#that's. that's fine. that's fine maybe i should be focused on fruit instead! fruit is good sugar!

[arcaneyouth]

i'm starting to think living with 5 other people may simply be a problem

[starsstuddedsky]

Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

summary: fantasy crushes are all fun and games until it stops being a fantasy and he’s really talking to you. but what are you supposed to do when he invades every part of your life?

genre: fluff, angst, university au, non idol au, he’s not a frat boy but he’s basically a frat boy, inaccurate depictions of student council, I don’t actually know what this is

warnings: swearing, drinking, implied sex (it’s pg-13), lmk if I missed any

wc: 18.3k (oops)

a/n: ahahaha remember that jaemin dream… yeah. anyways so I’ve looked at this for so long that I don’t even know what this is anymore, all I know is that I can’t keep working on it. also I still don't know what a persimmon tastes like so.. yeah. I really wanted to try one but if this stays in my drafts any longer I will go insane. I hope you all enjoy!!!! as always I'd love to hear what you think :)

You’ve never had persimmon before but you think maybe it’s the best word to describe Na Jaemin. He is a persimmon in your palm, an unknown flavor to be discovered if you dare to bite. It doesn’t help that he chose to wear orange today, the sweater a shade away from pink. 

There’s a pinch at your side. “You’re staring again.” 

You glare at Renjun, who doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop, working on the graphic for the student council. “Was not.” 

“Whatever,” he says. “Just don’t let the pretty boy distract you from paying attention because I needed to finish this yesterday.”

“The only one distracting me is you, and you aren’t pretty.” You pretend his silence is agreement instead of him trying to force you to take notes as Professor Bae closes up the lecture. 

It’s not that you can’t focus around Na Jaemin–your perfect notes at the end of class prove just the opposite. Jaemin simply exists in another world. There is your corner, mostly filled with student council responsibilities and never ending university work, and there is Na Jaemin, honorary member of every frat on campus. Not that you’ve been thinking that much about him, but his Instagram shows up in your recommended often enough for you to know that he goes to parties nearly every weekend. The sliver of overlap in the Venn diagram of your world and his only includes Microbiology on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1 to 4, and that’s enough for you. To fantasize about him from here, a fruit you’ll never have the opportunity to try. 

Jaemin starts to turn around and you quickly turn to Renjun, resisting the urge to peek at him out of the corner of your eye. You look at the shapes on Renjun’s computer instead. 

“That looks like shit.” 

“Trust the process,” he says. 

“You spent the entire lecture working on this, you are aware we have a lab where you actually have to do things right?” 

“You don’t think you can handle it on your own?” 

“Stop trying to bait me into doing all the work.” You close your laptop, standing and stretching. You see Jaemin out of the corner of your eye, a blob of black hair shuffling down the aisle toward the door to the classroom. The orange-pink sweater is actually a cardigan, large cream colored buttons keeping it together. That’s when you realize you’re staring again. Shit. 

“Are we eating before lab or do you seriously think you’ll finish that thing in the next thirty minutes?” You ask Renjun, who still hasn’t moved. 

“You want to be president when you aren’t even pressuring me into posting the election announcements that were supposed to go out yesterday?” 

“I want to eat something before we have to stare into microscopes, so what do you want?” You wonder if he’s focused enough to miss you grabbing his wallet out of his bag. 

“Whatever you want is fine and if you use my card it will literally decline.” You curse and toss his wallet back into his backpack. 

“Should have taken that class with Chenle, his card never declines.” 

“That’s because it’s his parents’ black card.” He finally looks up from his laptop at you. “Are you getting the food or not?” 

You open your mouth to say something extremely witty and/or smart, but your stomach rumbles. “I’m going to fire you when I’m president.” 

“And who else will put up with your bullshit?” he calls as you walk down the aisle. You prepare a mature response (sticking your tongue out at him), walking backwards. Directly into someone—bouncing off their chest, more specifically. 

Hands grab your shoulders before you can react, straightening you before you have a chance to fall. “Woah there.” 

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” you say as you turn around and find Na Jaemin staring at you. Apologies spill out, even as he smiles at you, a true, knees-to-jelly, threat-to-sunshine smile. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. 

“Sorry,” you repeat. Your brain struggles to diversify its vocabulary with him looking at you, smiling with his eyes in full focus. His eyes are so dark it’s difficult to distinguish between his pupils and his irises. Staring, again, the third time in an hour. Why can’t you be normal around him? 

“I was blocking your way out anyway, so it wasn’t all your fault.” He steps back, letting you out of the aisle. At least, giving you the space to do it, since your feet decide not to work. He tilts his head at you, sending your brain into a spiral of predictions, ranging from he’s going to ask you out (rather fantastical) to he’s going to tell you that you have something stuck between your teeth (horribly realistic). 

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?” 

“Yeah. How did you know that?” 

His smile widens when you say yes. “Student council vice president, right?” 

You don’t trust your voice so you nod. 

“I’m Jaemin,” he says, extending his hand for a moment like he wants to shake hands but he pulls away at the last second. “Your picture is on the website.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth going through the motions on its own since your brain’s whiteboard has been wiped completely clean. The only thing left is NA JAEMIN in giant bold letters, bright red marker and all. 

“Yes, it is,” he says. Does he know the effect his smile has on people? Legally it could be considered a weapon. He pauses a moment longer, like he wants to say something else but instead he turns away, walking back to his seat, waving at half the class because of course he does. 

You don’t have to turn around to feel Renjun staring at you. You don’t feel like hearing his judgy comments, even when they’re only passed on through his eyes. Whoever said eyes are the window to the soul was right—Renjun’s give you a clear view of the most judgmental person you have ever met. You leave the class without looking back. 

Very few places nearby campus sell edible food, and even fewer are ever empty enough to be able to grab food and eat before the three hour lab starts. Today is even worse than normal, as if everyone has chosen to be hungry at the same time as you. You end up at a 7/11, grabbing Takis since they’re the only chips Renjun will eat. You grab an iced tea, tapping your finger in line as you wait. Getting the food was enough of a distraction to keep you from thinking about Jaemin but as you wait for the person in front of you try to get a discount using a coupon that expired three months ago, you go over every millisecond of the interaction–and god, you were so awkward. All you really did was apologize to him, you couldn’t even move. You have got to grow up, stop acting like a middle schooler with a crush. 

The cashier finally gives up, giving the person a discount and waving them out. You set your food down and smile at her. She does her best to put a customer service smile back on her face, though you can see the exhaustion. You thank her as profusely as you can. 

By the time you make it back to the lecture room, there’s barely five minutes left of break. 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Renjun says, grabbing the bag out of your hands. You keep your iced tea on the side farthest from him, glaring at him until he tilts the bag so that you can reach it too. “We are going to make Donghyuck cook tonight, I need real food.” 

“Agreed,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spew hot chip dust everywhere. 

“And I took pictures of you embarrassing yourself in front of Jaemin, so please try to replace me as your social media correspondent.” He smiles at you over the purple bag. 

“You’re horrible, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.” 

.

.

Unfortunately, Renjun’s graphic does look good, though still not good enough to warrant how much time he spent on it. The messy shapes don’t look half as bad when they’re the right color, and all the information is listed (not in Comic Sans, though it’s only a matter of time before he tries to use it again. You have yet to find out if he actually likes the font or just wants to be annoying). He posts it an hour after the lab, which wasn’t half bad. Your percent error was under 50% for once. 

It’s a Friday morning, no classes since your university actually listened to the student requests for a three day weekend, which the student council (you) takes full credit for. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you are responsibility free. Instead you sit in cheap plastic chairs rented from the events and planning committee and under a tent that’s in serious danger of blowing away. 

You cling to your ball cap, NCIT STUDENT COUNCIL embroidered on the front. The papers in front of you whip around, the weights on top of them holding steady. At least it isn’t raining, though the thick clouds overhead get darker every minute. 

Realistically, there’s no reason for you to be here. All the information about running for student council is posted online and with over 30,000 students, only a small portion of the student body actually care—none of whom are walking around campus at 11 in the morning on a Friday. You pull the blanket tighter over your shoulders. Just another fifteen minutes and then Jisung will relieve you. Mark should be the one freezing his ass off since he’s the one that insists on upholding tradition, but as president he takes advantage of avoiding work whenever he can. 

Only two and a half months before that privilege is yours. Assuming you are elected, of course, but there’s no real danger in losing that. You’ve been a part of the council since freshman year, appointed as vice president as a sophomore. Few people have more qualifications, and fewer are actually interested in the position. Usually the competition comes from within the cabinet, but none of the rest of the guys have said anything about the running, though that might be because you haven’t shut up about the position since freshman year. Either way, the position is all but yours, and there is absolutely no reason you need to sit here when you could be studying for midterms. 

A strong gust of wind blows from in front of you instead of behind and this time you are too slow. Your cap flies off your head, tumbling across the empty quad. You shuffle after it, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders, which helps protect you from the cold winds. Unfortunately, said cold winds don’t stop blowing, and your hat blows faster than you can shuffle. It reaches to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the squad by the time it finally stops. 

Moving as fast as you can wrapped up one dry day away from mummification, you try to snatch the cap before it gets blown away again. You bend down to reach for it but a pair of sneakers appear in front of you and a mitten-clad hand grabs it before you can. You stand up and find Jaemin, wearing bright red earmuffs that have a green headband to make it look like a pair of cherries. He holds your hat out, smiling when he sees you (when he recognizes you?). 

“What’s wrong? Hat got your tongue?” He waits, with an expectant smile. The boy next to him, wearing more layers than you, shakes his head. “Sorry,” Jaemin says, “bad joke, I know, but I couldn’t help it.” 

Even the most lovesick part of you can’t defend him on that one. You take your hat from his outstretched hand, sticking it back on your head when you realize what your hair must look like after crossing the quad with all the wind. 

“It’s Jaemin, from microbio,” he says, as if there’s actually a chance you don’t know him. 

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

He flashes a smile that warms you better than any sun. “My pleasure, Vice President.” 

“You can just call me YN,” you mumble. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You swear he winks, though maybe it’s the wind blowing in his eyes. 

The boy next to him nudges Jaemin with his shoulder, keeping his hands tucked safely in the pockets of his jacket. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “This is Jeno, he’s–God, I guess he’s my best friend.” He glances at Jeno, unimpressed. “The position is temporary.” 

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly. 

“Jeno, this is the vice president of the student council,” he says. 

“YN,” you say, “I’d shake your hand but…” You show your hands, stuck keeping the blanket wrapped around you. 

“It’s alright, I lost my gloves, so my hands are stuck here.” Jeno lifts his jacket with his hands in the pockets, just to prove his point. 

“Hey, I didn’t get a handshake,” Jaemin says. 

“Did you need a handshake?” 

He tilts his head, showing off his jawline, not that you’re paying attention to that at all. It simply calls attention to itself, and who are you to ignore a jawline that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo (not the ninja turtle). He must be cold with so much skin exposed. 

“I’ll settle for some advice,” Jaemin says. Right, maybe you shouldn’t be comparing his face to famous works of art mid-conversation (save it for the Instagram stalking like everyone else). 

“Advice?” 

“I was actually looking for you anyway.” Jaemin glances at Jeno before meeting your eyes again. “The student council election is open to anyone, right?” 

“The presidency is open to seniors that are enrolled here, but yeah,” you say. “Why?” 

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.” 

You blink at him. “For president? Of student council?” 

“Yeah,” he says. Jeno shuffles beside him, stuffing his hands impossibly deeper into his pockets. 

President… but that’s your position. If it wasn’t for the senior-only rule, you’d already be president. You rose through the ranks, suffered through a vice presidency with Mark to get here–it’s your position. 

“Do I apply there?” He asks, pointing at the table you’re supposed to be sitting at. 

“The application is online,” you find yourself saying, “you have to submit a resume and go through a qualifying process, and submit your proposals for campaign policies and a whole bunch of other stuff, it’s all on the application information.” You’re about halfway through your own application, though it’s mostly copying and pasting from the document you’ve been working on since you joined student council. 

“You can scan the QR code on this blanket, it’ll take you to the application.” You hold it straight, cursing Renjun in your head for being so creative with marketing. You look like an idiot, waiting for him to scan your shoulder. 

“Cool,” Jaemin says, pulling out his phone, but instead of scanning the code, he hands it to you, a new contact profile with your name already in it. You glance between the phone and the smiling boy. “Can I ask you if I have any questions?” 

Jaemin is asking you for his phone number. To help with his campaign, against you. Your brain works in overdrive, trying to determine how you are supposed to feel. Your heart doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the internal turmoil. You put your number into his phone and hand it back to him. 

“Sure,” you say, even as your brain screams at you not to. “Whatever I can do to help.” 

He grins and your brain fully malfunctions, gears popping, cartoon sparks flying. “Thank you, YN.” 

“No problem,” you mumble, knowing that’s not true at all even without a functioning brain cell. You should have let him call you vice president when you had the chance–this is so much worse. 

“I should go back,” you say, taking a step backward, a gamble considering your history of walking backwards around him. Trying not to linger in Jaemin’s presence is like a planet resisting the pull of gravity to the sun–no matter how hard you try, you can’t beat physics.  

 But maybe he isn’t the sun because when you take another step, Jaemin takes a step to follow you. Are there stars that revolve around planets? But Jaemin doesn’t revolve around you, he doesn’t even exist in your solar system. Maybe a black hole is a better metaphor, sucking you in from a galaxy over. You should stop making metaphors based on middle school astronomy. 

You peer at Jaemin as he continues across the quad, walking leisurely beside you as you shuffle. Jeno trails behind slightly, risking the cold to pull out a phone. 

“Are you following me?” 

Jaemin looks at you over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “You think you’re that special already?” Before you can answer, he laughs. “But, yeah, I am. I can’t leave you all by yourself out here, anything could happen.” 

“As opposed to by myself at the table?” 

He shrugs. “There’s two chairs. I could sit with you.” 

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. He’s got a puffy jacket (bright red, probably to match with the earmuffs) and jeans. “You’d freeze in five minutes.” 

“You could–” 

“Are we going to Doyoung’s or not?” Jeno calls from behind you. 

“Right,” Jaemin says, “I definitely did not forget about that.” He glances at you. “Rain check?” 

“I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you to keep me company freezing my ass off,” you say, “but seriously, I wouldn’t let you stay anyway.” You reach the table, turning to face him. 

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?” 

“For starters, I don’t want to be responsible for the hypothermia you’re bound to catch,” you say, “and it’s a student council thing. You’re not a part of the student council.” 

“Not yet.” 

Right. The standard, crush-threatening-the-dream-you’ve-spent-three-years-working-toward-situation. “Also, no offense, but I barely know you.” 

“Offense taken,” Jaemin says, holding a hand over his chest. “We’ve taken half a class together!” 

“We’ve spoken twice if you count today!” You say. Does he really not get it? “At the very least it would be awkward.” 

“I take full offense to the idea that I could ever be awkward,” Jaemin says. He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing you. “I’ll prove it to you.” Your gut twists, sending off the warning bells, but there’s no way Jaemin is actually flirting with you. He probably hates the idea that someone doesn’t immediately trust him with their heart and soul. He doesn’t need to know that you already do. That’s why there’s simply no way he’s flirting with you–it simply doesn’t make sense. 

“Dude, we seriously need to go,” Jeno says. “Doyoung is spam texting.” 

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I’ll see you in class.” 

“Bye Jaemin,” you say. You watch him walk away with Jeno, throwing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back at you. 

What just happened? 

Jisung approaches so quietly you jump when you turn around and he stands in front of you. “Was that Na Jaemin?” 

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?” 

Jisung avoids your eyes, turning to watch the pair of boys trudge away. “Renjun talks.” 

You’re going to kill him. But first you need to defrost, so you hand the blanket over to Jisung and jump a few times to warm yourself up, trying in vain to make up for the loss. 

“What was he doing here?” Jisung asks, wrapping himself so tightly his feet are bound together. One strong push would send him tumbling over, probably unable to get up. If only it was Renjun. 

“He wants to be president.” 

“Of student council?” 

“Apparently.” 

“Huh.” Jisung sits back. “Aren’t you supposed to be president?” 

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you. 

“Have fun!” You say. The air without Jaemin is so much colder. Maybe your toes have frostbite. “It’s cold!” 

Jisung grunts, huddling down and you don’t spare a second look at him. There’s a solid chance he’s texting Renjun already, since your best friend has decided to be a dirty gossip. You walk along the sidewalk and try to tell your heart that no matter how pretty his smile is, Na Jaemin is bad for you. Your heart reminds you that he saved your hat. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, fully expecting to see a message from Renjun but instead a string of numbers show up. you better save my number :). You stare at your phone until it fades to black, which is why you know the exact moment it starts to snow. Though it’s March and the groundhog didn’t see its shadow, a snowflake falls on your phone, melting quickly. You walk home in the snow, thoughts of Jaemin piling up a snowbank that no plow can clear. 

.

.

For breakfast on Tuesday morning, you have an untoasted bagel with a side of impending doom. You woke up with the feeling, a knot in your gut that usually only appears before exams or after you drink too much coffee, but today has chosen to warn you of unknown horrors yet to come. It has to be the dream you had, only you forgot it the moment you woke up. 

[Bitch #1] You’re just trying to avoid jaemin. 

You don’t know why you expected Renjun to support you. Unsurprisingly, he found out about Jaemin’s intent to run for president before you made it back to your apartment, and dedicated an hour to lecturing you over FaceTime, then spent the entire pregame on Saturday side eyeing you. 

Jaemin’s message sits at the bottom of your recent texts. He hasn’t sent anything since Friday, though neither have you. You close your phone and try not to think about him, an impossible task. In the end you can’t think of a valid excuse, and go to your morning lecture. It’s one of your favorite classes (world history of medicinal developments 1200-1600) but today your mind drifts, still trying to figure out why today feels so off. Are you forgetting an assignment? You’ve checked the syllabus for all of your classes and the reminders your professors sent out but nothing has slipped past your the list on your planner. You check your outfit after class to see if you put something on backwards but you look fine. By the time you head toward microbio, you’ve resigned yourself to a day of inexplicable anxiety. 

You should have trusted your gut. 

You take one step into the room and the knot in your gut twists itself into a mess that spells out leave now while you still have the chance. 

In your normal spot at the back of the classroom, sitting beside Renjun, sits Jaemin, grinning and waving at you like he’s been sitting there the entire semester. 

You walk carefully down the aisle of desks, stopping in front of him. “You’re in my seat.” 

Jaemin doesn’t seem to notice Renjun’s snort, opting to smile at you. “Hello YN, it’s nice to see you.” 

“Hi Jaemin,” you say, “you’re in my seat.” 

He rolls his eyes, sliding his backpack to the side and slipping into the next seat over. “I was just getting to know Renjun.” 

You glare at your best friend, sitting beside him. “I’m sure he’s been lovely.” Renjun smiles innocently, turning back to photoshopping a graphic of the student council.  

Jaemin pulls out his laptop, sitting leaning back into the chair. Is he planning on sitting here for the whole class?  

“What are you doing?” You ask softly. Renjun continues to click around, not even pretending not to eavesdrop.

“I told you, I could never be awkward,” Jaemin says. 

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, shrinking in your seat. Does he really not notice the class staring at you? Okay, maybe staring is an exaggeration, and it’s not the whole class, but the people he normally sits with keep glancing back at you and whispering to each other. 

Professor Bae walks in and they turn back to the front, saving you from (more) embarrassment. From the corner of your eye, you watch the boys at your sides—Renjun doesn’t bother to open the notes doc he shares with you, opting for continuing the edit, which you can’t really complain about because it’s the series of posts you asked him to make. Jaemin pulls up a cartoon series, Teen Titans, volume off with the subtitles on. 

“Is this what you do every class?” You whisper. 

Jaemin looks away from his fake typing for a moment. “She grades for attendance, not participation.” 

“Are you even passing this class?” 

Jaemin grins. “Sweetheart, I skew the curve.” Just to prove his point, he pauses the bickering superheroes and pulls up the grade review for the class. True to his word, his scores are well above average, rivaling your own. With the exception of Renjun, you haven’t met anyone who’s gotten similar grades. 

Jaemin smiles, switching back to the show. He exudes confidence, and why wouldn’t he? Not only hot and popular, he’s smart too, smarter than you—it takes you hours of studying, exam cram sessions, paying attention in class—he doesn’t even hide that he isn’t paying attention, and from his reputation alone, you know he doesn’t spend as much time studying as you. Does he know what he’s getting into with student council? Even the laziest of presidents put in several hours of work a week.

Jaemin laughs at the show. Renjun finally glances at you, raising his eyebrows at Jaemin in a silent question. You shrug, mouthing, I don’t know either. He purses his lips and turns back to photoshop. You’re sure the second Jaemin steps away he’s going to be on your ass again. 

Belatedly, you realize you’ve spent far too much of the class thinking about Jaemin. Professor Bae has already moved on from weekly announcements to new topics, meaning you have a date with YouTube review videos tonight. Thank god Professor Bae actually cares about her students and has recorded lectures. You just have to hope you didn’t miss one of the exam hints she only drops during class. 

Jaemin and Renjun stay quiet for the rest of the class period, though it does little to help you actually focus. Between Jaemin existing next to you and the inevitability of Renjun’s judgment, it’s hard to stay focused on virus identification. You take half the notes you usually do. 

But can you really blame it on them? It’s you that loses focus, you that is distracted by Jaemin beside you when he doesn’t actively try to pull your attention. He may have disrupted the balance of the universe by sitting beside you, but that doesn’t mean you have to fall off the scale. 

Professor Bae announces the end of lecture a couple minutes early. You swear you see her raise her eyebrows at you and glance at Jaemin before disappearing into her office for the half hour break before lab. Is it too self-absorbed to wonder if she’s taking things the wrong way? But what is the wrong way? None of it makes any sense except that maybe Jaemin is too stubborn for his own good. Funny how a week ago he didn’t know your name and now you can say he’s ‘too’ something. 

“So what do you normally do during break?” Jaemin asks. “Other than bounce off the chest of your roguishly handsome classmates.” 

You roll your eyes to keep him from noticing how flustered his comment actually makes you. “Go over the prelab in case someone forgets to do it–”

“I always do it!” Renjun says. 

“–but usually get snacks and do homework. Lately Renjun has been doing a lot of student council work during class, but that’s because he doesn’t know how to manage his time.” 

“Says the one who asked me to design a scheduler for them.” 

“Just because you’re good at Canva doesn’t mean you’re on top of your work.” 

Renjun shakes his head. You can tease him all you want, at the end of the day, you know that it doesn’t really matter. The truth is, he just doesn’t need to study as much as you. Sort of like Jaemin, and absolutely nothing like you. 

“What do you normally do during break?” You ask. 

Jaemin purses his lips. “Well, my lab partner rarely does the prelab, so usually I let him look at mine.” From the row where Jaemin normally sits, a guy in a striped yellow polo glares back at you. 

You glance between him and Jaemin, who turns away from his partner to look at you. “Should you go over there?” 

“Probably.” He doesn’t make a move to get up, instead tilting his head and smiling at you a little. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

You cough, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the A key on your laptop which is in serious danger of falling off. “Well, your lab partner is probably going to try and inject you with a virus during lab if you don’t go over there.” 

Jaemin laughs. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to you later.” He stands up and glances at Renjun, who finally looks away from his laptop. Jaemin nods at him and flashes a smile at you, showing perfect rows of white teeth, and finally turns around, backpack half open in his hand. 

You tear your eyes away from him, turning back to Renjun, who sits with his elbow on the armrest, chin in hand. He softens his eyes and looks up at you. “You’re very interesting, YN.” 

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his elbow out from under him, though he doesn’t fall like you wish he would. 

He shakes his head. “I do not like that guy.” 

“Really?” You frown. “Why?” 

“The fact that you’re even asking me that.” He sighs. “He’s just not my favorite type of guy.” He glares at you before you can tease him. “You seem to exclusively be attracted to shitty men, and then I become associated with them through proximity and it’s overall not a fun time for me.” 

“Okay first of all, you barely know Jaemin,” you say, “and second of all, nothing’s ever going to happen with him.” 

Renjun raises his eyebrows. 

“Seriously,” you insist, “he’s literally Jaemin, and I’m… not his type. You can hate him all you want but don’t do it on my behalf.” 

Renjun stares at you a little longer. He doesn’t believe you, and he’s probably right not to. But he turns back to his computer and doesn’t argue back. 

“I didn’t do the pre lab, though,” Renjun says, “that was a lie.” 

“I’m going to kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

.

.

Jaemin doesn’t show up to class on Thursday. You stare at your phone, the single message in your conversation with him. Curiosity and something bitter boil together, making it impossible to think logically. He acts so friendly around you it would be easy to mistake him for a friend, but it’s not like you don’t have friends. You wouldn’t have a second thought about sending a text like this to Renjun or Donghyuck–but you’ve never felt butterflies when either of them looked at you. 

So when your phone dies, you slip it into the pocket of your sweatshirt instead of trying to fight Mark for a charger (ever since “someone” stole one, he’s been overprotective of the cords). It’s movie night anyways, it’s not like you need your phone. 

“Wait,” you say, “since when are we watching Endgame?” 

“We literally just voted,” Donghyuck says, “You could have tied it for Lilo and Stitch but you weren’t paying attention.” He glares at you. 

Mark throws an arm over your shoulders. “It’s all good, YN can just make the popcorn.” 

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.” 

“Oh, would you look at that, the movie’s starting!” Mark says, pushing you off the couch and towards the kitchen of his apartment. You glare at him, but the guys have made you watch Marvel movies enough times that you are glad for the excuse to escape any part of it. It’s bad enough you can hear it from the kitchen. 

The shelves in Mark’s apartment are tall enough that he keeps a stool in the kitchen so that he can reach the highest of them. Of course that’s where he keeps his popcorn, so you jump as high as you can, snatching the box. Except you pull a little too hard and the box flies clean out of your hand, your feet slipping out from under you. You tumble to the ground, narrowly avoiding banging your head on the faux marble countertop. 

A moment later, Donghyuck appears standing over you, box of popcorn in one hand. “You could have just used the stool.” 

“That’s so much work.” 

“And yet it keeps you off the floor.” He holds out his free hand and helps you stand. Your tailbone hurts a little but otherwise it seems you dodged major damage. 

“You okay?” Chenle shouts. 

“Fine,” you shout back. You wonder what the odds are that they’d let you bleed out to finish the movie—probably higher than what you want to calculate. At least Donghyuck is as anti-Endgame as you. 

He sets the box on the counter, pulling the plastic off a bag and putting it in the microwave for five minutes. You would’ve just used the popcorn button but Donghyuck insists it tastes better this way. He turns around, leaning against the counter and studying you. 

“So,” he says. 

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?” 

“So, Jaemin.” Donghyuck stares at you, eyes unreadable. He’s been like this ever since you met him—pulling people apart with his eyes and extracting the most important bits, all with a smile on his face. He knew Shotaro was going to drop out before Shotaro did. 

“He’s…” A friend? A crush? The guy you wish would stay out of your life so you could keep daydreaming about him? 

“He’s sort of famous,” Donghyuck says. “Or infamous, depending on who you ask.” 

“And if I ask you?” 

Donghyuck smiles like this is going according to his script. “He’s lots of fun to party with. I don’t know anyone that doesn’t like him.” 

“But?” You jump when the first piece of popcorn pops. 

Donghyuck pins you down with his eyes. “But he isn’t the boyfriend type. I mean, I’m not best friends with the guy, but it’s pretty obvious, and I talked to—”

“Stop.” You hold a hand up. “I know exactly what kind of guy he is, I’m not an idiot.” 

“I’m not saying you’re an idiot, I just—”

“Donghyuck, I get it.” You stare back at him. “I really do, but I promise I know what I’m doing.” Okay, maybe that last part is a lie, but you know what you aren’t doing. You don’t expect a single thing from Na Jaemin. 

“I heard he’s running for president.” 

“Come on,” you say, “you think he can beat me?” Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. He won’t call you out on it, but he doesn’t have to. Your lie doesn’t even convince yourself. Jaemin has it all—grades, good looks, and, most importantly, popularity. Yes, he can beat you. Easily. 

“Why are you helping him?” 

“Jisung can’t keep his mouth shut, huh?” 

“Renjun was actually the one that told me, but that’s not the point,” Donghyuck says. 

“He hasn’t even asked for help,” you say, “and it’s not like I’m going to give up. I just…”

“You like him,” Donghyuck says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to try to deny it but you won’t fight a battle that’s already lost. But you won’t admit it either. 

“I know what I’m doing.” 

Donghyuck chews on his lip for a moment. “Just be careful,” he says, “I do care about you. A little. Just a tiny bit. And from what I know, Jaemin is a good guy, but I don’t want you to get hurt because he isn’t what you want him to be.” 

“Gross, stop acting like we’re friends,” you say. 

“Never mind, I take it all back,” he says, “and I won’t be your vice president.” 

“Too late.” You shrug. “You already signed a contract.” 

“Fine, I’ll veto everything you propose.” 

“You don’t have the power to do that.” 

He tossed his hands up. “What is the point of being vice president?” 

You beam at him. “Doing the shit I don’t want to do!” 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue back but he pauses, sniffing at the air, and that’s when you realize the popcorn has long since stopped popping. Behind Donghyuck, smoke rises. 

He curses, pressing the button to open the door only to take a wave of smoke straight in the face. At least the bag isn’t on fire. You laugh as he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing. 

“Dude, what is that smell?” Mark shouts from the living room. 

You spend half the movie bickering with Donghyuck while trying to get the sharp smoky scent out of Mark’s kitchen. By the time the Avengers have all the infinity stones again and are in the final battle, you are curled up on the floor with a blanket, the popcorn bowl confiscated by Chenle when he realized how much you and Donghyuck ate while making it (it sort of tastes like smoke anyways). Two Marvel movies later, Mark shakes you awake and sends you and the rest of the guys out. 

You’re so tired by the time you get home, you plug your phone in and fall asleep. That’s why you don’t see the message until your alarm goes off the next morning. 

[Na Jaemin] you busy? 

.

.

For the past three weeks, you’ve tried meditation. Renjun swears by it, but you’ve seen him lose it over half a quesadilla, so it doesn’t exactly instill confidence in you. Still, you set aside ten minutes every morning to listen to the podcast he sent you. It’s meant to be calming, to connect you with yourself, and usually you do feel better, at least for a few minutes. 

You peek at your phone, checking how much time in the lesson is left (3 and a half minutes). No new notifications. 

Jaemin’s message gave you a heart attack when you woke up. He sent it at 8:12pm, probably right after your phone died. So seeing his message first thing in the morning woke you up pretty fast. You sent an apology that you definitely didn’t rewrite fifteen times, and now you wait. 

But no, you’re meditating right now. Clearing your mind, not thinking about a single thing except the air that floods your lungs, letting your heart beat twice before releasing the air again. You peek your right eye open. No new notifications. 

The narration ends and you sigh, laying back on your bed and checking your schedule for the day even though you’ve memorized it. In half an hour you need to be in the library to meet with your study group, then a council meeting, some space for lunch (which will undoubtedly end up crashed by Chenle or Donghyuck), then more homework in the afternoon. Tonight you’re supposed to go to a party thrown by one of Mark’s friends from grad school—depending on whether Renjun can find out if he’s a poli-sci major or not. 

You jump when your calendar disappears and the incoming call screen pops up. You stare at Jaemin’s name for a couple seconds before your brain begins to function again, and you slide the button at the bottom of your phone to answer the call. 

“Hello?” 

“YN,” Jaemin says. His voice is a little deeper than normal, raspy like he just woke up. “I was starting to think you’d blocked me.” 

“Sorry, my phone died last night and Mark doesn’t let anyone use his chargers.” 

Jaemin laughs, the phone distorting the quality, sounding choppy and un-Jaemin. “Damn, does the student body know he treats his council like this?” 

You laugh a little but can’t think of anything else to say. The silence stretches longer as Jaemin doesn’t speak either. The ceiling of your apartment has a constellation of holes, evidence of the former tenant’s antics. You have yet to figure out exactly what it could be—stabbing the ceiling with a broomstick? What does Jaemin’s ceiling look like? He’s so hard to pin down, like the more you get to know him the less he makes sense. He’s the type to have a messy room with clothes tossed everywhere and a bed that’s never made, yet he’s also the type to keep it neat, put up diagrams to match the college aesthetic of studying even if Jaemin himself is allergic to it. 

“So,” Jaemin says, apparently realizing you aren’t going to say anything else. “I actually texted last night because I wanted to see you.” 

You shove down the butterflies that spring up. “For what?” 

“First of all, it’s cruel that you don’t think I’d want to see you just to see you. But also I was gonna ask to go over microbio together because I heard a rumor that Professor Bae talked about the final.” 

“Don’t you have a lab partner?” 

“Yeah, he’s who told me she talked about it. Unfortunately he’s worse at taking notes than me.” He pauses. “Besides, you’re much cuter.” 

“Oh.” The butterflies breach containment, digging like madmen trying to escape your stomach. 

“So are you free?” 

Despite just checking your schedule, your mind goes blank. You frown, trying to remember what you’d just seen, and thank every deity that might exist that Jaemin can’t see your face right now. 

“I’m free after the council meeting. How is 12:30?” 

“Damn, council meetings on Fridays,” Jaemin says, “that works though. Meet you in the library?” 

“We can use the council room on the third floor,” you say, “no one else will be there.” 

“Okay,” Jaemin says, “see you soon, YN.” 

“Bye, Jaemin.” 

The butterflies have turned into zombies, rotting in your stomach and spoiling the leftover popcorn from last night. It’s just sharing notes. It’s just Jaemin. He’s just a boy from another world. The butterflies groan and demand chocolate. 

.

.

Council meetings feel a little bit like the Magic School Bus series. The tagline plays in your head: A normal council meeting? With this group? No way! 

Some of the blame can be directed towards having such an eclectic group of majors, Mark as the only true political science major. The rest of the group has been adamant about keeping the council safe from political science majors (how Mark doesn’t see the horrors of his classmates you truly don’t know). Another point towards Jaemin, being biochem and pre-med. 

Though being a non-poli-sci major doesn’t mean he can handle the presidency. Mark can barely do that. Not that he’s a bad president. Though it sometimes feels like you do all the heavy lifting for him to take credit for, he does work hard. No, Mark’s problem isn’t his leadership—it’s that he doesn’t know when to give up. 

The council meeting is long done but he continues to bicker with Donghyuck, who holds the entire student council hostage. 

“It’s a proven fact,” Mark says. “How are you arguing with science?” 

“Can science tell me what I feel?” Donghyuck folds his arms over his chest. His laptop has faded to black, the meeting notes long forgotten. “This isn’t about facts, it’s about my experience!” 

You check your phone. The meeting has already gone over fifteen minutes. Any longer and Jaemin could walk in on a very not-empty room with Mark committing a crime against Donghyuck for saying that Froot Loops have individual flavors. Maybe it’s time to intervene. 

“You’re just gaslighting yourself,” Mark says, “it’s not physically possible!” 

“Well, you’re not physically possible!” 

“That makes negative sense. I’m getting dumber listening to your attempts to argue.” 

“Okay,” you say, standing up so quickly your chair falls back. “This isn’t council business anymore. All in favor of concluding the meeting?” According to the official rules, Mark is the only one that can conclude the meeting, but Jisung’s hand flies up, followed quickly by Renjun and Chenle. 

“Cool, majority rule,” you say, ignoring the outrage on Mark’s face. Donghyuck pretends to be mad too, but he was only arguing with Mark to piss him off. He’ll probably follow the older boy around just to ruin his day. The two always have some fight going on—you’re convinced the reason Donghyuck agreed to be your vice president (if you win) is just because Mark would hate it. 

Jisung leaves first, eager to escape from Donghyuck and Mark. Donghyuck pauses long enough to write a few more summarizing notes on the meeting but catches up to Mark before he can vanish, continuing to pester him about Froot Loops. 

“Going home,” Renjun says, “we’re going out tonight, by the way. Turns out Taeyong is an econ major, and also a former frat president.” 

“Huh,” Chenle says, “I can’t believe neither Donghyuck or me know him.” 

Renjun shrugs. “I need to finish a couple projects since nothing will get done tomorrow.” He grins. “See you guys later.” 

“Bye Renjun,” you say, tapping your phone screen to check the notifications. 

[Na Jaemin] in the library  [Na Jaemin] lost in the library  [Na Jaemin] nvm found the stairs 

[yn] need me to come find you? 

[Na Jaemin] nah i don’t get lost (yes please) 

“You’re texting with Jaemin?” Chenle breathes over your shoulder, making you drop your phone. Unfortunately it’s still open, your messages easy to read and Chenle doesn't hesitate to snatch it. At least the rest of the guys left, only Chenle is nosy enough to wonder who you’re texting. 

“This is painful,” he announces. He hands the phone back to you. “You could at least add an emoji. Or, like, send more than one sad message.” 

“Why?” 

Chenle shakes his head. “You are texting the Jaemin, right? Na Jaemin?” 

“Is there any other?”  

“You’ve got a chance here,” Chenle continues, ignoring your question. “Not many people—well, I’ve actually heard he’s quite experienced but that’s beside the point, because you have a chance and that’s rare.” 

“Genuinely, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You glance at the door, just in case Jaemin appears. Somehow you don’t think you want him overhearing this conversation. 

“Okay, look,” Chenle says, “you’re you. Student council, 4.0 GPA, plans to be the next director of the WHO or whatever—”

“That’s not at all what I want.” 

“—never a second you aren’t working, and then there’s Jaemin, and sure he’s a STEM major too, but the he’s type that strolls through life, who has things fall into his lap because he’s hot and lucky but you can’t really be mad about it because he’s Jaemin.” He pauses, like that explains everything. But you already know that Jaemin exists in a realm outside your own. Chenle waits a moment longer then shakes his head. “You know what, you’ll figure it out eventually.” He glances at you with a frown. “Maybe.” 

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly. 

He moves extra slow, closing his laptop only after spamming the save button. He once forgot to save a spreadsheet after a two hour budgeting session and you think he’s still traumatized. Still, spending a full thirty seconds hitting CTRL + S is excessive even for him—he’s stalling, trying to be as nosy as ever. 

“I’m meeting him at the elevator so you can stop stalling,” you say. You hover over the send button, Chenle’s “advice” infecting your brain. You hit send before you can overthink it any more. 

[yn] on the way now 👍 

Chenle sighs, returning to peeking over your shoulder. “You’re hopeless.” 

You grin and give him a thumbs up. “Thanks buddy. If you hurry you can run into him in the elevators.” 

Chenle perks up, grabbing his still-open bag and sprinting out the door. You feel a little bad for lying to him, but he was the one that didn’t read Jaemin’s messages closely enough—evident from missing the fact that he’s on his way up the stairs and how Chenle thinks he might actually be flirting with you. You shake your head at the thought. 

Just when you reach the doorway to the stairs and wonder if you should meet him in the stairwell, the door flies open. Despite climbing three flights of stairs, Jaemin breathes normally. A different backpack than usual is sling over his back, bright orange, like… well, an orange. (Persimmon, your brain unhelpfully supplies). 

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.” You wonder how anyone is immune to his smiles. A smile like that robs you of everything irreplaceable and leaves you missing it as soon as it’s gone. 

“You’re not late,” you say, showing him the time on your phone as you walk to the council room. “Exactly on time.” 

“Oh.” He glances at you, and when you turn your phone back to face you, you understand the awkwardness. 

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

You clear your throat, praying he didn’t get a chance to read all of the messages. “Chenle’s just making fun of my emoji use. Or lack of emoji use.” 

Jaemin nods. “I hate to take the side of someone I’ve never met over you, but he might be right.” 

“I use a perfectly respectable amount of emojis,” you say. “Besides, I’ve never seen you use any.” 

“You’re just going to have to text me more to find out.” 

You’ve never been so happy to see the doors to the council room. It’s nothing more than a glorified study room, with a rectangular table that stretches in the middle of the room, eight wooden seats set around it. A giant whiteboard stretches the majority of the back wall. The only truly special part of the room is the projector that hangs from the ceiling, with a screen that needs a button to come down. The walls that line the hallway are glass, along with the doors, so that anyone can see the council discussions, though tucked away in the back corner of the third floor, only the occasional passerby is subject to the bickering. 

Jaemin raises his eyebrows and whistles. “This is nice.” 

“Don’t lie,” you say. “The only nice thing about it is that we have full access to it whenever we want.” You point to the sign that reads Student Council Members Only. Truthfully, the six of you use it more as a private study room than for actual council work. 

“It is nice,” Jaemin says, holding the door open for you. He pauses in front of the whiteboard. Chenle had been sitting closest to it, apparently spending the final thirty minutes of the meeting drawing out different game plans for the basketball club he somehow has time for. 

“Chenle,” you explain, “he thinks he’s a part of the Golden State Warriors.” 

“How much council work actually gets done in these meetings,” he says teasingly. 

“You catch on fast,” you say. “It took me the full first year to realize how incompetent we are.” 

“How come?” 

“The president just wanted resume padding. He was incredible at sucking up to faculty and making the right people think he was a great leader, but he would send us fresh-terns to pick up condoms and sent Donghyuck with a fake to get drinks once.” 

“Fresh-tern?” 

“The freshman interns,” you explain, “since the president is the only elected position and the rest of the council is appointed, the only way to get known is through the ‘internship,’ which technically is open to anyone but only freshman are dumb enough to dedicate that much time to a job that does absolutely nothing—like, it doesn’t pay or even guarantee you a spot on the council in the future. It’s all based on whether the president likes you or not. 

“Anyway, our president last year was marginally better, and he tried to abolish the seniors-only president rule but couldn’t get it to pass in time, so we ended up with Mark. Not that Mark is a bad president, though council meetings could be half as long if he wouldn’t go on tangents every two minutes.” You stop, realizing how much you’re talking. You’ve come dangerously close to telling him the truth about the presidency. Jaemin says nothing, probably bored. “Anyways, we’ve got a few new initiatives this year but mostly we try to maintain the annual events and keep Mark’s head on his shoulders until he graduates.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says. 

“Sometimes.” You pause. “How’s your application going, by the way?” 

He glances at you, smile fading a little. He turns back to the whiteboard, this time studying the fading drawing Renjun made a month ago of a goat fighting Donghyuck. “Still figuring things out. Mostly working on my campaign goals.” 

You nod. A part of you wants to press further, learn more about his plans—but because you want to beat him or because it’s Jaemin? Why is it so difficult to think clearly around him? 

You sit at the table and open your laptop, pulling out your notes. He sits beside you, scraping the chair against the tile floors until his knee is an inch away from yours. He must not notice the way your breath catches in your throat when he leans closer. A moment later and your brain is invaded by his scent, a clean smell like laundry detergent or body wash. 

“It’s organized by subject,” you explain. “Usually I take notes in class and then Renjun reviews and organizes it with keywords and highlighting and this coding system that I don’t really get but he swears by. Either way it works for us.” You show him the keyword that Renjun uses to signify exam hints, combining it with the past class’s date to cross reference the relevant information. 

Jaemin lets out a low whistle. “This is crazy.” 

“Yeah,” you say, “Renjun puts a lot of time into it. But when we study for exams, it’s worth it.” 

“You know Renjun from student council?” He asks, beginning to type a few notes. 

“I guess that’s where I met him first,” you say. “But he’s pretty much my best friend. The whole student council is pretty close, way closer than the group Mark came into. He tells us horror stories about how they made the fresh-terms compete just to turn them against each other, though that’s back when it was filled with poli-sci majors.” 

“None of you are poli-sci?” 

“I’m public health,” you say, “and Mark is poli-sci, but the rest of the guys avoided it. We swore that the next council would be free of the plague of poli-sci majors.” 

“You really hate them?” 

“They deserve it,” you say. “But also it’s because I made the mistake of dating one last year.” You shudder at the memory. 

“Really?” Jaemin looks away from his laptop, staring at you instead. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine. “It was a moment of weakness and he confessed to me with cookies.” 

“Not making fun,” Jaemin says. “Were the cookies at least homemade?” 

“Well, yes.” You shake your head, trying to stop the next bit from coming out. But Jaemin raises his eyebrows and you can’t help it. “He had his ex make them, actually.” 

“No!” 

“Yeah, and then dumped me for them after, like, two weeks, and the guys are all convinced that he cheated on me with them,” you say. “So, no, I don’t really like poli-sci majors.” 

“A good observation,” Jaemin says. His approval makes your cells glow—scientists could discover a new form of bioluminescence from within you. 

Jaemin continues to stare at you, eyes full of warmth. It’s so easy to get lost in them, glancing between the pure dark chocolate and fond smile on his lips. The change in light when your laptop screen fades snaps you out of it. 

You eye him. “Do you even need these?” 

“Nope,” Jaemin says. He grins at you. “Just an excuse to see you.” He turns back to the laptop and continues to copy your notes into his document. You turn around, giving him no chance to see the smile that creeps onto your face. You seriously need to get a grip. Jaemin needs to get a grip and realize that he can’t flirt with you like this, not without completely upsetting the balance of the universe. But even as the world slides sideways, you smile. 

.

.

“Nothing special.” That’s what Renjun said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. But March 23rd falls on a Friday this year, and everything snowballed from there. 

That’s how you find yourself wearing an outfit even the most lenient parents would dub inappropriate, wearing more body glitter than exists in the state of Utah, taking your fifth shot. 

“Sixteen more to go,” Renjun says, patting your back. Why you promised to match him shot for shot, you aren’t quite sure. You had reasoning, at some point. Definitely before the shots. 

At least you aren’t alone—Donghyuck curls his lip after his shot, lime slice snatched out of his hand by Mark before he can take it as a chaser. Mark laughs as he grimaces. 

 “What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts. 

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts. 

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout. 

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts. 

“Huh, I guess we should have coordinated that,” Donghyuck says. “I was thinking something more like ‘happy birthday Renjun.’” 

“Shoulda said something,” you say. You take a step to the couch, the world tilting to the side, though maybe it’s actually you because you stumble into the wall. It holds you up until you make it to the couch, sighing as you reach solid ground. A couple people sit next to you, friends of friends of Renjun whose names you don’t know regardless of the alcohol. 

“You’re YN, right?” The girl closer to you says, making you feel a little guilty for having no idea who they are. She beams when you nod. “I live in Apollo Hall, Karina is my RA, she says you aced biochem.”  

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “Who do you have?” 

“Professor Ahn,” she says. 

“He’s good,” you say, “I had him for a different class and he talks off topic all the time but if you visit him in his office hours once, he’ll remember and be more lenient on the research report. I can send you my notes, too, if you want.” 

She smiles even wider. “Really?” 

You nod, your brain sliding around your skull with the movement—not a good sign, only five shots into the challenge. 

The music changes, a Britney Spears song that Donghyuck must have slipped into the rotation. The girl’s friend drags her up to dance before you get the chance to ask for her name. 

Dancing sounds like so much fun, until you stand up and realize that you’ve been hydrated too well. Your bladder announces its need for attention much like the maintenance worker that fixed the leak in your shower—loud and last minute. 

You push your way through the people crowded at the edge of the room, making your way to the hallway where the bedrooms and, more importantly, bathroom are. You pass by a semi-familiar face flirting with a girl from Renjun’s study group, but your bladder gives no time for your brain to make connections of recognition, let alone time to wave. 

Finally, you break the crowd, ignoring the couple making out concerningly close to Donghyuck’s bedroom door (something you like to call “not my problem”). All your focus is on the door to the bathroom, a piece of lined notebook paper taped on with RESTROOM scribbled in marker. Just as you reach for the handle, the door swings inwards. 

You might have caught yourself, two or three shots ago. Instead you tumble forward, the floor coming to meet you fast. And then you aren’t. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Jaemin says, laughing. He caught you by the elbows, your face pressed into his chest. He helps you straighten up, though he doesn’t let go of your arms. 

“Jaemin.” You grin at him. 

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”  

“You’re pretty,” you say. Jaemin tilts his head and smiles at you. Endearing. Endearing, that Jaemin has an amused expression on his face. Like he is endeared by you. How funny. 

But he really is pretty. He must be hot in the leather jacket, loose over his broad shoulders. Yes, those broad shoulders. He’s hot too. But first, he’s pretty. His black hair falls just above his eyes, loosely split down the middle, framing the perfect angles of his face–the perfect line of his nose, gentle curve of his cheekbones, that jawline–and of course those lips. Perfect lips. 

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.” 

You burst into laughter, stopping only when you snort. “You almost sound serious.” 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything else, still smiling at you, only a couple inches of space between you. Ignoring those lips this close is impossible. They’re the prettiest shade of pink, and he must have put on lip balm–or maybe it’s the lighting–because they glow. What do they feel like? They have to be soft—you’d bet everything in your pocket (if these pants had pockets) he tastes sweet. Like a fruit, a yummy, juicy fruit, dripping with juice, which reminds you—pee. 

You push past Jaemin, into the bathroom. “Need to pee.” 

He catches his hand on the door before you can close it, frowning a little. “You’re not going to slip and crack your head open?” 

“Nope,” you say. “Really need to pee.” He lets go of the door and you slam it shut, using one hand on the counter to steady yourself while you fumble with the lock. After an eternity, you finally get to the toilet, which, despite the number of people crowded in a house of two college guys, isn’t totally disgusting. 

Two minutes, an empty bladder, and clean hands later, you push the door open. Your balance has improved just enough for you to feel confident in your ability not to die on the dance floor—and with perfect timing because Break Your Heart by Taio Cruz just started playing. You find Donghyuck in the middle of the room and join him, grinning when he cheers. 

Renjun appears halfway through the next song, shots in hand. More of the tequila ends up on the ground than in your stomach by the time you knock it back but Renjun shouts, “Six!” anyways. 

Another 2000s hit plays (it’s definitely Chenle’s playlist, which reminds you that you haven’t seen him in a while) and you get Renjun to stay on the dance floor for the full song. It’s hot and sweaty and you wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world. 

Donghyuck cheers again, hyping up the people that join your little circle. You turn to see Jeno, wearing a piece of fabric that technically could be called a shirt though it really looks like a hole for his head that’s completely open at the sides except for the ties at the bottom. Beside him, and right next to you, Jaemin grins at you. He throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. 

“And I was like baby, baby, baby, oh!” You shout along with the song, vaguely aware of the rest of the guys singing along—except for Jaemin, who waits for Ludacris’s verse to come in to rap it word for word. 

Renjun drags you away before the next song can start. “Number seven,” he shouts in your ear over the bass. 

“What about Donghyuck?” You glance behind you where he starts a full performance, an empty water bottle as a microphone. 

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.” 

You watch Renjun struggle to pour the tequila, holding the bottle with two hands off the edge of the counter to get the mouth as close to the paper shot cups as possible. You can’t see how much tequila actually makes it into the cups but it burns its way down, sending your stomach spinning. Only a third of the drinks you are supposed to take with him but you’re already questioning the next round. 

Renjun gets dragged away from you by some people you aren’t even sure are actually his friends, but you lose track of him when someone tugs on your hand. Jaemin, again. He lost his jacket at some point, wearing a shirt that matches Jeno’s, showing off his considerable arms. Even in the poor lighting from the strobe lights Donghyuck set up, you can see the definition in his biceps. 

Yeah, you’re definitely staring. 

Jaemin asks something but you can’t hear him over the music. You step closer, stumbling a little on your own feet. As always, he catches you, arm sliding around your waist. 

“How are you doing?” He shouts over the music. 

You grab his other forearm to keep yourself from falling over. “I’m so hungry.” 

Jaemin leans closer, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” You raise your eyebrows at him and he grins. “The McDonald’s, across the street?” 

“I need French fries,” you say, letting go of his arm and spinning out of his embrace to face the door. He catches you before you can go too far (and fall on your face), looping his elbow through yours. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything falls silent. Not everything, because you can still hear the bass from inside the house, and cicadas sing, and the highway is close enough to hear the rumbling of engines passing by. But quiet falls in the space between you and Jaemin, a breath waiting to fall free. 

He doesn’t let go over your arm, using his other hand to brace the three steps in front of Donghyuck and Renjun’s place. He leans on you as much as you lean on him, magnets stuck to each other, except magnets don’t struggle to stay upright crossing an empty street. Maybe if they could get drunk. 

The street light flickers above you, crackling electricity. You can feel Jaemin’s bare arm against yours, firm muscle held taut. You peek at the boy beside you, his head tilted to the sky. Pretty. You won’t say it again for fear of being repetitive, but it’s the right word for this moment. Not just Jaemin, but the chilly night air, the faulty light above you fighting with the neon lights to illuminate your breath. You’ll blame the alcohol in the morning, but tonight it’s all pretty. 

Jaemin swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he turns to meet your eyes. It’s definitely the alcohol but you don’t look away. 

The crosswalk changes to the white man, beeping at you to cross the street. You tear your eyes away from him, settling for clinging to his arm to make it past the striped crosswalk illuminated by headlights. 

You’re hardly the only drunk couple at McDonald’s. Jaemin notices you limping a little and drops you off in a booth, stumbling on his own to order. You must have done something dancing, though you don’t remember anything hurting. Your ankle hurts now, so you lean your head into your elbow and watch Jaemin’s back. 

The fluorescent lights can’t make him look sickly. They show his arms in their full glory, open sides revealing enough of his body to make you self-conscious. The hint of a farmer’s tan dusts his arms, shoulders just a shade lighter than his forearms. Where did he get that from? 

So many questions about him. So much to know. So little you do know but you like him so much it gets so hard to tell. What matters. 

Jaemin puts his wallet into his back pocket, turning around and smiling when he meets your gaze. He slides into the seat across from you. “Potatoes are incoming.” 

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?” 

“What?” His brow furrows, a cute frown that makes you forget what you’d asked. 

“Never mind,” you mumble. Opening your mouth any more around him is a dangerous game—you aren’t quite sure what will spill out. 

He reaches out to tap his finger on your arm. Like the sun, being in his atmosphere makes everything warmer, his touch boiling your skin. The heat flows through your body, each cell vibrating with the need for something. 

“You feeling okay?” 

It takes considerable concentration to work past his finger, which has graduated to drawing shapes, and answer him. “Renjun wanted to do twenty-one shots for his birthday but seven is beyond enough.” 

Jaemin whistles. “Is Renjun going to survive tonight?” 

“Probably not,” you mumble. “That opens up a council position. You could be a good social media person. Your face is pretty enough.” 

“Is that the only requirement for student council?” Jaemin asks. “Being pretty?” 

“You can’t be a poli-sci major either,” you say, “which you pass. It helps that you’re smart, and kind. I like people that are smart and kind.” 

“That’s a low bar,” Jaemin says. “What else do you like?” 

“Hm…” Your voice rumbles, a funny feeling in the back of your throat. You hum for a little longer before you remember Jaemin asked you a question. What do you like? 

“Sharks. They’re much cooler than dolphins. And potatoes, I love potatoes. I like Renjun. And Donghyuck. And Mark, even though he’s a poli-sci major. I like Chenle and Jisung. They might be my favorite people.” And you. I like you so much I don’t know how to say it. 

“What about doctors?” Jaemin leans closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Do you like doctors?” 

You lift your head up, pouting your lips at him. “Doctors have needles. I don’t like needles.” 

Jaemin laughs. “Even if the doctor is super rich?” 

“Rich? From taking all my money?” You cry. 

“Rich from saving people’s lives,” he says. “Like a neurosurgeon.” 

You squint at him, the blurriness of your eyelashes mixing with the blurriness of the alcohol and canceling out until his face becomes clear. “Are you actually pre-med because of Grey’s Anatomy?” 

Jaemin looks away, running a hand to the back of his neck. “Maybe.” His biceps are almost enough to distract you from his admission. Almost. 

“Oh my god.” You can’t hold back the giggles, trying to cover your mouth with your hand. Tears prick at your eyes and you gasp for breath, stomach twisting the alcohol with the giggles and turning over itself until you aren’t sure if you’re starving or need to throw up. 

“It’s a perfectly respectable career!” Jaemin says. 

“You want to be Patrick Dempsey?” You say between giggles. “Not even McSteamy?” 

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?” 

You shrug. “It’s fun.” 

“Then how are you making fun of me!” He cries. 

“I didn’t go into medicine because of it!” 

Before he can say anything else, the workers shout a number. He glances at the receipt and shoots you a glare without a drop of malice in his eyes and leaves. 

Jaemin being silly. Jaemin bickering with you. Hard to believe that even two weeks ago, you never would have believed he watched children’s shows in class and chose his profession because of a soap opera. Jaemin who keeps surprising you, who makes you want to believe that maybe he’s from the same planet as you after all. 

He brandishes the brown paper bag in front of him like treasure. What does it matter that you’re grinning because of him and not the golden treats inside?

“For you,” he says, setting the bag in front of you and tilting it on its side so you can reach inside for the fries. “I didn’t know what sauce, so I fought… Okay, maybe flirted with the worker, but the important part is that I got one of each.” He pauses glancing at you. “Which apparently you don’t need.” 

“So good,” you say, eating them properly: no sauce, just freshly fried golden perfection. You look up to find Jaemin smiling at you… fondly? Is that what’s in his eyes? 

“What?” 

He shakes his head. “You’re just cute.” 

You stare at him, fry halfway to your mouth. He looks down, the tips of his ears tinted red as he grabs a fry and dips it in honey mustard. 

The rest of your time at McDonald’s is dedicated to properly enjoying the French fries and not at all sneaking glances at Jaemin sneaking glances at you. You finish the fries long before the swirly feeling in your stomach goes away. The butterflies must be drunk too. 

“Back to Renjun’s?” Jaemin asks, standing up and extending a hand for you to take. The most dangerous handhold of your life. You don’t think twice about taking it. 

“Mm, I’m pretty tired,” you say, “and Renjun was pretty adamant about the twenty-one shots thing. If we go back, he won’t let me go until one of us is in the hospital.” Walking is easy when Jaemin lets you lean on his shoulder. Standing just outside the McDonald’s, your shadows stretch ten times as tall as you, the lines between you and Jaemin undefined. 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about him?” 

“He swore to send Donghyuck to the grave before him, he’ll be fine,” you say, “plus Jisung is there, sober. They’ll be fine.” 

“And you?” 

“I’ll be fine when I get home.” You tilt your head up from his shoulder only for him to look down at you, his nose brushing against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding. But you don’t move away and neither does he. 

“Take me home?” 

He doesn’t move for a heartbeat, eyes flickering to your lips. Then he turns his head straight, patting your head with his free hand a couple times. “Okay.” 

You whisper directions, a ten minute walk from Renjun’s place. The walk home is considerably less stumbly, your balance recovered halfway through the fries. You cling to Jaemin’s arm anyway, more afraid of letting him go than falling. 

The building appears far too quickly, Jaemin pushing open the glass doors and walking you to the elevators. You don’t dare say a word to break the silence as the elevator dings to the third floor. He waits until you reach your door to disentangle himself from you, standing with the tips of his sneakers a millimeter away from yours, catching your hands in his. 

“Goodnight, YN,” he says. 

No. This isn’t the time for goodnight, not when every atom in your body might explode if he takes a step away. You tighten your fingers around his. 

“Do you want to come in?” You ask. “See my apartment?” 

He tilts his head, a little frown creasing his brow. “Okay.” 

You fumble with your keys, hands shaking when you open the door. Emotions swirl around you, making it difficult to tell the difference between excitement and anxiety, if it exists. Calling the place an apartment is a bit of a stretch. Glorified broom closet is your preferred term–a bed shoved against the far wall with a tiny window next to it, desk tucked in next to it like a puzzle piece without enough space for a chair, a door for your bathroom, directly next to the “kitchen” of a stovetop oven and sink, and a closet that barely fits your coats.

Beyond being tiny, you left the place a mess, second, third, and fourth contenders for outfits strewn on your bed, unwashed dishes in the sink. The entryway is the only space for the two of you to stand together comfortably but you lead Jaemin farther in, balling up the clothes and tossing them into your hamper underneath the bed. 

“I don’t normally have company,” you explain. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “my room’s a mess too.” He picks up the pink teddy bear from your bed and smiles. “A gift?” 

You shake your head. “Bought it myself for surviving sophomore year.” You pull the great white shark out from beneath a blanket. “Freshman year.” 

“Cute,” Jaemin says, still looking at the bear. 

You follow Jaemin as he wanders the tiny room. He pauses at a framed picture of the student council that sits on your desk. It was a gift from last year’s graduating cabinet, the whole group, president, appointed cabinet, unofficial members, and the fresh-terns, fifteen people in total. 

“That one’s my ex,” you say, the word still strange in your mouth. “If you count two weeks as even dating.” 

“The one in red?” 

You nod. 

Jaemin snorts. “I’m way hotter than him.” He sets the picture and turns, and suddenly only a couple inches of space separate him from you. This close, you can see exactly how pretty he is, long eyelashes that cannot be natural, even longer when he stares at his toes instead of meeting your eyes. And, this close, you can see the soft pink of his lips, lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. 

Not drunk, not yet sober, it’s easy to lean a little closer, brush your lips softly against his. The kiss is over before you can think about it. 

You open your eyes to Jaemin staring at you, eyes wide, somewhere between disbelief and fear. You open your mouth to apologize but he moves faster, hand coming up to cup your face and pulling you closer until you kiss him again, your hand instinctively catching you against his chest. He links his fingers with your free hand, tugging you even closer to him. 

He moves slow at first, a gentle kiss that takes your breath away anyway. He pulls away when the stars flood your brain, smile boyish and sweet. His thumb strokes your cheek into the shape of a heart. Then he slides his hands to the back of your neck, letting go over your other hand to wrap around your waist and pull you against his chest. 

Jaemin knows how to kiss. He moves like it’s his last chance, desperate lips telling truths words can’t capture. And you might not have as much experience, but you understand the language of desperation. A never ending chain of fireworks explode within you, pushing you to wrap your arms around his neck, kiss him even harder. Your hands move on their own, tugging at the cloth of his shirt until he leans back, breathing heavily. 

“How far you want to go?” He asks, chest rising and falling with each breath. “You know consent is so sexy.” 

You laugh, giddiness making it difficult to think. “You have a condom?” 

Jaemin grins, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slips the shiny packet out, tossing his wallet to the floor along with his shirt. He gives you a proper amount of time to ogle his chest before tugging you against him again, your heart pounding so hard against him he must feel it. 

He tilts your head towards his until his lips brush against yours, and when he speaks, you feel every word. “Now where were we?” 

.

.

[Na Jaemin] sorry I had to go :( [Na Jaemin] wish I could have been there when you woke up  [Na Jaemin] but! I have a surprise [Na Jaemin] [image attached] [Na Jaemin] see you in the morning <3 

You blink at the message, a picture of him wearing a fuzzy headband in the middle of his skincare routine. Your head pounds a little, but otherwise your hangover isn’t too bad. Definitely not the worst it’s ever been. 

No, the strange feeling in your stomach is something else. Last night is burned into your memory, every move, every touch. Jaemin, who you fell asleep beside, though the timestamp on the texts show he didn’t stay much longer after. Not that you expected him to. It’s Jaemin, you remind your traitorous heart. No matter how much he flirts, no matter what he did drunk, he was never yours. 

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin. 

“Hey,” Renjun says. 

“You sound awful,” you say, throat aching. 

“You’re one to talk,” Renjun says, “and you didn’t even get to double digits. Donghyuck out-drank you.” 

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?” 

“Throwing up in the shower, it sounds like.” 

You laugh, the motion, sending your stomach spinning. “Happy birthday Renjun.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I actually did call for a reason.” 

“I am not helping with clean up,” you say, “Chenle swore he’d do all of it since he bailed on set up.” 

“Not that,” Renjun says. “I’ll be over as soon as I can walk without passing out.” He hangs up, leaving you to frown at the empty screen. 

Well, considering how late he got back, Jaemin probably won't be awake any time soon. You need to shower and rehydrate and try to convince your stomach to take something—and with how Renjun sounded over the phone, it seems like you’ll have plenty of time. 

An hour later, slightly burnt toast, and post-Advil, the headache is mostly gone. Your stomach still twists at the thought of Jaemin. You jump at the doorbell but find Renjun wearing a mismatched sweatsuit and his bright orange crocs, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose. He wears the hood of his sweatshirt up but you can see tufts sticking up. 

“God, did you shower?” You catch a whiff as he passes by, reeking of tequila. 

“I was serious about coming over as soon as possible.” He groans, collapsing on your bed. “I think I maybe came over too early though. Might need to throw up.” 

“Do you want toast?” You offer. 

He glares at you. “Just sit.” Renjun rarely speaks with patience but today he seems extra short on it. Maybe because of the hangover, but the way he glares at the carpet before turning to look at you makes you wonder if something else is wrong. His eyes soften a little when he meets your eyes, his frown lightening just barely. 

“I really wish I didn’t have to tell you this,” he begins. “Did you go out with Jaemin last night?”

“He… took me home,” you say. “What’s wrong Renjun?” 

“Last night—well—this morning, I met some guys from Sigma Nu, who are friends with Jeno and Jaemin,” he says, “who were talking about how Jaemin is going to be president. About how he’s messing around with the frontrunner, trying to distract them or fuck around, trying to take the presidency.” He falls quiet, studying your face. 

“He wouldn’t.” Your voice feels so small. 

He wouldn’t, you said, but you can’t even convince yourself. Your heart flounders, drowning in a lake of its own creation, choking on fantasies. Your brain takes control in the chaos, gears turning despite the crashing waves. Facts don’t need oxygen. 

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first 

2) he pretended not to know you were running 

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone 

4) he never belonged in your world 

The conclusion is obvious, a conclusion you could have come to much sooner if you weren’t too busy getting swept off your feet by his easy flirting and sweet smile. Though your heart doesn’t want to believe it, it makes too much sense. So much more sense than the hope you were stupid enough to believe in. Jaemin isn’t that type. How many of your friends told you that? How many times did you tell yourself that? But you let him hurt you anyway because he held your hand and called you cute. How quickly a fruit can rot when it sits in the palm of your hand. 

Jaemin doesn’t exist a universe away–he lives in your world, worse than a cliche. The type of boy that made you want to believe in him, even when you knew better from the start, and maybe that’s the worst part. He never hid who he was, what he wanted. It’s you that wanted more, that believed he could want something more. How pitiful. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says softly. “I wanted him to be different.” 

“Did you? Because everyone was telling me about how I needed to be careful, protect myself, not get hurt over him. Did any of you consider that I didn’t ever expect anything from him?” You shake your head. “No, you all thought poor little YN, getting their feet swept out from under themself over a boy that doesn’t give a shit about them? A boy that’s actively trying to stop them from achieving a dream they’ve had since they started college? Well, guess what? You all were right. Congratulations.” You bite your lip trying to hold back the tears but it’s too late. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun repeats. He pats your arm, looking away when you swipe at your eyes. He waits for you to take a shaky breath, hand on your arm. You grab the teddy bear, trying not to hear Jaemin calling it cute. 

“I slept with him.” The admission burns its way up your throat. “Last night.” You sigh. “You don't have to tell me I’m an idiot.” 

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say that,” Renjun throws his arm over your shoulders. “Though I’m kind of regretting sitting on the bed.” He scoots a little forward but squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to do things you regret, there’s no stopping it.” 

“Why do you always have to be right? Why am I exclusively attracted to shitty men?” Your chin digs into the innocent bear, jaw tightening. “Why can’t I just like a boy that likes me?” 

“Do you think maybe you liked him too much?” Renjun asks gently. “Like maybe you liked the idea of him more than Jaemin himself.” He pauses, squeezing your arm. “Don’t let a boy that isn’t real hurt you.” 

You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder. “But he was real. Sweeter than persimmon. Like a strawberry. Or a mango.” 

“Okay, I’m not understanding.” 

“I thought he was a persimmon, a magic fruit I could imagine tasting sweet or sour or tart but he’s real and even though his flavor isn’t a mystery, it’s better than what I could have imagined. Like taking a bite of a pineapple and it’s the best pineapple you’ve ever had, juicy and sweet.”

“Okay first of all, that’s a terrible metaphor, please stop talking about how he tastes or I will throw up,” Renjun says. “Also persimmons are real.” 

“I know that,” you snap, “but I’ve never had one, so they’re magic to me.” You stare ahead, grateful Renjun knows when you just need a little bit of time to work up the courage to say what you need to say. “I’m saying you are right. I didn’t really like him, not at first. But it’s worse than that because when I did get to know him, it was so much better. He wasn’t a dream, he was a boy who watches Grey’s Anatomy and does skincare even after a night of partying.

“I know it makes more sense, that his flirting wasn’t real, that he was never really interested in me. But nothing real about him makes sense, and I want to believe in him, still.” You purse your lips. “Pretty pathetic, huh?” 

“You really liked him,” Renjun says, “that won’t just go away.” 

“That would be too easy,” you mutter. 

Renjun laughs. “You’re going to be fine. There are so many better men.” 

“That’s what you said last time,” you say. 

“And I was right,” Renjun says, “Jaemin is better than last time. Marginally. At least he isn’t a poli-sci major.” 

You snort. 

“See, you’re already laughing at him.” Renjun pushes you off his shoulder, standing up and groaning. “Now, I’m going to throw up in your bathroom, and then we can watch dumb action movies until your brain rots. The rest of the guys are supposed to come over, though I think Donghyuck is still throwing up.” 

You bury your face into the bear. “Does everyone know?” 

Renjun pauses. “The guys from this morning were sort of proud to be the ones to tell us.” 

You groan. The door to your bathroom closes but you barely hear it. You clutch the bear a little tighter, as if the fluff could break through your chest and fill the spilling hole in your heart. 

It would be too easy to blame Jaemin, to pretend like none of the pain is from your own stupidity. But you already told Renjun. You knew it from the start. 

Knocking at the door, a knock that means only one person. You wipe the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady your heart. 

“God, I was afraid I was waking you up.” Jaemin starts talking as soon as you open the door. He holds up a bag, a tray with two iced coffees and a hot cup. He looks unfairly good and, of course, he grins at you. “I wasn’t entirely sure what your hangover cure is, so I got hot and iced coffee, and there’s a breakfast sandwich and a donut and also these potato things, I really wasn’t sure what you’d like, but–” 

“Did you know that I was running for president?” 

Jaemin freezes, frown slowly curling his brow. “What are you–”

“Just answer the question.” You grip the door handle, knuckles turning white. 

He pauses a moment too long. “It’s not like that.” 

“Never talk to me again.” You fight the urge to slam the door, but your neighbors don’t have to suffer your wrath. You shake your head, “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.” 

Jaemin opens his mouth but you close the door, sliding the deadlock as hard as you can. He has the audacity to try to explain himself. If you didn’t want to hear him out so badly, you might laugh. Instead you turn your back on the door, sliding down it until you can rest your head on your knees and sob. 

.

.

Jaemin makes it halfway down the aisle of seats on Tuesday before you turn to Renjun, panic and tears in your eyes. He glares at Jaemin so hard he freezes in his tracks and doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at you in class, not even a peek. On Thursday, he walks straight to his seat. 

.

.

Chenle doesn’t bother to throw his packages into the recycling after opening them. He says he’s hanging onto them to make moving out easier, but really he’s just too lazy to break them down. You have to step around them to get into his apartment, since he thought it would be fun to make an obstacle course out of them. Navigating these sober is hard enough, you have no idea how he makes it to bed after a night out. 

But today, it’s worth it. It’s been two weeks since you cut off Jaemin, a month since the day you bumped into him in class (a month and three days but who’s counting?). He doesn’t look at you anymore. You haven’t fully escaped him–every once in a while you’ll hear his laugh from the other side of the lecture room. The sound still stabs between your ribs, a wound turned new each time you hear it. But it cuts a little more shallow each time. One day you won’t feel it at all. 

And today, Chenle got a puppy. 

She cries before you make it over the baby gate in Chenle’s room. A tiny ball of white fluff bounds toward you, tripping over her own feet. 

“Hi baby!” Your voice automatically rises three pitches looking at her. “Aren’t you just adorable!” You crouch down, letting her jump on your knees. She won’t sit still long enough to be pet, sprinting around your feet, then back to Chenle sitting on the floor, back resting against his bed. 

“Hi to you, too,” Chenle says pointedly. 

“Hi Chenle,” you turn back to his puppy. “And hello puppy!” 

“Her name is Daegal,” he says. You can hear him rolling his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a big ass head.” 

“Chenle is so mean to you!” You coo at the puppy at your feet. “But that’s okay, I’ll take good care of you. You can come home with me!” 

“You hear that baby?” Chenle says. “YN wants to pay me $1000 to take care of you!” 

You stare at him. “Did you seriously adopt a $1000 puppy?” 

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.” 

“You’re insane.” Daegal settles down enough to let you pat her head. 

“I invite you into my home for some much needed puppy love and this is how you treat me?” Chenle sighs. “To think that I felt bad for you, that I told you about her before anyone else. This is how I get treated for my kind heart.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Daegal licks your hand. 

“It’s not pity.” He pauses. “Well I guess it is pity, but you’re also my friend YN. Believe it or not, watching you live the sad boy lifestyle over some dude, again, is not fun. I’d much rather watch you being happy with my puppy.” 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” you mutter. 

Chenle claps his hands, making Daegal jump. “But that does remind me, everyone has been too much of a coward to ask, but I’ve heard from tertiary sources about his reputation, but I’d love a first hand account.” 

“What are you talking about?” You eye him. 

“How was the sex?” 

“You’re seriously asking me that?” 

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.” 

You pick up Daegal, staring at her instead of Chenle. She wiggles her tail, then her paws, so you set her back down. “I’m not answering that.” 

Chenle narrows his eyes, studying you. “That means it was good.” 

“That’s not at all what I said.” 

“And yet you’re not denying it.” 

“Please shut the fuck up.” 

For once he listens. With Renjun, silence means peace–he doesn’t say anything that doesn’t matter. When Chenle doesn’t speak, it means he has something to say and he isn’t sure how to say it. You peek up at him and your suspicions are confirmed. He chews on his lip, frowning at you. 

“Just tell me.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.” 

“Of school?” 

He rolls his eyes. “The election.” 

You stare at him. “Seriously?” 

“He hasn’t touched his application since Renjun’s birthday and Donghyuck said yesterday he emailed and said he wasn’t going forward with it.” He doesn’t say anything about how technically you should be checking the email. 

“But it doesn’t make any sense.” 

Chenle shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I was told.” He stands up. “Now! How much do you like cleaning up dog pee?” 

You glance down at Daegal, who squats in the middle of the room, a dark stain on the carpet beneath her. Chenle tosses you some paper towels and a can of Febreeze. 

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?” 

“Because you tried to steal her,” he says, “and I’ve already done this three times today and I’m really sick of it.” 

You shake your head but pull off a paper towel and press it into the stain. 

“We’re going out tomorrow night, by the way,” Chenle says. “And you’ve passed two weekends in a row so you’ve hit a cap for the month. You have to come with, no ‘buts.’” 

Apparently the grace period of pity is over. Whatever, it’ll be nice to do something other than hiding in your room watching Powerpuff Girls. And maybe you will see him. Maybe you’ll get an answer to the giant question mark that’s lodged itself in your heart when Chenle told he dropped out. Maybe the little caterpillar of hope that’s survived these past few weeks can metamorphize. 

And maybe he’ll break your heart again. But you won’t get any answers daydreaming. 

.

.

How Renjun can still drink Tequila, you truly do not understand. Ever since his birthday, the thought of it makes your stomach flip, and you didn’t even drink that much. But he sips on the margarita, insisting it doesn’t taste like alcohol. 

“It’s disgusting,” you say, pushing it closer to him. “I am not drinking this.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You do realize the whole gimmick of this place is all their drinks are made with tequila, right?” 

“No one told me that!” You glare at Chenle, who showed up at your door at exactly 8:00pm and dragged you to the bar. “For the record, I would have pre-gamed. But I guess I can be the babysitter tonight.” 

Chenle cheers. “Donghyuck, you’re back in! YN is babysitting!” 

Your drink slides down the table to Donghyuck, interrupting whatever ‘conversation’ he was having with Jisung. 

“I thought the whole point of dragging you out was to make you have fun,” he says. 

“You better be fun, then,” you say. 

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows but eventually take a long sip. “Brain freeze!” He cries, clutching his forehead. You laugh with the rest of the guys. It’s almost normal, except you can’t help but peek at the door whenever somebody walks in. 

The night passes and the guys get more drunk. The bar gets more crowded–soon you are squished between Renjun and Chenle, barely able to breathe as the music slowly gets louder. The tequila looks more and more appealing but the guys need at least one person sober to make it back alive: Chenle arm wrestles a stranger while Donghyuck has some poor soul cornered, practicing his pick up lines. 

When Chenle loses, you push past him, muttering something about fresh air that they probably can’t hear. You push through the crowd of drunk people, trying not to remember the last time you did this. 

You squint at the steps, edges difficult to see with so little light. Who builds a bar on the second floor of a building? You make it to the final step but misjudge how close it is and your foot slips off the edge, sending you tumbling forward. You might have caught yourself, but you don’t have to—strong arms catch you mid fall, wrapping around your waist and swinging you clean off the stairs and onto solid ground. You aren’t surprised at all to look into Jaemin’s eyes as he lets go. 

He frowns at you, eyes so dark they look black. Maybe it’s the lack of light, but the twinkle in his eyes, the glint you’ve come to recognize as trouble, is missing. 

“Hi,” you say. 

He drops his arms, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “So you’re talking to me now?” 

An apology begins on your lips but you can’t push it out. Not when you still don’t understand. “Can we talk?” 

He glances at you. “Have you been drinking?” 

You shake your head.  

“Okay.” He doesn’t walk away, folding his arms over his chest. 

When you imagined this conversation, the sun shined so that you could see the warmth in his eyes. He smiled at you, called you silly for ever doubting him. The Jaemin in your head wouldn’t ever do something to hurt you. 

But Jaemin doesn’t exist in your head–it’s far past time you learned that. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have just cut you off. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought, let alone what I think now.” You force yourself to meet his cold eyes, searching for a hint of warmth. “Chenle told me you dropped out of the presidency.” 

He nods slowly. 

“But Renjun told me that someone told him that the presidency is the only reason you ever pretended to like me, but if you dropped out then I really don’t get it. Not that I ever got it in the first place, though, because you’re you and I’m me, and everyone kept telling me that, like I didn’t already know that you are supposed to be a persimmon and grow on a tree far far away from my lemon or pomegranate or whatever kind of fruit I am, because the point is we were never meant to be.” You take a deep breath, realizing that you don’t exactly sound sane. “What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t make sense. It made sense when you were trying to cheat me out of the presidency, but you dropped out. And it doesn’t make sense.” 

Jaemin blinks slowly at you. “You would rather believe that I was trying to rob your presidency than that I actually like you?” 

“Do you?” 

He frowns. “Of course I do. I like you so much I think about things I’ve never wanted before, the silly shit–watching horror movies as an excuse to cuddle, having picnics by the river, buying groceries together–I wanted to do all of it with you. 

“You talk a lot about how we’re different people—who gives a shit? If I’m the type of person that wants to be with you and you’re the type of person that wants to be with me, why does any of that matter?” He takes a step closer to you, and you can see you were wrong. His eyes aren’t cold, they’re full of emotion, dark waves of hurt. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? Should I tell you how pretty you are? How incredibly smart you are—not fake smart like me, but really smart. And when I’m around you, I like who I am. I know it’s cheesy but you bring out the best in me. 

“I know I fucked up. I should have told you how I felt before anything else, and I shouldn’t have left. I regretted it as soon as I was gone but it was terrifying to lay next to you and give you my bare heart, even when I didn’t think you would ever try to hurt me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it hurts more thinking that you never wanted a relationship or thinking that I’d ever stoop that low. I mean, everyone tells me about my reputation, but I didn’t think you cared about any of that.” 

Tears prick at your eyes. How could you be such an idiot? Listening to all the wrong people, especially yourself. Jaemin doesn’t exist in another world, he isn’t any kind of fruit. He’s a boy that you like that likes you back. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching a tentative hand out to rest against his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He drops his head, sighing. “I was an idiot.” 

He sighs, staring at your hand. You start to drop it but he grabs it, squeezing your fingers. “Where do we go from here?” 

You study him, eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. Jaemin who is not a fruit, not an alien, just a boy. 

“Hey.” You reach out and cup his cheek, waiting for him to meet your eyes. “My name is YN. I think you’re really cute.” 

For a heartbeat he doesn’t move. Then he smiles, cheek rising underneath your hand. “Hey, my name is Jaemin. I think you’re really cute too.” 

“Oh really?” You slide your hand to the back of his neck, wrapping your other arm across it. His arms wrap on your waist, pulling you into a hug. He squeezes you flush against him, head tucked into your shoulder just as yours is tucked into his. 

“I know we can’t start over,” he says, “but can we start again?” 

“How about this time we just talk to each other?” You say, tapping your fingers on his shoulder. “No more rumors and gossip.” 

He nods, chin digging into your neck a little. “I swear, I won’t give you any reason to doubt me ever again. I won’t be the kind of guy your friends call a red flag.” 

You loosen your grip and lean back to look him in the eye. “Wait, did they seriously say that to you?” 

“I ran into Donghyuck after I dropped out and we had a very… one sided conversation with his side doing all the talking,” Jaemin says, “and Renjun made it obvious from the start that he didn’t like me.” 

You laugh a little, then even more when he pouts. “You’ll win them over again.” 

“They really don’t like me,” he says. 

You cup his cheek again. “You’ll change their minds.” He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. He gasps a little, hands tightening on your waist. 

“Now, am I remembering incorrectly, or are you an amazing kisser?” You ask. 

He grins, leaning forward and closing the distance without wasting a second. Neither of you can stop smiling, lips and teeth gnashing together but it’s still the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

.

.

You stretch an arm out, only to find more bed instead of empty space. You sit up, shivering as the blanket falls away. Right, you fell asleep in Jaemin’s bed. His room is much bigger than yours, sharing an apartment with Jeno. He has enough room for a dresser and a nicer desk, even a chair. It seems he lied to you about being messy, because even when you show up unannounced, like today, his clothes are neatly folded and the biggest mess you’ve found has been three dirty dishes in the sink (which you later found out were Jeno’s). 

Jeno, apparently, isn’t all bad–he did let you in even though your boyfriend was still out. He doesn’t fully trust you, but then again, your friends don’t hide their mistrust of Jaemin either. You maintain your earlier stance that time will heal that wound. 

You hear a knife against a cutting board coming from the kitchen, so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and shuffle towards the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading up your lips when you turn the corner and find Jaemin standing at the counter. He glances behind him and grins at you, and even though you just woke up from a nap and probably have messy hair and marks on your face, he says, “you look sexy.” 

“So cheesy,” you say. He laughs and turns back around. You slip behind him and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his back and closing your eyes. He radiates warmth better than any blanket. It’s too easy to lean against him, take a deep breath of the scent of his laundry detergent and cling to him. Jaemin moves slowly, careful not to hit you by accident. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“A surprise,” he says, “at least my attempt at one.” He sets down the knife on the counter and taps on your hands, pulling them apart gently and spinning around to face you before setting your hands back on his waist. He tilts his head at you when you purse your lips and frown. “What’s wrong?” 

“Still no ass,” you say, patting him a little lower than his waist. 

“Hey!” He sticks his lower lip out. “I’m trying.” 

“No one’s perfect,” you say, sliding your hands back up and sneaking a kiss to his cheek. 

“You are,” he says, cupping your face to kiss you properly. Jaemin still kisses like it’s his last chance, drawing out every moment, lips lingering on yours until your head spins. It’s only when you can’t breathe that he finally pulls away.  

“Good answer,” you say. 

He smiles. “If you come to the gym with me I’d be more motivated to get an ass you’d be proud of.” 

“You send enough pictures for me to know that if I saw you at the gym I would never survive,” you say. “You want me to die?” 

He laughs, squishing your face together with his hands. “If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be me, because you are too cute.” 

He presses another kiss to your lips, still squished together in a pout. He laughs at the outrage on your face, letting go of your cheeks and slipping his hands behind your neck, kissing you one more time for real, letting go far too early. 

“The surprise,” he says. He lets go of you with one arm, turning to the cutting board and holding up a slice of what he was cutting. It looks a little bit like a tomato, though it’s more orange than red, and about the size of a golf ball. 

“A persimmon?” 

“I still don’t really get the persimmon thing,” he says, “but I’ve never tried one.” 

You blink at him. Jaemin makes it so easy to fall in love. He holds the piece closer to your mouth, waiting for you to open. A persimmon tastes sweet and mild and rich, a little bit like honey. Jaemin eats his own piece, frowning and nodding. 

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says. 

“You’re going to make an amazing trophy husband,” you say. You tap him on the nose. “Maybe we could even be a power couple.” 

He grins. “We’ll be so cool. Like Beyoncé and her husband.” 

“Jay-Z?”

“Whatever.” Jaemin flips his hand. “The important part is that I am Beyoncé.” 

You smack his shoulders softly. “Hell no, Beyoncé would never have a flat ass.” 

“It always comes back to the ass.” He sighs. “Be honest: are you embarrassed by me?” 

Once you never thought he could be embarrassing. That was before you knew he staked his career on a soap opera and wears jorts to the gym, before he called you drunk just to confess he accidentally stole your pencil, before he spent three hours putting up campaign posters for you (and then another two getting written up by campus police for not having permission). Before you fell in love with him. 

“By you? Never.” You pat his cheeks. “Your ass leaves much to be desired, though.” 

thank you for reading!

[yumeka-sxf]

I try to stay away from negative topics, but after hearing talk on social media yesterday and seeing this post from @such-a-downer, I just had to give my two cents about the complaints regarding yesterday's chapter being "another short mission" and that Endo is somehow being "lazy" or whatever.

I honestly don't understand this mentality of criticizing manga-ka, or any artists really, because they aren't delivering by whatever standards you personally think are appropriate. To me, it just seems like entitlement because Endo has no obligation to cater to any specific fan's wants. This is his story to tell the way he wants, and his characters to develop at the pace he deems fit. This isn't a business contract where we're paying him to deliver content we want every two weeks without fail. If I'm consuming the fruits of someone's creative labor for free, I certainly feel no right to complain if sometimes their content isn't what I wanted or expected. I'm fine with that because 1) I know it's what they (the creator) wanted/needed at the time, and 2) even if a particular chapter wasn't my cup of tea, I know other fellow fans out there somewhere are enjoying the heck out of it, and that's cool!

We also have to remember that SxF is basically a one-man show. If Endo is busy or sick or whatever, it's not like he can have someone fill in for him to write and draw the series. That's what a hiatus is for, that's what making a short chapter instead of a longer one is for...that's how artists should be treated so they don't get burned out and stressed. Plus, art shouldn't be rushed. Any artist knows that there are times when you have trouble coming up with ideas and maybe need a little extra time to develop a more complex section of the story. To immediately jump to conclusions that he's lazy or doesn't know what he's doing is ridiculous. Maybe he didn't feel good for a few days, maybe he's been busy with other SxF events, maybe he just needed more time to get a particular future arc developed, or maybe he just has basic IRL obligations to take care of like we all do...you don't know what's going on in his life, so don't make assumptions.

Another thing to keep in mind is that it's literally impossible to please every fan. One of the comments I read for example, someone was ready to drop the series because we haven't seen much of Yor in "a while." All I could think of was "didn't she just have a pretty big role only four chapters ago when they went to the ski resort?" Plus she was the star of chapter 91, which was less than ten chapters ago. So according to this person's standards, four chapters without seeing a particular character is "too long"? What if it was only three chapters, would that be acceptable? It's not right to push our own personal standards of a series' pacing as the "correct" way: some people want to see more of character X while someone else wants to see more of subplot Y, so should both complain that the manga-ka isn't doing right whenever they focus on something else? I'm not saying you shouldn't make criticisms of a manga-ka's work, but the criticisms should come from within the narrative itself, not superficial things like chapters focusing on subplots/characters you don't want to see or not having enough "plot-advancing" content when it's not a plot-focused series.

People who have read SxF up to this point should know the general flow of the chapters: mostly slice-of-life episodic, with more plot-heavy, intense arcs once in a while, like the cruise arc and bus arc. It's an ensemble series that spends most of its chapters focused on at least one of the Forgers, but occasionally other characters here and there. That's how the series has been for years and will likely continue to be. So if you keep complaining because you only like the dramatic story arcs and not the "nothing happens" episodic chapters, then maybe the series just isn't for you. It's totally fine if that's the case, but don't act like Endo is doing something wrong because he's not providing the particular thing you want in his story.

To summarize, Endo has no obligation to cater to particular fans' standards, just as we have no obligation to keep reading his work if we don't like it. But being a fan to me means respecting the creator's pace and vision even if it's not always what I personally want. I can find something to enjoy in every chapter because I'm a fan of SxF, not a fan of one particular aspect of it. But I also will not complain every time my tastes aren't being catered to and will simply occupy myself with other things while I wait. What's the big hurry, after all? I'm in no rush for SxF to wrap up its plot and I'm glad Endo isn't rushing either.

And that's all I'm gonna say about this topic, lol. On a happier note, I'm going to finally see Code White on Thursday! 😁 More to come later~

[pinkafropuff]

(Dark Chocolate)- Emilia

“I’ve always thought it odd, though. Despite your prowess in battle, you don’t seem to have an abundance of aether…” 

Her eyes slide to Alphinaud. Why he seems so fascinated with her now is anyone’s clue. If anything, he might be concerned about losing his favorite chess piece- which Emilia refuses to be, at least not without getting something out of it. Arms behind her head as she leans back, she curls her lip in disdain. 

“Not-” He’s noticed her disgust. “Not that it’s a bad thing, mind! I-I mean-”

Oh, he’s too easy. “Kid, maybe you should work harder on keeping your mouth shut.” A grin, its look sickly sweet. She knows. She’s practiced. “Just because you can say somethin’ don’t mean you should.”

“I was only-” He cleared his throat. Trying to save face, probably. “Concerned, for your well being. You use Aetherytes like no tomorrow- more than the average person, I mean. Simply put, it would be less than ideal if you keeled over from that instead of in battle.”

Fake. But kids were allowed to play at being adults from time to time. Alphinaud was just better at it than most. “I’m fine. Just tell me where to go and I’ll go.” Pissed her off, though. How could they figure that out already? Even she knew why her magic- her aether output- was particularly low- not that she’d say so. “What? Are you all so primitive that you think power levels are the end-all-be-all in this world?”

He stiffened. “Well-”

“The Knight Commander is waiting for you in the Intercessory,” Haurchefant’s voice broke into the conversation at exactly the right time, enough to make Emilia smile at his tactics. She’d been preparing to fight the little christmas elf for fun. 

That hawk nosed guy ain’t half bad. 

----

She didn’t think she’d see Estinien again so soon. But then again, this was Ishgard, and he was-

“The Azure Dragoon- and the man I trust most with my life.” Finished Aymeric, and though Alphinaud bowed, she didn’t need such an introduction. Instead, the two watched each other, thinking god-knows-what. If anything, she was trying not to smile. It was delicious, after all. She even screwed up her mouth a bit, ready to say something- but never did. The other dragoon seemed to know that, and he crossed his arms over his chest in response.

“...is something…wrong?” Bright blue eyes shining with more concern than she’d seen in days. Weeks, even. She wondered what that was about, then shrugged, hands in her pockets. 

With her chin she gestured to Estinien. “Nothin’. Nice armor, though.”

From beneath his helmet, he scowled. Clearly. “If nothing else, I can attest to her martial prowess.”

“As opposed to?” She wanted to bite her lip. She was smiling more than she ought to.

“The content of her character,” he finished, though Aymeric seemed very focused on keeping his poker face in its wake.

The Knight-Commander folded his hands over his lap. “So you two know each other?” It hummed with a hint of amusement, his voice. Emilia disliked it. If anything, a honeyed voice was cause for a firmer guard, a closer grip on her blade. “How advantageous.That will save us some time.”  

The talks, if she deigned to hear them fully, were no more or less than what she expected; ‘we will give you this if you give us that’. Unfortunately for Alphinaud, the Knight Commander was much more adept at it- given he was definitely twice his age and had as much experience besides- but Emilia withheld her laughter until afterwards. 

“Too big for your britches again, huh.” Her teeth sunk into an apple, the cherry red of her lipstick almost disappearing into the skin of the fruit as juice dribbled onto the floor. “Told ya you should’ve brought someone else.”

He sighed (though clearly curbed his obvious displeasure, lest she rag on him further for it), staring at his hands before he put them on his hips. “I only needed you for moral support. No one else could fill the role.”

“You mean muscle,” she corrected him wryly, and Alphinaud pressed his lips into a thin line. “Try harder to sugar coat it next time.”

Then she ruffled his hair with her slightly wet glove. His ‘stepped in dog shit’ face was well worth the physical contact. “...well! What about you? Do you have a crush on the Azure Dragoon or something? I’ve scarce seen you smile that much without being mean-spirited about it.” 

“Me? On a guy who can’t get over a simple possession by himself? Fuck no.” The snap of the fruit’s skin was more annoying than satisfying at this point, teeth hungry for a treat less sweet. “But I know’em. If that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Really? From where?” Suddenly interested in her for the first time in ages (even the ‘other’ Emilia hadn’t known him to be overly invested in her- but then again, they hadn’t known each other well, so she’d give’em a pass) he turned to face her fully...though Emilia averted her gaze.

“What? Kid, we were just in Ishgard. Where the hell else am I gonna meet him?” 

“Why were you-” He squinted at first, then his eyes widened in recognition. “Oh…right. You’re a dragoon, aren’t you? So that means you’ve-”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Hand to his head and palm to his cheek, she shoved him hard enough to almost knock him over, wobbling a bit as she swung her leg out so she didn’t follow suit. “I’m gone.” Not even looking back to see if he was alright (it should only bruise if he actually hit the ground instead of stumbling a bit), she tossed her apple core to the side and shoved her hands in her pockets. 

----

“You owe me, Estinien Wyrmblood.”

He would not let it overtake him. But it was true. Even delivered with such a baleful gaze, there was no denying the truth. That he did owe her. 

“She’s smarter than we’ve been led to believe,” Aymeric was saying. “I know you’ve no true head for politics, but ‘tis surprising that you could not offer such insight.”

Red. Red on her lips, her gloves, the very tips of her fingers. Red against his skin, his blade, his armor. Sticky, hot, sharp and precise against his throat, tearing at weaknesses he did not know he had- but sweet. Sweet, curbed by undeniable bitter. How she had gotten so good in such a short time was beyond him. Alberic’s choice in adventurer was better than he’d expected. Maybe too much so.

“Or else next time, I may just put it through your heart.”

The Azure Dragoon said nothing. Instead he kept his arms crossed over his chest, ever on his guard. And instead of offering anything to the contrary, he said, “I know.”

“I didn’t think she would throw her weight around like that,” he pushed back from his chair, clearly ready to reconvene with Lucia or some other council. Estinien wasn’t keen to stop him. He had other problems. “Clearly her companion did not even think of utilizing her properly before time-” He paused. “Where exactly did you meet her? Were you-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Was his response, and then he turned towards the door. “You know how to reach me.”

Aymeric knew better than to ask, but still found himself questioning it as he’d gone. “I wonder what’s gotten into our friend…” But, he supposed he’d look into it another time.

[ghoul-bonez]

~Through the Wind and Rain~

Chapter 10 (Let Me Help You)

OC x OC set in the “Avatar: The Way of Water” universe…

Summary: Niri’te needs her hair re-braided and Leyra offers to help.

Word count: 1.2k

Author's note: I’m so tired y’all sorry if there’s any mistakes 😩 I’m also so tired of writing these fucking summaries ahhhhh

Last - Next

Masterlist

Chapter 10 (Let Me Help You)

My morning had a rough start, more or less. Leyra had come to my marui this morning, instead of me making my way to hers. She had unpleasantly woken me up by silently sneaking into my marui, opening the door flap and making her way to where I had been sleeping. Unconscious, I hadn’t realized when she had grabbed my shoulders, but her aggressively shaking my shoulders brought me to consciousness.

I shot up straight in my hammock and almost fell out of it before she steadied me so I wouldn’t flip over, “Good morning!” She beamed at me. I will always love her smile, but at the moment I was too distressed to take it in.

I quickly racked my brain as to why she would have woken me up like that, “Is everything okay? Did I sleep in? Am I late?” I shouted.

“Everything is fine, but I thought I would come over to your home this morning.” She shoved a basket of fruits into my arms once I was fully awake, “I brought breakfast!”

“Why in the world would you wake me up like that then? I thought something was wrong! I thought someone was dying!” My eyes were wide, as much drama in my voice as I could portray.

She burst out laughing, “I thought it was funny!” She struggled to get out through her giggles.

“What time is it anyway?” I asked, looking outside at the black sky. I balanced the fruit basket in my lap and placed my face in my hands, muttering, “It’s still dark outside.”

Leyra tugged my hands away from my face, taking the basket from me and placing it on the ground, before she squatted down to be in front of me, “The sun should be coming out soon, so not much earlier than you would usually wake up.” she cradled my face in her hands, her thumbs swiping over my cheeks comfortingly.

I groaned loudly, “At least there's that.”

“You should get up now so we can eat breakfast, I’m hungry.” Leyra let go of my face and pulled on my hands, trying to force me to stand, while I laid back, making myself dead weight, “Come on, please!” she drew out the last word, continuing to try to pull me up.

“Alright, fine. I get first pick though.” I hopped up, throwing Leyra off balance from her pulling. I quickly caught her by the arm, pulling her into me and holding her there.

She didn’t struggle against my hold, instead pushing closer and rubbing her cheek against mine. Her skin was soft and warm everywhere we touched, feeling like the sun peeking out behind clouds on a gloomy day. Like the sunny break when the middle of the storm passes overhead.

I could have stood with her in that moment forever, basking in her warmth and the comfortable silence, but after a few moments she spoke, “Fine. That’s fair I guess.” I let go of her and she rolled her eyes, but was still smiling.

Without speaking I quickly sat down on the ground next to where the fruit basket was put down, pulling it in front of me and looking through it. There were many fruits inside it, a few different types. I picked my favorite, bringing it to my mouth and taking a large bite. I hummed and passed Leyra the basket, motioning towards it with my hand as I chewed. She dug through it as well before settling on one as well.

We ate in silence, neither of us feeling the need to speak as we enjoyed each other’s presence. The sound of waves lapping against the beach was a soothing background noise, and I focused on that as I ate, zoning out.

“Niri’te you’re staring at me.” Leyra broke the silence, quickly bringing me back to reality.

I hummed, looking away from her and smiling sheepishly, “Sorry, got lost in thought, or maybe lost in no thought?”

She nodded, “Ahh, okay.” she reached out to me, affectionately pinching my cheek and making me look at her, “Do you have any plans for today?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Not exactly, I figured you would have plans though?”

“Well I noticed you took your hair out for the celebration yesterday, and you looked beautiful.” She motioned towards my hair, taking some in her hand and running it through her fingers, “You do need your hair redone though, yes?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got it. I do it myself all the time.” I replied.

“Let me help you fix your hair for you, yawne.” It was getting hard to deny how much I love Leyra day by day, especially when she was only ever so kind to me.

“Oh, okay.” I blushed hard, both at the nickname and the gesture. I remember being little and my mother helping do my hair, it was such a special moment between us. Nobody had offered to help me in years, “I would love that.”

She giggled, “I may not be as good at it as you, but I promise I’ll try my best!”

Leyra brushed through my hair carefully with her fingers, never pulling on the strands, moving her fingers with a soft concentration. Her fingers were gentle and worked with precision to separate any knots she came across.

As Leyra separated the first bit of hair she would be braiding she spoke, “You haven't told me much about how you feel about Awa’atlu. Are you enjoying it here?”

I smiled widely, almost nodding my head, yes, before I stopped myself, instead speaking with excitement in my voice, “I love it here! Not everyone here was, or still is, very accepting of outsiders, but that makes the people who are very welcoming so much more special. The water has brought me a new kind of happiness I didn’t know I needed. Moving through it has become as easy as running through the forest. It has become home.”

Leyra hummed in confirmation, “So tell me, were you scared to come here? It must have been a complete change in ways of life.”

I thought, figuring out how to word my thoughts, “It wasn’t the change that scared me most about moving here, it was what I had heard about the Sky People. They’ve already taken so much from me that I didn’t want them to take my new home too. I had heard about Neteyam, the whole clan did. The news spread quickly, it was supposed to be for his grandmother, Tsahik, but within a few hours everyone had heard. Someone else had lost a member of their family to the Sky People, and it had happened where I was planning to move to.”

Her fingers paused in their braiding when she spoke, “Well, was it worth coming?” quickly resuming afterwards.

“Of course it was. Coming here was the best decision I have ever made. I’ve made new friends, and I’ve been able to reconnect and fix relationships with people I’ve known since I was young.” I paused, adding on, “I’ve met you.”

Leyra didn’t respond, and as she continued braiding my hair she placed a kiss on one side of my neck, moving to the other side and doing the same. I didn’t need a response. I felt confident in her love for me, and in my love for her.

Word Bank:

Marui (Metkayina homes)

Yawne (Darling)

Awa’atlu (Metkayina village)

Sky People (Humans)

Tsahik (Spiritual leader)

[kradogsrats]

Overture (Fic)

Me @ Wonderstorm: a PIANO? seriously? piano? okay, I guess… (Piano. What the actual hell.)

—

The royal soirée was warm, stuffy, and, considering the company involved, interminably boring.

It should have been a golden opportunity—artists, writers, musicians, and even a scholar or two had been invited to mingle with the Katolian royal court. At an event like this, catching the eye of the right person could mean gaining a patron who’d set you up for life. Crown Prince Harrow was already swarmed by hopefuls looking to present him with samples of obsequious drivel.

Lissa wandered through the collection of adjoining rooms, wineglass in hand. The setting had been artfully arranged to be ideal for the gathering—comfortable chairs and low couches encouraged intimate conversation, scattered tables were packed with spreads of bite-sized pastries and cut fruit, and servants circled discreetly with selections of wine at the ready. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been in Katolis long enough to have discerned which of its wealthy elite might take an interest in her work, so engaging with any of them was a gamble. Scholarship was generally more difficult to find interested patrons for than the arts, as well—there might be little here for her if she didn’t want to spend the next ten years writing insipid genealogies.

The crowd of guests mercifully thinned out as she got further from the prince. The rooms became less unbearably warm, the scent of so much mingled perfumes less cloying. She paused in one that was nearly empty to sip her wine and take a few breaths. The lone bored servant stationed there ignored her.

In the corner of the small lounge was a piano. Lacking anything else to hold her interest, Lissa stepped over to examine it. She wasn’t truly a musician, but she knew quality when she saw it—the piano was a fine piece, plain in its ornamentation but with solid construction and elegant shape. She didn’t recognize the dark wood of the body, but the keys were Neolandian ivory. An almost unspeakable level of luxury—she’d only ever seen wooden ones, before. She ghosted her fingertips over them, barely touching the surface.

“Do you play?”

She whirled guiltily, feeling like a child caught where she shouldn’t be. Gray-eyed Viren stood behind her, sleek in his high-collared coat rich with embroidery—she hadn’t expected to see him, especially not this far from the prince’s side.

Had he followed her?

“Only a little,” she said, shaking that thought away. “I’m better with more portable instruments.”

”Portable?” he echoed curiously, moving closer to stand beside the piano and idly running a hand over the polished wood.

“Most of the old stories in Del Bar are meant to be told with music,” she explained. “It’s an essential piece—the story isn’t properly understood without it. You wouldn’t have seen many wandering bards hauling around something this size, so the music has to be adapted for it. I do lute, mostly, instead—keeps things as close to the original form as possible.”

”You don’t think we should use every tool at our disposal to build the past into an improved future?” he teased, gray eyes dancing with mischief.

She laughed, familiar with this kind of irreverent scholastic banter, and matched his playfulness in her response. “More that I think we need to remember the past accurately, if we’re to truly build on it at all.”

“Maybe you’re right.” His face faded to seriousness and his eyes grew distant for a moment—then his focus and smile returned. “Nonetheless, will you play something? For me?”

“I suppose,” she said, taking a seat on the bench and smoothing her skirts. She kept her face tilted down, ostensibly focused on the keys but hopefully also hiding her sudden flush.

The ivory was cool and smooth under her fingers. “Some people call this one ‘In the Hall of the Mage-King.’ It’s from a story about a wicked mage who lures a young woman to his castle, intending to ensnare her as his bride.” She glanced up at him. “No offense intended.”

His mouth quirked against a laugh. “None taken.”

She closed her eyes—she’d always found it easier to play from memory when she didn’t look at the keys—and began slowly. The music was a simple, repeated melody, meant to gradually increase in speed and flourishes according to the musician’s skills and taste. That was part of why she had chosen it, to give muscle memory a few measures to return before she tried anything fancy.

Or has that story just been on your mind, lately?

Her brow furrowed slightly as she concentrated harder on the music, sweeping away all other thoughts. She hit fewer false notes as she continued, her hands moving faster and with more confidence. When she felt she’d shown off enough, she shifted smoothly into a coda, winding the music back down to slow simplicity, and finally silence.

The last notes still hung in the air as she looked up. At some point, he had shifted to lean his elbows on the piano’s frame. His head was cocked to one side, watching her.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly.

They suddenly seemed very close. She met his eyes and held them, refusing to be the first to back down even as her heart hammered and she felt heat creeping up her neck.

He straightened abruptly, faint color rising in his cheeks. “I mean—that was lovely. Thank you for indulging me.” He glanced toward the door and sighed. “I should get back to Prince Harrow and make sure he hasn’t gotten into trouble.”

“Absolutely,” she replied, with deadpan earnestness. “I can’t believe you left him alone with a pack of poets. That’s practically treason.”

He laughed, bowing slightly. “Good evening, then, Lissa.”

She inclined her head in return. “Good evening, Viren.”

He stepped toward the door, then realized he’d forgotten his wineglass and returned to retrieve it, nodding at her sheepishly. He paused, his fingers twisting on the glass’s stem. “And what happens to the young woman, in the story?”

“Oh,” she said, keeping her voice light, “There are a few versions, and no one knows which is the original. In most of them, she escapes with the mage’s sundered heart, ending his cruel reign. But in a very few, very old texts—she falls in love, and becomes his queen.”

“You should tell me the whole thing, sometime. The nice version.”

She tilted her head to look at him for a moment—storm-gray and tarnished gold, iron-hot pride and wolf-winter hunger. Beautiful, indeed.

“Maybe I will,” she said, and smiled.

—

The piano is one of the first furnishings he buys for their home—it’s a more modern upright construction, for the smaller space, but still finely made and tuned to perfection.

He coaxes her to cover her eyes as he leads her into the room, and laughs at her delighted gasp when she opens them. Whirls her around the sunlit room in his arms.

She plays it daily. The lute rests in the corner, forgotten.

[weilongfu]

AePete & TinCan Nymph AU - They introduce Pin & Tan for the first time, and Ae & Tin are very nervous/overly protective

Within the forest, there was no mistaking the clearing that Ae's pack called home. Barely five minutes at a run from Ae's private den, it was the place where hunt kills were divided and plans made. It was also where the young were tended to by those who did not hunt.

As Tin joined the pack ("More like coerced by this cute idiot," Tin groused as Can swiped at Tin's tail), this included his son, Tan. And although Tin had finally decided to trust the pack enough to not take Tan with him everywhere, Tan had yet to truly make friends with the other children.

"Come on, buddy," Can teased as he chased Tan around his little corner of the clearing. "You need to come make friends!"

"He's fine on his own," Tin called from where he sat. "You tire him out plenty when you get back from hunting with everyone."

"Tin, that's no replacement for proper socialization!" Can rested his hands on his hips and stomped over to his lover. "Tan needs friends! He needs to play! You can't keep him in this little corner forever."

"None of the other children are worth his time."

"And that's the kind of thinking you left your old pack to get away from." Tin turned and glared at Can but Can's gaze didn't break and so Tin relented and turned away. "Now, Pin and Tan are close enough in age. Why not let them be friends first and see if Pin can help Tan get to know the other younglings?"

Tin grumbled before Can sat in his lap and licked his cheek, Tan watched as his father and adoptive father had one of their silent conversations before Tin's shoulder slumped. "Fine." Can's tail started wagging immediately. "But if something goes wrong-"

"What could possibly go wrong? You're lucky Ae's not here to hear you bad mouth Pin."

"Is Pin really nice?" Tan asked at last as he carefully stepped up to his parents. "I heard he's part nymph."

"He is!" Can turned to pick up Tan and place him in his own lap. Tin barely felt the additional weight. "Ae's mate is a nymph of a peach tree. If you're lucky, maybe Pete will let you have some of his fruit while you play with Pin tomorrow."

"I get to play with someone tomorrow?!" Tan's tail also began to wag in excitement and Tin felt a stone on his heart despite rarely seeing his son so pleased. "Does Pin like to play tag?"

"He doesn't play tag often. He's not as able to be as rough as other wolves, so do your best to be kind and when he tells you to stop, you should stop." Can pat Tan on the head and set him down. "Now did you eat your dinner yet or not?"

Meanwhile, inside Ae's den, Pin was already bouncing with excitement, much to Ae's chagrin.

"Settle down now or you'll get your dinner everywhere," Pete said as he gently pushed Pin back down into a sitting position as Ae curled around him in his wolf form. Pin immediately began to pet Ae's tail instead of focusing on the fruit and meat in front of him. "Your papa is already grumbling about tomorrow, no need to make him upset about today."

Pin turned around and nuzzled one of Ae's ears, mindful of his sticky fingers. "Don't be sad papa, I promise to be good and safe."

Ae let out a low whine and Pete kissed his muzzle which caused Ae to shift back into his humanoid form. "That Tan always sulks off to the side, just like his father. How do we know he'll be a good playmate?" Ae huffed.

Pete wrapped his arms around Ae. "Can wouldn't suggest it if he didn't trust that Tan would be a good friend. Don't you trust Can?"

"I trust that he's been trying to get Tin to mount him for months." Pete gently tapped Ae's mouth. "I mean further their relationship," Ae said while rolling his eyes. "Regardless, if Tan is like his father, I think tomorrow will end in tears."

"Tan seems nice," Pin said as he finally ate some of his dinner at last. "When daddy and I were in the clearing the other day, I saw Tan help the aunties and uncles around the fire." Pin smiled. "He wasn't scared at aaaaaalllll."

"How nice!" Pete said to cut Ae off as he opened his mouth. "Now finish up so we can wash you up for bed. Tomorrow is another hunting day for your papa and Uncle Can and Tin. We'll need to meet up with Tan early."

------

Dawn came without care for Tin's worries or Ae's.

"Daddy, are you scared Pin will hurt me?" Tan asked as Tin wiped his face clean after breakfast.

"Of course not. After all I've taught you, how could he hurt you?" Tin said absently while straightening out the pelts Tan wore.

"Are you afraid someone else will be my best friend?" Tin paused his motions to look at Tan. Tan took that moment to cup his father's face and rub their noses together. "Daddy is always important to me. Even if I make a new best friend."

"Who... Who told you that daddy was scared about that?" Tin asked as he returned the gesture before rubbing his cheek against Tan's.

"Papa Can. Last night, after dinner, he said," Tan cleared his throat and Tin almost smiled at the attempt to mimic Can's voice, "'Tan, your dad has had to work very hard to make room for us in his heart. But your heart is very big. There's room for everyone. Remind him that he won't be pushed out just because you add another.'"

"Try again," Tin said after a moment. "Can is not so eloquent."

"I can be if I want to be," Can said as he slumped against Tin's back before rubbing his cheek against Tin's and then leaning forward to rub against Tan's. "Even if you aren't ready to let more people in, don't stifle Tan. He's got plenty of room in his heart for you and others."

Tan rubbed his cheek along Tin's neck and Tin almost felt a tear in his eye. "I will always love daddy. No one can replace him."

Can pat them both on the head. "Now for once, I think we might be running late because of you, Tin. We'd best get walking."

------

The fated meeting occurred just outside the clearing. Ae and Pete approached with Pin and Can and Tin waited with Tan. Both boys hid behind their parents while attempting to sneak peeks. Pete laughed at the childish attempts to be subtle.

When at last they were close enough, Pete gently pulled Pin out from behind Ae and nudged him forward. Tin sighed and stepped aside to reveal Tan before Can gave him a gentle push. Tan's darker eyes met Pin's lighter ones and childish grins immediately broke out across both their faces, all trace of nerves gone.

"Hi," Pin said brightly. "I'm Pin."

"I'm Tan." Tan offered his hand. "Do... do you like to play tag?"

"I like tag! Papa says I'm getting good at it!" Pin grabbed Tan's hand. "Do you wanna play tag now?"

"Okay!"

The two ran off and although neither Ae or Tin sighed with relief, the tension was gone, if only for a moment. The adults watched for a second longer and the wolves prepared to leave but were stopped by a single sentence.

"Pin, you smell really good."

Ae whipped around to find Tan in Pin's personal space, sniffing his cheek. Before he and Tin could lunge forward, Can tackled them both to the ground in a giant scuffle. Pete sighed and walked over to the children to lead them away with the time Can had bought him.

"Come along, how about we go pick some fruit first before you both play tag, hm?"

"Mister Pete, can we have some of your peaches too?" Tan asked. "I heard they were really really good."

"Of course you can! Just come this way with me..."

[pathlit]

⤷ ✧ @nursc / continued.

shutting up as she'd ordered first would've been the smart course of action here, but cam's zero for two on smart choices today, and why break a losing streak? so, instead, of course he has to point out the flaw in her instructions. ❛ you realize I can't do both, right? ❜ besides, surely it didn't matter what had happened. it was stupid. then again, it's always stupid, isn't it? one trouble or another, and maybe if he'd used a little more common sense, he wouldn't have landed himself in this predicament.

he's grateful, truly grateful, not to be alone on this accursed planet ( actually, quite a lovely planet, except for the fact that they have no way off ). that gratitude, however, stands at sharp odds with the way that right now he might well gladly give that right arm not to have to explain that he had dislocated ( and himself set back in its joint ) his shoulder in a series of poorly conceived plans.

it'll be fine in the morning, he tells her silently, possessing enough sense to recognize that saying the words aloud will only dig his grave a little deeper. it is a lie, he knows, but so long as he's cautious with the arm over subsequent days, the worst he'll contend with is pain sure to be trivial compared to the way his spine flares at him on a regular basis. ❛ I think we should really be focusing on what's important here, which is those fruits. ❜ fruits that had been neither the object of his excursion nor the cause of his injury, but were certainly a silver lining of the whole thing. ❛ because really someone other than me should confirm that they're actually edible. ❜

( for once though, despite his self-deprecating joke, he's certain in his own evaluation. )

[ofthedarkwoods]

Questions

Platforms currently?...

Tumblr

Ofthedarkwoods :random shit all the time basically main blog

OfthedarkwoodsArtwork :Multi-fandom artwork and content

Pinterest

Ofthedarkwoods :filled w/ lots of references, art challenges, brushes, and more.

Ofthedarkwoodsfashion :different themed oufits perfect for ocs or going out.

Twitter

Ofthedarkwoods : rn all I've been focusing on is to share about Palestine hoping it'll keep spreading

----------------------------------

Is rebloginging your art okay?

Yes of course reblog away! The more reblogs the better!

Are you okay with me uploading your art to other platforms?

As long as you keep the watermark & give name credits i dont mind, maybe even a link so others can find me and enjoy my artwork as much as you do. If I see on any platforms where no name credit is given (watermark deleted.. ect.) I will get it taken down, so please be respectful. Also remember not every artist is like this so always find the creator and ask no matter how long it takes or how little research there is. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother posting any artwork.

Also for mature content like nsfw & gore I beg of you to put warnings. If you can't put warnings then dont bother rebloging or reposting at all. My content is not made for everyone and any mature +18 content without warning will be taken down forcefully. Anyone who sees my artwork being shared without warning let me know please.

Is dubbing your art ok?

Yes that is fine although I would still love to hear you ask so I can research your account, find out more about you, and maybe even like and support you as well. Just remember to give name credit please.

What mature content are we talking?

I wish to post more content like gore and consensual type themes in the future for other adults to enjoy. I have been experimenting with my artwork and seem to have found myself drawn to it quite literally. I have been observing pastel gore and just love it. All this type of art will have warnings and if anyone reposts this should have warnings as well or else.

OH! Please note I WILL NEVER POST ANY INCE$T, PEDØ, CØMSHIP/PRØSHIP TYPE STUFF SO FUCK OFF!

Why are you interested in drawing gore?

What can I say.. well, when I was younger, I had surgery and was always afraid of my scars opening up. It wasn't until recently I decided that my scars were something to not be afraid of and that it was all in my head, I started seeing the beauty in candy/neon/pastel/fruit gore. I saw it all in a different perspective and that other people must feel this was too. I want people who want to see it to feel the beauty and comfort like I do. I thought as though I'm reclaiming it for myself instead of being afraid but to embrace it.

I'm a minor under 18 how do you feel about that?

I'm gonna be forward and say i dont feel comfortable with minors on my page. I'm an adult I talk about mature topics and will be posting mature content (w/ warning of course). Yes I know I cant fully stop you from seeing my posts especially on other platforms but if you message me or ask any questions I will ignore/block you. The internet is a fucked up place and I truely wish more adults would take topics like this seriously. I really care about each and everyones safety so I will take measures into my own hands if i have to. I really dont want to be friends with childern so please respect my wishes and leave me alone.

Are you open to commissions?

Unfortunately no. I'm still figuring out some things at the moment but I will take suggestions for any lgbtqia+ icons to have as a pfp. I mean starting a business is tough and I want to take my time with my art on my own terms, I'm still a part time artist and on top of that I procrastinate a lot so deadlines are exhausting.

How do you feel about Spammimg?

If we're talking about DMs I honestly wouldn't really perfer a ton of text messages to reply to however you're welcome to hit the like button as much as you like. It shows your appreciation and I know what its like finding an artist with cool artwork to enjoy. Comments are fine but I dont think I can respond to every single one.

Are you trans?

Yes probably non-binary specifically with they/them pronouns because I feel like the "given" binary spectrum and "gender roles" don't really suit me. I mean most days I feel "feminine", some days I feel "masculine", and some days I wake up feeling neither, or sometimes I wake up feeling both. Gender is very confusing so for short I'm nonbinary.

Why did you quit Instagram?

Animation is one of the hardest things I've pushed myself to do. Instagram's platform wasn't necessarily fitting to my standards per say. My technology kept failing as well and made it difficult to keep a steady rhythm with posting. But also in other words I felt many users wouldn't accept my artwork as much as they'd accept my videos. I also felt that many Instagram users didn't see me as non-binary meaning many didn't use my pronouns correctly. I felt like all this together was enough to push me away. Tumblr felt more freeing than Instagram and so far its been more enjoyable, but none the less I made friends and will miss them dearly.

Will you do anymore Animation?

Yes i do animaton but wish to expand more on that later... right now it's just artwork and edits. I've thought about posting to YouTube but idk..

[aquagustd]

gold - MYG | M

↣ you're in love with Min Yoongi, yes, you are, but why do you keep thinking of the boy who broke your heart into a million pieces when you should be focusing on the one who's mending it.

pairing: yoongi x reader (past jungkook x reader)

genre: angst, fluff, smut, bff2l

word count: 17K

warnings/tags: college au, roommate au, unrequited love au, a bit of slow burn, pining, very soft Yoongi, possessive Yoongi, Y/N & Yoongi communicate ~telepathically~, sleepy kitten, voyeurism, explicit smut- video call sex, PDA, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, lots of hickeys, oral (f & m), cum eating, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hair pulling, spanking, breast kink, soft smut, praise kink, slight impregnation kink, fingering, protected sex

a/n: this can be read alone, but it’s apart of the ATG universe and a lot of references are made to past scenes.

∞

To love someone who doesn’t love you back takes strength. How selfless can one be to give and give and give, keep on giving without wanting anything in return. Knowing that the other person is oblivious to their generosity, they take without even acknowledging the fact. But they aren’t to blame. It should be you, the lover, the giver with no limits, who’s to blame. Your heart is weak, battered with each day that passes, exhausting the fruits of your love.

And then there are days where you would want to give up, throw in the towel, say ‘I’m done,’ done with loving this person who is so cruel not to love you back, but they wouldn’t know. They don’t know how you feel, how each smile is like a puncture to the heart, each laugh has them doubling over with pain because it’s just that. Painful. You’re done inflicting pain on yourself with no hesitation.

Then…it might be when you’re doing something as mundane as cleaning your car or washing the dishes or on your daily commute to work, you remember a sweet memory, the moment you knew you fell in love with them, your surroundings seemed normal but inside, you felt like you were levitating, like they’ve suddenly shot beams through your soul and are claiming you as theirs, but no one else saw it because you felt it. You don’t want to give up, not when that person makes you feel alive, and especially when you know that they’re worth it.

That type of love has someone beaten and curled up in a corner, wanting to step out and say something, anything, profess your love but the fear of rejection is what keeps you safe in the dull, little corner. That’s how Yoongi feels right now, as he watches you bake, tongue poking out in concentration, elbow sticking up as you twist the spatula in the bowl of icing. He sighs dreamily, fist pressed under his cheek, sitting at the other end of the counter, but you don’t hear it, thankfully, you’re too busy tasting the icing.

You smack your lips together and he waits for your comment, but it doesn’t come, instead you drag the same finger on the side of the bowl and hold it up to his face. Maybe you didn’t notice that it was the same finger you had in your mouth a moment ago, but he notices, and it has his heart leaping to his throat. You’ve done this plenty of times before, but it still feels like the first, especially when your finger gets trapped between his lips and he licks off the icing, nothing to you, so much to him.

“How is it?”

Yoongi thinks for a while, trying not to blurt out praises when the icing didn’t even reach his tongue yet, but he doesn’t need to lie.

“It’s good. Tasty.”

He sees your eyes flicker from the bowl to his face, shoulders slouching.

“I think it needs more orange zest.”

He shrugs, nodding to the white creamy mixture, “I think it tastes just fine.”

Knowing the perfectionist that you are, he hears you grumble as you slap on the icing and add the finishing touches to the cake, so he walks around the counter and places his hands on your shoulders, pushing you lightly in the direction of the hallway.

“Go change. I’ll clean up here.”

Peering over your shoulder, you pout as he moves you away from your masterpiece.

“Okay, but it needs to set in the fridge for a while.”

He nods, “okay. I got it.”

Yoongi rolls up his sleeves and gets to scrubbing the bowls, you aren’t a messy baker that’s why he doesn’t mind cleaning up when you’re done. He’s excited for tonight, to others it may seem like a bunch of friends hanging out but it’s the first time you agreed to hanging out with his friends. His friends as in, Hoseok and Namjoon. But it’s not like you didn’t hang out with Namjoon before. Who is he kidding? He’s excited to hang out with you, in a place other than your apartment.

It might be fun, sitting around, chilling at the beach or wherever Hoseok plans to hang out. You insisted on baking something and Hoseok said he’s been feeling for cake, as usual, Yoongi helped you out with choosing the flavor. He and Hoseok have similar taste.

He hears your room door shut and he grabs his keys and makes his way to the front door.

“Hey, could you zip me up?”

“Su-“ Yoongi’s words die on his tongue when he catches a glimpse of your exposed back, hair swung across your shoulder, baby pink bra clasp peeking through. It’s not just the fact that he can see your…skin, but the dress you’re wearing has him taking a deep breath as he approaches you, fingers shaking as he pulls the zipper between his fingers and drags it all the way up, with a satisfying zip.

You spin around and pat his shoulder, his breath hitches when he notices that you’re wearing lip gloss. This is the first time you’re wearing lip gloss, well, this is the first time he’s seeing you with lip gloss on. He knows you prefer…matte? He thinks. But now it’s going to be even more difficult for him to keep his eyes anywhere else and not on your lips without looking like a horny teenager. And if his friends take notice of his weird behavior, he knows he’ll be done for.

That’s why, on the ride to Hoseok’s apartment, he doesn’t look at you as you speak, preparing himself for later, when there’s others around to scrutinize him.

“Here,” he takes the cake from your hands, “you’re wearing heels. Wouldn’t want you to trip on the way up.”

He feels your hand slide along his shoulders, breath hitching when you hug his arm, “thanks Yoongs.”

Yoongs. There it is again. How can he resist you when you’re so cute, but at the same time he wants you to have his ba-

“Hyung!”

Hoseok takes the cake from his hands and ushers you inside his home. Immediately, Yoongi’s smile sags into a frown when he sees Taehyung and Jimin standing at the kitchen table, Taehyung’s eyes widen when they land on you and Yoongi’s fist clenches when he starts showering you with compliments.

“Hyung,” Jimin hugs Yoongi and pats his back, drink sloshing around in his cup.

“Hey. I didn’t know you guys were gonna be here.”

Jimin laughs, “what? Why wouldn’t we be here?”

“I just-“

“Hyung,” Taehyung walks toward Yoongi, you follow close behind, “doesn’t Y/N look pretty today?”

This little shit.

“Yes,” Yoongi keeps his gaze on Taehyung’s smug face, “I already told her.”

He hears you laugh, “what? No, you didn’t.”

He glares at you, “yes I did.”

“Ohhh, I get it. I get it,” you turn to Taehyung, “Yoongi and I think we might have some kind of telepathic connection.”

Taehyung cocks an eyebrow, “how?”

“Well,” Yoongi sees Taehyung watch your movement as you hook your arm into his, tugging him closer to you, “we literally, always say the same thing at the same time. And our restaurant choices always clash. Like the same day that I feel like eating sushi, he’d say he was feeling for sushi too! Or he could say he wants lamb skewers and I’d say I wanted that too!”

Yoongi grins at you, pinching your cheek as your eyes disappear with your smile.

“Hmm. Hyung? Maybe you should use that connection more.”

Yoongi bites on his bottom lip, trying desperately to keep his composure. Jimin pulls you into the lounge and Taehyung tries to follow them, but Yoongi pokes a finger into his shoulder. He takes a step back, mouth hanging open.

“What?”

“I swear, if you don’t shut up. I’m gonna bea-“

“Chill, hyung. It was just a joke.”

Yoongi nods and lets him pass, knowing that Taehyung just likes to annoy him.

You’re sitting on the couch between Namjoon and Jimin, Yoongi grabs a chair and sits on the opposite end of the room.

“Everyone’s here,” Namjoon grins, head swivelling around to spot Taehyung.

“Except Seokjin-hyung.”

Taehyung speaks from his spot on the floor, “and Jungkook.”

Yoongi sees your face fall, fiddling with the beads on your purse. He knows you miss him, he misses Jungkook too. The last few weeks that he spent with the two of you was peaceful. He just wishes he knew what goes through your mind when someone mentions him. Because you don’t speak for the next ten minutes, lost in your thoughts, no one else notices.

“I’m glad he isn’t here,” Taehyung shrugs, “caused enough trouble here then left.”

Namjoon laughs, “he caused trouble? You should be the last one talking, Taehyung-ah.”

Yoongi nods, waiting for Taehyung’s snarky comment, seeing Jimin laugh and nudge your shoulder, but you give a half-hearted smile.

“It’s not a joke, Jimin.”

“Yoongi.”

“No, Hobi. Everyone makes it like a joke every time this comes up, but no one will consider the fact that none of you even have the right to joke about it. Jungkook was misguided and he got sick, he’s doing better, and he isn’t here now. Let’s leave him there.”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his forehead, “yeah. I’m kind of glad that Ara is off his back.”

“Still can’t believe he isn’t the father.”

Jimin kicks Taehyung’s shin, “why can’t you believe it? We all knew she was sleeping around.”

Yoongi hears you clear your throat, he rushes to change the subject, “anyway,” he claps to get everyone’s attention, “where are we going?”

Hoseok laughs, “nowhere. We can chill on the roof, if you want.”

“What? I thought we were gonna head to the beach or something.”

When Namjoon leaves the couch to fetch the snacks, Yoongi springs up from the chair and sits down next to you.

“Hi,” he leans in close, shooting you a smile. You smell so damn good. You smell good everyday but the perfume you’re wearing tonight makes him want to eat you up.

“Hey,” the smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes.

His eyebrows pinch together, hoping your mood isn’t spoiled after the conversation from earlier. He’s your friend before anything else. So, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him.

“You good?”

You nod against his chest, “yeah. Just tired.”

He dips his head to look at your face, “are you sure?”

You punch his shoulder, pulling away from him, “yes!”

He chuckles, pinching your cheek lightly, eyes glued to your lips. He hears Hoseok clear his throat from behind him, so he sits back against the couch, sniffling a bit as he rubs the side of his nose with his knuckle. But he can’t escape, you lean back with him, settling under his arm, leaning into his side.

Taehyung was watching the whole exchange, “Y/N…Is Yoongi your new best friend?”

You look up at Yoongi, narrowing your eyes at him, he mirrors your action, trying not to be weird.

“No…”

Yoongi’s heart sinks a bit, he knows that you haven’t really said anything about your friendship, but he hoped that you might’ve built a close bond, he can feel it. He wondered if you could feel it too. And not only because he’s in love with you.

“He’s more than my best friend.”

Taehyung and Yoongi share the same expression, you seem to notice, and you wave your hands in the air, laughing to yourself.

“No, no. Not like that…I can’t explain it.”

Yoongi blinks at you, hoping you would explain it because he can hear his heart pound in his ears.

“Oh, so you mean like a brother?”

You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand, silky hair covering your face. Yoongi joins in, despite not knowing why you’re laughing. Just because you’re so pretty when you laugh.

“No! Not like a brother. I don’t know,” Yoongi’s eyes widen a fraction when you turn to him, eyes scanning his face, he hopes his face isn’t as red as he feels, “Yoongi is more than my best friend. My closest friend, I think. But not like…a brother or anything.”

“Thank you,” Yoongi blurts out, knowing his cheeks is definitely red now. You can’t explain your relationship, because you feel the connection too. Unspoken. That’s what he thinks. But he remembers that you called Taehyung more than your best friend too. Your family.

“Aw hyung! Look at your face.”

Yoongi places his palms over his cheeks, “stop it!”

“Yoongi gets shy when anyone says anything about him,” he hears Hoseok say, Yoongi makes a mental note to thank him later.

You peel Yoongi’s hands away, cooing at his scrunched-up face.

“I know. He’s so cute when he’s shy. That’s why I like to get him flustered.”

No. Please don’t.

Yoongi thinks he might combust, that’s how hot he feels and when Namjoon returns with the snacks and gestures for everyone to follow him to the rooftop, he’s the first to leave his seat and make his way out of the warm apartment. He hears you call out for him to wait for you, and he has no choice but to stand outside the apartment, staring down at his shoes when you bump into him as you walk up the stairs.

“You know I’ve never been here before. Your old apartment,” you chuckle, taking careful steps with your heels.

“Yeah,” he laughs, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets, “I didn’t realize that.”

A gust of wind sweeps the skirt of your dress upward and Yoongi scrambles to the floor, wrapping his arms around your legs, holding your skirt down, hearing everyone laugh at him, including you.

“Uh, Yoongi,” he presses his forehead to your knee, laughing at his own stupidity, “I’m wearing tights under. It’s okay.”

He feels you scratch the top of his head, uncaring of his clothes that is now covered in dirt and soot. Begrudgingly, he lets go off you and stands up to his full height.

“Sorry.”

You shake your head, “it’s okay.”

He sees you rub your arms, gazing up at the moon, “it’s so beautiful up here. This is the view you ditched to live at my shitty apartment?”

“I get an even better view.”

“What?”

Yoongi points at a random building, “no I was just saying, the view at our apartment isn’t bad. We see all the cute cats.”

You nod, “yeah. You’re right. I want a cat.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was thinking…I need a cute pet in my life, but I don’t think our landlord allows pets.”

Yoongi hums, thinking about giving the landlord a call and enquiring about the policies for pets.

“Over here!”

Yoongi spins around to see the rest of the guys waving them over, he stares down at your open palm, wondering how it would feel to hold your hand as you walk to the other end of the rooftop. He notices you shivering a bit.

“Are you cold?”

You shake your head, taking a swig from the cup Namjoon handed you, “it’s okay. I’m not that cold.”

Yoongi wants to kick himself for choosing to ditch his jacket before they arrived at Hoseok’s place.

“Y/N, you’re graduating this year?”

“Yep,” you wink at Namjoon, “we’re graduating and thanks to Namjoon, I already have a job from this month.”

Namjoon waves a hand dismissively, “you did it all by yourself and plus, you needed some persuasion.”

Yoongi hands you the sour worms, “I think I deserve some thanks too.”

You grin, “thank you for convincing me to take the offer.”

He puffs out his chest, “thank you.”

Yoongi takes the time to appreciate the silence, the soft howl of the wind brushes past him as he tilts his head back, staring up at the stars. The silence doesn’t last too long, however, because Taehyung wants to play a drinking game and you’re all sitting in a circle.

“I’ll go first,” you hug your knees to your chest, holding your cup in one hand, “uhmm…let’s start simple. Never have I ever…peed in the shower…”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “seriously?” And proceeds to take a sip of his drink.

“EW! Oh my God.”

Yoongi sees Hoseok take a sip.

“As a kid!”

You shrug, “fair enough. Okay. Who’s next? Jimin.”

Jimin taps his chin, “ooh! Never have I ever had sex in the movie theatre.”

Yoongi watches you suck your lips in, holding your cup to your chest, while the rest of them take a sip from their cup.

Yoongi wags a finger in Hoseok’s face, “I remember.”

“Okay,” Namjoon pats his thigh, “my turn. Never have I ever…cheated on a test.”

Everyone groans, and takes a sip, including you and Yoongi’s mouth hangs open, teasing you a bit while you laugh.

“Never have I ever been in love,” Taehyung takes a sip of his drink.

Yoongi sees you take a swig from the corner of his eye, and he holds the rim to his lips too, tipping his head back as the liquid streams down his throat.

“Yoongi! You never told me you were in love.”

Yoongi shakes his head, “isn’t there like a rule where we aren’t supposed to discuss the answers or something.”

He laughs when you shove his shoulder, “but you were judging me because I cheated on a test before!”

“I need a refill,” Taehyung fills his cup and gestures for Hoseok to continue.

“Never have I ever,” Hoseok’s face lights up, “gotten a lap dance.”

Hoseok is the only one that takes a sip and Yoongi hears you mumble.

“I’ve given one…”

“Really,” his throat feels dry, gaze dragging across your figure as he imagines you giving him a lap dance.

You shrug, “just once.”

Yoongi wants to know who that lucky guy was, he’d like to shake his hand or maybe give him daggers from afar.

Hoseok pats Yoongi’s back, “your turn.”

He thinks of the things he wants to know the most about you, something he can’t ask you directly.

“We don’t have all night, hyung.”

“Uhmmm…when was the-“

“That’s not how it works!”

Taehyung slaps his forehead, while Jimin falls back on the cement, tears streaming down his face from how hard he’s laughing.

“Hey! Give him a chance,” you place your hand on his bicep, explaining the rules of the game all over again.

Yoongi knows how the game works, he was under pressure because all eyes were on him, yours especially.

“Okay. Never have I ever…told someone I love them without meaning it.”

Yoongi sees Taehyung, Jimin and Namjoon take a sip, and he does too. A part of him knew that you wouldn’t.

Yoongi slings your arm over his shoulder, helping you up your apartment stairs.

“I promise,” your breath touches his face, thick with alcohol, “I didn’t expect to get drunk tonight.”

He chuckles, placing your heels on the floor to get his keys from his pocket.

“Here,” you thrust your purse in his direction and he opens it, rummaging for the keys.

When he’s about to close the shiny bag again, something catches his eye.

Jungkook’s tag from the time he spent in the hospital. Your head hits his shoulder and he’s broken out of his thoughts, rushing to get the door open and get you to bed. Your lips graze his neck, he swallows, trying to quiet his thoughts, dragging you all the way into your room and helping you under the blanket.

“You smell nice,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nose hitting his chin.

“Uhm, thank you. Let’s sleep now, okay. Goodnight.”

Yoongi would have offered you a glass of water, but he needed to get away from you. When your scent alone is enough to intoxicate him. He turns on the shower to its coldest setting and locks the bathroom door. He hates himself every time he thinks of you when he’s sweaty under his sheets, chasing his release, images of you flashing behind his lids. And he won’t hate himself more, when you’re on the other side of the wall, sleeping peacefully while his mind is filled with wicked thoughts of you. He lets the cold water pelt against his back, calming his senses.

He doesn’t know how if he can hold himself back anymore, his feelings chew at him a little more each day. You need to know that his every waking thought is clouded by you, your mannerisms, your cute little habits, your oblivious touches. But it’s the same mantra each night, and he goes to bed with more memories to replay in his head, until they lull him off to sleep.

Yoongi is sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through Twitter when he hears your familiar shuffle down the hallway, greeting him with a slightly dim smile. He loves when you dress all smart casual for work, hair up in a loose bun.

“I feel like shit. Could you give me a ride to campus today?”

He nods, lifting the mug to his lips as he keeps his eyes on the screen.

“I’m heading to the studio today.”

You turn on the stove and grab a frying pan, “yeah? Did that agency contact you yet?”

“No,” he tries not to let the disappointment seep into his voice, “it’s okay. I’ll just try with someone else if this doesn’t work out.”

You prepare a plate as you fry the eggs, asking him if he wants some but he shakes his head.

“But you really wanted this one to come through.”

He sighs, “yeah. But that’s life…If they like my work, I wouldn’t need to finish this degree. I’d be set.”

You pull out the chair and set your plate of eggs on the table, taking your usual seat at the opposite end.

“But you should finish this degree, you’re graduating this year too. Just a few more months.”

“Yeah,” he rinses his mug and heads for the shower. Four years would go to waste when he’s this close to graduating and he drops out. If he gets this job, he wouldn’t need to spend his days in a musty studio with bad wifi, he’ll get a better working space in Geom’s building. He could even move to the other side of town, but he wouldn’t do that. Of course not.

“Do you need me to fetch you after?”

You unclick your seatbelt and grab your bag from the backseat, “nah. I’m heading to the offices with Namjoon later.”

He smiles, “okay. See you later then.”

“Bye Yoongs.”

On his drive to the studio, he thinks about what he saw in your purse. Jungkook’s tag from the hospital. He knows that you don’t use that sparkly purse every day, so you must keep it with you whenever you go. It makes his heart thud in his chest, after everything that happened, all the drama and fuss, you still keep him close to you. You still love him, he knows you do. Jungkook is the name that must not be spoken, like it conjures up painful memories you wish to forget but at the same time, you hold on to them.

Yoongi hopes that one day he can get you to really, fully open up to him, and he hopes that he can do the same. Until then, he will continue to write and convey his feelings in his songs.

He hears someone knock on his studio door, so he pulls off his headphones. Smiling a bit when he sees Suha.

“Hiii,” she hugs Yoongi and sits on the black couch in the corner, making herself comfortable like every other time.

“Hey,” he pulls the chair toward his desk and puts his headphones back on.

“You’re so rude. I came here to talk to you. You know.”

He rolls his eyes, letting his headphones fall around his neck and spinning around in his chair, “what is it?”

She scoffs, tossing her burnt orange hair over her shoulder, “I just came to have a chat with my friend. Is that asking for too much?”

Yoongi would say that, yes, it is too much, because he knows that she has a crush on him, and she isn’t subtle. It bothers him because he’s not interested, but there’s no reason for him to be impolite.

“Okay,” he folds his arms, “speak.”

“Well, how was your weekend?”

“Awesome,” he glares at her, hoping she would leave so that he can get back to work.

“Ugh, won’t you ask about mine?”

“How was your weekend, Suha?”

She grins, “it was nice. I had loads of fun with my girls at some party, I can’t remember whose birthday it was. But anyway-“ she hooks a foot around the leg of his chair and wheels him closer to her, face a few inches away from his, tugging on the lapels of his jacket “-there was this guy. He was hitting on me, and he wanted to take me home.”

Yoongi sets his gaze on her brown eyes and not her cleavage that’s on display for him, arms still folded, head pressing into the leather of his chair, smelling the perfume he knows will linger in his studio for the next two hours.

“Is that so?”

She nods, tracing a finger down his jaw, “but I said no. Ask me why?”

He sighs, wondering why he entertains her when he knows where this is headed, but he’s forced to.

“Why?”

“I told him that I couldn’t go home with him because there’s this other guy.”

“Didn’t think you were the loyal type.”

“Ugh Yoongi,” her eyes roll to the back of her head, “you know what happens to me when you say shit like that.”

Yoongi tries to spin around and return to his abandoned track when she curls her fingers around his neck and presses her lips to his. He can taste her chapstick, coconut. He places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back on the couch, gesturing to the door when he moves away, nudging the mouse around to bring the computer screen back to life.

He hears her huff, heels pressing into the floor, “you’re such a tease.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing how differently everything would play out if the roles were reversed. He doesn’t understand why he lets her enter his studio, oh right, her father owns the building, and he needs this space until he finds a proper job. Maybe that isn’t the only reason. She’s pretty, and he likes the attention. He can still taste the coconut on his lips, he wipes his mouth on his shoulder, remembering the last time he kissed someone. Over a year ago, his last girlfriend, Micha, the beginning of the end for him. How he broke up with her because he didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone when he couldn’t get someone else out of his mind. Months have passed, and you’re still living in his head.

He wonders if you’ve eaten yet. He knows that you and Namjoon go out for lunch together. He hopes you have a good day, that no one is mean to you, that everything runs smoothly at work, that the universe is always on your side. Just like that, he got distracted.

Straightening his posture, he gets back to the track he was working on. Immersed in his sounds, he almost misses the incessant vibration coming from his phone that’s sitting to the side of the computer. He wants to ignore it, but the thought that it might be the agency makes him yank off his headphones and answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Min Yoongi?”

He swallows, “yes.”

“Congratulations, you have been accepted into Geom age-“

Yoongi bites his fist, banging his foot on the ground as he cuts the call, a notification from his banking app catches his attention. Stating that his account has been topped up with a hefty amount. He grabs his cap, and USB and whatever else he needs to take with him and zooms out of the building. He’s so happy, he probably wouldn’t mind if someone slapped him right now. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Well, actually he does. The first thing he gets to, is grocery shopping, because the apartment is in desperate need of food. He even picks up a huge bouquet and a pretty vase to keep on the kitchen counter. Of course, he texts Hoseok to let him know, and he’s so impatient to give you the news but he’ll wait until you get home.

“Tulips?”

He jumps up from the couch and makes his way to you, shuffling from foot to foot, “yeah, they were pretty.”

“They are pretty.”

Following you into the kitchen, he watches your eyes bug out when you see the grocery bags sitting on the kitchen floor, scanning each one.

“None of this would matter if you didn’t get ice-cream.”

He laughs, “already in the freezer.” Baby.

This is the time where he loves to admire you the most, all sweaty from a long day in the office. But he doesn’t get to appreciate your ethereal sight tonight because of his jitters.

“I…uhm, I have something to tell you.”

You whip your head around, “what is it, Yoongs?”

He grabs your shoulders, “I got in!”

Your hands fly to your mouth, “really?”

He nods, burying his face in your shoulder when you hug him, “congratulations! I knew it!”

“Thank you,” he tightens his hold around your body, breathing in your scent.

When he pulls away, hands still on your shoulders, he sees your eyes flicker to his lips, breath hitching, ever so slowly, he leans in, thinking that this is it. The moment of truth, finally, he’ll know if you have feelings for him or not and maybe you will too. His eyes flutter shut, but when his nose touches yours, you clear your throat and pull away, crouching down and lifting a bag to set on the counter.

“Let’s…uhm, let’s set these in the cupboard.”

Yoongi feels like pulling his hair out, he feels like smacking himself in the face. How could he be so stupid? In a moment of happiness, when everything feels like it’s coming together for him, you would suddenly have feelings for him? Shoulders sagging a bit, he helps you unpack the groceries, lips pursed, trying not to look at your face.

“I hope we have enough space,” you laugh, placing the almond milk in the refrigerator.

Yoongi stares at the back of your head, how he wishes he could use that telepathic power you always talk about. And for the rest of the evening, you eat in silence, silence around you but it’s the complete opposite in his head. He can’t help but feel like you must think that he tried to take advantage of you. Another best friend, that has feelings for you. He didn’t plan on becoming your close friend, maybe he did want to go beyond a friendship, but he didn’t think that you would be eating together, living together, literally doing everything together almost every day. He can’t help but feel a little dependent on you, in a way that can affect his moods. He knows that it’s the end for him, and he doesn’t know if there’s a way out.

You think about last night, about Yoongi, and his pouty lips, how they puckered when he leaned in close. Everything that happened between the two of you, since the beginning, replays in your head. Did he have feelings for you since then? Was that why he got close to you? Why he helps you out so much? That can’t be it. He’s sweet to everyone, he was sweet to Jungkook. He even paid his hospital bills. And that brings you back to him.

Jungkook. The boy who trots in your head like a circus monkey. You wish you could get rid of him, you wish you could, but you don’t know how to. Last night, all you could think about was Yoongi, and the fact that he might have feelings for you, that he’s your close friend but he wants to be more than that. He wanted to kiss you. But Jungkook was the one you saw in your dreams, and you woke up, reminded of the fact that he’s far away, but even if he was near, you couldn’t be together.

“Hey!”

Namjoon enters your office, patting your head as he passes you.

“Doing good?”

You sigh, “yeah.”

He nods, “good,” and spins around to exit the mostly quiet space, but you call out for him, making him poke his head through the doorway.

“Can I…ask you something?”

Namjoon is Yoongi’s close friend, he may or may not know something. It’s worth a try to ask him if he might know something. Because it’s niggling at the back of your mind, and you’re usually done with your spreadsheets by now, but you can’t seem to get a single piece of work done.

He walks toward you, placing his arm on the chair next to yours, “what’s up?”

“It’s about-“ you meet his concerned stare “-Yoongi.”

Sucking his lips in, he turns on his heel and tries to sprint away from you, but you grab his arm and yank him down on the chair.

“Why why why? WHY are you running away?”

His head falls forward, shoulders shaking a bit as he laughs, “you know I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

You raise an eyebrow, “why would you want to keep your mouth shut?”

He doesn’t respond, and you flick his forehead, banging your fists on his shoulders lightly.

“Please tell me! Whatever you know! I’ll take anything.”

“Wait,” he lifts his head, “did something happen?”

You lean back in your chair, glancing at the screen that’s on sleep mode.

“Kind of…He tried to…kiss me?”

He laughs, loudly, mouth wide open very hyena-like, and you smack his shoulder.

“It’s not funny!”

“Hyung tried to kiss you?”

You nod, lips in a pout, “and I don’t know I…wanted to kiss him too?”

You only realize what you said when you hear your voice, and your eyes widen while Namjoon shakes his head, leaning forward and placing one hand on his thigh.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You rub the tips of your nails together, watching the movement.

“Ah,” you see him nod from the corner of your eye, “I think I know why.”

You glare at him, and he holds his arms up placatingly.

“I won’t say it.”

He sighs, grabbing your attention, “since the cat’s out of the bag…kind of. Hyung really, really, really likes you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

“And I’m surprised he lasted this long, usually he would move on to someone else if he can see that you don’t like him back.”

“But I-“ you blink at him, trying to put your thoughts into words that actually make sense “-I do like him back. But I’m confused.”

Namjoon pats your head, “okay. But don’t tell him that. You’ll make him confused too. Because I know that he likes you a lot.”

“A lot?”

His eyes are as large as saucers, trying to emphasize the words, “A LOT like alot.”

Thoughts even more jumbled up than before, you pick at the hangnail on your thumb, thinking that Yoongi might possible love you? He’s incredibly sweet, so caring and intelligent. He knows how to cook, and he cries every time he watches Hachi but he thinks you don’t see it. He’s attractive, really attractive, maybe you did dream of a blond sexy demon once. He has nice fingers, wearing pretty rings, and arms, especially when he’s busy chopping up vegetables. And he’s gotten even more buff since you met him. You know that he works out. Thicc boy.

“Ahem-“ you realize that Namjoon was watching you when you zoned out “-were you just daydreaming about hyung?”

You splutter, adjusting your blazer, “no. I wasn’t.”

He points to your lip, your hand comes up, wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

“Is that- Is that drool?”

Heat travelling to your face, you move closer to your desk and wave him off, “go away Joon. I have work.”

“Have fun,” he calls from the doorway, while you roll your eyes, thinking that you would have drooled if you thought of Yoongi any longer.

When you get home, you decide to make a beef casserole before Yoongi gets home. To busy yourself. But that doesn’t stop your thoughts from running to one end and then to the other. You hear the door unlock and Yoongi comes in your line of sight, white T-shirt clinging to his sweaty body. Your eyes rake down his figure, and he points in the direction of the bathroom. You know that he showers after he works out and then eats supper. Things don’t feel tense between the two of you, on your end, but you can tell that he’s edgy.

“How was work?”

You nod, “was good.”

He hums, chopsticks working with his fingers, you watch the movement, ogling his veiny hands, rings glinting in the light.

“This is good. Thank you.”

His voice interrupts your thoughts, you smile, even though he isn’t looking at you.

After you’re done cleaning up, you decide to watch a movie together, and for the first time, you pick a romance. You have no idea why. But you do. However, midway through the sappy movie, your lower abdomen starts to churn, and you can’t help but let out a small whine, placing your hand on your stomach. Period cramps are the worst for you during the first few days.

He pauses the movie, while you lay your head on the armrest, slouching down into the soft couch.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, not wanting to add to the weirdness which heightens with each minute that passes.

He moves closer to you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder, “come on. I can tell that something’s wrong. Are you not feeling well? Do you have an upset stomach?”

Your heart quickens its pace at his concern, “no...Period cramps.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you think that you might’ve made things even more awkward, but you feel him grab your arm and yank you up.

“I heard that folding your body like that wouldn’t help. You need to stretch your muscles.”

You gawk at him, seeing his eyelashes flutter as he speaks.

“Do you want a back rub?”

You swallow, wondering if a back rub may help relieve your cramps, because you’ve never gotten one.

He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, “my ex-girlfriend…she used to like back rubs.”

You nod, voice small, “okay.”

Clueless about how to position yourself on the couch, you ask him to tell you how to sit. He guides you to rest your head on his lap, lying flat on your stomach, legs extended over the armrest of the couch. You face the screen, not his crotch, because that would be weird. When his large palm starts to massage your lower back in circles, pressing down a bit, your eyes shut, a soft sigh leaving your lips.

“Is that…nice?”

You nod against his thighs, arms laying limp at your sides.

After a little while, sore muscles soothed, you find curiosity itching into your mind.

“So…your ex?”

His hand stops its movement, you wiggle your hips, getting him to continue with his comforting rubs.

“Yeah…what. What about her?”

“I mean…how did you get together, or break up?”

You hope you don’t sound too inquisitive, but you’ve had conversations like this before, mostly about yourself.

“We, uhm. Met a party,” he laughs, so raspy, “lasted for a while. But I broke up with her. I think you met her, at the beach once.”

You remember, the day you went to the beach with Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. Jungkook was laying in your lap, similar to the position you’re in now. You try to blink the memory away.

“Yeah…And…why did you break up? If you don’t mind me asking,” you rush to add the last part, shivering a bit when his fingers brush the skin peeking out from under your sleepshirt.

“I didn’t…wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

“Oh,” is all you get out, if he wanted to tell you more, he would. And he does, saying how he felt even more lonely when he was with Micha. And the fact that he couldn’t keep lying to her about his feelings, when he started to develop an interest in someone else.

“Someone else?”

His hand comes up to rest between your shoulder blades, “yeah.”

You wonder if that someone else could be you, your cheeks heat and you hope that he can’t see your face.

“I’m leaving on Friday.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, “why?”

“They want to interview me. Just the usual. Before I get settled in their main offices here.”

“Oh,” your fingers trace the thin material of his pants, “and when will you be back?”

“I’m gonna stay for the weekend. So, Monday.”

You nod, heart suddenly thumping in your chest when you think about goingback  to living alone, without him. Will miss you. You want to say, but you know what it will mean to him, and like Namjoon said, if you’re confused, you shouldn’t confuse him too.

The next morning, you stretch your limbs, awoken to a bright light on your face, when you try to bury your face in your pillow, a low groan makes you startle. Your eyes fly open to be met with Yoongi’s tough chest, pressing against your face. Lifting your head a bit, the bright light was the sun, beaming through the sheer curtains in your lounge. One arm is wrapped around your waist, while the other rests under your head. You know for a fact that he’s going to wake up with pins and needles. When you take notice of where your arms are placed, around his back, you pull them away, wondering how you fell off to sleep in this position. You’ve fallen asleep plenty of times before while watching a movie, but you never cuddled…like this. His scent fills your nostrils and you’re still in a sleepy haze, acknowledging that you had a dreamless sleep after months.

You tilt your head up to find him staring down at you, body pressed to yours.

“Good morning.”

His voice sounds almost robotic with how deep it is, your body erupts in a wave of goosebumps.

“Morning,” you mumble, aware of your proximity, eyes darting down to his lips that look so soft and plush. It’s quiet, too quiet, peaceful almost as you peer into his dark orbs, swirling with fondness and something else…But he doesn’t make a move like the last time, he keeps his arms around you, and you’re suddenly hit with the thought that no one held you like this in a long time…The last was Jungkook. Jungkook, big doe eyes, cute lips, with a mentality of a child, so innocent yet troubled.

Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath and peel his arms off you, putting on your slippers and walking to the bathroom. As you stare at your reflection, you can feel the lump build in your throat, softening a bit when the tears begin to fall, nose clogged. That’s how it will always be. Even if you try to move on, Jungkook would always keep your heart with him. You don’t know if you can move on. And you don’t want to hurt Yoongi, when even the smallest thing still reminds you of Jungkook.

For the rest of the day, you know that the grey cloud is back, following you everywhere you go. Your mood is sour, and you feel guilty. Guilty because you can’t return Yoongi’s feelings the way you want to, and he deserves better than that. Because he’s a good person. He deserves all the love in the world. And you want to be the one to give it to him. You didn’t have breakfast with him today and you drove yourself to campus and now, you’re sitting in your office at work, moping around.

Taehyung said he’ll visit you later today, so you hope that he can brighten your mood a bit.

“Hey!”

He places the take-out boxes on your desk and wraps you up in a tight hug, taking the chair next to you.

“Thanks Tae. For the food.”

He shrugs, already tucking into the jajangmyeon, “I know it’s your favorite.”

It’s your favorite, but you can’t bring yourself to take the first bite, remembering that it’s Yoongi’s favorite too, chopsticks poking around, tempting aromas reaching your nose that does nothing to whet your appetite.

“What’s up?”

Taehyung sets his bowl down, gesturing to your untouched meal.

“Ah. Nothing,” you shake your head, although your face must show that it’s far from nothing.

“Something’s bothering you. Is it someone at work?”

You shake your head, “actually. It’s someone at home.”

“Yoongi?”

You nod meekly. Knowing that Taehyung should be the last person you confide in.

“Hyung is bothering you?”

You wave your arms around, “nooo. It’s just-“

“Namjoon-hyung told me that you know.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his, “yeah?”

“And hyung knows that you know too.”

Your eyes bug out of your head, “really?”

He scoffs, “I mean, you guys almost kissed. So, it’s pretty obvious now.”

“Yeah,” you admit, more to yourself than him.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I like him.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, “okay, and?”

“I like him but I…am confused.”

He grabs the seat of his chair and scoots closer to you, “how are you confused?”

You scan his face, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, sauce smeared on his lips.

“I just…”

“It’s that asshole, isn’t it?”

You nudge his shoulder, “what do you mean ‘asshole’? If anyone’s an asshole, it’s you!”

He holds his chin, “fair enough. But I didn’t tell him to fuck around and screw every girl on campus.”

You take a shuddering breath, “Taehyung, please.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” he scrubs his hand down his cheek, “went a little off track there.”

You cross your legs, you should have never mentioned this to him at all. It was a bad idea.

“So, you like hyung and he likes you back.”

He continues to speak, but you don’t look at him, choosing to flip through one of the manila folders Namjoon left on your desk earlier.

“To be honest, if there’s anyone that deserves to be with you. It’s Yoongi-hyung.”

Tilting your head to look at him, you search for the honesty in his eyes.

“I’m serious. You’re like, a match made in heaven.”

“How?”

He pats your knee, “think about it. Whenever anyone’s in trouble, who do we call first? You live with him, so you might know.”

“Yoongi.”

“Yes, he’s helpful and caring and generous. Just like you. You might think that those are the traits every person on this earth should have! But they don’t, it’s hard to find someone who truly cares about your safety…or whatever. The point is,” he holds up both his index fingers, “you and hyung complement each other.”

He shrugs, “I don’t think anyone would suit you better than hyung. And you won’t find anyone who loves you more. Not even me,” he mumbles the last part, and you poke his ribs, breaking the serious air around you.

“What was that?”

He pouts, “stop it! You know what I said!”

Wait. Did he say love? Yoongi loves you? How is that possible? You’re a mess, he witnessed you at your lowest moments in life. But that says a lot, doesn’t it? He loves you, even at your worst. He still stuck by your side, when no one was around.

“Happy?”

You nod, “happy.”

When you get home, you can hear Yoongi humming in the kitchen, heart soaring a bit when you hear him talk to himself. You peek around the corner, eyebrows furrowing when you notice that he isn’t talking to himself, but down at his foot.

“You’re gonna meet your mommy just now, okay? God, she’s gonna be so excited.”

You place your keys on the counter, announcing your presence. He jumps a bit when he sees you, but his gummy smile still greets you.

“Don’t come on this side!”

You sit down on the other side of the counter, shooting him a confused look.

“I wasn’t gonna. Whatchya cooking?”

“Uhm. Meat.”

You roll your eyes, giggling a bit, “okay…”

“I have something to give you.”

You can hear your heart beating in your ears, throat going dry when he places a large basket on the counter.

“What,” you stand, seeing a pink blanket covering the contents, “is this, Yoongi?”

He grins, folding the blanket over neatly to produce a-

‘Meow.’

“Yoongi,” you reach inside the basket and pull out the ginger kitchen, holding her close to your chest, suddenly feeling tears prickle your eyes. You have no idea why you’re so emotional.

You hold her up, tiny paws moving around, “she’s so cute,” you sniffle, green eyes gazing into yours.

Yoongi is standing behind you now, scratching the top of the kitten’s head, “I know.”

You cradle her in your arms, guessing that she’s a girl from her blanket.

“I got all her supplies and everything. Even gave her a bath.”

“Wow, Yoongi. I- Wait-” you turn to him, seeing his smile fall from his face “-the landlord?”

He shakes his head, corners of his mouth lifting, “I talked to him and he said cats are fine.”

“Really?”

He nods, a small ‘oof’ leaving his mouth when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Thank you, Yoongi. You have no idea how happy I am right now.”

His lips graze your neck, “me too.”

When you pull away, reminiscent of the other night, his eyes are glued to your lips, you take a deep breath, leaning in too, but you’re unable to close your eyes. You take a step back and place the kitten back in her basket.

“What we eating?”

“Y/N.”

“Hmm,” you turn around to face him, seeing Yoongi with his head hanging, palms placed flat on the counter.

“I can’t…can’t do this anymore.”

You swallow, “do what?”

“This,” he gestures between the two of you, and you feel your heart leap to your throat at the sad look in his eyes.

Your lips part, wanting to say something, anything, to rid him off the pain that’s evident in his eyes, but you have no idea.

“I know you feel it too.”

Nodding, you glance at the kitten, sleeping peacefully in her basket, wishing you were anywhere else but here. Because it hurts for you too.

“So, why do you keep pushing me away?”

His voice is soft, calm, like he doesn’t want to scare you. You would be angry, furious, this person, that you love, is playing with your feelings. But it wasn’t your intention.

“I-I don’t know.”

He throws his arms up exasperatedly, “you don’t know? I think I know.”

Your eye twitches at his tone, not wanting him to continue, not wanting to hear it.

“You’re too stuck in the past to notice what’s right in front of you.”

The first tear rolls down your cheek, and he’s not looking at you anymore. It’s the truth.

“Why can’t you just accept me, Y/N?”

His voice is shaky and your lips tremble, more tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I don’t-“ you hiccup, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand “-know.”

He slams his palm on the counter and storms off into the hallway not before yelling, “you don’t know? Like I said,” he pokes his tongue in his cheek, “I can’t do this anymore. Because you know that you’re fighting your feelings.”

He returns with an overnight bag and a jacket, grabbing his keys and heading for the front door. Through your tears, you remember that he’s leaving for the weekend tomorrow morning, but where would he go. Probably stay at Hoseok’s apartment. He spares you a glance right before he disappears behind the door. You grab the basket and head to your room, flopping down on your bed with a loud sigh, tears staining your sheets.

And when you roll over on your back, the dreaded sight of the flower frame you keep on your wall comes into view. You were preparing yourself for when Yoongi leaves, and now that he’s gone, after he left on a bitter note, you don’t know how to deal with the fact that you’ve been hurting Yoongi, all this time, the one person who did nothing but love you.

You wake up with puffy eyes, only one mission on your mind, after dreaming of him all night, dreams worse than reality and before it’s too late, you’re going to tell him everything. Before you lose him forever. You grab Norangi’s basket and cart her with you to Hoseok’s apartment, heart skipping a beat when you see Yoongi loading Hoseok’s trunk with his bag.

He spots your car when you pull over, jamming his hands in his pockets when you step out of the car and make your way to him with hurried steps. You only realize that you’re crying when you hear your voice, nasally and gruff.

“I’m sorry. Okay. I’m sorry that all this time I was an idiot and I kept calling you my best friend.”

His eyebrow jumps, eyes on the cement as he kicks a pebble, taking a step closer to you.

“And I know. I know that I have feelings for you. Because I do! But it’s just been so long, and you said that I should accept you, but I don’t know how anymore!”

His eyes meet yours, lip tucked between his teeth as he listens to you speak, and cry.

You wipe your eyes furiously, knowing that you must look like a mess right now.

“And and, if you still like me then. I’m here,” you nod, pointing to your chest, “I’m right here for you, Yoongi. Just as you’ve been there for me and I’m sorry again. I just want you. I just-“

He surges forward and grabs your cheeks, soft lips pushing against yours. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, eyes closing when he wraps his arm around your lower back and lifts you up off the ground, pressing your body to his, tongue rolling into your mouth, making you whimper. You feel like your soul isn’t yours anymore, like with this kiss, with his lips moving over yours, he’s molding you to him, you’re molding him to you. Your heart beats erratically.

And when he pulls away, and you struggle to open your eyes, he smiles because he knows. And you smile because finally, everything is crystallised. Your feelings for him. So much feelings.

“I can,” you breathe, panting as you speak, “drop you off at the airport.”

He grins, voice low and gravelly, “so eager to let me go?”

You press your forehead to his, shaking your head frantically, “no. I don’t want you to go.”

He laughs, setting you down on the ground and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. You’re staring up at him, admiring every inch of his face, his being. He’s yours. Cheeks aching from how hard you’re smiling, tears dried up on your cheeks.

“Let me tell Hoseo-“ he spins around to see Hoseok watching from the window, phone in hand.

“What are you doing? You perv!”

You giggle, nudging Yoongi with your hip, he pinches your cheek.

“I’m sorry I’m just so happy,” he calls out, “the pictures look aesthetic!”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, laughing a bit, “Y/N will drop me off and send me the pictures!”

He shoots you a thumbs up as Yoongi transfers his bag to your car. His eyes widen when he sees Norangi in the backseat.

“What is she doing here?”

You grin, clicking in your seatbelt, “I was panicking because I didn’t want to miss you before you leave, and I just brought Norangi along.”

“Norangi?”

“Oh,” you tilt your head to wink at him, “that’s what I named her.”

He turns around, reaching into the basket, “Norangi-yah!”

“Your baby voice is cute,” you smile, watching the interaction.

“Oh yeah?”

He pinches your cheek, “you’re cuter. Come here.”

Placing your hand on his shoulder, you lean forward and let him kiss you. He holds the side of your neck, fingers massaging the skin as he suckles on your bottom lip, sloppy kisses leaving you lightheaded. It feels like second nature, to kiss him like this. And he’s so good at it, you feel a little hot.

Cheeks a bright red, you pull away and turn on the engine.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

His voice makes you wonder if he’s as dazed as you, so overwhelmed with feelings.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He scoffs, “I tried, but someone was a little doubtful.”

You glance at him, “not anymore.”

He hums and a comfortable silence settles between the two of you, he turns around now and again to talk to your kitten. A thought crosses your mind.

“So, we’re cat parents now?”

You see him nod from the corner of your eye, “yep. You’re a cat mommy.”

“And you’re a cat daddy.”

You can see his hand itch where it rests on his thigh, lifting up, then going back down.

“Didn’t think you have a daddy kink, Y/N,” his sultry voice shoots through your body, settling in a very dormant area between your thighs.

You splutter, “I do not.”

He leans in close, breath hitting your face, “what kinks do you have then?”

You push him away playfully, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“Don’t distract the driver!”

He holds up his palms, “sorry sorry. I just can’t believe that we can have these conversations now.”

“You can also hold my hand whenever you want.”

“Really?” He clears his throat, “really?”

“Uhm, yeah. Although I’m not sure what we are yet.”

You pull up in the parking space outside the airport, when you unclick your seatbelt, he rests his hand on your knee.

“Don’t come in with me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he stares out the window, “I wouldn’t want to say goodbye.”

You laugh, “we’re gonna have to say goodbye anyway.”

He’s dead serious, eyes filled with worry, “I know but, if you come in with me, I wouldn’t want to leave.”

You boop his nose, heart clenching in your chest, “maybe I don’t want you to.”

“Don’t say that! You know I have to,” he pouts, and you’re still processing the thought that this is Yoongi. The guy you’ve known for almost two years, who’s currently tracing the line of your jaw, lips brushing yours, scent that’s purely his fogging your mind.

“Y/N?”

You hum, eyes half-lidded, running your hands down his arms, intertwining your fingers.

“Will you be mine?”

“Your what?”

He pinches your cheek with his other hand, “my girlfriend.”

“Yes,” you nod, finally capturing his lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, tongue swirling into his mouth, humming dreamily when he pecks your lips before moving away.

“There’s-“ his eyes are glued to the way your fingers fit in his, thumb rubbing over your knuckles “-something else I want to tell you. You don’t have to say it back, but I want you to know.”

You suck your lips in, tasting his mint lip balm, thinking that you might know what he’s about to say.

“Y/N. I-I love you. And I mean it. You don’t have to say it back. Whenever you’re ready,” he shrugs.

You place your palm on his cheek, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” you whisper, “for everything.”

“Thank you for existing.”

You bump his forehead with yours lightly, “stop saying stuff like that, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I mean it though!”

He grabs his bag from the backseat, and kisses Norangi on the top of her head.

“Don’t trouble mommy!”

You scratch under her chin, “she won’t.”

“Bye,” he kisses your forehead and exits the car without turning around once as he makes his way inside. You watch him disappear in the crowd, unable to wipe the goofy grin of your face. Pulling out your phone from your bag, you type out a message to him, thinking that you should change his contact details.

[07:55] You: have a safe flight

[07:55] You: I miss you already ☹

[07:56] Yoongi🤍: I miss you too baby

[07:57] Yoongi🤍: Ill call you later ok?

You’re smiling at you screen, heart stirring at his pet name.

[07:58] You: can’t wait <3</p>

Everything feels different, you feel different. Like everything in the universe has finally aligned. And it makes you wonder how you could miss the fact that Yoongi was your missing piece, he completes you. You do have a soft spot for Jungkook, he will always be that person, but Yoongi is your person. Like Taehyung had said, you complement each other. You can’t wait for him to come back home so you can return every small act of kindness he ever did for you. You can’t wait to hold him and kiss him and spill all your heart’s secrets.

When you get home, you feed Norangi and ask the guys to come over for dinner later. So, you get to cooking, and baking up a storm, awaiting Yoongi’s text to say that he landed. It’s around 4PM when someone knocks on your front door. Seeing a beaming Hoseok on your doorstep.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he steps in and walks to your lounge, lingering near your couch.

You wipe your hands on your apron, “what’s up?”

Norangi sits in the small nest you’ve made for her, you wonder if it’s weird for her to sleep that much, although she was a bit rowdy earlier.

“Nothing,” he sits down, patting his knees, “Yoongi said I should check up on you.”

Giggling, you sit down in the armchair, “really?”

He smiles, “yeah. He insisted.”

“What does he think I’ll do?”

Shaking his head slightly, his mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he speaks, “I don’t know. I guess he’s just worried about you.”

You hum, missing your soft best friend-turned boyfriend even more.

“Or he just cares about you too much.”

You lift your head to look at Hoseok, sad smile on his face.

“He really cares about you, Y/N. And from what I saw earlier today, you must already know how he feels about you.”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy after he mentioned this morning, the memory of Yoongi’s lips on yours drowning all other thoughts.

“For a long time.”

Hoseok is watching you carefully and you wonder what he’s thinking.

“I know. I won’t hurt him.”

He sighs, “I know. I just…don’t want to see him go through any more pain.”

“Yeah. Me neither. And I won’t hurt him any more than I already did.”

“Good,” he agrees, and he’s about to stand up from the couch but you hold up your hands.

“Uhm, Jimin and Taehyung are coming over later. I asked Namjoon to come too but he said that he’s going on a date or something. You wanna stay? For dinner?”

He nods, “okay,” following you into the kitchen, admiring the flowers on the counter.

“What you making?”

“Kimchi jiggae and some side dishes. And I made tres leches for dessert.”

“Yum.”

You smile, filling a glass with juice and placing it in front of him, “and I made that.”

“Wow,” he takes a sip, “tasty.”

“Did you meet Norangi yet?”

He laughs, “yes I did. I accompanied Yoongi to fetch her.”

“She’s such a sleepy cat. Like her dad,” you grin, filling a piping bag with fresh cream for the milk cake.

“Yes, he is. You know one time, we had to wake up early because we were getting renovations done. He literally slept through all the noise, you know, like the drilling and banging.”

“Seriously?”

He nods, “yes!”

Hoseok continues to ramble about Yoongi and his weird moments, and it makes you wonder how stupid you were to not fall in love with him sooner, how the hurt from your past blinded you.

“I can’t wait for him to come,” you hear yourself say, Hoseok’s lips stretch into a smile, one that seems to take up more than half of his face.

The tender moment is broken by the heavy thumps on your front door. Hoseok leaves the kitchen, saying that he’ll check and you can already tell who it might be when you hear the boisterous chatter echoing throughout your apartment, you jog into your lounge, picking up Norangi, stroking her ginger fur.

“Oh my God,” Jimin plucks her from your hands, “she’s so cute. I saw pictures but she’s even cuter in real life. Aw, so sweet.”

You watch him coddle the cat, “I didn’t send you any pictures.”

Taehyung turns around the corner, handing you a shopping bag filled with soju, “Yoongi-hyung didn’t know which kitten you’d want.”

“Oh,” you smile to yourself, reminded of your charming boyfriend all over again.

You shuffle to the kitchen, setting the soju bottles on the table, “let’s eat guys.”

“I’m bringing this one with me,” Jimin cradles Norangi in his arms, taking the seat next to you on the table.

During dinner, it’s loud, unlike your quiet, calm meals with Yoongi, cackles and shouts surround you as you eat, giggling at your friends’ antics. But you can’t help but feel like something is missing. It makes you step out of the moment for a while, you think of Jungkook, what would it be like if he were here, probably just as loud. Then you think of Yoongi, he would be the one accompanying you to your own space, booming laughter cut off, watching from afar. It makes your lips turn up, thinking of the way he would always place an amicable hand on your lower back or a reassuring arm around your shoulder, all those little things that built up to the one moment, when you collided.

“Y/N?”

Your chopsticks slip from your hand, and you rush to pick it up, looking down under the table when you feel Norangi’s tail brush your ankle.

“Yeah? What?”

Taehyung sighs, “I said that tomorrow we’re going to Esc, wanna come?”

Images of sweaty bodies, green beams and thundering music vibrating off the floors makes you shake your head, “nah.”

Hoseok pats your arm, “come on. It’ll be cool, Yoongi is coming on Monday. What are you gonna do all weekend without him? Huh?”

You shrug, “I don’t know.” Probably think about how much you miss him and lay around in his room, sniffing every inch.

“Hyung said that I should make sure you’re okay. And I want you to come with us and have fun.”

You acquiesce, earning a squeal from Jimin, “okay. Hoseok will fetch you at 8 tomorrow.”

“8?” Your face scrunches up, “isn’t that a little too early?”

He glances at Hoseok, “no it’s not. Just…be ready okay!”

Half an hour later, kitchen scrubbed down, three slices of tres leches packed for each of them, they say their goodbyes, leaving you to a dead silent home. After you shower, Norangi fed and bathed, currently wrestling the brown poodle plushie that Yoongi brought along with your feisty kitten, you shoot Yoongi a text to ask if he wants to video call. It takes a while for him to respond with a ‘yes of course.’

You sit against your headboard, propping your laptop on your folded legs, adjusting your hair a bit as you wait for him to answer, palms feeling a little sweaty.

When his face pops up on your screen, your breath hitches.

He waves, “hi.”

Unable to keep your smile away, you wave back, “hi.”

He’s laying down in bed, “sorry. My laptop died and I was too lazy to put it to charge. So, I’m using my phone.”

“That’s okay,” cheeks aching from how hard you’re smiling.

“How are you? How’s Norangi?”

You angle the laptop so he can see her fussing over the plushie. His boyish laugh filters through the speakers.

“Norangi-yah!”

Snorting to yourself, you readjust the laptop, “she’s been acting like this ever since Jimin was over.”

“Oh yeah. You guys had supper. How was it?”

You nod, “was okay. Hoseok came over, so I asked him to stay too.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, “I know.”

Holding a finger up to the screen, you narrow your eyes at him, “you told him to check up on me.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “yes I did. But it was supposed to be casual. You weren’t supposed to know that I told him to check up on you!”

You hold your hand over your mouth as you laugh, “I don’t think Hoseok ever just visited me.”

You hear a small ‘yeah’ from his side, seeing him fluff up his pillow and lie back down.

“He told me that you couldn’t stop talking about me,” cheeky smile in place, hand tucked under his head, exposing his meaty arms to your gaze.

“I miss you,” you admit, finding a more comfortable position on your bed.

“I can tell,” he leans in close to the camera, mouth hanging open, “are you wearing my T-shirt?”

Your cheeks heat, having plucked it from the chair he keeps in his room, you couldn’t keep your nose out of the black material, so you decided to put it on after you showered.

“Uh…Yeah. I was doing laundry and I found it,” you stare down at the plain black shirt, head lifting when you hear him chuckle.

“You look so good in it. Wearing my clothes,” he mumbles, corners of his eyes crinkling as he scans the section of your body that’s visible to him.

You hold the camera further away from you, giving him a better view, “I think so too.”

He hums, deep and gruff, the sound sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

You clear your throat, “I’m…going to Esc tomorrow with Jimin and Taehyung…And Hoseok.”

“That’s nice, hope you have fun.”

It’s quiet after that, you’re too busy staring down at the sliver of his chest that’s peeking out from his button up pyjama shirt. And he seems to be doing the same.

“Uhm,” you rush to think of something to fill the silence, but he cuts you off.

“I love the way you’re looking at me right now.”

Your hand flies to your neck, searching for something to hold on to, heart stopping in your chest.

“Me too,” you reply, watching him lick his lips, still staring at you. You glance at Norangi, curled up on the other side of your bed.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, gaze travelling back to him.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you’re not sure why you told him that piece of information, but maybe you do, because the way he seems to be devouring you with his eyes is causing your core to throb.

“You wanna know what I’m thinking?”

You nod frantically, tugging your shirt over your dampening panties.

“I hope this doesn’t freak you out…”

“No no,” you wave your hands around, heart leaping to your throat in suspense, “go on.”

“I’m thinking about that night, when I came home, we weren’t living together at the time but…you thought that you were alone, and you left the bathroom door slightly open, and I could hear everything. I knew it was wrong of me to listen, but I stood in the kitchen, listening to you moan and whimper and how I wished I could hear you say my name like that. I knew you’d be mine eventually, I had a feeling and…it’s all I can think about. I want to feel all of you, Y/N.”

If you weren’t wet before, you are now, thoroughly soaked.

“Yoongi…”

His eyes shut, teeth trapping his lower lip, “like that…but softer.”

“Yoongi. I’m-“ you rub your thighs together, scrunching your eyes shut.

“What is it, baby?”

“I want you,” you breathe.

He sits up in bed, similar to the way you’re sitting, “yeah?”

You nod, fingers inching down your thigh.

“Fuck. Y/N. I can see your nipples through my shirt. I could cum right now.”

Whining, you place the laptop next to you and spread your legs, rubbing your clit over your panties, index finger moving up and down.

“Shit. What are you doing, Y/N? Tell me.”

Legs sliding even further apart, your chest heaves, moaning as you speak.

“I’m thinking of you while I touch myself.”

You can hear shuffling on his line, turning your head to see his eyes closed, lips parted, phone placed on his side too. You can’t see much, but the sight of his hand slithering out of the camera’s view is enough to make you slip your fingers beneath your panties, gathering your slick on your fingers and spreading it all over your clit.

“What else? Tell me more, baby.”

You rub your clit furiously, bucking your hips into your hand.

“Shit Yoongi. I’m rubbing my clit, imagining it was your fingers in my panties, lips on my neck.”

“Imagine it was my tongue, licking you up until you’re a mess, flicking your clit, begging me to make you cum.”

Your back arches, index finger sliding down your folds, pushing into your tight hole. You gasp at the intrusion, working it in and out, moaning out his name.

“Fuck Y/N. Yes, keep doing that for me baby. Shit. I’m gonna cum soon. Cum with me?”

His voice cracks and you nod, adding your middle finger in your pulsating hole, heel of your palm pressing against your clit, arousal leaking all over your sheets, whimpers of his name bubbling from your lips. Thinking of him fucking into his fist, imagining it was you. The familiar heat creeps up on you.

“Ah Yoongi Yoongi. Please,” you cry out, fingers pressing into your walls, closing around them when you cum, shuddering as it drips down, messing your ass. So wet and hot. Teeth piercing into your lip as you ride out your high. Your eyes peel open, seeing him watch you with his fist under his cheek, sitting up on his elbow, grinning at you.

Suddenly feeling bashful, you cover your face with your clean hand.

“God. I can’t believe that you’re mine.”

You roll your eyes, although you’re screaming on the inside, “you’re so cheesy.”

He winks, “you like me cheesy. Anyway babes. I need to clean up, I’m a mess,” laughing as he speaks.

“Me too. Goodnight Yoongi.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a kiss before you go?”

You smile, leaning forward and placing a noisy kiss to the camera. He places his hand over his heart, “thank you.”

Eyelashes fluttering, you stick out your bottom lip teasingly, “can I have one too?”

“You’ll get enough when I’m back home. Goodnight~”

He waves and cuts the call before you can protest. Your boyfriend is such a goof…you’re dizzy, so overwhelmed by him and his words and everything else. You don’t know what you did to deserve someone like him. Someone that checks all your boxes, someone that’s so perfect in your eyes.

You’re going through your emails when you get a text from Jimin stating that Hoseok will pick you up at 7:30PM, “sharp.” You have no idea why they want to party so early, you know that it’s a fifteen minute drive from here to that side of town but they can’t be that eager, they literally go out every weekend. You haven’t gone clubbing in a long time, you might’ve forgotten the fact that you need to wait a while before you actually enter the club.

Glancing at the clock above your TV set, you decide to change into the outfit you picked and do your makeup. You go for a smoky eye with nude pink lips, hair in soft curls, your makeup complements the black dress you’re wearing, paired with heels. You give your reflection a satisfied nod and spritz some perfume when you get a text from Hoseok saying that he’s waiting outside.

Norangi is sleeping in her heap of pillows as per usual, you place a kiss to the top of her head, promising that you’ll be home soon.

“Hey guys.”

“Wow,” the three say in unison.

“I know hyung would literally be drooling all over the floors if he saw you,” Taehyung grins, eyes raking over your figure.

Cheeks turning a bright pink, you wave them off, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Did you send hyung a selfie?”

“No…”

Jimin grabs your phone from your hand, “come on. Let me take a picture for you. The lighting is good too.”

You lean against the door as he snaps a few shots, you’re impressed at your own makeup skills, it looks so good on camera. Swiping through the images, you pick the best one and send it to him, no caption included. His response has you smiling like a mad woman.

[19:42] Yoongi🤍: holy fuck

[19:42] Yoongi🤍: my girlfriend is so hot

[19:43] Yoongi🤍: you look beautiful baby can’t wait to see you!!

[19:44] You: miss you ☹

[19:44] You: can Monday come already!

[19:45] Yoongi🤍: soon baby very soon

Shoving your phone into your purse, you take a deep breath, calming your thundering heart, watching the lights as the car zooms past the buildings. It isn’t long before you reach the club, the night sky has dulled through, it’s a clear, cloudless night, a few stars dotting here and there.

“Watch your step,” Taehyung helps you onto the sidewalk, holding your palm in his.

“Thank you.”

Jimin nudges your hip, “how’s Norangi?”

“She’s good. Probably sleeping.”

As soon as you enter the club, a wave of heat hits you, reaching into your nostrils, burning your eyes a bit. Hoseok guides you to the bar where he orders your drinks. You’re not even in the clustered-up space for more than five minutes when you feel an unwelcomed hand on your back. You spin around, ready to give the guy a mouthful when your eyes pop wide open.

“Yoongi.”

Blinding gummy smile. You jump up and wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his neck, taking in the scent that you’ve missed so, so much. He rests his arms around your waist. And you can’t help but kiss him a bit, hand pressed to his cheek as you pull away, seeing a few of the people who are standing near you watch, some with disgusted glares, others uncaring. You realize that you’re going to be that couple, the kind that can’t keep their hands off each other.

He greets the guys, then returns to your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“You look beautiful.”

Your fist presses against his chest, shouting over the music, “I thought you were coming on Monday.”

He removes his arm from around you, “I’m sorry, I’ll just head back then.”

“Yoongi,” you yank his arm, pulling him into you.

Yoongi orders another round of drinks, chatting to Taehyung, while you continue to stare up at him. Taking in his dreamy sight, you run your palm down his muscular chest, he’s wearing a black jacket with a white T-shirt on the inside, straight cut jeans fitting him perfectly. You kiss his cheek, and he tilts his head to look at you. Knuckle brushing your cheek. His eyebrows jumps and you shake your head, fingers intertwining. You continue to gaze into each other’s eyes, he inhales a shaky breath, breaking the electricity.

“I think we’re gonna head home,” he pulls out his car keys from his pocket. Your telepathic connection.

Taehyung speaks into his cup, “so early?”

Hoseok pats his chest, “let them be. They have a lot of catching up to do.”

Yoongi nods in Hoseok’s direction and steers you toward the exit, hand sliding down to your back as you squeeze through the crowd.

“Nor-“

“She’s okay. Naughty,” you laugh, sounding nervous to your own ears, nail tracing the sequins on your purse.

He nods, gaze fixed on the road.

“I bought some stuff before I came.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

He turns onto your street, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. You can feel the blood pumping through your veins, teeming with energy.

When he parks the car, you unclick your seatbelt and follow him up the stairs, kicking off your heels. It’s dark in the apartment, the only thing you can make out is the outline of his body, his twinkling eyes and glossy lips. You take your hand in his, pulling him down the hallway like it’s his first time in your home, palms just as clammy as yours.

You sit at the edge of your bed, seeing him close the door and make his way toward you, moonlight shining into your room. He stands between your legs, shrugging off his jacket. You swallow, unzipping the side of your dress, letting it fall down your shoulders, plain black bra on display. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Your eyes travel from this corner to that, salivating at the sight of his sinewy chest. You pull down your dress and let it fall off the edge of the bed, wishing that you’d worn sexier underwear today, but you didn’t think that Yoongi would be here now, unbuckling his belt and pushing down his pants, eyes not leaving yours for a second.

You scoot up on the bed, hands trembling as you smooth them over his unmarred skin, feeling his heat radiate off his body, so many emotions swimming through you. You haven’t done this in a long, long time. You don’t want to revisit the last time, you want to appreciate Yoongi and his lips that move over yours delicately, fingers tickling your sides as he presses you into the mattress, bewitching gaze locking with yours as he moves down to mouth at your neck, large palm cupping your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he suckles on the sensitive skin of your neck, pleasurable burn blooming all over, until you’re writhing beneath him, begging to be touched. He kisses between the valley of your breasts, silently asking if he can take it off. You nod eagerly, lifting your back off the bed, seeing his eyes widen when your breasts are exposed to him.

“Wow,” he leans down, biting on the supple skin, your fingers weave through his hair when he reaches your areola, suctioning the skin into his mouth, painting bruises there too before his mouth latches onto your nipple, fingers curling around the flesh to hold it up, tongue swirling around it. His ravenous eyes watch your other breast, and he’s pulling off with a loud pop, tongue swiping along his bottom lip before he caresses that one in a similar fashion. Teeth grazing the skin, patches of red appearing after he moves on to another untouched section.

You reach down, squeezing his cock through his boxer briefs, feeling him groan against your skin, eyes flicking up to set on yours as he moves lower down, out of your reach.

He smirks, bringing his palm up to your neck, dragging it down slowly, all the way down to your pubic bone. Biting on your lip, you wiggle your hips, asking him to touch you.

“So ready for me, baby.”

“Yes, Yoongi. Please touch me.”

He bumps your nose with his, hovering over you, “tell me what you want.”

Your core throbs, eyes glued to the way his tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna feel your tongue.”

“Where? Here?”

He licks the shell of your ear, breath catching in your throat when he flicks it into your earlobe.

You shake your head, nails pressing into his shoulders, asking him to move lower.

His tongue drags down the column of your throat, “here?”

“No.”

Moving down lower, he places a sloppy kiss between your breasts, “here?”

“No.”

He chuckles, so raspy, doing nothing to soothe the heat that builds between your legs.

His tongue dips into your navel, “here?”

“No,” you sigh, “lower.”

Finally, he hooks his fingers into your plain panties, pulling them down your legs, ridding you of the bothersome material. His fingers press into your thighs, flesh molding into his palm as he spreads your legs, exposing your dripping folds to him.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” his index and middle finger trails down to your slit, you sigh, pads of his fingers encircling your entrance. “You’re so wet, all for me. All mine.”

He lays flat on his stomach, your pussy clenches in anticipation, his eyes track the movement, hot breath hitting your swollen folds when he laughs.

“Here?”

You nod, chin hitting your chest with the movement, watching his tongue extend out of his mouth, the tip nudges against your clit, from left to right, spit mixing with your arousal when he starts to devour your pussy greedily, gasping out his name when his fingers prod at your slit, easing them inside, sliding in with your slick.

The way his tongue is working at your pussy has your body jerking with each lick and suck, each pull of your clit between his soft lips. Your juices drench his face, fingers moving in and out of you with a steady rhythm, so hot, so warm, so wet, so erotic with the way his tongue laps at your folds. He lays his tongue flat against you, you feel it vibrate, clit pulsing with the movement.

You gasp, he moves faster, you moan, his fingers curl inside of you, you murmur his name and he’s ruthless with his tongue.

“Fuck! Yoongi!’ You grab his hair with both hands, rocking your hips against his face, his fingers scissor your walls apart, orgasm hitting you harder than you expected, a loud scream of his name echoes throughout your apartment, cumming on his tongue with a shudder, spasming when he continues to flick his tongue against your clit, tongue covered in your essence.

He swallows it all up, watching you with a smug grin on his face. Catching you off guard, he dives back in shaking his head as he purses his lips around your clit. You press your lips together when the pain morphs into pleasure, your second high of the night crashing onto you, his tongue scoops it all up, while you mewl, hips lifting up off the bed.

“You taste so fucking sweet, you know that?”

Recovering from your high, you twist your fingers in his hair, seeing his eyes close with a soft grunt, “wanna know how you taste.”

He lets you push him down on the bed, arms lifting up as you pull off his underwear, cock hitting his stomach. Eyes widening as you watch the pretty pink head leak, sitting sideways to give him a view of your ass. He seems to appreciate it because he lands a loud smack to your flesh, palm soothing the burn.

You keep your eyes on him as you grip the base of his cock, taking the tip into your mouth, salty precum bursting on your taste buds. You sink down a bit further and he grabs your chin, thumb pressing into your cheek.

“So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

You moan around his cock, taking him further down into your mouth, gagging a bit when the tip brushes the back of your throat, hollowing out your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he moans, throaty and deep.

Keeping your fist around the head, you tighten your hold and squeeze around his girthy length, twisting your hand from root to tip, dipping down to take his balls into your mouth, slurping and suckling on the sensitive skin, seeing him lay back in pure bliss. Your thumb works at his frenulum, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, more precum dribbling over your hand.

“Fuck fuck fuck, Y/N,” he pats your ass, asking you to move up.

He stares at your wet chin, slick with your saliva and his precum, you wipe it with the back of your head, blinking at him, feigning innocence.

“Y/N, if I don’t fuck you right now,” he shoves you down onto the bed, lying down next to you, thick cock dragging along your folds.

Your back arches, wrapping an arm around his neck, “condom.”

He stills all movements, and your eyes fly open, shaking your head in horror.

“Please tell me you have a condom.”

His eyes dart around your room, you groan, fist hitting the bed, “I don’t have any. I haven’t had sex in a while!”

“Me neither!”

You stare at him exasperatedly, watching in confusion when his frown morphs into a smirk, warm palm pressing down your stomach, eyes tracking the movement.

“Would it be so bad?”

“Would what be so bad?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. If we have a baby together…”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, “Yoongi!”

“I’m just saying!”

“Yoongi. We have a cat, and I haven’t seen her since we got here. We’d be terrible parents.”

“Really? I think that I’d make a pretty good dad.”

“Aw,” you pout, leaning up to kiss him.

He pulls away, jumping off the bed and walking out of your room stark naked, you take the time to appreciate his cute butt, waddling to his room and back, hard, angry dick sticking up.

“I found one.”

You lean back in the pillows, spreading your legs so he can settle between them, “it isn’t expired?”

He gives you a look, ‘seriously’.

Shrugging, you wrap your legs around his waist after he rolls on the condom, “you said you haven’t had sex in a long time.”

“Yeah? Wanna know why?”

“Why?”

The tip of his cock stretches open your slit, breath getting knocked out of your lungs when he’s buried to the hilt, biting down on his neck.

“Because-fuck-I couldn’t stop thinking about you, this pussy, what it feels like.”

He pulls out to the tip, walls stretching open again when he slams back into you.

“You feel amazing,” he kisses the side of your head while you moan into his skin, moving up on the bed with each thrust, pussy clenching around him at his words.

He snaps his hips against yours, cock rubbing against your walls in deep, pleasurable strokes, hitting the spot deep inside of you, trembling under him, each roll of his hips even better, even deeper.

“Y/N. You- feel so good,” sweaty chest pressed to yours, pelvic bone rubbing against your clit with each slow flex of his hips. You’ve never been fucked like this before, not hard and fast, but deep and leisurely. Unhurried, it feels better than anything you’ve ever felt before, each drag purposeful, precise.

“Yoongi,” you sigh, pulling away from his skin with a noisy suckle.

“Fuck baby,” he presses his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes. Something fizzes within you, you feel so filled with love, drowning in his orbs, souls meshing to form one. Like everything you’ve been searching for all your life is kept in this one person. Shards of your heart coalescing to stick to him, magnetized.

Your nails scrape along his back, grasping onto his skin while the other grips onto his hair, pulling him down to connect your lips in a searing kiss, walls closing around his cock, pushing you over the edge, he swallows up all your moans, spilling into the condom, tongue running over yours, hips working even slower as he rides out your high.

“I love you, Y/N. Fuck, I love you so much,” he smashes your lips together pulling you on top of him as he rolls onto his back.

You hum blissfully, arm draped across his chest, he kisses your shoulder.

“One second.”

Still catching your breath, you think about the feeling you had earlier, the feeling that had you so emotional. So tangled up in Yoongi, your lover, the only man you’ve ever felt this safe around, so naked and open for him, soul bared to him.

He returns wearing a shirt, holding a similar one in his hands.

“This is for you,” you take the shirt from him and pull it over your head, settling under the blanket drowsily.

Your lips brush his neck, fingers skimming the bruised skin. He kisses your forehead, warm body tugging you closer, as close as possible. Everything feels peaceful, and soon you fall into the soft haze, dreams filled with Yoongi, and everything you know him for.

Your arms slide to the cold side of the bed, seeing Norangi perched at the edge. Smiling, you reach over and scratch her chin, her big, green eyes close. You put on your slippers and head into the bathroom, grinning like a lovestruck teenager when you hear Yoongi hum in the kitchen, the scrumptious smell of cinnamon fills the air. He’s sitting at the table, enjoying his mug of coffee when your arms slide around his torso, kissing the side of his head. He startles because he didn’t hear you enter the kitchen, but relaxes into your touch, tilting his head to kiss your cheek.

“How did you sleep?”

You hum, cheek pressed to his, “great. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

“Good. Come eat.”

Your chair scrapes on the floor, stunned at the variety of breakfast options.

“I made eggs, just the way you like them, and French toast, pancakes and fruit salad.”

“Wow. Thanks Yoongs,” you grab some of the French toast, drizzling syrup over the crispy bread.

You cut a piece and pop it into your mouth, “you know how much I love your French toast,” your body sways a bit, chewing happily.

“Come here.”

You stare at him, midchew, “what?”

He pats his thigh, “come here.”

You drag your plate to his side and sit down hesitantly, his cheek presses against your back, arms encircling your body. You feed him a piece, giggling as your thumb smooths over his lips to wipe the syrup. Soon, you feel his warm mouth on your neck, licking at the bright marks that cover the area.

“Yoongi,” you squirm in his hold, spinning around to look at him.

“Did you see what you did?”

He gestures to his neck, your eyes dart to the much worse love bites on his pale skin, grinning proudly.

“I need to make them equal, hold still.”

You laugh, feeling him chomp down on your skin, palms running up and down your sides comfortingly.

“Yoongi,” you hold his arm when it starts to feel a little too good. You’re still a bit sore from last night.

“Hmm. Sorry.”

He peppers kisses all over your face, squealing when he hugs you.

“I’m so so happy right now. You have no idea how you make me feel.”

Giving him a teary smile, you bury your face in his neck, kissing his jaw, “I think I do.”

You see a familiar, brown-covered book sit on the table next to his mug, when you reach for it, he moves it away.

“What’s in there?”

He shakes his head, “uhm my songs.”

You grin, “were you writing just now?”

He nods, “about you.”

“Yoongi,” you kiss his nose, “when will I get to read them or hear them?”

“When I think they’re good enough.”

The sound of your ringtone cuts into the air, disrupting the sweet moment between you and your boyfriend. You stand up to reach for your phone that’s placed on the counter, but he grips your waist, tickling your sides.

“No. Don’t answer it!”

“Yoongi! What if it’s important?”

Pouting a bit, he lets you go, although his fingers dig into your ribs, making you giggle. It’s an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “who’s this?”

“It’s Jungkook.”

You hold your palm over the speaker, “it’s Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen a fraction, “oh okay.”

“Oh hey! How have you been?”

“I’ve been good.”

Yoongi watches the corner of your lips quirk up, “that’s great to hear.”

“And you?”

You pinch Yoongi’s chin, “oh. I’ve been great.”

Yoongi gives you a huge gummy smile, pinching your cheek in return.

“So…what’s up?”

“I’m back home.”

You nod, “really? Damn, I didn’t even realize that your course is over,” you laugh, you weren’t expecting a call from him. At all.

“Yeah, it is. Uhmmm I was wondering if you wanted to meet up?”

You mouth out the words, ‘he wants to meet up.’

“Ask him where.”

“Uhm sure. Where?”

“Okay great. I’ll text you.”

You hold your palm over the speaker again, “he said that he’ll text me.”

Yoongi nods, massaging your knees a bit, “remember what happened the last time.”

You remember, and you don’t want to be stood up again.

“Could you, uhm, meet me there? I mean, tell me when you get there?”

“Yeah, sure sure.”

You smile, “okay. See you later.”

“Bye, noona.”

With that, you cut the call, getting a notification, from the number you recognize as Jungkook’s new one, with the address of the café and the time.

You sigh, looking at up at Yoongi who watches you with a pensive stare.

“We were…supposed to have a talk. Whenever he’s ready.”

“A talk?”

“Yeah,” you squish his cheeks together and place a kiss on his lips, getting up from his lap to wash the few dishes in the sink, “I’m gonna get ready.”

He comes up behind you, pressing his chest to your back, “okay baby.”

With a kiss to your cheek, he makes his way to the lounge. You’re nervous to meet Jungkook, after everything. And maybe you felt a bit…jittery when you heard his voice. But you know where your heart is. Where your heart is safe.

Yoongi rolls the black pendant in his palm, watching Narongi as she tosses the yarn ball plushie around. You should be home by now, since Jungkook was just over and he left something with Yoongi, something for him to think about. He knows that you and Jungkook shared a special connection, even though you were never officially together, but he witnessed most of your tears, all spent on Jungkook. Jungkook’s noona. Someone that was there for him, the same way that he was there for you.

He doesn’t doubt your affections for himself, however. He knows that you share something other-worldly, and nothing can compare to that. He doesn’t have any idea what you and Jungkook might’ve spoken about, but he also knows that you had a lot to talk about. Jungkook gave him the gift that you had given to Jungkook. He sighs, knowing that he shouldn’t give this too much thought.

Hearing the lock click in the door, he stuffs the pendant in his jeans pocket, smiling when he sees you, holding two grocery bags in your hand.

You pull off your coat and scarf, sitting down on the couch next to him with a sigh that sounds a lot like the sigh of someone will all the worries in the world.

“How was it?”

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers and kissing his knuckles, “okay.”

“Uhm,” he reaches in his pocket, still warm from when he was staring at it, “Jungkook left this here just now.”

You take it from him, inspecting the spear-shaped pendant like you’re seeing it for the first time.

After a while, you place it in his palm and close his fingers around it, “you keep it.”

He doesn’t question it, placing it into his pocket again. He lips brush the top of your head when you curl into his side, talking to Norangi. A few moments pass and your fingers are curling around his thighs, rubbing slow circles into the skin. In a way that isn’t needy, maybe it is needy, but in a different way.

He nudges you to sit up, hooking his finger under your chin.

“Something’s wrong?”

The sigh you let out this time gets him worried, heart pounding in his chest.

“I love you.”

Yoongi swallows, “but…?”

You smile, gaze locked on his, “but nothing. I love you, Yoongi. With every bit of me.”

He pulls you to him, forehead pressing into your warm neck. He knew it.

“I love you.”

a/n: feedback is appreciated.

⤺Masterlist

taglist: @ggukkieland @moonchild1 @mwitsmejk @fancycollectormoon @nglmrk @bex-92br @taeslarityy @roundbuttonsuga

[writingwithcolor]

Gingerbread man as golem

@yaronata asked:

I would like to write a character who is Jewish and uses a Golem. She's based on the D&D class of the artificer which looks magic but isn't, because they produce all their effects with inventions, like the "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic" quote. Her story is that her very Jewish town was under attack from a terrible monster when she was little. Her Rabbis made a Golem to protect the town, and it succeeded but was torn to pieces in the process. She was fascinated by the Golem and as a kid didn't see a big difference between it's sentience and person's so was really thankful for its sacrifice like you would a person's sacrificing their life for you. They thought all the pieces had been devoured by the monster before it died, but she went looking and found the piece used to animate the Golem, which she, kinda misunderstanding called its "heart". She kept the piece and grew up to be an incredibly skilled cook, specialising as a baker in the town. I imagine she would make a lot of really good food for the Jewish holidays, or to break fasts on ones like Yom Kippur or Tish'abav. But she also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice and the town still being alive, because I feel "we are not dead woo" is a big theme for Jewish holidays from my research, so it could fit, for which she invented ginger bread men to be the golem, and gave them little "hearts" of fruit or honey, and you're meant to eat them limb by limb like the beast did before eating the heart. This would be the inspiration for using the "heart" piece later to make her own giant gingerbread Golem to help her save the world.

These are my questions 1) would it be considered bad or disrespectful for someone who isn't a Rabbi to make a Golem, or is this method of taking an animating piece someone else made disrespectful? 2) Her journey will take her far from her town and her Jewish family and friends and she will likely travel with gentiles. Would it be disrespectful for a Golem to be used to protect a lot of gentiles and one Jew in the course of saving the world? I don't want to fall into the stereotype of someone putting all their effort into valuing and protecting very specifically the group that in real life is oppressive to them. 3) While she is not using magic and is actually mimicking its effects with technology she invents, is this drawing too close to the line of "magical Jew"? 4) I like to "play test" my characters in ttrpgs to really get a feel for them before I write. Would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character when I am a gentile, and would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character in a setting where there are demonstrably real gods other than the one of Judaism?

I really like this character idea and I think it's cute and fun and rooted in Jewish culture but I really want to make sure it's respectful and as good as I, a gentile researching on the internet, thinks it is. Thanks so much! Have a nice day!

My answer to this is very complicated because there are things I both like and do not like about this premise. First of all, I love the idea of a cookie golem, and I'm even imagining the magic word that brings him to life (EMET/truth) would be written in icing. And I'm okay with the part about how she found a piece of the old golem and used it to build a new golem, because that makes sense for a golem made from a baked good when you think about how people use sourdough starter to make a new batch of sourdough.

However, here are the thing that make me cock my head to the side like my little sister's German shepherd:

1. re: "magical Jew" - that's not a trope I've ever heard of. Remember, marginalized groups don't receive identical disrespect across the board. It is indeed a trope to use Black people or disabled people as supernatural plot devices who exist only to further the stories of white main characters or able-bodied main characters. But I can't say as I've ever seen anyone using Jewishness that way. Usually if we are someone's one-dimensional plot device it's as someone's lawyer, fixer, "money guy", etc, not a supernatural force. So this isn't something you have to worry about.

2. I have a certain level of discomfort with you playing as a Jewish character just because playacting as a marginalized culture you're not part of strikes me as off, but I understand that that's how you gain insight into a character you're about to write so it's more of a writing exercise than anything else. (I wonder if D&D regulars from marginalized groups have written about this -- I've only played a few times casually with family so if I did run into this type of discussion in my social justice reading I wouldn't have absorbed it. If anyone is curious I played first as Captain Werewolf, and then switched to playing as Cinnamon Blade because lawful good was too hard. :P )

3. I would prefer you omit the detail about eating the cookies piece by piece symbolically, for two reasons: a. it unintentionally evokes Communion by having appreciative people consume a baked good symbolic of an entity who sacrificed his life for theirs, and b. focusing on the details of flesh consumption reminds me too much of Blood Libel (yes, a gingerbread man is in the shape of a person but how many of us actually think about it literally, the way this act would cause?)

As to your first question: I'm fine with her making a golem even though she's just a rando. Second question: I see what you're saying and maybe it could be more okay if it's really clear how well these gentile folks are treating her? And questions three and four are answered above.

I really do love the idea of a giant gingerbread man golem. Cookie golem T_T <3

--Shira

I would like to second Shira’s point about not ripping apart the gingerbread cookies. I honestly would prefer they were used as decoration, and other cookies eaten instead, since that part just feels so not-Jewish to me, but I don’t have golem-specific issues other than that. It seems like you have already been doing a lot of research, which is appreciated.

As far as the ttrpg/DnD aspect… I bounce back and forth on the topic of playing characters that are so very different from our experiences, other than in fantasy-related ways. However, I am aware that a lot of people will play with, and experiment with gender in game, and learn something about themselves in the process (the number of trans players of ttrpgs who tried out their gender in game before they were out is high). It’s different with Judaism, and even more significantly different when it comes to things you can’t convert into, like various actual, real-world races. But because people do sometimes experience growth from experiences like this, I’m hesitant to dissuade players completely. I do urge you to, at a minimum, bring the same care, research, and willingness to learn, that you brought to this question.

--Dierdra

This sounds like a creative storyline that you could have lots of fun with 😊

At first I was confused by this part:

She also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice

But then you really got me thinking about different types of Jewish holidays and how they come about, so thank you for that!

Because it’s often the little details that either make a story super powerful or kind of nonsensical, I think it would be a good idea to decide what type of holiday is being created here:

A full-blown chag with restrictions on labour and halachic obligations? These are commanded in Torah and new ones can’t be added.

A minor yom tov with halachic obligations but no restrictions? These were instituted by the rabbis prior to the destruction of the Temple, so again new ones can’t be added.

A public holiday or equivalent? This would usually be declared by the Knesset in Israel, and filter to the rest of the Jewish world from there.

A community-based yom tov with specific customs only for people in the know, such as certain Chasidic groups celebrating the birthdays of their deceased leaders? I asked around, but no one can really tell me how these holidays get started, which is probably a good indication that they arise quite organically from a group of people who all just feel that it should be celebrated. Probably not created by a single person, as such.

Something she runs from her bakery, not religion-based, but more like a day of doing special products and deals the way many small businesses do on their anniversary?

Now, if the people of a modern-day town were actually saved by a real live Golem, that would arguably be the most overt miracle for many generations, so there would be a decent chance of options 3 and/or 4 happening. It’s entirely plausible that there could be special foods for this day that become a tradition, including Golem cookies. People who directly benefited might also return to the site where the Golem fought the monster and recite the prayer, ‘Blessed is Hashem, Master of the Universe, Who performed a miracle for me in this place.’

Alternatively, if it’s important that your MC created the holiday, something like option 5 might be the best. Hopefully this will still fulfil what you need: you describe her as incredibly skilled, so I can imagine the day when she goes all out on the Golem cookies being one of the most exciting events of the year for the townspeople, just because her baking is that good. Plus, they already have a personal stake in the Golem’s sacrifice, so I definitely think it could be a thing without being an official holiday. Also, if she is outside of an all-Jewish environment, don’t forget that she would have to decide whether to commemorate the anniversary in the Hebrew calendar or the local one.

Coming back to the cookies, sorry if we’re getting a little repetitive on this point! But I don’t see the cookies being torn limb from limb as part of a celebration. First of all, this doesn’t sound like a very celebratory thing to do, to say the least. Can you imagine explaining that to a three-year-old on their first Yom HaGolem? They would be terrified! (I don’t read this suggestion as accidental anti-Semitism so much as getting carried away with a metaphor, which I’m sure as writers we have all done!)

But also, it’s worth pointing out that our commemorative foods aren’t usually that literal. If you think about hamantaschen, maror, or apple in honey, they’re all symbols. That’s not to say that having Golem-shaped cookies is a problem, as this sounds like just a bit of fun that the MC is having and not something that is directly at odds with Judaism or Jewish culture. But it’s worth bearing in mind that the more literal you go from there in terms of tying the cookies to the event they commemorate, the less culturally aligned your holiday food becomes.

Finally, about the Golem protecting non-Jewish people: I like this idea! There’s a stereotype that we only use whatever is at our disposal to help ourselves and other Jewish people, so a Golem being created by Jews but helping others as well is a big plus for me. Of course, as has already been pointed out, this would be an odd choice if her Saving The World team were anti-Semitic or otherwise disrespectful to her/her community, but I don’t think you were headed that way!

-Shoshi

I have to come back in here just to squee over the phrase “Yom HaGolem.” Well done :D

--Shira

[ramzawrites]

can i request an angsty sbi fic where sibling reader lost two lives saving others (maybe tubbo at the festival?) and they see everything falling apart (techno and phil destroying everything, wilbur dead and tommy focused on the disks) and they pretend to be ok while their mental health gets worse and worse until they decide to end it, and people only realise they weren't okay after the death message pops up and their reactions to seeing it? if not thats completely fine, ik its pretty heavy

Broken

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Wilbur, Tommy, Philza, Tubbo, Technoblade

Warnings: depression, suicide (falling, non descriptive), angst

Series: a request!

Summary: Y/N just wanted their home back. They just wanted to live a peaceful life but instead all their hopes and dreams got ripped apart by the people they loved the most.

Words count: 3647

Authors Note: Honestly I could have shortened it quite a bit but here we are, it’s way longer than I wanted but I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m sorry if this went kind off of rails to what you might have envisioned. Also I hope that you guys know that you are loved and appreciated. I appreciate you for taking the time to read my stuff :] Here is m favorite video to cheer me up some times, hope it can cheer you up as well!

I’m also curious what your guys thoughts and opinion are on this or my writing in general! Can’t get better without feedback :]

Y/N loved their family.

They were all pretty chaotic but so was Y/N, following their siblings into trouble ignoring any possible consequences.

So when Wilbur proclaimed he would create an independent Nation inside the SMP that was owned by Dream himself, you bet that Y/N was standing right beside him.

When Wilbur would struggle with his tasks or was weighed down by doubts they would swoop right in and do their best to support him. Every time Wilbur would say “I don’t know what I would do without you sometimes.” While Y/N didn’t do it for praise but out of love for him it was still nice knowing that he appreciated them and that he took note of their work.

Tommy wasn’t really for heartfelt words but he too expressed in his own way how much he appreciated them being around. Most of his schemes wouldn’t have even happened without Y/N’s help after all. As a way to say thanks he would let them just take stuff fout his chets or when he heard they needed a specific resource he would wander out and get it for them. Of course saying something on the lines of “I was out there anyhow, so I brought some with me. It was on the way.” Y/N could read between the lines though. They grew up with him after all.

Y/N put so much energy into L’Manberg they couldn’t help but be in love with this little nation. They would do everything to protect their home.

When Y/N lost their first life it was together with their siblings protecting their nephew Fundy.

The Dream Team suddenly retreated after another battle against L’Manberg. While the group was celebrating what they thought was their first victory in ages, Eret appeared. She told the group of a small bunker with more resources.

Still celebrating Wilbur, Y/N, Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy made their way towards the bunker. The bunker that would later go down into history as “The Final Control Room.”

Inside they all looked at the labeled chests only to notice that they were empty. Eret then pressed a button which opened up secret walls with the Dream Team standing behind. She herself got into safety as Dream and his friends merciless attacked the L’Manberg faction.

As soon as Y/N understood what was happening they did their best to form a wall between the attackers and Fundy. Slowly pushing him out of the room while they made sure to block the exit, giving the Fox Hybrid enough time to run away.

When they woke up again it was inside their home. In L’Manberg. Sore from the respawning.

Once they did respawn though it didn’t take long for Fundy to barge into their room and throw himself against them, thanking them. Wilbur was close by, looking worse for wear as well but incredible thankful nonetheless.

After that and a few battles more Tommy challenged Dream to a duel in order to secure independence. He lost so instead he bartered his music discs for freedom.

After Tommy respawned a second time Y/N made sure to spent most of their time hovering around him. Making sure he was doing alright.

But with that L’Manberg was independent and it was Y/N’s time to shine. Sure, they worked hard on strengthening the infrastructure of the nation but now, maybe even because of that, they basically coordinated all the new builds.

Shops, homes and other things were being build with them overseeing it. Meanwhile Wilbur and Tommy took care of the political part only to come to the conclusion that they had to have a proper election.

At first it started innocently enough as well. New political parties were made that begun advertising themselves. Funny enough they would always come to Y/N asking them where they could hang up their posters. It was then that Y/N realized that the people saw them as some sort of authority, even asking them if they wanted to start their own campaign. They politely declined, saying they worked best as a support role.

Then Schlatt entered the stage and everything got thrown upside down.

In the end he managed to become the next president via a coalition and his first declaration as the president, or emperor as he called himself, was to exile Tommy and Wilbur.

As they ran for their life Y/N didn’t hesitate to follow. It hurt them so much to leave L’Manberg, their fruit and labor, behind. This only got worse once they realized that Tubbo was basically left alone back at the city under Schlatt’s rule.

Then Pogtopia got established.

Tommy, Wilbur and Y/N did their best to get a proper foothold again. Gathering resources and planning for ways to get their home back. And to accomplish this they soon called in the oldest sibling of the group, Technoblade.

Techno has been away for the longest time now. He moved out early to travel the world and apparently train himself. Somehow Tommy found a way to get a message to him, so he made his way towards Pogtopia.

He wasn’t big on words or emotions but as soon as he arrived he let Y/N hug him.

“This is a onetime deal, Y/N.”

With Techno they finally felt like they had a chance. Y/N could maybe return home someday. Back when they were children Techno always looked out for them so to have him back Y/N felt infinitely safer.

All the while Wilbur showed more and more signs that his mental health was rapidly declining. Y/N did their best trying to cheer him up but there was only so much they could do. Especially since they themself were struggling.

L’Manberg was their everything and now it was under the iron rule of Schlatt. They had to watch as Schlatt walked through the nation, ripping apart builds that they commissioned or even built themself. Every time he did something like that it felt like another stab wound directly into their heart.

Then the festival happened where Y/N lost their second life protecting Tubbo.

Schlatt wanted to apparently celebrate democracy and his amazing rule. Tommy and Wilbur weren’t allowed to join while Techno and Y/N received an invitation.

Y/N was very wary of that. They learned from Tubbo that Schlatt apparently was pretty interested in bringing them over to Manberg since a lot of the residents trusted them and saw them more as an authority than Schlatt himself, so bringing them over would probably also bring a lot of the residents around to his rule.

On the day of the festival Y/N made sure to stay close to Techno. Holding on to his arm and basically hiding behind him, not feeling up to talk with all the people in Manberg.

The people were happy to see them but Y/N was tired. They haven’t slept properly ever since the exile, too many thoughts that kept them awake.

Then the speeches started.

Honestly Y/N wasn’t really listening, their attention purely on a broken old building. It used to be the place where Y/N and the other residents would meet up and map out their plans for new builds. Discussing and even sometimes arguing on what materials should be used and where to get them. Now it was empty.

Their attention got pulled back towards what was actually happening once Tubbo begun speaking. It was a nice little speech Y/N had to admit.

Just as Tubbo was about to leave, Schlatt moved back in. Holding him in place and pushing him in something that Y/N had to describe as a cage with the help of Quackity.

“Techno, buddy. Come up here for a sec.”

Technoblade tensed up but still moved towards the stage. There Schlatt uttered the words that pulled the rug out from beneath Y/N once again.

“Kill him Techno. He is a traitor.”

“Don’t you dare!” Y/N yelled out, making their way towards the stage as well.

Y/N knew Techno couldn’t deal well with social pressure, especially when there were about ten people or more behind him that could attack him at any point.

Tubbo looked so scared as he pressed himself against the wall. There was no escape for him.

When Techno moved his crossbow up, aiming directly at Tubbo, Y/N let out another scream. Urging him to stop.

Explosions. Colorful explosions filled the place.

“Y/N!” it was Tubbo screaming their name out.

Just as Techno pressed the trigger Y/N managed to jump in front, the rockets hitting them instead of Tubbo.

Their older brother looked absolutely mortified “Y/N? Wha- What? Why? How?” staring at Y/N’s lifeless body that slowly dissolved. They were slowly respawning but seeing his siblings body was enough to send him in some sort of frenzy.

Filled with bloodlust he aimed his crossbow towards Schlatt and Quackity. Killing them with one press of the trigger only to turn around and aim his crossbow towards the people.

As this happened Tommy enderpearled over, screaming at Techno.

He helped Tubbo out of the cage who was still in a state of shock. He only saw Y/N for a second and the next they were laying on the ground in their own blood.

Y/N heard the details later after they respawned. Tommy had apparently been incredibly angry at Techno, even attacking him. Wilbur then offered that the two deal with their argument via a fistfight inside a pit.

Normally Y/N would have yelled at Wilbur for that. Would have told him that this was his dumbest idea yet but they were too shook from what had happened to them.

Technoblade always spelled safety to them but he killed them. Sure, he meant to kill Tubbo but that didn’t really make it any better. They gave him an out, they would have helped fighting off all these people so they could flee.

The next time they saw Techno they flinched every time he got too close to them and yet they still put on a smile “Never, do this again.”

Techno only nodded.

After this downward slope the momentum didn’t seem to stop for them. Wilbur dropped even more and more off. Falling victim to his paranoia. Y/N tried their best convincing him to not blow up Manberg, that they will fight to gain it back. At this point trying to gain back their L’Manberg was the only thing they could hold on to.

Though all that work was for nothing.

The war to take back L’Manberg went way differently than they all had imagined. Y/N fought with a viciousness most didn’t think they had it in them. This was the day for them to finally regain what they had wished for, for the longest time now.

Everything came to a halt once Dream surrendered. He showed them Schlatt who was sitting in the Carmavan. Drunk off his mind he yelled and screamed at people only to die of a heart attack which meant that the Pogtopia faction won.

The people begun cheering, they had their home back! They were free! Y/N was probably the loudest by far. It felt like a huge weight was lifted from their shoulders. All this hardship and they could finally return to working with the others and rebuild L’Manberg. Return it to its former glory.

Tubbo got appointed President and Y/N was happy with it. Tubbo had an eye for building and was a good person, with him they were sure they could do some amazing things.

Apparently Techno thought otherwise. Instead he pulled Soulsand out, holding onto the Wither skulls as a visible threat.

Y/N had somewhat forgiven Techno for what had happened. It was a stressful situation and they acknowledged it but seeing him there, threatening to kill all of them? That they knew they couldn’t forgive quite so easy. Especially since he made some sound points but it was their L’Manberg. The people didn’t like living under Schlatt’s rule, this wasn’t something that could be described simply as a coup. Technically he was right but only technically. There were so many things that came into play that could let you argue over that but Techno would have none of it. Yelling something about Tommy only wanting to be a hero.

When the first explosions rang Y/N thought it came from a Wither but Techno was still in the middle of putting the heads onto the structure.

When more explosions rang and the ground beneath their feet broke away, Y/N understood what had happened.

At some point Wilbur ran off and must have pressed the button. The button that set the TNT beneath the city ablaze, effectively destroying everything.

Y/N was too busy with finding hard ground again and then dealing with the Withers and Techno that they only noticed after the fighting ended, how broken the nation was now.

They had won. Why would Wilbur do this? He knew how much the nation meant to them and again, they had won, so there was no reason for blowing the place up!

And if that wasn’t enough to see how both their older brothers destroyed everything Y/N worked for, they also had to see how Philza, their father, stood next to the corpse of Wilbur. It felt like they lost everything.

They lost their trust in Technoblade.

They lost their hopes and dreams via Wilbur blowing up the freshly liberated L’Manberg.

They lost their trust in their own father who had slain his own son.

Y/N felt absolutely crushed. Family was so important to them and it was their own family that destroyed their hopes and dreams. They did everything for them and this is how they repaid them?

Once everything calmed down and Tubbo begun making plans on how to rebuild the nation, he immediately came to Y/N for help but they hesitated which worried him.

“Is everything okay? Usually you would have jumped on that offer, Y/N.”

Y/N put on a smile that didn’t seem to reach their eyes “Don’t worry Tubbo, of course I’ll help you. I’m just tired from what we have been through. I finally have time to take a breather and I think it all just crashed down on me.”

“Well if you ever need help you can talk to me.” It was an earnest offer that Y/N would never take advantage of.

Y/N mostly ignored Philza. He talked with them a few times and even explained what has happened but Y/N still made a wide berth around him. Seeing him just hammered back down the feeling of distrust and hurt. Their familial relationship took a hard hit from that point on.

With Ghostbur it was a weird situation as well. They enjoyed spending time with him but were also always incredibly sad around him. Ghostbur took notice of this and would always offer them to take some of his blue but Y/N declined every time.

“Don’t worry Ghostbur. Everything is still just fresh in my mind. I’ll be back to my old self in no time. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

“Of course Y/N! You have always looked out for me, thank you.”

L’Manberg slowly took on a proper form again but it wasn’t the L’Manberg Y/N knew. It felt to them like they were standing on top of a grave. A grave for their dreams and it was getting hard, real hard, to walk through it every day seeing places where they know specific buildings should be standing. Buildings they build on their own only to be destroyed by their brothers doing.

Then Tubbo exiled Tommy and Y/N felt conflicted. They felt obligated to stay in L’Manberg since they were the main person people came to for builds but that was their brother. Their only brother they still trusted and felt a need to protect.

Instead of following him into exile they stayed in the city. Visiting Tommy whenever they could, noticing pretty fast that he was struggling hard with his situation and for once they didn’t feel strong enough to properly support him. Y/N tried their best but once they noticed they couldn’t reach him completely they gave up a tiny bit.

It reminded them too much of Wilbur.

So while they visited him and helped them where they could, they spent more and more time alone in their home only coming out for work and other necessary things like food. Soon it was normal to see them with ever present dark circles beneath their eyes.

Before Philza disappeared to join Techno, he would stop by Y/N’s home all the time.

“Have you eaten, yet?”

“Yes, dad. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“I just haven’t seen you much lately and I got worried.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Hey, if you go out, please, can you tell Ghostbur to stop coming around to throw Blue inside my mailbox? He won’t listen to me but perhaps he will to you.” And they would always carry the same big smile on their face accompanied by empty eyes.

The only time their happiness reached their eyes again was when Tommy returned from his exile. They crashed into their younger sibling holding him close to them and muttering apologies. He pried them off, embarrassed by all of this.

This short bout of happiness was destroyed by Doomsday. Dream, Technoblade and Philza once again made sure to set L’Manberg ablaze.

The second time Y/N’s fruits and labor got completely annihilated by their family but still they had some hopes this time. They still had Tommy on their side they could just finally build a home somewhere else and live in peace but Tommy had other ideas. He had it in his mind to get his discs back and he would do anything for it.

So while Y/N tried to ground themself with new hopes and ideas, holding onto the only constant of what was important to them, that being Tommy, Tommy ignored them. He was too busy with his own things and the worst part was that Y/N couldn’t even fault him for it.

They understood how much these discs meant to him and that this was something that had to come to an end but with this they lost another, and possibly their last, anchor point.

Yet you could still see them running around with a smile, tending to every one and trying to help out the best they could.

Then suddenly they were gone. They just disappeared one day. The few people who took note of that took some time to look around but there was no sign as to where they left. Y/N didn’t take their armor with them nor any weapons or food.

< Y/N succumbed to despair and fell of a high place>

When every ones communicators rung out with this message the SMP fell quiet.

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was reading. This didn’t make any sense. Y/N was fine! They would talk with them and everything looked fine! This must have been a cruel joke from Dream somehow, right? This couldn’t be real. Why would Dream do this? This didn’t seem to make sense.

Exactly there was no sense in Dream doing this.

While Tommy was battling with his thoughts Tubbo came running over to him. Tears streamed down his face.

“What happened? Why did this happen? Where are they?”

Tommy was visibly shaking “I- I have no idea. I don’t know. They looked fine. I’m- I’m not sure. Tubbo-“

Tubbo just slammed into him, giving him a proper hug, trying his best to help Tommy through his rising panic. He lost another sibling and by Ender that hurt.

Meanwhile in the snowy Tundra both Philza and Techno were staring at their communicators as well.

Philza was pale. So pale it almost rivaled the snow around him.

Techno had his brows furrowed. For anyone who didn’t know him well enough he looked at best displeased with this situation but Philza could see the small details that told a different story. Him sucking his breath in as he read the message, hiding his quivering lip in his cloak. He was heartbroken.

Sure the two weren’t on good speaking terms but Y/N was still his younger sibling. He still loved them.

Philza felt similar. He acknowledged that he screwed up and honored their wish to be left alone by him but he never imagined this could lead to their death. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. Two of his children died, one directly by his hand and the other due to his inaction.

His eyes glossed over, the world became a blur and yet he continued rereading this message over and over. Y/N just lost their last life.

Philza could hear Techno walk closer to him and sat down on the ground as well.

“Y/N is-“ Philza begun but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. State the obvious to his eldest son?

“I have more fault in this than you, dad. Don’t feel guilty.” His voice was uncharacteristically weak. Wavering as he spoke. He wanted to cheer Philza up but it was a weak attempt.

“What have we done.”

Ghostbur was at first confused when he read the message. It was like he couldn’t connect the dots but it slowly dawned on him what this meant.

“Oh my.” His usual happy demeanor was suddenly gone.

He touched his face and as he put his hands back down he saw how they were smeared with blue.

“Y/N is dead?”

His usual ghost behavior seemed to break a bit. It was like through the warped version of Wilbur that was called Ghostbur for a moment the true version of him came through again. And he was hurt. Devastated.

“I think I need to find the others.” He mumbled to himself, making his way towards his family. All the while he held onto the blue wool of Friend like a lifeline. Combing through it nervously. Blue continuing to spill from his eyes.

[jaeminlore]

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

-

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

-

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

-

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

-

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

-

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

-

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

-

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

-

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

-

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

-

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

-

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[cherienymphe]

Fine Line (Harry Styles x Reader)

WARNINGS: darkish themes, slight dubious consent, drug use, this is the tamest thing I’ve ever written

! PLEASE DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !

➥ divider by @lootbox​

summary: your friendship with Harry has teetered on the edge of something more for years, the lines blurring until they were hardly visible. Harry has grown tired of this game

~

You could feel his eyes on you.

You could always feel them on you, the heat of his gaze so suffocating in a way that was hard to ignore. You didn’t even have to turn around to see the way his pink lips were pressed together, jaw clenching ever so slightly as the green of his eyes darkened just a tad. You’d witnessed it enough times to picture it as clear as day in your mind. A shudder passed through you, and the handsome blond before you noticed.

He was some lanky fratboy type, a bit too into himself, but a nice distraction nonetheless. The rowdy bar was filled with a seedy crowd of prospects, the pickings slim, and the man before you seemed like the best route to go. You hadn’t even wanted to come out, but Harry had given you some half-assed tale, voice gruff on the other end of the phone, as to why you should when Sarah had suggested the idea. His drummer loved a night out on the town.

It wasn’t shocking to find the brown-haired boy occupied with a fiery-haired model type whose smile seemed a tad bit wide. You had scanned the crowd for any other members of his backup band, but upon failing to find a familiar face, you’d reluctantly made your way to the bar. That was how you’d run into Tyler, the fair-haired man’s eyes lighting up the minute he noticed you. You took a sip out of the drink he’d bought you.

“Cold?” he wondered, and you started to shake your head, but decided against it.

How could you explain to him that your shivers had nothing to do with the temperature but instead the paralyzing gaze of your friend?

“A little,” you replied with a sheepish smile.

Ever the gentleman, or simply a guy who knew how to play the game to get what he wanted, he peeled his own jacket off. You took in the way his shirt clung to him, and as you raised your brows at his exposed arms, you thought to yourself that he wasn’t as lanky as you believed. Maybe the night would prove to be more fruitful than you thought. He’d only just moved to throw it around you when he paused, and even before his dark eyes fell onto something behind you, you knew what had made him stop. That suffocating heat clung to your back, draping over you like a blanket, much like the arm that found its way over your shoulder.

“I didn’t see you come in.”

His chest rumbled with the low timber of his voice as he pulled you against him, his hand coming around to brush his fingers along your exposed collarbone. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but couldn’t hold back your grimace as the man before you flickered his gaze between you and the brunette at your back. His face fell, and even though you’d still been undecided on whether or not you were going to go home with him, you still mourned the loss of the possibility. 

“Oh...uh-.”

“Oh, hey man. Harry,” your friend introduced himself, and you almost sneered at the way he pretended to only just notice the person you’d been talking to.

He stuck his hand out, but Tyler only responded with a forced smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he tersely said before his gaze fell onto you. “...you too. It was nice talking to you.”

The disappointment in both his eyes and voice was almost enough to make you tell him that the guy behind you wasn’t a boyfriend. Far from it even, but Harry’s deep chuckle stopped you from calling the man back, and you turned to face him with a frown.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?”

You downed the rest of your drink before walking past him, and Harry kept up with your pace, hand coming up to rest on the back of your neck as his stride matched yours.

“...and what have I done?”

“You know what you did,” you complained with a scoff.

“You’ll thank me later, love. That guy looked much too tame for you.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you shook your head.

“I’m going home. I shouldn’t have come out anyway,” you grumbled, and surprise filled you when Harry followed you to the door.

“I guess I’ll be joining you then. Not much worth giving my attention to in there…”

You glanced up at him just as the door of the bar shut behind you, cutting off the noise of customers and drunkards alike.

“The redhead looked interesting enough,” you commented.

He didn’t respond right away, and when you glanced at him again, his eyes were on you.

“Paying much attention to us, were you?”

You shoved him away from you, and his laugh reached your ears.

“Hardly. You were the one who begged me to come out remember? The least you could do is greet me at the door.”

You yelped when Harry wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“Missed me?”

Now it was your turn to chuckle, and you ignored the way his gaze zeroed in on you, like he was trying to devour you and figure you out all at the same time.

“...and if I said yes?”

He ran his eyes over your face, the green of them a tad brighter from the glow of the moon, a cool breeze ruffling his dark curls.

“Then I’d have to remind you that I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Unable to hold his gaze, something you’re rarely able to do, you glanced away. Your eyes found the sidewalk as Harry continued his trek, pulling you into his side. The warmth of him seeped through your dress and clung to your skin, like every part of him seemed to do. Your friendship with the former teen band member turned rockstar was very...strange.

You’d met years ago, only months before the release of his first album. You’d been the friend of a friend and had met at some party hosted by someone you couldn’t even name now. You were a different person then. Legs wobbly and brain fuzzy from the many drinks you’d downed, you’d mistaken Harry for your boyfriend. 

The singer had had no desire to correct you as you fisted your hands in his hair, tongue halfway down his throat as he basked in the taste of some fruity drink on it. The lighting at the party had been dim, and you’d only realized your mistake when you were seconds away from shoving your hand down his pants in some bedroom. The empty boudoir had been bathed in light, and you still remembered the way he’d laughed when realization hit you. You were embarrassed as you stumbled into the hallway and downstairs, in search of your boyfriend.

That particular relationship ended up not lasting another week, and the next time you met Harry, it had been a much more formal setting. You’d officially been introduced and could hardly meet Harry’s eye as he shook your hand, a teasing smile on his lips. Despite the interesting start to your friendship, it was one that grew to stand the testament of time. Harry meant the world to you, and you were the first person he’d call when he had too much to drink and needed a place to crash. Your friendship was great…

...if you ignored the tension.

A heavy air had descended over your friendship forever ago, perhaps from the first night you’d met, and it had never seemed to go away. You could never pinpoint what it was or where it stemmed from, but it was there in the way Harry’s fingers tapped along your thigh while he drove. Or the way he’d wrap his arm around your neck when you’d be standing with your friends, nose brushing over your hair every once in a while. Or the way he’d find his way into your bed during the early hours of the morning when he stayed over, burying his face into your neck, sleep claiming him once again.

For so long, your relationship teetered on that line between friends and something more. You’d thought that all friendships were different and this was just how yours was, but eventually you had to admit it to yourself that the lines were blurred. They always had been, and you wondered to yourself how you’d ever begin to unblur them. That was what you wanted right? 

“You mind if I crash at yours t’night? Your pullout is more comfortable than my bed.”

Harry’s voice pulled you from your trance, and you gave him a shaky nod. With a crooked smile, he pulled you closer, burying his nose into your hair as he led you to your apartment. The rest of the walk was quiet, and the silence felt heavy for some reason as you finally walked up the stairs. You guessed that Harry had way more to drink than you did because he wasted no time before heading to take a shower, clearly desperate to get what you guessed was some much needed sleep.

He’d made a habit of leaving clothes over at your place, so finding something to place on the bathroom counter for him was no hard task. The low timbre that was his voice could be heard as he hummed a few notes, and you busied yourself with warming up some leftovers, determined to get the taste of alcohol out of your mouth. You were done eating by the time he came out, and you wondered to yourself why this always happened.

If things between the two of you were tense and bordering the line of something more around your friends, then it was something else entirely when you two were alone. Harry liked to study you, emerald eyes focused on you any chance they got as he gave you his undivided attention. It made you feel like every twitch of your jaw, every frown, every grimace was accounted for. Nothing concerning you got past him.

Harry watched you like a lover.

“There’s plenty more in there,” you told him as he made his way into the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t eat so late,” he chided, and as you glanced at the ‘3:00’ on the microwave, you supposed that he was right.

You shrugged before standing, moving to put your dishes in the sink. You could feel him behind you, and you ignored the way goosebumps broke out over your skin. You weren’t surprised when his arms came around you, the appendages pulling you back into his chest. You glanced down at the ink that covered his arms and swallowed.

“Do you work tomorrow?”

Confusion filled you at his question, but you answered nonetheless.

“No. Why?”

You tilted your head to look at him, eyes widening a bit as you realized your lips were a hair’s width away from each other.

“Niall’s in town. He’s throwing a little get together and wants you to come…”

Something in his eyes gave you pause, and you got the feeling that he didn’t want you to go. Was it because you had a habit of letting go at any party you went to? Or was it because you and Niall got along so well? Almost as well as you and Harry. You resisted the urge to sigh at yourself, telling yourself that you were overthinking it. Maybe Harry didn’t want to go and was looking for an excuse not to.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t seen the blond singer in over a year and missed him too much.

“Sure! Just let me know what time…”

Harry swept his gaze over you, so quickly you thought you’d imagined it, before sending you a tight smile.

“Great.”

He left you, and as you turned back to your dishes and Harry made quick work of pulling out the couch, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t think it was so great.

“I miss the blonde.”

That was the first thing you’d said to Niall, and he only laughed before pulling you into a tight hug. He hadn’t been around for nearly a year, but it did nothing to deter people from showing up. You could hardly move through the large apartment without brushing shoulders with someone. Harry had long left you to get something to drink, but you surmised that the brunette got distracted with either a familiar face or a pretty one. Maybe both.

By now you were way more relaxed than you were when you arrived, alcohol coursing through your system as you chatted with Mitch and Charlotte. The guitarist and piano player were catching you up on what you and Harry had missed last night after you left the bar. Something about cheating boyfriends and a fight. You were mid laugh when you glanced over and made eye contact with someone you thought you’d never see again. 

An old flame. Someone whose name you didn’t even want to speak let alone think. You two had never been official or anything, keeping things casual, but the eventual fall out had been messy and certainly wasn’t something you wanted to revisit. His jet black hair looked as neat as ever, bright eyes wide from some fashion drug, no doubt, and you suddenly had the urge to hide yourself away.

“I’ll be right back. Need to use the bathroom,” you told the pair before you.

You excused yourself before they had a chance to reply, making your way down the extensive hallway before depositing yourself in the very last room. You didn’t even know that him and Niall were friends, but you couldn’t blame the Irish singer for his actions. Your fling with the man in there had been lowkey, kept under wraps, so it’s not like Niall would’ve known.

Harry did though, and luckily for you, he was the one that intruded on your solitude.

“There you are,” he drawled, closing the door behind him. “I saw Andy come in...figured I’d find you hiding somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes with a shrug.

“I’m a coward. What else is new?”

You started to stand, but paused when Harry joined you on the bed, reaching into his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Well,” he started, pulling out the blunt and a lighter. “I had planned to welcome Niall back properly, but I think you need it more than him.”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled in your throat, no attempt to deny his statement. You accepted as he passed it to you, unable to remember the last time you’d gotten high. You didn’t know how many minutes passed like that, the both of you sitting next to each other in silence, but eventually, like always, you felt Harry’s gaze on you. It was warm and pressing, and when you looked up at him, he didn’t bother to look away.

He was never ashamed of getting caught.

“Why do you do that?” you suddenly asked him.

“Do what?” he wondered.

The smirk on his pink lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes told you that he knew exactly what you were talking about, and you told him as such. His smirk simply grew, and when you reached for the blunt, he held it out of reach. You didn’t know what game he was playing at, but he brought it up to his lips instead, and your eyes widened with realization as he neared you. You knew what Harry was going to do, and while you were unsure if you wanted him to, you didn’t make any moves to stop him. You were paralyzed.

The last time you kissed Harry, you could barely remember what it felt like...what he’d felt like. Not this time. His lips met yours, the feel of them soft and tasting faintly of alcohol. For a moment, you forgot that he wasn’t just kissing you, and your eyes fell closed as you basked in the feel of him. Parting your lips, you inhaled the smoke that escaped his own, and your lashes fluttered at the feel. Harry held himself there for a moment, letting you breathe it all in before eventually pulling away.

Your heart was pounding.

There was a grin on his face when his eyes met yours again, and you watched in awe as he stood up, holding out his hand. As you took it, allowing him to pull you to your feet, you wondered to yourself how he did it. How could he be so casual while you were still reeling, feeling like you’d inhaled not only the smoke, but him as well? How could he take your friendship in his hands and dance along the line so well? Getting so close, but never fully crossing it.

It amazed you and terrified you in ways that left your head spinning.

The rest of the party went by without incident, and you and Andy avoided each other like the plague. Or perhaps, he could have been avoiding you. Harry’s constant presence might have contributed to that. Even now, as you relaxed in the backseat with Harry while Niall gave you a ride back to your place, you could recall the feather light touches of Harry’s fingers on your arm, your shoulder, your neck and even your back.

When you finally made it to your apartment, you both waved Niall goodbye, telling him you’d see him tomorrow. Harry, having way more to drink than you did, was a bit unsteady on his feet, but was far from wasted. However, you wondered how true that really was when your back met the wall the minute the door was closed. Harry was closer than he ever was, hands pressed into the wall at your sides, nose brushing over yours.

Too shocked by the position you found yourself in, you merely stared at the brunette. Your lips parted, but no words came out, and his green gaze was drawn to the action. Reminding yourself that you needed to breathe, you did so, heart skipping a beat when your chest brushed against his with the action. There was that look again, like he was trying to devour you and figure you out all at once, and you brushed your tongue over your bottom lip.

“Harry, I think that you’re…”

Your words died on your tongue when Harry’s lips met yours for the second time that night. This wasn’t like your first kiss all those years ago where you were drunk and thought he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t even like the one earlier that only served a purpose to get you a little high. This was a real kiss, one done with the intention of creating butterflies in your stomach and pulling moans from your throat. You didn’t know why Harry was kissing you, and while this uncharted territory scared you and made you want to shrink in on yourself, you couldn’t find the strength to voice your fears.

Harry’s hands were on your neck, fingers grazing the hair at the nape as he tilted your head whichever way he liked. His lips completely covered yours, leading in a way you’d never experienced before. You’d kissed a lot of guys, some of them bad, some of them great, but none like Harry. Every brush of his fingers had you trembling, and a low whine had climbed out of your throat just as your phone rang. 

Startled by the sound, you both jumped apart, and you pressed your hand to your mouth as you stared at him with wide eyes. You were positive that your apprehension and confusion was clear as day in your eyes, but Harry’s heated gaze reflected nothing of the sort. You swallowed at the way they darkened, the hunger in them as they narrowed, almost daring you to answer the call. Against your better judgement, you did just that, and hurriedly brushed past him as your mother started talking on the other end.

You had locked your door that night, and if Harry had tried to give into his usual habit of sleeping in your bed in the early hours of the morning, you were none the wiser. He had been gone when you woke up, and you didn’t even bother to swallow your sigh of relief. You hadn’t been ready to face him, ready to confront the shift in your relationship, and even an entire week later, that hadn’t changed. You’d always been a coward, but now there was no denying it.

You were avoiding Harry.

Most of his texts were only replied to with one or two word answers, and any talk of meeting up was deterred with some half assed excuse you’d come up with. You didn’t know how to navigate this new territory you found yourself in. You didn’t even know if you liked Harry in that way. Of course, someone would be a fool not to, but you’d never been the smartest of the bunch. Your apprehension was because of more than just him being an international heartthrob though.

Harry always behaved in a way that blurred the lines of your friendship. There was a time when you accepted that it was just who he was, but you were forced to rethink that when you noticed that he didn’t behave that way with anyone else. There were a few moments over the years where you wondered if he was just biding his time, teasing you with his intentions, dangling the inevitable in your face time and time again.

It was clear that he’d gotten tired of teasing.

Unfortunately, with Niall in town, you couldn’t avoid the man forever. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t refuse Niall when he’d asked you to come out on one of his last nights. Even though you knew Harry would be there. It was how you found yourself stepping inside of the dark club with a grimace.

Neon lighting lit up the establishment, and you could hardly hear yourself think with how loud the music was. With the daunting crowd before you, it was a miracle that Niall had even spotted you, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards whatever table they’d claimed for the night. He was there. Even with your eyes fixated on your feet, you could feel that suffocating stare that never failed to make your stomach turn.

Only you could never figure out if it was in a good way or bad one.

You slid in across from him, and you finally lifted your eyes to meet his green ones. As usual, he was shameless in his perusal, dark curls resting messily on his head in a way that only he could pull off. He was sipping on a drink he’d bought, head tilted ever so slightly at you as he smirked behind the glass. Unable to hold firm under his scrutiny and judgement, you excused yourself under the guise of getting a drink.

You had to lean against the counter as you made it to the bar, taking a few deep breaths. You thought to yourself that this night was going to be harder than you thought, and with that, you ordered the strongest drink you could think of. The bartender had just walked away when you were startled by the sight of familiar hands pressing into the bar on either side of you. You felt his chest at your back a moment later, and you both sharply inhaled at the same time.

“Why ‘ave you been avoiding me?”

You weren’t surprised that he got straight to the point, so you decided to follow his lead.

“You kissed me,” was your simple response.

He didn’t respond right away, and if possible, you felt him step closer, chest flush against your back now. You felt him lean in, and your skin pricked when his lips grazed your ear.

“Did you not want me to?” he lowly asked.

The question seemed rhetorical in nature, but you answered anyway.

“Yes...no… I don’t know,” you sighed.

Against your better judgement, you turned around in the cage he’d made of himself, and your eyes met his as your back pressed into the bar.

“We’re friends, Harry,” you told him.

His eyes glinted with something that struck fear into you, the corner of his pink lips curving upwards into a mocking smirk.

“We’ve never been friends...and you know it.”

You didn’t respond to his words, to what you had long been denying, and instead you looked to the ground.

“I like what we have,” you murmured. “I don’t know if I want you in that way.”

“Then let me help you find out,” he whispered.

Those words traveled straight to your stomach, and you ignored the heat that flared within you. You turned to grab your drink that the bartender brought, and Harry slowly straightened, releasing you. Without meeting his eyes again, you rushed past him to join your friends. The tense air between you two remained for the rest of the night. Despite how much you wanted to just leave, you didn’t want to disappoint Niall, and so you endured it.

You put up with Harry’s heated and predatory gaze. You endured that mocking look in his eyes, equally scornful smirk on his lips every time your stare met his. Even when you found yourself on the dance floor, his fingers dancing along whatever sliver of skin you’d decided to show. However, if you were being honest, that wasn’t something you forced yourself to endure. The trail of fire that his fingers left in their wake proved that.

Unsurprisingly, you had your limit, and the time came where you couldn’t take anymore.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” you told Niall, pulling him into a hug.

“You’re no fun anymore. It’s not even 12! I remember when you didn’t even slow down til 4,” he chuckled.

“It’s just one of those days,” you sighed.

He let you go, and you waved everyone goodbye. The only one who didn’t return it was Harry, and you got the feeling that he had no intentions of wishing you a good night.

Not yet.

You took a much needed shower when you got home, and the hot water did the trick of washing your stress away. Even in the confines of your bathroom, you could still feel Harry’s hungry gaze, and you wondered to yourself if this was it. If this was the point of no return for your friendship. Body still buzzing with the after effects of Harry’s presence, you decided to clean up the apartment a bit. When that was done, you cooked a snack, no mind given to how late it was.

It was a little under 2 hours later, nearing 2 in the morning, when there was a knock on your door. Despite the fact that you knew who it was, a sinking feeling in your gut that told you all you needed to know, you still asked.

“It’s Harry,” he drawled, and you noted that he didn’t sound drunk.

You didn’t know if that relieved you or not.

With a sigh, you stood in front of the door for what felt like the longest time. You debated with yourself on whether or not to let him in. Despite the weird limbo the two of you seemed to be in, he was still your friend, and yet… Somehow...you knew… You knew that if you let him in, your friendship would change forever. You didn’t know how you knew, but you just knew. Still, eventually you sighed and reached for the door, telling yourself that such a prediction was not a guarantee. 

Harry’s eyes were clouded with something you couldn’t -or didn’t want to- name as you opened the door. He’d taken off his jacket, and you wondered how the cold didn’t affect his bare arms. Neither one of you said anything as he strode inside, and you quickly turned to face him as you closed the door. You didn’t like the idea of turning your back to him. You pressed yourself to the door as he merely stared at you, a dark curl hanging into his face, and you exhaled.

“I’ll leave some clothes in the bathroom,” you quietly told him as you stepped by.

He didn’t follow, and you were grateful, quickly finding him something to sleep in. He was nearing the bathroom just as you left it, and you folded your arms over your chest as he eyed you.

“You know how to get the couch sorted. See you in the morning?”

His uncharacteristic silence unnerved you, and you fought the urge to squirm under his piercing gaze. He ran his eyes over you, slowly, and you swallowed. Harry’s gaze snapped to the action, eyes tracing your throat before lingering on your lips. Eventually, his eyes met yours again, lips pulling into a humorless crooked smile as he brushed past you, shoulder grazing yours.

“Of course.”

You blinked as the door shut behind you before forcing your feet to move. You shut your bedroom door behind you just as the sound of running water could be heard, and you hadn’t even realized that your fingers were trembling. You turned towards your door, hand hovering over the knob as you remembered what had transpired the last time that he was here. Your heart pounded beneath your chest, and confusion filled you as you mulled over what you may or may not want. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you back away, leaving the door unlocked, and you slipped into bed.

You didn’t know what time it was when you heard the soft click of your door snapping shut. It was hardly loud by any means, but it woke you nonetheless. Blinking a few times, you stared into the darkness before the overwhelming sense of being watched gripped you. Pushing yourself up with your elbows, you took in Harry’s form as he stood at the end of your bed.

“Mind if I crawl in?”

Weeks ago, you would have said yes without hesitation, but now you didn’t know if you minded or not. Even in the dark, you couldn’t escape that paralyzing gaze, and for some reason, you got the sense that Harry wouldn’t leave even if you did mind. At least not right away...not without making you squirm a bit first.

You pulled the covers back, a silent agreement, but you were stunned when Harry merely gripped them and pulled them completely off of the bed and out of your hands. Your eyes widened as he pressed a knee into the mattress, crawling over you, wasting no time before his lips met yours in a heated kiss. You had no time to process what was happening, Harry immediately finding comfort in between your parted legs.

If you thought the kiss before was real, then it was nothing compared to the way he kissed you now. The one before was almost immature in nature, timid in comparison, and it wasn’t hard to pinpoint why. Harry kissed you like a man starved, finally getting what he’d been craving, what he’d gone so long without.

You could hardly move as he had you pinned beneath him, fingers dancing up your legs, taking your t-shirt with them as they went. You finally felt like you could breathe when he dragged his lips down to your jaw, pressing kisses there before shifting his attention to your neck instead. It was insane. With how many guys you’d slept with, none of them came close to making you feel how Harry did. And he was barely laying a finger on you.

You felt him pull at your underwear, a gasp escaping you when he dragged them down your legs. Was this really happening? Was this something you wanted to happen? If you wanted, there was still time to salvage this friendship, to stop things before they truly went too far. Despite your own conflicted feelings on the matter, you opened your mouth to do just that, but Harry’s lips swallowed your words, long fingers finding their way inside of you.

You gasped into his mouth, only just now feeling his rings press into your skin, shudders wracking your frame as he played with you. In and out. That was all you could comprehend, how he moved them within you, curling them with every thrust and every flick of his wrist. Harry groaned as he tasted the inside of your mouth, pulling away to sit up on his knees. You were a squirming mess beneath him, and he pressed his other hand onto your stomach to hold you down when your back lifted from the bed.

Your head was thrown back, mouth parted and eyes focused on your ceiling. Every attempt to swallow down a moan was unsuccessful, and it wasn’t long before his own name started to tumble from your lips. You wrapped one hand around his wrist, nails pressing into his skin as he pushed his fingers into you, the sound of your arousal filling the room. Your other hand wrapped around his arm, holding on as your climax creeped up on you, crescendoing until you were shaking beneath him, feet pressing into the bed while Harry watched you come undone.

You still shook as he withdrew from you, and you watched as he wrapped his lips around his fingers, a low moan escaping at the taste of you. His lashes fluttered closed, like he was savoring it, and when he opened his eyes again, they were the most serious you’d ever seen them. The seconds that followed were a blur.

Your shirt was easily ripped off of you, and Harry’s own clothes soon followed, landing on the floor just as he settled over you again. He took your face into his hands, drinking you in with a look that scared you. It wasn’t just triumph, but it was satisfaction and yearning and possessiveness all rolled into one. It was so similar to how he always looked at you, but it was also so different. You thought that you had seen through him, could read him so well, but this was a rude awakening.

Harry had hid much more than you could have ever imagined.

He kissed you again, pressing his lips against yours so fiercely, you were sure they’d bruise. The cool metal of his rings pressed into your jaw, and he breathed into your lips, his lower half shifting, lifting, just before he flipped you over. A gasp escaped you when the room spun, and you blinked as you adjusted to this new position on your stomach. Harry’s fingers fisted into your hair, lips grazing your neck, and that was all the warning you got.

A choked moan escaped you when he thrust into you, your warm walls welcoming him like he belonged there. Perhaps he did, and perhaps Harry had known that all along. He moaned into your neck, the sound deep and shaky, the vibrations traveling through your heated frame. He held himself there for the longest time, just delighting in the feel of you wrapped around him. You did the same, eyes falling closed at your fullness, at how Harry seemed to stretch you so good.

One hand was still in your hair, the other pressing into your waist as he pulled back until only the tip of him remained before he snapped his hips against you. Your eyes flew open, your gasp bleeding into breathy moans as Harry set an unrelenting pace. Every curve of his hips had your toes curling, and you wondered to yourself why you hadn’t done this sooner. What had you been so afraid of? As Harry pressed kisses to your neck, fingers tightening in your hair, you remembered what you had been so afraid of.

Yes, Harry had always looked at you like a lover, but never like a lover that he was trying to court, that he hoped would be his. He looked at you like he already knew what you tasted like, felt like. Harry looked at you like a lover that was already his. No matter how many men you’d slept with nor how many drunken makeout sessions you’d participated in, Harry always looked at you like you belonged to him.. He touched you like you were his, wrapped you up in his arms, slid in behind you during the early hours of the morning before the sun even rose like you were his.

You feared what would happen when you finally were.

Your hand clutched the pillow, other fingers scraping the sheets as he pushed himself in and out of you. You could hardly speak, let alone keep your eyes open, and you squeezed them shut, fingers tightening on the pillow with every snap of his hips. You bit your lip, embarrassed by the sounds he was drawing out of you, but despite your efforts, soft whimpers found their way into the air.

“You feel so good, pet,” he breathed. “Doing so well…”

You clenched around him at his praise, and his deep chuckle reached your ears.

“You like that, do you?”

Certain that you were drawing blood by now, you released your lip, a shaky sigh escaping you. The sound of skin slapping against skin overshadowed everything else, and you pressed your forehead against the sheets. Harry had you caged beneath him, his other hand leaving your waist and pressing into the mattress beside your head. Your scalp burned from his tight grip, and your core burned even hotter from his thrusts. When you peeled your eyes open again, you were surprised to find your vision blurry, and it was only after you blinked did you take note of the tears kissing your lashes.

Crying during sex was a first for you, but it couldn’t be helped. Harry was fucking you so good, and you wondered how you’d ever go to anyone else. A laugh threatened to bubble in your chest, but all that escaped was another moan. As if Harry would ever let you… The way he touched you, kissed you, fucked you...it made you think that he wasn’t planning to let you go anytime soon.

You could feel your stomach tightening, and you reached back to twist your fingers into his dark curls. He groaned at the action, picking up his pace, and his name slipped from your lips again and again and again. Each time a bit higher than the last, and the coil within you snapped, your core clenching and fluttering around his cock. He stilled against you, dewy chest pressed to your back as he spilled into you, flooding your insides with a low moan.

You weren’t even able to catch your breath before he was maneuvering your head to kiss you. He swallowed what little breath you had left, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back, never breaking the kiss. Your eyes were barely open when he pulled away, and you moved to chase his lips with your own, missing the feel of them already, but his hands on your face prevented you from doing so.

You stared at each other for what felt like a long time, your lashes fluttering as you gazed into his eyes. Harry’s thumbs brushed circles into your skin, and his eyes glinted with something unknown as his lips pulled into a smirk. With a satisfied chuckle, he leaned down to kiss you again. 

~

tags: @lokislastlove​ @honeychicana​

[tth-pdf]

Burning for love; JJK [03]

Contents: Smut, little bit of dirty talk, supernatural themes, romance, fluff, unedited.

Pairing: Werewolf!alpha!jungkook x omega!reader

Summary: A handsome man is hunting you in the dreams world, making every day more difficult to repress the need to come find him in the middle of the night to submit yourself to his every wish.

Requests: ON

A/N: Hello angels, sorry for the LONG wait, was so busy with school and depressing myself, but here it is, I tried to do my best and please also remember that English is not my first language be kind (😩), sorry for any grammar mistake, enjoy it and take care besties! 💖

Jungkook was insatiable, he just couldn’t seem to get enough of you, he has already fuck you senseless on the kitchen counter, the sofa, the living room floor, the restroom sink, simply everywhere, but he seem to want more and more and more, he wanted so much that you could hardly believe it.

Right now you were waking up, feeling incredibly good, feeling like everything was fine, but those emotions were gone as soon as common sense started to come back to you. Yesterday, Jungkook’s hands everywhere, that incredible first orgasm, but the one who made it happen… His scent, his bright eyes, strong arms making you feel like you can do it all, but above all the interest he had in you, what makes you feel on cloud nine it’s the way he seemed to be mesmerized by your expressions and sounds, knowing right where to touch without a doubt. Almost every space in your skin was painted by the ferocity with which he seems to love you, that marks on your skin being the carnal representation of your wonderful night but insecurities started to rise right at this moment, your mother will be mad, she will yell at you that in the pack were more suitable omegas for alpha Jungkook, the nasty glances and the possibility that some of the females in the pack may try to take what is yours, damn, the mere thought of it makes your eyes turn bright red provoked by the sudden rage coursing through your body. Immediately sensing the unpleasant feelings in you Jungkook comes out of the bathroom, wet hair and drops of water running down his body, making your mouth water, so just like magic your body and inner wolf instruct you to crawl to the end of the bed and touch him, to offer yourself to him, second thoughts completely forgotten by now so you follow your instincts and touch and admire from his hard abdomen to caressing his broad shoulders and just show him that look in your eyes, the one he knows like the back of his hand consequence of all the hours spent admiring and getting to know your body.

“Little girl woke up hungry?”

A hand of his goes to your waist and the other caress your cheek and just like fire can light up the darkest place your senses explode inside of you and once again everything feels a hundred times more, all the textures around you, you can hear the sounds of children and women playing in the distance, even the steps of the smallest animal but his deep chuckle brings you to him again and you feel like melting. Even kneeling at the edge of the bed he is much taller than you, (like a shelter for the most difficult moments in life), warm and golden skin beneath your fingertips and the delicious beating of his heart calming all your nerves and insecurities.

You look right back at him with the same intensity, different shades of golden dancing in your eyes while his are different shades of deep purple, the connection between both of you more palpable than never, trying not to break the eye contact you turn your face to his nearest scent gland, which means is his wrist, basking yourself in his delicious aroma.

“I see what you are at puppy, but I’m afraid that I can only deal with you once before I leave”

His last words hit you hard making you feel like drowning and desperate from one moment to another.

“Are you leaving?, I thought that this days… Were for us”

He can see your teary eyes making him wish he had never said that, breaking his heart a little.

“Don’t be like that baby, I will make sure to end that meeting as soon as I can to come back to your arms but you will have to be a good girl and wait here”

You know he is in a hurry but you can not help but want submit to his wonderful hands and simply seduce him to have him eating out of the palm of your hand, have him only for yourself and memorize all his features.

“You promised it, you said you were going to make me a priority always, you lied to me”

You weren’t usually like this, but when he is around your common sense flies out of the window, so while you're throwing a tantrum and moving uncontrollably under his body he grows impatient and his alpha instincts kick in, putting with undeniably force both your wrists above your head and growls, the signal he’s giving you to submit, the air in the bedroom changing its way.

“Pretty girls know how to wait and to obey their alphas, I already told you I was sorry puppy and remember that I don’t fucking owe apologies to anyone, if I knew this wasn’t important I would have told them to fuck up, you should know your place baby, but good news for you, I’m feeling like even though you have been a little bit of a bad girl you deserve to remember me all over this pretty skin while I’m gone, isn’t that what my puppy wanted, huh?”

He manhandles you until you’re comfortably seated en his strong tights, holding his gaze you can see all the things he wants you to know, all that shit that cannot be said, all the things that are not expressed in a good way by putting them into words, so instead you will use your bond and body.

“Sit on my dick slow baby, make it hurt so you have something to remember, get yourself full of my pups”

And you do as you are told, you slip right where you belong to, starting to bounce yourself slow and hard but even though it feels like heaven you feel like you’re going to die because he doesn’t touch you, he is just watching.

“Touch me please or I’m going to hit you hard”

He laughs but you know he's holding back the urge to order you around.

“I love when my little girl turns all bossy”

You wiggle your hips not exactly knowing where to look but what makes you let out a loud moan of his name is the way he thrusts his incredible hips harder than you had planned, tip of his touching the spongy spot that makes you meet god in person.

“If I’m not gonna have you for a while at least show me that fierce side of you one more time baby, gods above, look at you, bouncing tits and pretty face with an even prettier voice filling my ears of pretty sounds, fuck puppy, turn around and see yourself on the mirror”

You tell him to wait a second because you want to remember him like this, beneath your body and that playful smirk but when you do turn a little your face to see the image that bites back at you is incredible, you even smile don’t exactly recognizing you but looking damn hot on top of your man. You can’t with the feelings so the first thing that comes to your mind is to grab a hold of some of his beautiful locks of hair and tug hard, enough for him to gain some more lustful rage and suddenly slam you in the mirror that both of you were looking a moment ago with such excitement, what brings you back to reality of the pleasure that does nothing but increase is the manly hand grabbing at your jaw, making it open slightly, enough for him to spit on it. And you fucking love it.

“That’s a good mate baby, swallow it all and show me”

All this time he hasn’t stopped that sinful hips of his so at this time it’s starting to hurt and you begin to loose all your grips but you now that he will catch you anyways.

All you are feeling is incredible, you fell full, satisfied. Your throat feels hoarse but it doesn’t matter as you held gazes once again, but it’s the whole moment, your own bubble. Watching his pretty eyes you realize that you have won in live, entirely.

“You don’t have a fucking idea of how bad I want to mount you everywhere until I know you are really pregnant, hell baby I love you so fucking much”

He is right in front of your face, both of your moths open but your not kissing, now he’s the one grabbing your hair into a fist but he can do whatever he wants with you right now and all you will say is thank you.

You’re both touching the finish lines and it’s then that you wonder if this is how it will always be, hot, sweaty and just incredible.

He kiss you right at the final, where both of you have reached the peak, smiling at each other like fools but entirely living the dream.

[...]

You know that Jungkook told you to not leave the room until he was back but you were really hungry and needing some fresh air, so knowing that maybe everyone was serving him in that meeting you dared to head for the nearest kitchen to just grab something and come back. You are happy when no one approach you on the way, focusing on the task to make you a quick drink and cut up some fruit.

You feel happy and complete, at ease with the environment despite missing your alpha a bit, but your clothes and body still smell like him so that’s something for now. That’s the same reason why you don’t hear the pretty and stealthy she-wolf approaching the kitchen, watching you closely.

“It stinks in here, you must have had a very good night young lady”

You jump a little because you are not supposed to see anybody in the sensitive state in which you now find yourself.

“Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to be here”

You murmured your words shyly so low that if it were not for the incredible senses of the lycanthrope body, the girl would have miss it.

She chuckles lightly and by her smell you know that she is a rare breed of a female alpha, but right now every smell its simply too much, almost unpleasant.

“No worries baby, no one else is here but me”

She is a little intimidating to be honest and It’s evident that she knows clearly what to do to get what she wants.

“I should… Probably go”

You try to rush towards the exit in order to feel protected inside the four walls where everything smells like Jungkook but just as you are about to walk through the door the pretty girl grabs you a little hard enough to make you let out a whimper. And it’s that exact moment that lets you know that something is awfully wrong, that you should have never left the room.

“Where are you going?, let me talk to you for a moment, I never had the pleasure of knowing you formally”

You know that she can her your heart beating uncontrollably and smell the fear mixed with nerves.

“Don’t be scared pretty thing just wanted to chat with you”

There’s something strange in her, something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“This shouldn’t be happening, I’m sorry but I really should get back to-”

While interrupting you she is also forcing you to sit on the small benches that are situated in the kitchen only to bring you to a full state of discomfort and nervousness.

“Is Jungkook really into you honey?”

The sudden questions makes you blink twice and hold a breath, this seems like a pointless conversation, she didn’t even try to do some more small talk .

“Pardon…?”

“Oh my, was I too direct?”

You still don’t see the clarity of the conversation because to your eyes she looks like a lunatic, asking questions about of nowhere.

“Honey, it’s just… Have you never heard what is whispered around the pack, about him and the pretty girl of the Kim pack or even worse… The boy with the deadly beauty from the Park family”

You do have heard the rumors, they were too strong when you were younger and more naive.

“I’m afraid that… I can’t help you with anything, I should really go…”

She puts his body in front of yours so that both of her arms are locked on the wall behind you, blocking any way out.

“Damn, just listen to me for a fucking second, I thought that you knew what was best for you”

You sit still because her harsh words came out more like an alpha command and you just couldn’t fight your true nature.

“Good girl”

You would never imagined that such a mundane phrase would disgust you so much.

“I know you don’t like me wolfie but I have been very well aware of the second thoughts that run at full speed in your little head about the bond that you share with that man”

if you had one wish, you would ask to disappear from this awful situation, if only you had listened to your alpha…

“I don’t understand what you want from me, please just let me go, I’m not going to tell Jungkook”

The female alpha just laughs a little, like you have said to her the funniest thing ever.

“He and I are at the same rank honey and of course you will not tell him anything, I have something that might interest you.”

Your posture is defensive but when she says that she backs a little and you take the opportunity to relax only little bit, a new look of curiosity in your angelic and innocent features.

“I don’t want to upset you honey but look at yourself for a second and tell me if you see yourself as the perfect representation of a good mate for someone like him”

She can easily see the insecurity cross your features because if anything has been bothering you since you found out about the bond it is that.

“I have the perfect solution to all of your concerns baby, there’s someone far more suited to take your place. Look at your neck, he hasn’t even marked you, but really, don’t worry and don’t overthink it, he will be in good hands. I know someone who can make the arrangements, all safe and of course you will be having a far more suited alpha”

It’s really stupid, but you actually think about it, as if all the previous moments with him didn't matter. At the end of the day all you're looking for is his well-being and happiness, isn't it?

People are going to talk, that's for sure, but you could assure him better commentaries and a better future, even if it's not by your side, but what will happen with the few moments that both of you have shared?

“In case you were wondering… No, you will not remember, everything will be gone as soon as the bond is broken. Just think about it for a second, remember all your insecurities and the bad feelings while being his mate, that must be annoying, let yourself be happy, both of you”

You are deep in your thoughts so you miss the way her canines grow in size and that dangerous gleam in her eyes.

“I… I’ll do it”

Call yourself a fool, but that tempting offer was enough for you to maybe, just maybe get yourself a better life, but above all a better life and opportunities for him… Or at least that was what your insecure brain thought.

Tag list: @min-nicoleee, @in-a-way-that-i-should-not, @imluckybitches, @teresaisla, @anachikartadze, @jeonwiixard, @seagulljjk

Nexts update: ?

All rights reserved.

[honklore]

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Karl.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.