoing group, or is he looking for people to play with? It can be so hard to find a local playgroup! I like to think he and Edwin had a group going, maybe with a few other astronomers involved.

Considering we get the crossword book from him but also that it’s completely unstarted, I assume that it’s one of those things that’s he’s been meaning to get around to but never quite found the time (been there, buddy).

We can find anxiety meds in Lyle’s bathroom! Which is a minor if interesting detail. Lyle really does get more and more relatable.

Funnily enough, one thing that we don’t see in his apartment that we should be in there is the zoom lens that Edwin’s loan log says Lyle is currently borrowing! But considering his partly mechanical form, it’s possible that the zoom lens is simply part of his body now.

Lyle’s dark room! I’d wager Mr. Henderson wouldn’t exactly approve if it’s existence if he were to ever find out. This strikes me as something that breaks some kind of agreement found in you average renter’s agreement.

Notably you can only ever access the dark room if you kill Lyle to get the key! He doesn’t grant you entry under any circumstance, and it’s not exactly hard to see why considering what his ‘special project’ is.

On that note, Lyle will never attack you! It is impossible to get him to be the one to instigate a fight, you have to attack him out of the blue.

The photos of Sam make it clear that Lyle’s affection for Sam isn’t a new development by any means.

More concerningly, though, is the key you can find between two of the bookshelves. It’s SAM’S apartment key, which the more eagle-eyed and elephant-memoried of you out there will recall is the spare that’s missing from the plant outside Sam’s apartment! It’s dubious as to whether or not Lyle has ever used the key.

As far as I’m aware, the key has no actual purpose other than to serve as an ominous reminder of Lyle’s obsession.

What the fuck is Lokjaw’s deal. Seriously. Lyle. Why do you have a man in your unlocked closet? I can excuse the hamburger man you have locked in your bedroom (we’ll get to him), but this is just ridiculous.

My thought on why Lokjaw hasn’t just left the (completely unlocked) closet is because their mental state has deteriorated to the point where they cannot operate a door. Maybe they don’t even recognize that a door is a thing that leads to another place anymore.

But that’s assuming Lokjaw was ever human to begin with! I’ve seen theories that they were Lyle’s dog (credit to @crankyteapot once more), which would explain the mutant’s posture, strange lower jaw, and why they’re in Lyle’s closet in the first place!

But considering that there’s no dog bowl, no collar, and no reaction from Lyle if you kill Lokjaw? I’d wager that if they are a dog, they’re not Lyle’s dog, but rather just some random already-mutated dog he came across! It went sniffing around the closet and Lyle just shut the door behind it. This making it a problem for future Lyle.

Lokjaw does drop raw pork if you kill it, which is… hmm. Something.

I… don’t think there’s any pleasant explanation as to why it drops raw pork actually.

Something about Lokjaw, whether human or canine, makes me think they had a very nervous disposition. There’s something so defensive about their posture, and their facial expression seems so scared! Unfortunately for us, this translates to the mindset of ‘kill the thing that is scaring me’.

Unfortunately, the reason for Tumorhead’s presence in apartment 21 isn’t any clearer than Lokjaw’s! If anything it’s stranger because he’s in what appears to be Lyle’s bedroom, and he’s even locked in there by those strange fleshy growths.

On thing IS clear: the hamburger found around the room is pretty clearly implied to be meat that’s fallen off of a Tumorhead himself, judging by what happens in battle. Sam is the bravest man alive for taking this meat and cooking it.

@crankyteapot pointed out a few visual similarities between Tumorhead’s clothing and the Onlookers, and I could see there being a connection!

I really love the idea that Tumorhead, having looked outside but while still human, stumbled drunk into Lyle’s apartment and collapsed into his bed (with Lyle being too timid to correct them). The poor guy nursing a splitting headache that manifested very viscerally as his metamorphosis completed in his sleep.

Located in Lyle’s bathroom, we finally have an easy-to-explain mutant presence! The broken-down door makes it pretty clear that this guy forced his way in from F1 through Lyle’s shortcut.

Since this guy is pretty clearly implied to be from F1, I wonder if he has any association with that one gigantic eye in the unnumbered rooms? On one hand there’s some surface level similarities, but on the other hand Eyecluster’s eyes are functionally distinct: they’ve been modified into acid-launchers and it’s unclear if he can still see out of any of them!

My favorite detail is how Eyecluster’s posture seems off balance from the sheer volume of eyes he has, it’s a neat touch that conveys just how ungainly their newly added parts are! And I adore how the Visitor’s effects clearly don’t care about what an organ USED TO do. Your eyeballs spit acid now. Your hair can eat things. Your tongue is easier to get around on than your legs.

This is nothing but pure headcanon, but I like to think that on the morning Eyecluster beheld the Visitor, he woke up wearing contact lenses that he’d left on overnight by mistake. The unpleasant sensation in his eyes ended up heavily influencing the results of his transformation.

It’s what you all came here for, it’s LYLE BATHTUB THEORY TIME!!

So. Lyle’s bathtub. It’s weirdly long, right? And that’s not just sprite perspective weirdness! The comically long bathtub has actual inspection dialogue that reads ‘huh this thing is long as hell, weird huh?’ and it also points out that the whole room looks stretched. Sure enough, the less conspicuous but still very conspicuous counter across from it is also weirdly long!

But why? I’ll tell you why. I think Leigh stretched Lyle’s bathtub. it’s not what’s INSIDE the bathroom, but rather OUTSIDE!

The other side of the south bathroom wall is the hallway where Leigh chases you. You know, the hallway that she supernaturally lengthened so she could have more fun chasing Sam. Not only that, but this chase is required in order to access Lyle’s apartment in the first place, you cannot access Lyle’s bathroom without having done the Leigh chase!

So Leigh’s space-warping chase tunnel seems to have had some lasting effects on the adjoining rooms! Which makes sense. Sure, Leigh has some kinda of vague elongating powers, but you can’t tell me she knows how they work or how to use them in a way that doesn’t have some lingering effects.

Hopefully it’s helpful to Lyle! I mean, he’s larger now. He definitely would not fit comfortably into a normal bathtub, but on the other hand it’s also questionable if he even can bathe, what with all his mechanical parts.

#apartment analysis #look outside #look outside game #look outside spoilers #sam #leigh #lyle #lokjaw #eyecluster #tumorhead #what do I tag that giant eyeball as?#lyle what the fuck man at lest deal with ONE of the monsters that has taken up residence in your home #you are literally stronger than all of them

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koojks · 4 months ago

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note: did someone say.. progess? LOL.. actually maybe i'm lying, but there's definitely a shift. i just love making things difficult . anyways this is my favourite part so far!! so i hope u enjoy :)

wc: 4.5k

The library is too bright.

Sunlight filters through the massive windows, stretching across the wooden tables, in long, golden streaks. The usual midday crowd is here. Groups huddled around textbooks, hushed voices discussing equations, and the rhythmic tapping of fingers against keyboards filling the space.

It’s louder than last time.

That night, it had been quiet, still, empty. There were no distractions. However, this time, it’s much busier, the atmosphere is different. But that’s not the problem.

The problem is him.

Jungkook is already here.

You’re not sure why, but the fact of it bothers you slightly.

Maybe it’s because you had counted on at least ten minutes of peace before he inevitably strolled in with some half-assed excuse for being late. That’s how it worked. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Maybe because it feels like a bit of a ‘fuck you’ call, to do this after last time, when he left you alone for almost an hour.

But, nonetheless. he’s here.

Sitting at the same table as before. Settled, sleeves pushed up, one arm stretched lazily over the back of a chair. His laptop open, notebook flipped to a page with actual notes on it. Pen twisting slowly between his fingers.

Like he’s been here.

Like he’s been waiting.

You don’t pause, you don’t let it show that it throws you off. Instead, you pull out the chair across from him. and drop into it unceremoniously.

“You’re early.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even look up at first.

“Or maybe you’re late.” he says, pen now tapping against his notebook.

Your eyes narrow at his response. “That’s a bold accusation for someone who could barely show up last session.”

That gets his attention.

He tilts his head slightly, finally glancing at you. The pen between his fingers, twirling once more before stopping entirely.

“People change.” He says simply.

You let out a scoff, opening your laptop. “Yeah? Since when?”

Jungkook shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Since right now.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to pull up the project document and start working.

Jungkook doesn’t push it.

Which is weird.

Normally he’d drag things out. Argue simply to hear himself talk. Prove a point that never needed proving in the first place.

But today, he just exhales through his nose, clicks on the document, and begins writing once again.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

So, you don’t do anything at all.

You fall into a rhythm.

The scratching of pen against paper. The quiet, muted clacks of your keyboard. The weight of silence hanging between you. Not unbearable, but not exactly comfortable either.

Jungkook is actually working.

Which in itself is suspicious.

You keep waiting for something. For him to sigh dramatically, roll his eyes, complain.

But he doesn’t

Instead, he seems rather focused. His jaw tenses slightly when he reads through something. Playing with the piercing on his lip relentlessly. You notice his fingers tapping lightly against the table, before he crosses something out and rewrites it.

It’s almost more annoying than when he wasn’t trying at all.

Because at least when he’s an asshole, its predictable. You almost expect it from him. it’s become the not so pleasant dynamic between the both of you. Natural, almost.

Now? You don’t know what the hell to do with this.

The silence stretches.

But for some reason, your attention is situated on him.

Jungkook is sitting back now. Gaze trained on his laptop screen. His posture casual, like he’s barely paying attention, but his brows furrow slightly when he reads something. His sleeves are still pushed up high, exposing the veins running down his forearms, wrist flicking as he scribbles something in the margins of the notes.

It’s annoying.

He’s annoying.

“Stop staring.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook doesn’t even look up. “You’re staring.”

You roll your eyes. “I was just lost in thought.”

He hums, finally meeting your gaze. “Thinking about me?”

The words come out of his mouth so easily, so smoothly, that it barely registers at first. But something in the way he says it. expectant. certain. like its obvious, makes your lips part slightly before you shut your mouth again.

Because of course he thinks that.

Of course, he expects people to think about him.

Jungkook isn’t just anyone on campus, you know this. people know him. He’s popular, sought after. The type of guy whose name runs in passing conversations, whose presence automatically shifts the energy in a room.

And he knows it.

Which is probably why he’s looking at you like he’s right. Like he’s waiting for you to admit it. The realization hits.

And then, just as quickly, it pisses you off.

Jesus Christ.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You mutter, shaking your head, diverting your attention to your laptop.” You’re insufferable.”

Jungkook grins, but something flickers behind his expression. It’s gone before you can process it. You don’t have time to dwell on it anyway. You don’t particularly care.

Instead, you both fall back into your work.

A while passes before Jungkook speaks again.

“You look exhausted.”

The words land softly, almost too casual, like he’s barely paying attention. But when you glance up, his eyes are already on you.

It makes you feel strange.

Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard before you sigh gently, shaking your head. “Long week.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply right away.

Instead, he leans back, stretching his arms over his head, before dropping them loosely by his sides. His jaw shifts, like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.

The silence feels endless until— “You should rest more.”

It’s so unexpected, so out of place, that your brain stutters for a second.

You blink “What?”

Jungkook shrugs and brings his attention back to his notes, breaking the eye contact you two shared, as if he said nothing at all. “Just saying, you’re zoning out.”

There’s nothing teasing in his tone. no smugness. no lazy amusement.

Just an observation.

Which somehow makes it worse.

You don’t reply. Just go back to your screen, ignoring the way your chest tightens slightly.

Not awkward. not tense.

Just... different.

Your focus is slipping.

It’s subtle at first. The words on your screen blur together, your fingers hesitate over your keyboard, eyes flickering towards the time in the corner of your laptop screen. You have no idea what the last thing you even typed was.

The last hour has bled into itself.

The steady rhythm of researching, analyzing, summarizing, feels excruciatingly repetitive now. Your neck aches faintly, your posture has collapsed slightly and there’s a dull hum in your brain that wasn’t there before.

You weren’t lying when you had told Jungkook it had been a long week. This project may have drained you mentally, sure. But class work was slowly piling up. and most nights had been an array of dark rooms and bright screens, ensuring you don’t fall behind in any subject. You were tired...

You flex your fingers, stretching them against the table.

Five seconds.

That’s all you need.

So, without really thinking about it, you grab your phone. It’s instinct, a small break, a way to reset before diving back into the mundane mess that is waiting for you.

But before you even unlock it, the screen lights up.

A message.

Taehyung: Jimin said you’re still at the library like a LOSER

Taehyung: hurry up, movie night. i already picked something none of you are gonna like

You exhale, unlocking your phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

You: how does it feel being the most unbearable person I know

The response is almost immediate.

Taehyung: sexy of me tbh.

Taehyung: don’t take 500 years getting here. love u xoxo

You scoff quietly, shaking your head. what an idiot

It’s nothing urgent, just him being him. but your fingers move anyways, tapping out a reply. It’s supposed to be quick.

But then another text comes through.

And another.

And before you realize it, your focus has completely shifted.

“Having fun?”

The words cut through the silence, taking away from your distraction.

Your fingers pause over your phone screen before you look up.

Jungkook isn’t looking at you directly. His chin rests against his palm, elbow propped up on the table, gaze flickering lazily between his work and you.

Casual. Flat.

But seemingly annoyed.

You stare at him. “What?”

Jungkook nods towards your phone. “Are we done studying now hm? Should I start scrolling on twitter too?”

You scoff, locking your phone and placing it back on the table. “It was one message.”

“Right.” his pen rolls between his fingers. “Just one.”

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and boring your eyes into his. “Not that it's any of your business.”

Jungkook doesn’t look impressed.

He also doesn’t look away.

Instead, his fingers tap once against the table before he speaks again.

“Just Taehyung?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Jungkook hums under his breath. “Figures.”

Your jaw clenches slightly at his passive comment. “What does that mean?”

He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms and biting at his lip ring once again. a small smile appearing on his face. His gaze flicks towards you- bored, amused.

“Should’ve expected this. Not like you have many other friends.”

Your jaw almost drops. What a dick.

“You are so annoying.”

Jungkook smirks. “Am I wrong?”

You glare. “Yes.”

“Alright.” He leans forward, arms resting on the table. “Name three.”

“Fuck you.”

Jungkook grins, bright smile showing. like he found the outmost joy in taking the piss out of you. “That’s the reaction of someone with exactly two friends.”

You consider throwing your pen at him. But before you can, your phone vibrates again.

You glance down. Another text from Taehyung.

Taehyung: Jimin's already on his way. u better be too

Jungkook notices. His smirk drops, barely. And then, like it’s nothing, he shifts once again in his chair.

“What’s so important that you’ve given up on studying anyways.”

You shrug. unlocking your screen again, all focus on your phone as you reply. “He invited me over for movie night.”

Jungkook pauses. Falters slightly. “...Ah.”

You look up at him. “What.”

Jungkook rolls his shoulders, eyes flickering to the window, staring intently at the trees. acting as unbothered as one possibly can. “Yeah. He mentioned something to me earlier. Thought it was just gonna be me and him.”

Something about the way he says it, makes you feel weird.

Not annoyance.

Not jealousy.

Just… something.

“He probably just forgot to tell you.”

Jungkook hums, clicking his pen a few times. “Yeah.” He mutters. “Guess so.”

The moment stretches too long before you decide to let it go.

The library has emptied out by the time you both start gathering your things. Pens clicking shut, laptops closing with a quiet snap, bags slung over shoulders. Jungkook moves slower than usual, like he’s almost not in a rush to leave.

Maybe you aren’t either.

Finally stepping outside, the air is colder than before, the sun is still out, barely, sky cloudy, thick with something unspoken.

Jungkook is already half a step ahead of you when he speaks.

“You need a ride?”

You pause. Almost falter. He says it so casually, that for a second, it didn’t even fully register in your brain. Or maybe it’s because why the fuck would he say that?

“You glance up at him, eyes trained on his face. “What?”

Jungkook exhales, as if he regrets this already. “A ride. To our place?”

You’re still processing this. You blink, thrown off. “You’re offering me a ride?”

Jungkook scoffs. “No. I’m asking you if you want to freeze.”

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want the lift. but because he’s the one offering.

A week ago, he hadn’t.

It was raining then, pouring actually. Much worse weather than it was today. Your backpack was literally soaked through. clothes clinging heavily to your skin, and Jungkook had barely spared you a glance before heading off that day, never mind a word.

And now, he was here, offering.

You shift on your feet. “Why?”

Jungkook looks at you, no emotion can be found behind his eyes, but he doesn’t break the contact you two share.

“Because I live there.” He mutters, adjusting the strap on his bag. “And I’d be kind of a dick to make you walk, especially since we are going to the same place. I’m not that awful you know.”

It’s casual. Thrown out like it’s an afterthought. But something about it sticks.

You suppose it’s better not to dwell on it, you’ve spent a lot of time with this man in the last week. Instead, you nod, messing with the rings on your fingers as a makeshift distraction. “Fine.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, he nods slightly and continues walking to his car.

This time not ahead of you, but next to you.

The walk to his car feels longer, and it’s quiet. almost too quiet.

The air is slowly getting colder, crisp and sharp, slipping through the fabric of your jacket as the two of you make your way through the dimly lit parking lot. The sky has shifted a lot in a short amount of time. It’s now a deeper shade of blue, the last remnants of daylight stretching across the sky in streaks of orange and violet.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, doesn’t glance at you, just unlocks the car with a silent click of his key, and takes himself to the driver's side like this is totally normal.

But it’s not normal.

Not for either of you.

Because despite sharing the same friend group, and spending several hours together for this group project, this is really the first time you’ve spent with each other truly alone. with no obligations. No one else is around, no distractions.

And that feels noticeable.

You hesitate briefly before opening the passenger door and sliding into the seat. The car smells clean, like leather, with something sharper underneath. Probably his cologne. It lingers enough to make you feel somewhat hyper aware of this unpredicted situation.

Jungkook doesn’t start the car right away. He takes his time, adjusts his seat, and shifts around slightly, fingers drumming softly against the steering wheel.

You get the feeling he’s waiting for you to do or say something first.

So, you pull out your phone. Deciding it’s the simplest way to avoid such an awkward situation. Scrolling mindlessly, pretending he’s not here.

The silence stretches. And for some strange reason he doesn’t put on music. Maybe he’s just focused, or maybe he’s equally aware of how strange this moment is.

You don’t really like the thought of that.

Jungkook exhales, sharp but quiet. “You always this easy to shut up?”

You glance at him. “You always this desperate to hear my voice?”

His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t take the bait. Rather, he finally starts the car, and the low rumble of the engine fills the silence between you two.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, the streetlights flicker one by one, illuminating the inside of the car softly. The passing headlights of other cars on the road cascade over Jungkook’s profile, enhancing the sharp outline of his jaw, the dim sparkle of his piercing, and the soft look in his eyes, as they flick between the road and the rearview mirror.

You’re not too sure why you notice. Or why you’re suddenly so aware of the way the lights move on his skin, shifting with each passing second. Maybe it’s because for once, he’s not being insufferable.

Or maybe it’s because you’ve never had the chance to look before.

Whatever the reason it, it weighs on you for a moment, it feels quite unsettling.

“You’re quieter when we’re not arguing.”

You blink, snapping out of it. “Huh?”

He doesn’t glance at you, just focuses intently on the road. “Feels weird. I think you’re more annoying when you’re silent.”

You scoff. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Yeah?” He lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s a first.”

His fingers drum idly against the gear shift. “You spend half of your time arguing with me. What? do you just pick and choose when to bite back?”

You roll your eyes. “I argue with you because you are so difficult with me.”

He smirks slightly, flicking on his turn signal. “Right.”

The silence that follows is different to the last. Less tense, but still not comfortable. Like something has shifted, and neither of you really know how to place it.

You turn toward the window, watching the city move past. The glow of the streetlights flash in and out of view, the scenery calming.

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. You’re too busy looking out of the window to think much of it. Until he speaks again

“You look better when you’re not scowling you know.”

Your fingers twitch.

It’s not a compliment. Not really.

But from the way he usually speaks to you? he basically sung your praise.

A second passes. Then another. You don’t say anything.

He clears his throat. “Not that I care or anything.”

You exhale a short laugh, shaking your head as you turn to look at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Tragic for you.”

The weight of something lingers. You feel it in the quiet that follows once again, in the way the streetlights blur outside, in the way Jungkook’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel before he finally pulls into the street of his flat.

Neither of you speak when he parks.

That moment. Whatever it was. Ends.

Jungkook shuts off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of his car without a word. You take a second longer before following.

The cold air outside does something to shake off whatever that drive was. Not entirely, but it seems to make you feel lighter.

Jungkook walks ahead to the apartment building, he doesn’t wait for you, but he doesn’t rush either. Just moves at his usual pace, knowing you’ll follow.

By the time you reach the door, he unlocks it, pushes it open, and steps aside without looking at you.

“Go ahead,” he says quietly.

You do.

And as soon as you step inside. As soon as the familiar scent of their apartment settles in your lungs, you come to realize. That shift that started in the car?

It followed you inside.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you, enclosing the warmth of the space. It’s The kind of warmth that is created by the energy of people who exist comfortably, peacefully.

The scent of something woody and citrusy lingers in the air, more than likely one of Taehyung’s candles that he has forgotten to blow out. The lighting is slow, softened by the faint blue glow of the TV screen, casting soft shadows across the room.

There’s a familiarity here. In a home that isn’t yours, but for some reason it just feels like it belongs to the people in it.

Taehyung is in the kitchen, stirring something lazily in a mug. Tea, you assume. His sleeves bunched up to his elbows. Jimin is draped across a couch. stretched out like he owns it, one arm thrown behind his head while he mindlessly scrolls on his phone. The two of them don’t look up immediately when you and Jungkook step inside.

Finally, Jimin glances up, gaze flicking between the two of you, his mouth slowly quirking into an amused smile.

“Oh, that’s cute.”

Jungkook doesn’t even entertain it.

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t react. just exhales loudly thought his nose and heads straight to the kitchen. opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. Like he needs to do something to drown out this conversation.

Your brows furrow. “What is?”

Jimin gestures vaguely in your direction with his phone. “You guys showed up together.”

You blink. “We literally came from the same place.”

Taehyung hums, lifting his mug and taking a slow sip. “And now you’re arriving at the same place.”

Jimin nods. “Together.”

Jungkook exhales sharply from the kitchen, muttering something under his breath.

Taehyung just grins, setting down his mug on the counter. “Relax, we’re just making an observation.”

Jimin smirks. “Yeah, there’s no problem, right?”

You shake your head, ignoring them as you make your way towards the couch.

“I hate you both.”

Jimin lifts his hands in surrender. “And yet, here you are.”

The apartment settles into a peaceful rhythm.

The soft rustling of Taehyung flipping through movie choices. The occasional complaint from Jimin about every option. The background hum of the city filtering through the windows.

Jungkook is still in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping his water like it’s giving him something to do. His presence isn’t loud. He’s always had this ability to take up space without really demanding attention, and for some reason, you feel it today.

Jimin stretches out on the floor now, crossing his arms behind his head as he watches Taehyung cycle through movies at a painfully slow pace.

Casually, without diverting his attention, he speaks up.

“You good man?”

Jungkook barely reacts.

Just shifts his weight slightly against the counter, his jaw tensing for a split second before he scoffs.

“What are you talking about.”

Jimin finally lifts his head, studying him for a second. Then shrugs. “Dunno. You just seem-”

Jungkook interrupts, exhaling and tilting his head back slightly. “I’m fine.”

Jimin's lips twitch. “Defensive.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. Just takes another slow sip of his water, like he’s done with the conversation. But something about it lingers.

You sink into one on the couches, leaning slightly against the armrest. It’s comfortable, cozy. Everyone is settled in.

Besides Jungkook.

He eventually moves away from the kitchen, walking lazily towards the living room. However, you can’t help but feel what he’s doing is calculated. He doesn’t sit next to Jimin on the floor, you suppose he’d sit on the couch with Taehyung if he wasn’t outright lying across the whole thing.

But he sits next to you.

It’s not an event, it’s not a moment, but you recognize it. You feel it.

The apartment settles into silence as the movie begins, the glow of the screen covering the room in flickering shadows. It’s a thriller. Quiet, straightforward. The kind of film that thrives on tension rather than action. It’s quite boring, in all honesty. But you watch it, nonetheless, trying to make sense of whatever is happening on the screen.

You move slightly, adjusting into the cushions, letting the film pull your focus. Not paying much mind to what you’re doing really. And then it happens.

Not a deliberate movement. Not something intentional.

Just a shift.

A slow, unthinking action, as you attempted to settle more comfortably into your space. Except when you moved, your leg presses against Jungkook’s.

Not a graze, or a fleeting touch.

It settles there.

You can feel the warmth of his body seeping to yours. Neither of you move.

Not right away.

Not even when the moment stretches too long, to the point where it’s no longer an accidental touch. When the weight of it becomes something tangible, something felt.

Jungkook doesn’t tense. He doesn’t move away. He just...let's it exist.

And so do you.

For a second you tell yourself you’re imagining the heaviness of it. That if you really acknowledge it, like you are, then it will make it a thing, and neither of you are in the business of making things a thing.

You are so weirdly lost in the thought of it, until Jimin notices.

It’s not loud, not obnoxious.

Just a slow, downward glance. A flicker of recognition, before his lips curve upward, smirk barely concealed.

“Interesting.” he whispers.

Jungkook shifts.

And suddenly, the space made it enough to mean nothing.

The warmth lingers, for a moment. and neither of you so much as look in the direction of each other. But what just happened, felt like you acknowledged each other in a way that isn’t spoken with words.

The movie presses forward, progressing at a horrifically slow pace. But you aren’t following at all.

The atmosphere in the room feels weird. Though nothing has particularly happened to warrant it. It’s still the same dim lighting, the same quiet dialogue on screen, the same people sharing the same space. But something feels off.

Jungkook hasn’t moved much since shifting away earlier, but there’s something about the way he’s sitting now. It’s subtle, but there’s a quiet stiffness to his posture, and a tenseness in his hands where they rest awkwardly in his lap.

You all watch in silence, some more entertained than others. Until, his phone buzzes.

It’s quiet, hardly noticeable beneath the hum of the film, but you see it.

See the way his fingers tighten around the device, the way his gaze flickers down, almost intently, reading something that doesn’t change his expression, but does something.

It’s brief, the way his thumb swipes over the screen, but the glow of the notification illuminates long enough that you catch it.

A name.

One you don’t recognize.

But then again, why would you?

Because the second he registers it, he moves.

Jungkook exhales, sitting forward like he’s making this decision in real time, like he’s choosing his next action in a way that isn’t completely thought through.

He doesn’t make much of a scene. No explanation given. Just rises from the couch, too smooth, deliberate. almost practiced.

For a second, no one else reacts. You suppose This is something he does often by the lack of bother from Jimin and Taehyung.

Until Jimin finally glances up, a hint of what you can only assume is disgust in his face. His brows furrowing slightly. “Right now?”

Jungkook doesn’t make eye contact with anyone in the room, attention focused anywhere else. He just shrugs, fingers still curled around his phone, as he makes his way toward the door.

“Yeah.”

No details, no offer the clarify.

He picks up his keys from the counter, spinning them idly in his fingers before turning toward the door. And he’s gone before anyone can say anything else.

The door clicks shit behind him, cutting through the quiet of the apartment like a knife.

You exhale, shifting in your seat once again, almost like you’re trying to shake something off, something strange that feels like it’s lingering in the air.

It’s almost nothing, but it’s not. You continue watching the film, feeling just a bit unsettled.

The only issue being that you don’t know why.

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#bts #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fake texts #jungkook fic #jungkook smau #fanfic #bts smau

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neigepomme · 3 months ago

Text

˙ ✩°˖ ☃️ try again / zayne x reader

synopsis; right person, wrong time, but even after a year, the heartache remains. you looked for him in everyone you met, and so did zayne — but when the universe lets you cross paths again, will it be kind enough to let you try again?

🍎 pomme's notes — i made a playlist for this fic! this is loosely based on jaehyun and d.ear's try again, but all of these songs were played while i was writing and i think they make the reading experience better!! also if there are typos forgive me i finished writing this at 5am oops

✴︎ 5.5k words ⋆ hurt/comfort ⋆ set in a world with no evol (also caleb cameo and zaynecaleb are best friends because i said so) ⋆ fem reader ⋆ 2nd person

it was a snowy december night when you decided to mutually break up.

the night was quiet and so peaceful, but your heart was in turmoil upon seeing his defeated face, and so was his when tears started to fall from your eyes.

it wasn’t always like this though.

you met him in college, he was two years your senior and you’d been taking the same ethics class — one he'd pushed off until his last semester before his residency. always kind and soft-spoken, you eventually got to work on a group project together and when the other people in your team decided to play hooky, zayne was the one to let the professor know and invite you to work together.

he eventually started reaching out to you under the pretense of studying together at a new cafe, only for the both of you to talk endlessly, with no real studying being done. your bashful expression when he'd compliment your new earrings didn't go unnoticed, and you also didn't miss the shy glances followed by a cough when you glanced back.

this went on for two whole months, until you encountered one of zayne's friends, caleb, at a party you both attended. drunk out of his mind, with zayne following in tow (sporting a worried expression that you found quite cute), he spotted you and made a beeline for you. the brunette pointed at you, and spoke with a slurred speech.

"you. you're the girl he's been talking about non-stop right? the cute one from his ethics class? dude, zayne's in looooove with you."

at a loss for words, you glanced at zayne — who was running a hand over his face, clearly flustered out of his mind and trying his best to get caleb to shut up.

the butterflies in your stomach were batting their wings furiously, and your own face started feeling hot. before you could even speak though, caleb spoke again, a little more agitated now.

"poor guy cannot take you off his mind, so for my mental wellbeing, please date him. i can't keep living like this, my ears are gonna fall off if i hear one more thing about you — no offense. if there's an equivalent to the bechdel test for men, we're failing and we're failing haaaaard. all because of him. i'm gonna grab another beer but you've gotta date him. please."

as caleb walked away, you stared at zayne. it was a clumsy indirect admission of feelings, but gosh was it a sweet one. his face burned red, unable to stop his friend from revealing all of that info to you — but it's not like it was a lie. whenever the two of them would hang out, he'd ask caleb for advice on what to wear for your next outing or check whether or not a text you sent him had a hidden message. hell, zayne would text him asking for good date spots to take you to.

running a hand through his hair, zayne watched his friend walk away and cleared his throat before grabbing a hold of your hand, his serious expression not doing much to distract you from the red of his cheeks.

"this wasn't how i planned on letting you know how i feel and asking you out but.. he wasn't really lying."

his cold hand gripped yours a bit more tightly, before he exhaled in a feeble attempt at steadying his nerves.

"i really do like you though, and i'd love to take you out. not as the guy from your ethics class that you're stuck doing a project with, but as your boyfriend."

that's how it started. loving zayne was comfortable. it came as easily as breathing. the late nights he'd spend in your dorm room, reading one of his cardiology textbooks while you slept soundly on his chest were your favorites. no words needed to be exchanged, his heartbeat told you everything you had to know about his love for you.

when you received a job offer from your dream company, zayne was there with a bouquet of your favorite flowers to congratulate you. kissing your face softly and whispering sweetly about how proud he was, and how he knew you'd get in. you melted in his embrace, remembering the times you'd cried in his arms, afraid of being rejected while he held you and gave you soft reassurances.

in return, you were there for him — preparing boxes of snacks for him to keep in his car while he did his residency. his own apartment was left neglected, as he preferred spending nights at your place, sleeping only for a few hours before he went back to the hospital.

it was comfortable when you were still in university, but life caught up with you rapidly. your job was rewarding, but the long hours and the overtime you had to work because of how new you were, drained you.

zayne also had a hard time. his mentor was spread thin, and he had to take on more responsibilities as a resident physician than he'd had to during his internship. coming back home to you was difficult, the shifts seemed never-ending — basically working 24 to 36 hours regularly.

the date nights became more and more sparse. you spoke to each other less and less, not wanting to drain the other further. zayne would spend more time at his place, given that it was closer to the hospital, and you'd be exhausted from the overtime to visit him. he called you during his breaks, but more often than not, he got interrupted by responsibilities or different emergency codes, only being able to talk to you for two minutes at most if he was lucky.

you were having a hard time too. trying your best to text him, but your boss seemed hellbent on making sure you were always hard at work, never allowing you the time to send zayne a quick text. the mandatory overtime was irritating to say the least — always menial tasks that took an infuriating amount of time and that kept you in the office for hours, forcing you to come home late at night. staying up was an almost impossible ask, no matter how much you loved zayne. your eyes practically closed upon entering your home, and you'd forget to wipe your makeup way too many times. the rare times you'd stay awake, he'd have to stay later, because of a young patient having a heart attack or a new admission at the hospital.

it was exhausting, and neither of you were to blame. the universe had made it difficult and you couldn't hold any resentment because you knew how much this job meant to zayne. on the other hand, he also didn't want to ask you to accommodate him — feeling that it'd be unfair to ask you to stay up, knowing just how tired you were.

eventually, it had been enough.

you tried your best to push that feeling down, convincing yourself that you two will be alright, that this is just a hardship that will pass, but it was eating away at you. you missed zayne so much, and this whole thing just wasn't doable. it wasn't sustainable for either of you. when your friend tara said, "right person, wrong time! it's unfortunate, but you can't help it," you never thought it'd apply to you. never in a million years would you have thought that this relationship would be a fleeting thing, that it'd be rendered difficult and heartache inducing. zayne was perfect for you, as you were for him — but whichever divine entity looked down upon you didn't seem to agree. the days seemed to drag on, and you missed your boyfriend so deeply, but life seemed set on making you and zayne exhausted, not even having the time to see one another.

you were the only thing on zayne's mind while he worked. the surgeries never ended, and he just wanted to take a nap in your arms, but his attending seemed keen on making him work until he keeled over. he was so worn out, every single one of his limbs sore, but he still thought about you and how lonely you must feel. this job is his dream, saving people is something he's always yearned to do, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he feels like the worst boyfriend to have ever existed. you never complained, never asked him to abandon his job to spend time with you, and whenever he'd have to cut your calls short, you'd tell him it's okay, your voice laced with an unspoken sadness.

he sometimes wished you'd get angry at him. demand he spend some time with you but you were always understandind and patient. you were too good to him, and zayne felt so selfish. you didn't deserve to wait for him, especially not when you already had so much on your plate with your new job and boss. his conscience weighed on him, and he couldn't let you keep going and be unhappy.

and so, he told his supervisor that there was a personal emergency, and he headed over to your place after sending you a message; one you dreaded but expected in the back of your mind.

"love, we need to talk. i'll come over to your place in 20 mins."

his heart ached upon sending it, and he only wished that your heart hurt less than his — unfortunately it was far from being the case. you had just gotten home when you received the text, and you could already feel tears welling up in your eyes. you knew what was going to follow, but you were exhausted, and you knew he was too. you wanted to fight for this relationship. you loved zayne so much, so desperately, it made your heart hurt, and god, you knew he loved you too. you wanted to fight, but you felt selfish doing so. in your heartbreak, you still cared about him so much. his eyebags were getting more and more pronounced, and there was nothing you could do to take away from his tiredness. at this point, you just wanted him to rest, and if you could take away one thing off his mind at the cost of your own unhappiness, you'd do it.

zayne drove to your place, his hands tight on the steering wheel. he didn't want to do this, but he loves you so much. he loves you so bad, he cannot let you wither away, waiting for him. you deserved the world and he couldn't even give you a full hour without being interrupted by a call from the hospital, or without him desperately needing sleep. he started going through his memory, trying to remember the last time he took you out on a date. the last time he gave you his full attention, the last time he saw you laugh, the last time he made you blush. all these instances seemed so far away, and he couldn't forgive himself for leaving you alone for so long. you deserved too much, and if you could be your bright, joyful self without him by your side, then so be it.

it was snowing outside, so softly. it felt as if the universe was mocking you, as if it interpreted your relationship as an insult towards itself, and was hellbent on getting rid of it. your heart was breaking in anticipation, but the world would keep on moving.

you choke back tears.

no matter how much you wanted the earth to stop spinning, just for a moment with him again, it never would. you were doomed to stride forward, whether you wanted to or not.

the twenty minutes went by at a grueling slow pace, yet it didn't feel like enough time for either of you to prepare for the inevitable. when you hear that familiar rhythmic knock on your door, it suddenly feels like the beginning of the end. there were so many thoughts going through your mind — what if you didn't answer the door? would he still stay by your side? no, that was too cruel. your stomach hurts at the thought of paining him further, and so you stood from the couch where you were sitting and walked towards the door. your whole body felt weighed down when you opened it, only to see zayne — a painful expression painted on his face. he seemed thinner than before, more tired. you wanted to reach up and cradle his face, one last time, but you held back. you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

all he wanted was to hold you in his arms, as tight as he could, and tell you, "we'll be alright, we'll be okay."

you looked so worried about him, it shattered zayne's heart. he couldn't believe you still cared, even after being so worn out from the long work hours. even in your most tired moments, when you looked so fragile, when your eyes held back tears, you still cared about him so much. he didn't want to hurt you, never wanted to — but he'd ended up doing it, and he couldn't keep dragging this on further. he didn't want to tell you how much he loved you, how much it broke him to do this.

when you invite him in, hesitant to hold his hand in fear of your resolve wavering, he refuses. if he took a step inside your home, he wouldn't want to let you go. you look up to stare into his eyes, only for him to shake his head and inhale shakily.

"i'm so sorry. i.. i think we should break up."

you heard his voice. you know what he said. you knew from before, knew it was coming, knew it was inevitable.

you knew, but it still hurt.

it hurt so terribly, and you couldn't even do anything to make it hurt less. you couldn't hate him, couldn't get angry, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything.

trying your best not to let your voice crack, you respond while choking back a sob.

"okay. i'm sorry, zayne."

when the tears started falling from your eyes, zayne wanted to reach out and wipe them away. he loathed to see you cry, but the only thing he loathed more than that at that moment was himself. his throat was closing up, and he wanted to fall to his knees.

he wanted to beg you to get angry.

beg you to love him less.

beg you to hate him.

beg you to do anything that could make it less painful for him to end things with you.

he couldn't do it, though. he could never do it, and he felt like a coward for that. so what did he do? he nodded and spoke one last time before leaving your doorstep.

"i'm so sorry. please, take care of yourself. i can't apologize enough."

as zayne walks back to his car, he has to fight with himself to not look back at you, despite the difficult breathing and the sniffles he hears from you. because if he does, he'll just run back to you. but he wants you to be free from him. free from the burden of his love — so he keeps on walking, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying.

you look at his back when he walks away.

you only allow yourself to sob once his car pulls out of your apartment's parking lot. the tears are falling freely, each one more painful than the next, and you can't help yourself from wailing, from silently begging him to come back, to tell you that everything is going to be fine, that you shouldn't break up.

sobbing on your doorstep, harder than you've ever cried before, harder than you thought you could ever cry.

one of your neighbor walks out to see you on your knees, and she asks you "what's wrong sweetie? are you hurt?", and you can only cry out that you love him, you love him so much it hurts, that you just want him. she holds you in her arms, tells you it's okay, that you'll be okay, but it's no use.

your heart hurts so bad.

it's not her you want comforting you.

it's zayne.

you want him to hold you tight, to tell you that everything will be okay.

it shouldn't have ended like this. you didn't want it to end like this, and neither did he, but there was nothing either of you could do.

right person, wrong time.

the day after was terrible. you had no choice but to show up to work, despite your voice being hoarse and your eyes being painfully puffy from all the tears you shed the night before.

everything felt off. you didn't text him during your break, and at no point did he call you.

it made you want to cry again, but you couldn't. you had to be strong because the world kept on spinning, and zayne wouldn't have wanted you to sob for him endlessly — though you were certain that once you got home, you'd start sobbing and pleading for him in your room.

the day went by quickly. too fast, really. there was just numbness when you were at your desk, something like autopilot mode kicking in.

when the clock hit 5, and your boss let you go home with no overtime, you felt the tears resurface. the one day you had wished for a distraction, away from your feelings, your boss decided to be considerate. no words were said, though. you packed your bag and walked out.

the chinese restaurant you went to with zayne was on your way home. the place where he found out he'd gotten matched into a cardiology residency at akso hospital, where he'd stood and hugged you so tightly, in front of onlookers — so unlike his usual self, who shyed away from PDA. he was so happy to share the good news with you, his favorite person.

the memories resurfaced, and it felt like you could see him in everything you've ever loved. zayne had left a permanent mark on you, and you wanted to hate him for ruining so many things for you, but you couldn't bring yourself to.

you held your tears back during the entire walk home.

maybe you should call tara. do anything to distract you from this. from feeling like a ghost, a shell of yourself without him by your side. you needed to change, to prepare food, to sleep, to work, and to repeat all of this again tomorrow. so with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, you opened your closet to grab some comfortable clothes — that was when you saw it.

one of zayne's sweaters, one that he'd given you to wear when you were cold during a date. it still smelled like his cologne, like his jasmine fragrance.

it was unfair. you inhaled sharply and looked up, trying your best to stop the sobs, but it was of no use.

it still smelled like him.

you grabbed your phone before the tears completely blurred your vision and called tara, all while clutching his sweater to your chest.

“hey babe! you got off work?”

and the sobs resumed. you cried your heart out, desperately asking her, if it was for the best, then why does it hurt so bad? why does it feel like a part of yourself got removed when he walked away? everything seemed like a blur, but you remember the door unlocking and her worried face. hands cradling your face, telling you to let it all out, to cry until you couldn't anymore. that it was okay to hurt. you didn't need to put on a front. you didn't need to look so strong — you could fall apart because you'd build yourself back up.

so you did just that. you cried in her arms. you cried for him, cried at the world, cried at the unfairness of it all. she rocked you back and forth, comfort reminiscent of zayne's arms.

you cried harder than the night before. and you kept on crying every single day for a week.

the months passed by slowly after that. you still didn't text him during your breaks, and he still didn't call you. you still loved him, you still longed for him, but you hoped he was relieved of some burden. maybe he'd finally sleep a little better at night, maybe his eyebags went away, even if you weren't there to see it. you'd be okay eventually, but now wasn't quite the time yet.

following tara's recommendation, you downloaded dating apps. not to properly date anyone, just to take your mind off him, but it proved to be harder than she said. the men you matched with all resembled him slightly. one of them had similar eyes, the other had the same fashion sense, and another had a similar smile. when you talked to them, you tried to find traces of him within their speaking habits. none of them had his dry humor, nor did they have his tender voice or his laugh.

none of them called you to check in between shifts.

none of them were zayne.

dating was off the table when you realized that; maybe you need some more time to yourself? perhaps you need to learn to visit the places you went to with him, get used to going to the cafes you two favored on your own.

your boss wasn't breathing down your neck anymore, so you could spend your next evening visiting that pastry shop zayne adored — the one he'd order macarons from and personally deliver to your home to share with you.

however, each time you told yourself you'd do it, you felt afraid.

afraid of running into him. afraid of seeing him too happy without you by his side. what if he'd already found another woman? someone from the hospital, maybe a nurse or a fellow resident. you wouldn't be able to handle it, so you pushed it off.

"i'll do it tomorrow," you'd tell yourself.

soon, it'll be a whole year without zayne. his birthday was the most difficult day since the night you lost him. funnily enough, you thought you'd be able not to cry, but you missed him even more than before. you had the day off — a PTO you scheduled ahead of the breakup, but now you were just surrounded by the silence. the autumn breeze blew through your window and reminded you of him.

“you'll catch a cold, my love.”

“mmh, the breeze feels so nice, though. but maybe if my favorite snowman hugged me and kept me warm, i'd be okay.”

“sure, darling. i'll keep you warm in my icy embrace and shield you from the cold, won't i?”

you hugged the snowman plushie he'd won you a little tighter upon reminiscing. you cried softly against it, your heart aching again — but you found solace in knowing that he was out here working hard towards his goal. you'd support him from afar, no matter what.

today marked 12 months since the breakup. an entire year.

and today, you were going to visit the pastry shop. you had to get over him, and as painful as it sounded, it had been almost a year, and you had to keep moving. zayne would become a beloved memory, treasured within both your heart and your mind.

dressed for the weather, you walked towards the quiet cafe but hesitated before opening the door to the establishment. the walk on the way here was familiar, and the pastry shop remained the same way you'd left it when you last visited it with zayne. the same regulars, the same jingle of the bell when you pushed the door open, the same chairs and the same staff. you searched for the seats you'd usually sit at with zayne, and you thought your eyes failed you when you see those familiar hazel eyes looking over the cafe, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

or someone to come in.

he was sitting alone, the same jasmine tea latte on the table in front of him — the one he'd meticulously pour three sugar packets in before stirring counterclockwise for 20 seconds to dissolve the sugar. he looked the same as he did that december night, if only more tired. his eyebags did not go away, it seemed.

gathering all the courage you could muster, you walk towards him. you'd get your closure today no matter what.

but when he looked your way, your steps faltered. his gaze softened, his shoulders slumped a bit, as if he'd let go of some tension he didn't know he held. zayne smiled, and you had to hold back from jumping into his arms, telling him how much you'd missed him. he spoke softly, as if afraid to disturb you — as if you'd blow away in the wind, like a dandelion's bristles.

"hi," he'd whisper, his voice as soothing as the day you last heard it.

your breath catches in your throat, and you have to inhale a bit before replying.

“hi, zayne. can i sit here?”

and he nodded, his lips slightly curling upwards. you hoped it was you he was waiting for. maybe he'd wanted to see as much as you did, and maybe he too longed to hold you in his arms.

you waited for him to speak again, and as if reading your mind, he did. fidgeting a bit in his chair, zayne looked over at you so fondly.

“how have you been?”

his voice. you missed his voice so much. you missed him asking about you about your day with that tone, that patient and tender, love filled tone.

"oh i've been.. decent."

that seemed like a good answer. you weren't good, nor were you fine. you had the man you loved, the man you love, sitting in front of you after close to a year of yearning for him, following the worst heartbreak you had ever experienced.

“work's been tiring, but my boss stopped breathing down my neck. i get home on time now, with no mandatory overtime. it's okay now. how about you?”

zayne wasn't fine. the hospital took in some new cardiology residents, so the workload calmed down, but he still felt restless without you by his side. he gazed over all of your features, and you looked so beautiful. he missed you to death.

“i'm handling everything okay. we have new attending physicians, so the amount of long shifts has significantly decreased.”

he spoke truthfully, you knew it, but you couldn't make sense of his eyebags if that was the truth. he looked like he's had sleepless nights for months, his eyes tired and not as bright as they used to be. he still looked so charming, though, and you thought to yourself, that it wasn't your place to inquire any further.

the two of you caught up for two hours, akin to old friends having a heartfelt reunion — except you were ex-lovers. ex-lovers who valued the other's happiness over your own, leaving you both miserable but under the impression that the other was doing better without you.

he asked if you dated in the past year, and you shook your head, explaining that you had a hard time and chose to take some time to yourself. zayne didn't need to know you were unable to date because you wanted him. he didn't need to know that you refused to give a chance to anyone who wasn't him, that you looked for him in everyone you met.

secretly, zayne felt relief upon learning that. he wanted you to be happy, of course he did, but selfishly, he wanted to be the one to bring you happiness. in all honesty, he couldn't bring himself to date anyone either. the women around him weren't you. they didn't smile at him the way you did, never cared to learn more about him beyond his face and job, and none of them texted him sweet little love messages to check up on him. you were the only one for him.

you only started heading out when the cafe announced it'd be closing its doors, and even then, neither of you seemed to be in a rush. a strange sense of longing lingered around you both, a warm feeling — something that quietly begged for one more moment spent together.

zayne offered to drive you home, and you took him up on that. the car hummed quietly as you sat in comfortable silence. the last rays of sunlight quickly disappeared, leaving behind them a deep blue night. snowflakes slowly started drifting down from the sky, and you were reminded of that night when you decided to part ways. sooner than you'd hoped, zayne pulled into your apartment's parking lot.

he still knew the way to your place.

if you asked him about it, he'd answer simply. he never forgot, never could bring himself to remove the path to your home from his memory. he'd spent countless nights there, holding you in his arms while he rested before the hospital inevitably called him for a new 36h shift. zayne could never forget the way home. not your apartment, he could never forget the way to you — his real home.

getting out of his car, he walked you to your apartment. soon, you'd have to say goodbye to him, and you grew restless at the thought. it felt like if you said goodbye today, it'd be the last time you'd see him. you didn't want to bother him any longer, nor keep him tied down.

it seemed inevitable, though. it felt like it was last year again when you had to fight tears from falling upon agreeing on breaking up. helpless, unable to speak, and to ask him to stay. unable to be selfish, for once. but what could you do? you just nodded and wished him a goodnight and goodbye. it'd be over soon enough. you'd see his back as he walked away from you for the last time.

you're the first to turn away, focusing your gaze on your doorknob, trying to type in the digits to his birthday to unlock your apartment. the tears rose up, and your eyes were misty again, fog taking over your field of vision.

it was the end.

zayne took a step back and looked at you. a feeling of doom, helplessness, and fear took over him. he'd let you go a second time, and it'd be the last this time around. no more chances — he'd never get to see your face agaim after this, but if you were happy it was worth it, wasn't it?

he watched you type in your password and heard the familiar jingle when your door unlocked.

it really was the end.

god, he really couldn't do this. he needed to be selfish for once, and he prayed you'd forgive him for it.

before you can take a step inside, you hear him call out your name, and before you can fully process it, you just feel his arms around you. he held you so tightly.

zayne was holding you in his arms. the way he desperately wanted to when he heard you cry a year ago. the way you wished he'd held you a year ago.

“i'm sorry. i'm selfish. i can't even let you go, so please, please.”

you couldn't stop the sobs that took over your body when you heard him plead for you. you clutched onto his sweater as tight as you could, the smell of jasmine so soothing while you sobbed in his arms. his arms tighten around you when he feels you tremble against him, desperate in the way he shook slightly too.

he spoke again, his voice breaking. more vulnerable than you'd ever heard him before. more raw, full of yearning, longing, desperation and love. so much love.

“i love you. i love you so much, i love you more than life itself.”

zayne kissed the top of your head, soft tears falling down his cheeks while he whispered soft apologies and promises of a future together. he missed you so much. a part of his heart went missing without you next to him. he needed you by his side, as selfish as that made him seem.

“we'll be alright. please, let's try again.”

those words you wanted to hear, so very badly on that night, a year ago. you nodded against his chest, the sobs not showing any signs of stopping.

except this time around, zayne was there to hold you in his arms. two lovers who longed for each other's warmth for a year, finally into each other's embrace again.

it was a snowy december night when you reunited with your love, and you'd never let go this time.

🍎 pomme's final notes — if the zaynejaehyun agenda has a million fans then i am one of them if the zaynejaehyun agenda has one fan it is me and if the zaynejaehyun agenda has no fans i am dead. also i bawled while writing the breakup part don't kick me too hard

also if at any point while reading this fic you wanted to kill me just know that i was probably also wanting to kill myself but hey all's well that ends well am i right :P

#⋆ pomme writes #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne #lads zayne #lads x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #⋆ neigepomme #can i be honest i cried writing this #right person wrong time is the worst thing ever #genuinely so infuriating but this one has a happy ending #it's because if it ended badly i would've cried myself to sleep #also because i experienced the bad ending and i wouldn't wish that upon reader. love u guys lots!!

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menlove · 4 months ago

Text

"Life After the Bastards: 30 Years On, Macca Tells All"

"Blamed for the break-up for the biggest band in history, Paul McCartney downsized rapidly to cultivate a successful pop smallholding. Yet a bountiful solo career was always dominated by two famous partners, he tells Paul Du Noyer."

i said i'd do this ages ago and then the horrors happened, but this is a written up version of an interview by paul du noyer with paul mccartney from mojo's july 2001 issue.

sidenote: this seems to be the source for the claim that john thought "dear boy" was about him, which is why i bought the magazine because i haven't been able to find a digitized version of the interview and wanted to get the context. but it's a very fascinating interview just in general so it's definitely worth a read!

Wings were a band who seldom felt the feathery end of the critic's quill, but this year we're seeing Paul McCartney's biggest effort so far to rehabilitate the second most popular group he ever belonged to. He's released a double-CD and a documentary, both called Wingspan, that tell the story as he would like it told. And you soon realise that there's more than a muso's pride at stake in this project. "The great thing is," he says, "it vindicates Linda. I know she wanted to do the Wingspan thing. She knew if it was laid out correctly, people would get the idea. With all the slagging off she got, like the famous tape at Knebworth..." (This illicit cassette, from the mixing desk of a live show at the outdoor venue, was for years a dependable source of satirical mirth in music business circles; Linda McCartney's off-key vocals circumnavigate the chorus notes of Hey Jude, while anonymous engineers hoot cruelly.)

"The truth was," her loyal widower continues, "she was doing this (he stands, raises his hands to clap above his head). She was being the big cheerleader: 'Hey Jude, naah-naah-na.' But you don't see the visual, you just here this out-of-tune voice, and I know she always wanted the record put straight. And this does. You see her playing. You hear her singing beautifully. And you see what she was to the group. You see why she had to be in the group. She becomes the ballsiest member of it..."

He settles back on the sofa, here in the Soho office of his MPL company. Around his neck is a slim pink tie of the kind that Elvis used to wear. On his feet are trainers that look less like a gesture to trendiness than a concession to comfort. Just behind him is the Art Deco statuette that appears on a couple of Wings LP sleeves. The other great thing about the Wingspan film, he says,was being interviewed by his daughter Mary. (That's her face you can see, peeping out from Dad's jacket on the cover of the first solo LP, 31 years ago.) "I'd never had such a long natter with her, as doing this. And I used to say to my kids, You're the only ones who never ask me about The Beatles. Their friends would come round and say, 'What was it like being in The Beatles?' I'd go (adopts pompous old git voice), Well, let me tell you... And my kids would all go out the room: 'Oh bloody hell, he's off...' That's how kids are, they don't want to hear about that shit. But their friends would, so I'd chunder on..."

In fact he chunders on about The Beatles a lot more than you might expect. Or about one Beatle in particular, at least. The World's Most Famous Living Liverpudlian is anything but reticent when it comes to the World's Most Famous Dead Liverpudlian. It's quite contrary of him, because for the first 20 years after the group split up, he showed a stubborn reluctance to discuss the subject with his interviewers. They wanted to ask about John Lennon; he wanted to discuss Back To The Egg... Then came a reconciliation with his past that culminated in the Anthology exercise, when the moratorium on Beatle-talk was entirely lifted. And now, in 2001, when the promotional agenda has switched back to Wings, you almost have to coax him off the subject of John Lennon. Is it just force of habit, or maybe the need to exorcise some kind of long-nosed, bespectacled, sharp-tongued ghost inside his head?

Taste restrains Paul from claiming any posthumous victories over John, though it's no secret that he still has some differences with Yoko that are as wide as the Atlantic that normally separates them. But he can't resist smiling at the irony of Lennon spending his last few years championing the sort of domestic cosiness that was once a derided part of the McCartney stereotype.

"Yeah, it's lovely. But you're right to say they were stereotypes. Everyone thought John was the hard, working class hero. As you know, if you look at his house, he was actually the middle class one, from Woolton. We were the scruffs. He had the full Works Of Winston Churchill: nobody any of us knew had that. A set of encyclopedias was the most that anyone in our class had. But he had The Works Of Winston Churchill, and he'd read 'em, I think.

"There were so many stereotypes of John. And I love the fact that in the end- it's one of the great blessings of my life, seeing as he got shot- that during the last year, we made it up. Thank God for that. I would be just so fucked up now, if I'd still been arguing with him and that had happened. I was thinking about it just the other day. It was cool that I'd started ringing him. We'd had a bread strike over here and I rang him and I was saying, What are you doing? He says, 'I'm breaking some bread.' Oh! Me too! Imagine, with the stereotypes, John and Paul talking about baking bread. He'd just had Sean, and he was talking about just padding round the apartment in his dressing gown, putting the cat out and changing the baby.

"And I'd been doing all of that, and as you say, I'd been stereotyped for it. It was really warm to be able to talk to him that ordinarily, finally. It was like we'd got back to where we'd been when we were kids. It was like we could actually talk about stuff that didn't matter, but somehow it did matter..."

Back in 1970 neither John nor Paul, nor George or Ringo, would find The Beatles an easy beast to walk away from. Paul and Ringo seem to be at peace with it now; John would probably have become so; George never has. Besides the legal wranglings and the personal rancour that persisted between them for a while, there was the unique problem of getting used to living in a world that you no longer ruled.

Pop in the 1960s was like a pyramid. At the top obviously, were The Beatles. Around them and just below, were Dylan, the Stones, the deposed King Elvis, and so on down to the broad base of innumerable also-rans. But pop in the 1970s was more like range of mountain peaks, topped by anyone from Elton John to the Sex Pistols. There was also no unified hierarchy any more, and there hasn't been one since. McCartney can't have found the new world order an easy proposition. But he overcame his doubts the same way that he overcame his blacker periods in The Beatles. In other words, he worked.

It's one of those first post-mop top albums that we discuss in detail today. McCartney (1970) and Ram (1971) were curiously anti-climatic in their day. The first was home-grown, small-scale, contentedly modest, like a record made for his private diversion. The second was sprawling and eccentric, full of unfinished tunes and nonsense rhymes. This was an era when former Beatles were still expected to return from the mountain bearing tables of stone (which Lennon and Harrison certainly attempted to do), not these gaudy, giggling indulgences. Three decades later, McCartney and Ram have endured far better than anyone expected.

It's typical of McCartney, though, that he's still insecure about their worth. He has a peculiar, wrong-end-of-the-telescope way of assessing his talent. He tries to talk up McCartney by telling you that "Dave Stewart really likes it", or boasts that a hippy van driver once yelled across the LA traffic, "Ram! Great album dude!" Recently his girlfriend Heather Mills put it this way: "He is a genius but doesn't realise it, which is delightful."

Towards the end of The Beatles you were dying to get back to playing live in a band, weren't you? But your first move is to go the opposite way and do a totally solo album.

Yeah. I couldn't have another band because I wasn't sure The Beatles had actually broken up. It was on the cusp: we hadn't broken up when I started it, so it was just me doing some solo stuff. And then we had broken up, but things hung on. It basically started from John's decision to leave the band, which came when I said I think we should get back together and do some little gigs. And he said, "Well I think you're daft and I wasn't going to tell you until after we signed the Capitol deal but I'm leaving the band." (Mimes an axe falling) That was, like, The Moment The Beatles Broke Up. But it wasn't in the open until a few months later, when I issued the McCartney album and did this press release with it, which virtually had the announcement. I finally blew the whistle on it. And John was annoyed, even though he hadn't said anything. It turns out, he told me later, that he wanted to be the one who announced it. He was jealous that I beat him to it. But I felt that three or four months was enough to wait around. Either we were just going to fuck about for another year, or we had to actually say to people, "You know what? About three or four months ago we actually broke up." So that was how that happened.

So in your head, The Beatles were still together when you were making McCartney. Whereas the outside world heard it as "What Paul did after leaving The Beatles." I think it seemed a strangely low-key record, as a result.

No. It was on the cusp. There were a lot of funny things around at the time. Allen Klein: he was the one I wanted to sue to get out of it all. But everyone said, "He's not party to any of the agreements, he's just an outside guy. So you'll have to sue The Beatles." So I got into this terrifying thing of having to sue them, scared more than anything of the fact that, as you say, people would just see this album come out, hear my announcement and then hear I was suing The Beatles, without knowing any of the context. So I knew I was in for problems. And I tried my best in the press to say, "Oh, blah blah blah, it was Allen Klein, blah blah." So it was a shitty time for me. The only option was to either let him take it all, and the guys just swim along with him, or fight it. He said I was fine, "Don't worry, McCartney loves me" and all of this. And I knew I was hating the bastard. But to get out of him I had to sue the guys. And, as you know, Liverpool, the mates, no matter how much we were arguing, it's one thing you don't ever want to have to do. So I knew the perception of me would, like, be deadened from there on in. And I suppose in many ways I've been fighting that for 20 years. But it was a clear choice: do that and possibly save it all- or even lose it and pay the lawyers' bills, which was not a terrific option- or just let Klein take it all. 'Cos the others were just with him, gung ho. So I took the option of suing him and had to live with that perception, including: "This is what Paul's done as his first move after leaving The Beatles." Which was actually the nicest bit of the perception: I did an album after The Beatles, so what? The worst thing for me was, I sued my best mates. But the thing is, looking back on it, they now say "Thank you, you got us out of it, we wouldn't have Apple, there'd be no Anthology, no I record, it'd all be in someone else's pocket now." It was the right thing to do, but I knew I was walking into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Very scary, but it was one of those moments in your life when you have to do it.

And, of course, we were hearing McCartney just after Abbey Road, which was at the opposite extreme.

Very produced, yeah.

Despite the problems going on around it, McCartney sounds a pretty cheerful affair.

Yeah, it was, because of Linda. I was just starting with Linda and in my mind the album was my escape from it all. I'd get home, new baby, that joy... any readers who've got a new baby, it transforms your life. I hadn't had a baby before, though we had Heather from Linda's first marriage. Home was a great solace for me, and making this record was "Yeah, this is what I love to do." The rest, outside, was shit, but coming inside it was like a little cocoon. So I either made the album all at home or went down to a little studio in Willesden. Lin and the baby in the control room. Young married life is a very special time. And I always liked doing things on my own. I was the kid in Liverpool who sort of went on a bus to the next stop, to Penny Lane, and got off and just looked around: "Who lives there?" I still like that, it's in my personality to just go somewhere and watch people. Last night I took the Tube home. We went to the theatre, couldn't get a taxi anywhere in the West End. I really get a charge off that. George never used to. His dad was a bus driver. I'd say to him, even when we were famous, I love getting on a bus. He'd say (astonished), "The bus? Why? You've got a car!" But you're just looking at people. And now of course, with fame, they're looking at me a bit.

There's one or two on the Tube last night, cracking up laughing. Guy in a baseball cap, decides he's got to cool himself out, pull it together, gets off at the same stop: "All right mate? Good luck!" So that's where the record got its happiness. And when the time came to release it, I finally had to deal with Mammon, which was Apple. Ring them up and say, "Er, can I have a release date?" Neil [Aspinall] gave me a date. I was kind of boycotting Apple, and Suddenly Mammon decided to change my release date for (adopts sarcastic tone) the massive Let It Be album. And I'm, "You fucking bastards! I've got a release date worked out! How can you do this?" I can't remember what happened, but I certainly shouted loud enough. So it was Rage Against The Machine, me against them. That's why it was a good album for me, and it's pretty funky, some of the little pieces like Momma Miss America have a great sound on them. I was like a professor in his laboratory. Very simple, as basic as you can get, a joy to make. (Scans the tracklist) Teddy Boy was good, I'd tried to make that with The Beatles but no one was having much patience with me. Maybe I'm Amazed was about the biggest song on it. And Kreen-Akrore was about an Amazon tribe I'd seen, who were fighting for survival, I went into the studio and recorded the sound of a bow and arrow going past the mike. Even now that album has an interesting sound. Very analogue, very direct.

The next album, Ram, is famous for its supposed attacks on John and Yoko, isn't it?

Well, Too Many People was a bit of a dig at John, because he was digging at me. We were digging at each other in the press. Not harsh, but pissed off with each other, basically.

Have I misheard, or does it really start with the words "Piss off"?

Yeah. Piss off, cake. Like, a piece of cake becomes a piss off cake. And it's nothing, it's so harmless really, just little digs. But the first line is about "too many people preaching practices". I felt John and Yoko were telling everyone what to do. And I felt we didn't need to be told what to do. The whole tenor of the Beatles thing had been, like, each to his own. Freedom. Suddenly it was, "You should do this." It was just a bit the wagging finger, and I was pissed off with it. So that one got to be athing about them. Once you start, the ball starts rolling. There was a picture that we had for Hallowe'en of the two of us in silly masks that we picked up at a kids' shop in New York. I'm Wimpey out of Popeye, and Linda was another character which looked a bit Oriental. We heard later that they thought that was a dig at them, but it actually wasn't. So when John did a piss-take [in a postcard given away with his Imagine LP], he held a pig instead of the ram. This wasn't posed. Me and Linda decided to catalogue all our sheep, so there's a photograph of me holding every bloody sheep in the flock. Over 100 of them. I was supposed to be cropped out.

Is that where the title came from?

I remember driving up to Liverpool at some point and deciding that Ram would be a good title for an album, then the picture came, and you can "ram" a door down, and a "ram" is a male, like a stag. It just seemed like a good word. Monkberry Moon Delight I liked, so much so that it's in my poetry book. "My long-haired lady." Very '70s. Ram On is a cute little thing on a ukelele, 'cos I used to carry one around with me in the back of New York taxis just to always have music with me. They thought I was a freak, those taxi-drivers. Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey was an epic thing, a Number 1 in America, surprisingly enough. I like the bit that breaks in: "Admiral Halsey notified me, da-da-da, had a cup of tea and a butter pie." It's a bit surreal, but I was in a very free mood. I like all of that. It must have freaked a few people, 'cos it was quite daft. Back Seat Of My Car is very romantic: "We can make it to Mexico City." That's a really teenage song, with the stereotypical parent who doesn't agree, and the two lovers are going to take on the world: "We believe that we can't be wrong." I always like the underdog.

I think John might have taken Dear Boy as an attack on him.

Dear Boy wasn't getting at John. Dear Boy was actually a song to Linda's ex-husband. "I guess you never knew what you had missed." I never told him that, which was lucky, because he's since committed suicide. And it was a comment about him, 'cos I did think, "Gosh, you know, she's so amazing, I suppose you didn't get it.

The LP sounds like you had more tunes lying around than songs to use them in. A lot of the tracks are like medleys of different ideas.

Yeah, Long Haired Lady goes off a bit, Back Seat Of My Car goes off a bit, Big Barn Bed comes off Ram On, that's right.

No writer's block at that point, then?

No, I've been very lucky about writer's block, touch wood. It occurred to me the other day that me and John never sat down on, what was it, 295 songs me and John wrote? And on those 295 occasions, we never came away without a song, which is fucking phenomenal. The only time we nearly did, was Golden Rings, which became Drive My Car. It was "duh-duh duh-duh golden rings..." Um, this is not gonna compute. Finally, we had a ciggie and a cup of tea and our humour came back and Drive My Car came out of that. Some people analyse songwriting. I've never known about it. It's fingers crossed, every time I sit down to do it. I just dive right in and hope for the best, and it seems to work.

Were you feeling in competition with the other ex-Beatles, now?

Yeah, we were all in competition. Which was a weird thing, trying to avoid each other's release dates, like we'd avoided the Stones' release dates in The Beatles. When John or George released an album, I'd check it out, to see where he was up to. I think the truth, as a lot of people have said, is that we were missing each other. We missed the collaborative thing, of John saying, "Don't do that" or "Do that". Sparking each other off. For a while I was certainly very conscious of it. The only good thing was that I had been writing without John for a while, towards the end of The Beatles, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was still a pretty big shock just not to be hanging out with these guys. 'Cos I'd hung out with them since I was 17.

Even when you were not writing together, on later Beatles records, there must have been a stage in the process where the others listened to your songs, and vetoed them or otherwise.

Exactly. John brought me Glass Onion. I remember him out in the garden in St John's wood saying, "What do you think of this?" We would just run it past each other, like you would run it past a mate or a producer. And he actually asked me, "D'you think I should put in this line about the Walrus was Paul?" I said, Oh yeah! It's brilliant. I just generally tended to agree with his stuff, and he tended to agree with mine- like in Hey Jude, i was going to knock out that line about "The movement you need is on your shoulder." He said, "You're not, that's the best line in it." So, often it wasn't negative but bolstering each other up. I might go through the whole studio experience thinking, This line's not right. But the minute he'd signed off on it, I thought, This line is ace! Similarly with him and Glass Onion. It was the strength of unity.

It's always striking that, of the four solo Beatles, George and Ringo got off to the strongest starts.

Yeah, George's All Things Must Pass. As he said, it was just like a diarrhea, he must have held it in for so long. And he had Phil [Spector] and a lot of really good people. And George was just so pissed off with us. I mean, all that anger just came out. Which is a good thing for an album, the "I'll show you" factor, which I had later in Band On The Run, when two of the members left the night before. So George and Ringo did get off to very good starts. John and I took it a bit hard, but all in all throughout the years we all did pretty well as single acts.

You formed a band for Ram, but it's not yet Wings.

Not yet, no. Denny Seiwell turns out to be in the band. Hugh McCracken who plays on a lot of it, who was nearly in the band. He came to Scotland to rehearse, but he was such a New York guy that he didn't really like to be away from America, and I can see that. New York is such a satisfying town, you can walk one block and get anything, whereas you can't do that in the Mull of Kintyre...

The first official line-up of Wings, which makes Wild Life, includes Denny Laine.

Denny came from The Moody Blues. I'd seen him when were out on tour with The Beatles and we'd played with them. My enduring memory is of one night up in somewhere like Edinburgh on tour, we'd had a few drinks and we decided that The Moody Blues would play The Beatles at snooker on this very beautiful, full-sized snooker table. Instead of being sensible and playing one at a time against each other, in a kind of league, they all got on one end of the table and we all got on the other, and I'm afraid the table got trashed. Oh shit. So I knew Denny, I knew we could get on personally and I liked his voice, particularly from Go Now, which I championed. I remember taking that around the BBC in its early days and saying, "Have you heard Go Now by The Moody Blues? It's my favourite record of the moment." And those producers would take notice of us. I was also used to having another lead voice in the group with me, so Denny became that.

And this time there's a friendlier song for John.

Dear Friend was to do with John, a bit of longing about John. Let's have a glass of wine and forget about it. A making up song.

Finally you do what The Beatles wouldn't agree to do, and get back on the road.

It seemed to me that for a band it's essential. We'd given it up in '67 with Sgt. Pepper when our new decree was, "The record will go on tour and we won't. We'll make a great record and send that out instead." But what happened after that was, we made some good records, but missed the stimulus of going out on tour. We missed seeing the whites of their eyes and getting a reality check: "They liked that one, they didn't like that one." And we hadn't done it for so long that my choice was, Either give up music, or continue to make it. I wanted The Beatles to go out as a live band, therefore I ought to go out as a live band. So we got a band and hatched the plan of going out on the university tour. Didn't want a big supergroup, a Blind Faith-style thing. I wanted to try and learn the whole thing again, hopefully learn some new things, rather than just repeat The Beatles things, which had all been done, and been about as successful as anyone in the world was ever gonna be.

But you took the informality to extremes, not even booking hotels.

No gigs or hotels or anything. Looking back, I can't believe we did that. We had the van, the dogs, the kids, and it was just madness. It was like I'd never been in The Beatles, I couldn't rely on any of that fame as a crutch. We went up to these universities, and fate had it that a lot of them were having exams. We didn't ring them up and ask if they'd be ready for us. And the other thing was we walked into power cuts: it was the time of the Great British Three Day Week. My image now is of trying to find our way around the dark North with a torch. Is anyone in? Like trying to find a gig in a mine. But we found a couple. Nottingham was one. Lancaster we played. Newcastle City Hall. Durham. When we did find places it was really cool. The students had a good time.

And you had the unfamiliar experience of handling money again.

Yeah, it had all been cheques and accounts and stuff, bank statements. And suddenly it was 50p on the door. So we came away with these bags of coins, which reminded me of Peter Sellers in Tom Thumb: One for you, two for me... We just counted them out in the van afterwards. Good experience, going through all those hardships, and it got us together as a band.

But that line-up wasn't to last, and nor did any Wings line-up. Why?

I've never actually thought about it. I know it happened but I've always blanked it. Probably, in my mind, a band is a democratic unit. Everyone has an equal vote, and in The Beatles for 10 years that had been the case. So if Ringo didn't like one of our songs, which wasn't often, Ringo could veto a Lennon & McCartney song. That meant everyone felt good about themselves. But in Wings that wasn't the case. I was the ex-Beatle. So I saw myself as the leader of the group, which I'd never been in The Beatles. There wasn't a leader in The Beatles. People had said that John was, and later people had said that I was, but neither of us ever acknowledged it. It wasn't the deal. People would ask, "Who's the leader of the group?" We'd say there wasn't one. I think once or twice in Hamburg, in the early days, John said, "I am." But we got pissed off, so it became a democracy. But Wings wasn't. It wasn't a dictatorship, but we weren't all equal.

By the '70s there was suddenly lots of other big acts: Led Zeppelin, T. Rex, Bowie, Pink Floyd, even The Osmonds in their way, or Abba. Was it difficult, as a Beatle, to adjust to the new landscape?

I knew it was going to be difficult. There was this thing of Follow The Beatles. You found yourself just one of the acts in the Hit Parade, rather than the undisputed leaders. But I knew by starting the group from scratch that we had to work our way up So anyone like Zeppelin or Bowie who'd been building during the '60s and had now arrived, naturally took precedence. You just had to understand that there are people bigger than you. And it gave us a benchmark. We thought, "We'll be as big as you one day." It was very weird for me, starting all over again. But it wasn't the world's worst thing. It was quite sobering, really. It's good to be knocked off your perch. There was a lot of that with Wings. Not only was I doing things for myself with the band, I was personally doing things for myself, living up in Scotland, mowing the field with my tractor. In The Beatles, the office used to buy your Christmas tree for you. Now I was buying my own Christmas tree. I enjoyed that . It's unhealthy to think you're the big cheese all the time. Within The Beatles, we each reminded each other that we weren't. But I think there is a big risk with stardom. I'd ring up a restaurant and say, Have you got a table? "Sorry sir, we're full booked." It's Paul McCartney here. "Oh! Certainly, Mr McCartney!" I've never been comfortable with it.

It seemed like you were uncomfortable with The Beatles' legacy for most of your time with Wings.

The thing about Wings was we bought into the myth that it could never be as good as The Beatles. I knew it was the world's most difficult thing to bite off. Everything we did was in the shadow of The Beatles, which had recently been this phenomenal band. So we did everything with quite a lot of paranoia. And it's only on looking back, that I think we did a lot of great work. You look at '76, we have this big, big tour, and at first everyone wants to know, "Is this gonna be a Beatles reunion? It's rumored that McCartney blah-blah-blah, George Harrison and Ringo Starr are going to join him on-stage, and John Lennon blah-blah-blah." So it was rumoured The Beatles were going to re-form. Even in our most successful year they were taking our success off us. It was, "Well maybe The Beatles will re-form, that would be good." But the great thing was that three weeks into the tour it was suddenly, "Who cares?" It doesn't matter. This is a great band. And at the end of it we go and set some big world record. So that's good to see. We did this thing that we set out to do. And we needn't have worried.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #wings #mclennon #this whole interview was super fascinating tbh....#like all the insane paul & john quotes aside it's just very interesting #i lost it at the story about the beatles vs the moody blues game of snooker lmfao #also saying here I don't think this is nearly enough to say john thought dear boy was about him #I think the interviewer maybe meant too many people bc that's what they were talking about before #did briefly go 'I should email this guy' and then I sat there like girl it's NOT that much of a mystery put it down

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