#I WILL be thinking abt it all day and beyond if you just say like uhhh he/him directed towards me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prdx-invdr · 2 months

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୨୧⸝⸝﹕it’s salty in the middle of those sweet moments.

SUMMARY! for reasons unknown to him, you seem to absolutely hate lee anton. on several occasions, he’s tried to hate you right back, but found that it can be difficult to dislike someone when you’re completely infatuated with them.

PAIRING! lee anton x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, swim team!au idk what to call it actually but anton and reader are both captains, fluff, angst (kinda), (one-sided) enemies to lovers WC 6.6k

WARNING! swearing, reader is mean to anton for a while, miscommunication, i have no knowledge of swimming as a sport and had to do a lot of research for this one so sorry if this contains some inaccuracies, not proofread

NOTE! when anon requested this i jumped out of my seat bc rivals to lovers with anton was my very first wip on this acc but i scrapped it and this gave me an excuse to write abt it again

anton thinks the world of you while you think nothing of him. he’s unsure of how someone he thinks of so highly could hate him so much, and he’s even more unsure of how he could still be so enamored by you despite knowing that you feel the exact opposite way about him.

he gave up on trying to understand the root of your hatred towards him long ago.

at first, he assumed that you were just jealous of the fact that the boy’s swim team had a bigger budget than the girl’s. this wasn’t anton’s fault by any means, but he thought that you might’ve been taking your anger out on him due to his position as team captain. the school administration seemed to simply favor the boy’s swim team over yours, and even anton knew that it wasn’t fair. the favoritism meant that anton’s team received better funding, which inevitably meant better… everything.

anton vividly remembers the glare that you’re always giving him only growing in intensity the day he and his team stepped into the pool area wearing their brand new goggles and swim trunks. he recalls the way the other girls on your team looked down at their own worn out swimsuits upon seeing anton’s team’s new attire, and he felt terrible. if it were up to him, he would’ve entered the room wearing the same faded blue swim jammers he and his teammates were forced to wear at the start of the semester if it meant you’d stop looking at him with such disdain in your eyes.

if this had been the reason behind your distaste for the boy, he would’ve understood. but the hatred you held for him extended beyond swimming, too.

“your hair looks stupid like that,” he hears you mutter from behind him. he turns around, an indifferent expression adorning his features to mask his nervousness.

the fact that you still manage to get the boy’s heart racing and his palms sweating despite your cruel words is baffling to him.

anton’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, wanting to retaliate but not having the slightest idea what to say. “my hair looks like this everyday,” is all he can pathetically exhale.

you’re still staring at him with a furrowed brow and he stares back at you, perplexed. he wonders if you have anything else to say to him or if you were insulting his hair for the pure fun of it. he thinks he’d be fine with either, because at least you’re talking to him.

he feels like slapping himself in the forehead at his own lovesickness.

after a few moments of silence, you scoff, signaling with your hand that you want him to move out of your way.

wordlessly, anton obliges, stepping aside and watching as you continue on your way to whatever class you have next. he notices merely seconds afterwards that the hallway he’s currently standing in isn’t narrow in the slightest, meaning you could’ve easily gone around him and still insisted on making him move. he wishes he could dislike you— he really does.

anton turns around to find sohee and seunghan now leaning against the wall, having observed the entire interaction between you and their love-struck friend. sohee looks at him pitifully while seunghan claps, slowly and sarcastically.

“don’t,” is all anton says to them, hanging his head. he knows that they’d like to drill another lesson into his mind about how he needs to stop letting you push him around like that, and he’s not in the mood for it.

“anton, my man,” seunghan sighs, putting an arm around his shoulders. “i get that you like her, i really do, and that she’s pretty and all,” he feels anton’s shoulders momentarily tense at his words, “but i don’t think she’s into you. like, at all.”

anton shrugs the older boy’s arm off, shaking his head. “i don’t like her,” he lies through gritted teeth. sohee and seunghan share an unamused look.

in actuality, the two of them were there to witness anton fall for you firsthand. when their younger friend first saw you and two of your friends walking through the quad area of campus, they watched the way his eyes widened and the way the oxygen left his lungs. they recall thinking that anton’s heart would burst out of his chest and fall right onto the grass below the three of them. his friends were in disbelief that anton was currently standing in front of them and denying his feelings for you when they quite literally saw him develop said feelings in real time.

when anton found out that you were captain of the girl’s swim team, it only solidified the way he felt about you. being captain of the boy’s swim team himself, he thought it was the perfect setup. he was too shy to nonchalantly walk up to you and initiate conversation, but he had the notion that swimming would make good enough of an excuse.

his hopes of becoming acquainted with you through your shared interest in the sport were crushed almost immediately. when he first tried to strike up a conversation with you, you sent him a scowl that intimidated him into walking the other way. on a separate occasion, he attempted to talk to you again, only for you to turn your head and pretend that you hadn’t heard him. he hasn’t tried to initiate anything ever since, the only time the two of you ever interact being whenever you glare at him or make a remark about him in passing.

he never found out what your problem was when it came to him, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

anton sees sohee and seunghan’s solemn faces and scoffs. “i’m serious, guys!” he complains, “you’ve seen the way she acts towards me. why would i like somebody like that? that’s like setting myself up for failure.” his chest tightens as the words leave his mouth. he only said that so his friends would drop the subject, but he knows that there’s truth behind his statement. the two boys only exhale disappointedly.

sohee purses his lips. “if she didn’t absolutely hate you for no reason, you guys would probably look good together,” he comments. seunghan nods, “too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.”

for whatever reason, anton wants to defend you and tell his friend that there is no stick up your ass— you’re only hostile when it comes to him. he realizes how pitiful that sentence would sound to sohee and seunghan and decides against saying it out loud.

“stop being hung up on that girl, anton,” sohee chimes, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. you would know all about that, right? since you’re a swimmer and all.”

seunghan hits sohee in the arm jokingly. “he’s on the swim team, not a fucking merman.”

“he’s so cute, are you kidding me?” you hear rei practically squeal as you step into the locker room. she and jiwon are both already wearing their swimsuits, and the latter looks up upon hearing you enter the room.

“who are we talking about?” you smile, setting down your backpack. it’s late in the afternoon and you’re relieved to be done with your classes for the day, finally able to do what you love most.

“um,” jiwon begins, “no one in particular. right, rei?” your friend sounds a bit on edge as she turns to the girl sitting on the bench beside her, who shrugs. “we’re talking about anton,” she replies, earning a slap on the arm from jiwon. “ow! what the hell?”

jiwon watches as you halt your process of taking off your shirt, about to change into your swimsuit. she knew that your mood would turn sour at the mention of the boy; it’s a known fact amongst the members of your team that you hate lee anton.

“you think anton is cute?” you turn to rei, frowning. the girl lets out a huff of air, her bangs moving in the process. “i don’t see how you don’t,” she mutters, “and i don’t get why you hate his guts either. he’s super nice.”

you continue changing, the two girls looking away from you as you do so out of respect. “you wouldn’t understand,” is all you say in response. jiwon bites her lip, feeling bad for the boy. she’s seen it all— the fleeting, longing glances anton sends your way, and the scornful looks you send him in return. she doesn’t comment on it, not wanting to upset you, but a minuscule, intrusive part of her desperately wants to know what’s going on between you and the captain of the boy’s team.

rei, however, seems to know no boundaries. “would you be mad if i dated him, then?” she chortles, giddily kicking her legs. not facing you, she doesn’t see the way you grow tense at her question. you open your mouth to respond when a knock at the locker room door startles the three of you.

the door opens a fraction and you turn to see yujin pop her head inside. “are you guys almost ready?” she asks, scanning the room before her eyes land on you. “oh, hey, captain,” she smiles, eyes forming crescents. you wave, and the older girl continues. “coach wanted me to remind you guys that we have a joint training session today,” she clenches her teeth for a second, eyes moving to jiwon and rei who are wearing matching nervous expressions at the reminder. “you know, with the boys team,” yujin finishes, not daring to look you in the eye in fear of how you might react.

as captain of the team, you were curious as to why your coach would want to remind you of that, seeing as you were often the first person to obtain this information. upon deeper thought, you realize it was probably because even your coach knew about your hatred towards anton and wanted you to stay focused this time around rather than glaring at him every few minutes. you almost let out a laugh at the thought.

“you hear that, captain?” rei teases, “prepare yourself! don’t let anton distract you this time.”

you throw a towel in her direction, earning a grunt from her. “i should be telling you that,” you scold, “seeing as you’re obsessed with him all of a sudden.”

rei laughs, and you’re unsure of how to feel when you come to the realization that she didn’t disagree with your statement.

once you finally leave the locker room, you come face to face with your sworn enemy himself.

anton doesn’t look in your direction for as long as he normally does, memories of your interaction from earlier in the day flooding his mind. no matter how small of a gesture it is, your teammates take notice of it. “he’s not staring at you today,” gaeul whispers, shocked.

you only shake your head. “like i care,” you spit, crossing your arms, “i prefer it that way, actually. he should focus on his own team.”

wonyoung puts her hands on your shoulders from behind, lightly shaking you. “loosen up, okay?” she advises, her own eyes drifting over to anton’s team. as if on cue, anton looks over at you for a moment, watching as you joke around with your teammate. he wishes that you were even half as nice to him as you are to your team, wondering what it would be like to laugh with you the same way wonyoung is right now.

noticing anton’s preoccupied state, one of his teammates calls out to him. “captain!” anton turns his head away from you, looking his teammate in the eye. “yeah, taesan? you need something?” he inquires, getting back into his leader headspace. taesan looks over anton’s shoulder at your team, making the inference that he had been distracted by you. like always, taesan thinks to himself.

“do some stretches with me, yeah?” he says, wanting anton to fully dedicate himself to practicing instead of letting you pose as an obstacle.

anton is a good team captain— any of his teammates can attest. but it feels like anytime you’re in his presence, he’s only able to give 80% as opposed to his usual hundred, the other 20% being spent completely fixated on you.

he walks over to his dark haired teammate with a nod, agreeing to help him warm up. he thinks it serves as a more productive way to pass time than staring at you like a lovesick idiot.

“i was thinking,” taesan starts, copying the way anton does shoulder stretches to loosen his joints, “well, me and leehan were talking about it, actually. we should do a bonfire later, at the beach,” he tells the older boy.

anton licks his lips, nodding absentmindedly. “just you and leehan?” he asks, looking around the room for the boy in question. he sees leehan standing in the corner looking disinterested and waves him over. with an inaudible sigh, leehan reluctantly joins the two boys who are now doing tricep stretches. taesan shakes his head in response to the question anton had posed, “no, i meant, like, the whole team,” he corrects. “tell him, leehan,” taesan nudges his teammate.

“i hate stretching,” leehan murmurs, gaze aimed towards the white tiles beneath him. “about the bonfire, dumbass,” taesan deadpans. leehan perks up at the mention of something that he actually cares about. “oh, yeah! we’re gonna invite the whole team,” he grins, “it’ll be a blast, anton. you’ve gotta go.”

anton thinks it over, biting the inside of his cheek. “it’s already kind of late though, no?” he points out, causing the two boys on either side of him to groan. “bonfires are literally supposed to happen at night,” taesan comments at the same time leehan says, “don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“is the girls team invited?” anton can’t stop himself from asking, earning more groans from the two boys. “i don’t want to go through the trouble of inviting them,” leehan complains. “yeah,” his friend nods, “plus, he’s only asking because he wants their captain to be there.”

taesan’s comment makes anton come to a halt, and he’s now the only one out of the three of them no longer stretching. “that’s not true,” he defends himself, “i just feel kind of bad. i mean, we already have a bigger budget than them, and stuff.”

“keep telling yourself that, champ,” leehan grumbles. “we see right through you.” anton steps forward, looking at both of them simultaneously. “guys, seriously,” he says lowly, “i feel bad.”

taesan lets out a laugh, “right, you feel bad that you won’t be able to make heart eyes at y/n tonight.”

anton rubs his palm across his face, frustrated. “here’s an offer for you. you either invite the girls team, or…” he pauses, attempting to appear intimidating, “you’re not allowed to have the bonfire at all.”

the two boys scoff in unison. “you can’t just do that,” taesan snorts, “you’re our captain, not our mom.” anton scratches his head at that, disorientated. “look, i— okay,” he tries again, “i don’t know. i’ll buy you guys food, or something.”

it’s now taesan and leehan’s turn freeze in their places. “why didn’t you start with that?”

practice ends faster than you wish it had and you hoist your bag over your shoulder. you turn to jiwon and rei, about to ask if they’re ready to leave when you’re interrupted by two loud voices. “girls! hey!” you turn your head to see two members of the boys swim team— who’s names you never bothered to learn— running up to you and your friends.

“hey,” one of them pants, “don’t leave yet.” you look at your friends once more, studying their expressions that look just as confused as yours. “anton wanted— ouch!” the boy is interrupted by his friend slapping him on the arm harshly, as if he had said something wrong. “all of us, i mean, wanted to know if you girls would like to join us tonight,” the boy finishes, rubbing his arm while sending a subtle glare in his friend’s direction.

“join you.. in doing what, exactly?” you inquire, serious as ever. the two boys seemingly grow smaller under your intimidating gaze as if they hadn’t anticipated your somber attitude. “we’re doing a bonfire,” the other boy replies, pointing his thumb in the direction of the rest of his team. you look over the boy’s shoulder, your eyes landing upon anton, who is already looking at you. upon seeing your eyes scan over him, he looks away.

rei claps her hands together a few times, “we’ll be there! thank you for inviting us.” her words startle you and you open your mouth to protest. you had just been seconds away from telling the boys in front of you that you weren’t interested.

“yeah, count us in!” jiwon chimes, and you want the tiled floor below to swallow you whole. “you guys have fun, then,” you tell them, eyes swimming with boredom, “i’m going home.”

“no!” the boys in front of you shout in unison, startling you and your team. “you have to come. especially,” one of them pleads. “and why is that?” you put one hand on your hip, intimidating them further.

everyone already seems to know the answer to your question before the boys can even formulate the words to say it. “our captain wants you to.”

your teammates all but drag you to the beach against your will, uttering complaints about how you “need to learn how to have fun” and how they’ve “been waiting for something exciting like this to happen”.

within the first 5 minutes of your arrival, you’ve already tried to escape more times than your friends are able to count. wonyoung had to keep a tight grip on your wrist to ensure that you wouldn’t go anywhere, and you swear at the girl in your head for being stronger than she appears.

“i can’t believe anton himself told his friends to invite us just so he could see y/n,” rei mutters, astonished, “do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“that’s definitely not the reason,” you deny, already wanting to drop the topic, “they probably just thought it would be funny because everybody on the planet knows that i hate him.”

and while taesan and leehan are most definitely aware of your hatred towards their captain, their reasoning for inviting you and your team really was because anton wanted to see you.

“invite the girls team!” leehan mocks, intentionally making his voice sound higher, “i feel sooo bad for them!” anton pays no mind to the way he’s being blatantly teased, his eyes trained on you. “feel bad for them my ass,” taesan comments under his breath, “he’s already making heart eyes at her, just like i said.”

“you’re a real masochist, you know that?” leehan adds, waving a hand in front of anton’s line of sight. the taller boy blinks in response as if he had broken out of whatever trance you had him under. “that girl doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she hates you, and you’re still, like, obsessed with her.”

anton sharply exhales through his nose, not needing another reminder of the fact that you dislike him and that he’s stupid for helplessly pining after you.

“i’ve heard that a million times,” he retorts, “and i’m not obsessed with her. in fact, i’m starting to hate her, too.”

he thinks that lying to his teammates is just as difficult as lying to sohee and seunghan, only receiving humorless looks in response to his statement. “right,” taesan scoffs, “you hate her so much that you forced me and leehan to invite the entire girls swim team just so you could see her.” anton lightly hits him with the back of his hand, muttering, “i told you that’s not the reason.”

all three boys turn to look at you, arms crossed and unamused. “oh, man,” leehan laughs, “she’s bored out of her fucking mind.” anton watches you carefully, your eyes burning a hole in the sand beneath your shoes. “why don’t you go talk to her, captain?” taesan teases, slapping his friend on the back boyishly. anton staggers forward about a centimeter due to the impact, looking back at the boy. “or anyone on the girls team, for that matter. since you made us invite every single one of them,” leehan quips.

but anton thinks that talking to you would only dampen your mood even further, and he doesn’t want the glare that you’re currently directing towards the sand to be aimed at him. “try talking to her, right there,” leehan points to someone in your general direction and anton follows his finger with his gaze, “naoi rei. she’s one of y/n’s closest friends, i think.”

taesan lets out another scoff, “yeah, but she’s not y/n. anton wants y/n, not the next best thing.”

jiwon and rei stand next to the bonfire, and you overhear one of them comment on how it isn’t as big as they were expecting it to be. you see wonyoung and yujin sitting on some large rocks a short distance away from the shore. you quickly scan the perimeter looking for gaeul, who you find sitting on the sand and looking up at the stars. your friends are all enjoying themselves— why aren’t you?

as per usual, you want to blame your discomfort on the fact that anton is in your vicinity. but how exactly could you do that when he hasn’t interacted with you all night?

come to think of it, your last interaction with the boy in question was earlier today when you told him that his hair looked stupid. you shake your head at the memory— you hadn’t even meant it. you actually liked his hair, but you’d rather drop dead than admit that to him. you hate lee anton with a burning passion, and you hate that you like his hair.

you hate that you’re currently sitting here wishing that he would come up to you and say something. after all, your friends dragged you here and his teammates made it seem as though your attendance was obligatory. the way you see it, the least anton could do after subjecting you to all of that is talk to you. you suppose that you can’t really blame him for not wanting to, though. you kick the sand beneath you at the realization.

you’re not sure how much time you spend thinking about the boy you swear to hate with every fiber of your being, but you conclude that a few long minutes must’ve gone by, because suddenly you look up and find that both your team and anton’s team are gathered around the fire. you watch them carefully, eyes wandering from individual to individual.

you see yujin laughing with some guy from the other team. you see the two boys that invited you and your friends to this very event. finally, your eyes land on anton, and you regret it almost immediately.

he’s nervously scratching the back of his neck the way you often catch him doing. he’s got a bashful smile on his lips as he looks down at whoever he’s currently talking to. you crane your neck to see who that may be, and find that it’s none other than your own teammate and friend— naoi rei.

you make a face of disgust that no one sees, and only then do you realize that you’re still standing a good distance away from the large group. “oh my god,” you scowl. you run a hand over your face, conflicted. you already hated being here, and seeing anton converse with one of your closest friends might’ve just made your attitude towards this whole situation a million times worse. you know that rei is probably over the moon right now, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a girlish smile.

you want to be happy for her— you think that any good friend would jump at the sight of their teammate getting along with the person they find attractive— and you swear that you would be if the person she was talking to was anyone but him. you tell yourself that it’s because rei deserves better than him, ignoring the way your heart plummets. he was only going to chase after you for so long.

you shake your head rapidly as if it would rid your mind of the thought, not knowing where it came from in the first place.

you need to get out of here— asap.

you hate lee anton and you hate that you like his hair and you hate that you spent a decent amount of time tonight wishing that he’d speak to you.

you hate that you even care in the slightest that he’s currently flirting with your best friend and you hate that almost everyone here managed to convince you that he and his teammates invited you simply because he wanted you here.

you discreetly make your way around the group, advancing towards the shore. you don’t think anyone sees you as you do so, hearing the sound of their laughter grow more distant with each step you take towards the sea. as you continue moving forward absentmindedly, you don’t realize that you’re already knees deep in the water until a salty wave crashes into you, reaching the area below your thigh.

“what are you doing?” your head quickly turns to find the source of the voice and you scowl once you realize who it is.

of course, anton chooses now to finally talk to you.

you turn back around, ignoring him, because that’s how you are— you think about him more than you’d ever like to admit and act indifferent towards him once he’s in your presence. anton watches as you turn your back to him, unsure of why he assumed that this interaction with you would be any different from your interactions in the past.

nonetheless, with bravery that he didn’t even know he had, anton continues talking. “you could get sick if you go any further,” he blurts out.

in truth, anton had been watching you through his peripheral vision as he was conversing with rei, and saw as you treaded through the sand and into the water. he excused himself— he had been looking for a way to escape the conversation anyway— and followed your silhouette that was now standing in the ocean, letting waves collide with your legs.

in retrospect, he should’ve thought of something to say to you beforehand, because if the mere act of him talking to you wasn’t enough to piss you off, anton was sure that lecturing you about how you could get sick from swimming at night would definitely cause you to flip your lid.

his suspicions appear to have been correct, because you whip your head back around and give him an angry look. “what are you doing here?” you spit, expecting him to flinch and avoid your gaze the same way that he always does.

“why can’t i be here?” he presses, furrowing his brow, and you’re the one that flinches. “do you own the ocean?”

you’re sure that steam would be coming out of your ears right now if you were living in an old cartoon. you clench your fist, taken aback.

“why do you hate me so much, y/n?” anton pleads, unable to prevent the million dollar question from leaving his lips. this is a position he never thought he’d find himself in; confronting you about your unadulterated hatred towards him while your entire bottom half is almost completely submerged in the ocean.

your lip quivers and you clench your teeth as you feel your resilient facade start to crack. neither you nor anton are sure where his daring attitude came from, but it seems to be catching both of you by surprise, because even the boy in question moves to wipe his palms against his jeans to rid them of their clamminess. “answer me,” he demands, his voice as soft as it normally is and yet it still intimidates you.

you turn around for the forth and final time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of discovering the root of your distaste towards him. anton shakes his head, although you’re unable to see it, and sharply inhales in preparation for what he’s about to do.

he cautiously takes a step forward, letting the water dampen the cuffs of his jeans. he cringes, but proceeds nevertheless, mimicking the strides that you had taken minutes prior.

before you’re able to prevent it from happening, anton is standing directly beside you, jeans darkening as the water seeps into them, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

the tall boy leans forward, and you lean back. “answer me,” he repeats his previous words in a hushed voice.

you’re looking down at the water that the two of you are standing in and anton thinks it’s funny, for a moment, how the roles seem to be reversed— you’re tense and apprehensive while he’s bold and collected, trying to crane his neck to meet your downward pointed gaze.

“you should know the reason why,” he hears you speak under your breath. you finally look at him, eyes narrowed. “you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” you question, and he recoils.

“i’m not— what? why would— why do you think i’m making fun of you?” anton sputters, genuinely appalled at the accusation. he’s unable to wrap his head around what kind of thoughts might be running through your mind right now.

“because there’s no way in hell that you don’t know why i hate you, lee anton,” you say, words flying from your mouth hurriedly. “there’s no way you just let me push you around and stare at you like you’re the scum of the earth if you don’t know the reason why. you have to know,” you look into his eyes in search of an answer but you’re only met with confusion.

anton shakes his head. “i don’t know, y/n,” he begins, “i really don’t know, and i’m sorry if you think i’m playing a prank on you right now, but i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

he looks down momentarily, his eyes landing on his wet jeans. when he looks back up, he’s zoned in on the way the moon makes your eyes look as though they’re sparkling, and he thinks it’s beautiful. “you may know this already,” he starts speaking again, “but i’m in love with you.”

he makes sure not to stutter or appear anxious in the slightest, afraid that if he made the slightest mistake, he’d try to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. and he needs you to know.

your lips part, his words shocking you more than anything else that has taken place tonight. “i’m always lying to my teammates and my friends, saying that i don’t like you because they think i’m insane for chasing after someone who wishes i didn’t even exist,” anton continues, his tone becoming sorrowful, “but i can’t lie anymore. especially not to you.”

by now, both of your hearts are pounding, and you’re sure that they would be audible if it weren’t for the sounds of the waves crashing. “so, no,” he says, “the reason i let you push me around isn’t because i know why you hate me. it’s because i’m in love with you, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t stop.”

he waits for you to respond, eyes trained on yours. you finally start speaking, lowly and carefully. “there was this guy,” you tell him, “you used to hang out with him last year. i would see you and him laughing together all the time, with two other friends of yours.”

taking in your words, anton ponders who you could be referring to before his eyes widen slightly. “wonbin?” he asks, although he has no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about his older friend. wonbin, seunghan, sohee and anton were practically attached at the hip during the latter’s freshman year of college, and when wonbin made the decision to drop out in order to pursue a career in music, the other three were left to fend for themselves.

you scoff, despite wanting to contain your hostility towards the boy after his confession. “i don’t know his name,” you mumble, “but yeah, that’s probably him.”

anton nods, urging you to continue. he’s finally going to find out why you’ve disliked him for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to waste a second. “he told me that you liked me,” you say, watching as the boy flinches in your peripheral at your words. “and i was so happy at the time because i liked you, too.”

it’s anton’s turn to be stunned by your confession, not believing the words that are coming out of your mouth. “i would always look at you, but you’d never look at me back. when your friend— wonbin, i guess— told me that you liked me, i thought that meant you would talk to me,” you shake your head at the memory, “but you never did. it was like i didn’t even exist to you.”

you keep talking, quietly, “every single person who knew me knew that i liked you. one day, i saw you guys laughing together like you always did, and then it clicked in my brain.” you’re silent for a moment before you continue. “i figured that you must’ve known that i liked you, too, and told your friend to say that to me as some sort of cruel joke.”

anton is yet again appalled at your words. “you only seemed to start caring about my existence at the beginning of last semester. you tried to come up to me a few times, and i always assumed it was because you were finally feeling bad about the whole wonbin thing and wanted to apologize, and i didn’t want to hear it. it was around that time that i started hating you.”

you scratch the back of your neck, not having thought that you’d ever admit any of this to the boy standing beside you. anton swallows before he thinks over his next words. “i didn’t know about any of that,” he assures you, and he can sense that you doubt his words momentarily because he starts talking faster. “i’m not sure what prompted wonbin to say that to you, but i can tell you this,” he whispers, “i’ve been in love with you from the very first time i saw you, and no amount of insults or glares from you is ever going to change that.” for a moment, even the waves of the ocean seem to still, leaving only the sound of anton’s voice ringing in your ears.

you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, and the fact that you’re sharing a moment like this with lee anton— the man you (no longer) hate— sends a shiver down your spine. you find yourself searching for a sense of familiarity, even if it comes in the form of playful banter rather than the usual insult.

“say that again,” you tell him, and he’s unsure if you’re being serious at first. when silence lingers in the air, he finally begins speaking. “i’ve… been in love with you since the first time i saw you,” anton says, unsure. you shake your head, displeased.

“put it in the present tense,” you purse your lips, crossing your arms. anton lets out a curt laugh, now realizing that you’re actually joking with him. so this, he thinks, is what it feels like to laugh with you. “i’m in love with you, y/n,” by now, he’s adorning a smile that reaches his eyes, head slightly tilted towards the ground bashfully.

“wanna know something, lee anton? i think i might be, too.”

weeks later, you’re swinging open the doors to the pool area, the smell of chlorine crashing into you as you step inside.

the boys team is in the middle of practicing, leehan and taesan— who’s names you finally learned after enduring weeks of their relentless teasing, always having to hear a complaint from them about how their team captain is even less focused than before since the two of you started dating— spotting you almost immediately. they let out exaggerated groans, knowing they now have to witness you and anton grossly interact.

“captain!” taesan calls out with dread lacing his tone, “your girlfriend is here.” upon hearing that, anton, who is currently in the pool, whips his head around so quickly that you’re almost positive he could’ve gotten whiplash. you wave, and rather than exiting the water, he swims over to where you stand on the poolside. looking up at you, he smiles, slightly out of breath. “hey, lovely,” he says, removing the goggles from around his head so he can study you better.

he pays no mind to the sounds of his teammates gagging in the background, not looking anywhere but at you.

to say that both your team and anton’s team were surprised upon hearing about your blossoming relationship with the boy would be an understatement. not only did both teams have to grow accustomed to the fact that you no longer hated anton, but they also needed to get used to the mere concept of you two dating each other. it wasn’t as though you two no longer served as distractions to the other, however— if anything, you both stared at each other even more than you had previously, the difference being that now you looked at anton with adoration in your eyes rather than resentment.

“i don’t know if seeing you two together makes my heart want to explode with joy, or if it makes me wanna throw up,” you recall rei telling you during practice one day. anton has shared similar stories, stating that although both taesan and leehan are happy to see their captain in a relationship with the girl he’s been pining after, they hate the way anton apparently never shuts up about you during training.

you look down at the boy, flashing him a smile of your own. droplets of water threaten to fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “hey,” you hum, “i won’t bother you long. just checking in.” anton shakes his head, water spraying the floor beneath you in the process. “you never bother me,” he says.

“oh, hush,” you wave your hand dismissively. “i’m serious. hey, can you come down here for a sec?” anton asks, gesturing for you to crouch next to the pool. you give him a suspicious look, morphing your lips into a tight line. “anton, i’m not letting you pull me in there.”

he shakes his head again, letting out a laugh. “i’m not gonna pull you in,” he tells you, and you still aren’t convinced. “y/n!” he whines, stretching the final syllable. you look to the ceiling for a moment, letting out a scoff before kneeling down next to the pool.

in a swift motion, anton grabs your shoulders and lands a kiss on your lips. it’s wet from the water of the pool and you pull away, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. anton is laughing as you swat at his arm, muttering something about how he got your shirt wet.

anton sees an opportunity in the fact that you haven’t stood up yet, fully wrapping his arms around your shoulders, nearly causing you to fall into the chlorinated water. his laughter only increases in volume, and his teammates don’t think they’ve ever heard him laugh that hard. you let out a yelp, feeling the water continue to seep through the fabric of your shirt. you struggle against his embrace, and he shows no signs of releasing you. “lee anton! oh my god— i hate you!”

you both know that you’re lying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE! this is my 30th time trying to post this but we move

#riize x reader #lee anton #anton imagines #anton x reader #riize anton #riize #riize scenarios #req #riize angst #riize fluff

481 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 3 months

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

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pinkaditty · 9 months

Text

Pervert (Obey Me! Shall we Date)

summary: You are suspecting that someone is stealing your underwear. It will go missing and randomly reappear like it was never gone. You pretend not to notice, but set a little trap for the culprit… And catch them red-handed.

content warning: fem!mc (listed undergarments are stolen, but Mc could be a crossdresser idk) and nsfw is all i think but please lmk if there's anything else here that i forgot to warn abt!

a/n: this is my first everrrr OM! blurb so idk i hope it does well! silent readers won't be blocked but psa that i do appreciate likes and comments <3 however ageless/minor blogs will be blocked thx!

psst! read part 2 here!

MINORS DNI. IM SO SRS. i promise waiting a few years sounds worse than it actually is. please respect my boundary <3

You had suspected someone had been doing it for a while. Your favorite pairs of bras or panties or even your matching sets would randomly disappear from your dirty clothes hamper while waiting to be washed. When you noticed they were missing, you didn't know how to bring up the issue. It wouldn't make any sense if the laundry was switched. As it kept happening, and the clothes kept randomly reappearing and disappearing, you began to feel suspicious. Could it have been possible that someone was stealing them?

When you breached this thought, the prospect nervously excited you. There are only so many reasons for stealing someone's used undergarments, and you were certain you could narrow it down. You did admittedly find it somewhat disturbing, but at the same time, you couldn't help but laugh. Why couldn't they just come to you and ask? It's not like your suitors to be shy.

Then again, maybe you were overthinking it. Perhaps it was simple curiosity? Maybe someone is fascinated by humans and the clothes they wear or the way they smell? You weren't one to judge, but still. It felt strange regardless of whether it was pure curiosity or unbridled pervertedness.

You continued to put up with it for a while until one fateful day, you caught them. You had purposely left your dirty clothes hamper unattended after dragging it to the laundry room, leaving to grab some scent beads to freshen the wash. As you'd been coming back, you heard someone rooting around in your hamper. You could hear clothes being pushed to the side and frustrated sighs as the hamper teetered back and forth with their frustrated movements. You bit your lip, heart pounding in your chest. You gently turned your head around the doorway arch to peer at the culprit. Steeling yourself, you turned away and straightened up before walking in with a feigned surprised gasp slipping from your lips. It was just in time to see the culprit pick up your favorite pairs of lacy underwear. The culprit, hearing your gasp, quickly turns, color draining from their face before it is quickly replaced by a crimson blush.

Whatever excuses they attempt to stammer out, you don't hear. You simply stare at them, mouth agape, before your feigned surprise melts into a twisted smile. You put your hand over your mouth to stifle a chuckle, and look at them, mirth in your eyes.

"You… You pervert!"

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

Lucifer:

To say Lucifer is beyond embarrassed is quite the understatement. He's utterly and undeniably humiliated. His glasses are crooked, his face a blotchy red, and his nose slightly wet from having buried it in the spoils of his efforts; your panties. He clears his throat hurriedly and desperately scrambles for any kind of excuse, including straightening up and attempting to intimidate you. But how could you be intimidated by a man who you'd just seen bury his nose in your panties, drunken look all over his face? You simply laugh at him and hold out your hand, a smirk on your face as you motion for him to hand the panties over, one eyebrow raised. He turns away ashamedly and gently places them in your hand, his shoulders trembling just slightly out of embarrassment.

With his eyes screwed shut and his lips pursed, he stiffly strode towards the exit, as if he could simply leave after all that has transpired here. You reach behind you and grab his vest, tugging him back beside you. In no position to argue, he does not resist. Once he is beside you, you begin to trail your hands across his stomach before going in a straight line up his chest. "You know… " you start, stifling a smirk and biting your lip. You turn to him, but he remains frozen, staring at the exit, as though desperate to escape. You simply continue to trail your hand up his chest, unphased. "Next time, you can just come to me and ask." Your fingers reach his neck, and he flinches, but shows no other movement. You trail your fingers up to his chin before grabbing it and turning his head so his gaze was on you. "There is more where this came from." You hold up your panties, the ones he was just so brazenly burying himself in moments before.

His blush deepened across his face, and he pulled away from you, stiffly making his exit. You only laugh and wonder how long it will take for him to release his pride and ask you for a pair… or two.

Mammon:

Immediately he is blabbering out a multitude of excuses, excuses, and more excuses. "It's not what ya think, MC! I was just- ah, just um- just checking for my socks!" and "I swear ya've got it all wrong!" and "I'm yer first demon anyway! I should be 'llowed to-" and "Listen, don't ya dare tell Lucifer or Levi or anyone else!!" and more and more excuses and empty threats spilled from his lips, until he finally sank to his knees and quieted, as though asking for forgiveness. All you had to do was silently stare at him, smirking, hand still covering your mouth as you watched him slowly melt and grovel. His face is a deep red and his eyes are watery, lips wet from pressing them against your essence in the panties. He still gripped them in his hands and his fingers trembled as he held them.

Smirking wider, you walk forward to him and bend your knees to face him. "Look at me." You didn't even need to command him. He looks up, eyes still watery and his lips red from him worrying them between his teeth. His face was still a deep shade of crimson, and his heavy breathing made it clear it was a struggle for him to keep eye contact. You smile and hold out your hand, motioning for him to hand over what was rightfully yours. Defeatedly, he hands it over, and clenches his fists in his lap, still trembling. You would have thought he'd have more to say, but perhaps being caught like this was simply too humiliating.

"The Great Mammon is too embarrassed for words, huh? Poor thing." You tease him just a little bit, watching him continue to tremble. For a moment he opened his mouth to retort, but one look at you and he couldn't do it. His mouth closed and he looked down ashamedly.

You laugh at his demeanor, and reach out to gently take his chin in your hand and raise it so he could face you. "Awww, don't be shy. I understand, your first human is truly irresistible." You give him a challenging look, and he gulps nervously. "However, next time, Mammon… All you have to do is ask. I'd be happy to satisfy all your burning curiosities. Besides, there's plenty more of these in that hamper." You lift up your panties with one finger, dangling it in front of his eyes. He bites his lips and his eyes widen at your gesture. He begins to lean towards them, as though attempting to get another whiff. You smile and pull them away from him, laughing at his dejected expression.

"Come on, I have to wash these for now. How about you be good and go wait in your room? Perhaps I'll bring you the ones I'm wearing now." Your enticing offer immediately stifles whatever excuse he was about to shout about the unfairness of it all. He simply nods and scurries away, eager to receive a prize for being obedient.

Levi:

Levi shrieks like a little girl, fumbling his grip on your panties and dropping them in the heap of other discarded clothes from his prior ransacking. "I… I-I-I… U-Um… I!!!" He stammers, desperately scrambling for an excuse, a way to escape from this embarrassing predicament. He lifts his arms in front of his eyes, shielding himself from your gaze. "I-I DIDN'T MEAN TO!!" He shouts, probably alerting the entire House of Lamentation. He slowly sinks into the corner of the room, curling into a ball as though you were hovering over him. His mumbled "I'm sorry"s and "I'm just a dirty otaku pervert"s are eventually lost to his hiccups and tearless sobs. Gosh, he's so dramatic.

You just stand there, chuckling to yourself for a moment, before drawing closer, slowly taking short steps towards him. With every click of your shoes on the floor, the more he seemed to cave in on himself, even revealing his tail to curl it around him. His sobs were no longer audible, but he was still shaking, and muttering to himself about how he couldn't believe he'd let himself do that. You sank down to your knees and patted him on the back, partially soothing him and partially asking for his attention. After a few pats he looks up, the most comically distressed look on his face, and immediately hides behind his arms again to protect himself. Before you can say anything, genuine apologies spill from his lips, broken by extreme stammers. "I-I am SO sorry MC, I sh-should never have d-done that, I'll n-never look at you again-" and so on, so forth, each stammered promise more extreme than the last.

You can only roll your eyes affectionately at his actions. You shake your head and gently tug on his arm, forcing him to peer over it at you. "Well, it's not exactly okay, but next time, please ask me." A mischievous grin spreads across your face as you say this, eager to gauge his reaction.

He blinks at you confusedly, before realization flickers across his face and a crimson blush spreads all over his features. "WH-WHA?!" He exclaims in surprise, jumping as soon as it hit him.

You simply smile and back away, picking up your discarded underwear that he held only moments ago. "Just ask. If you want some." You smirk at him, standing upright and gathering your clothes together to put them all back in the hamper. You glance back at him. "I don't have any except the ones I'm wearing now, so you'll have to wait." You smirk at him and turn away, focusing on the laundry before hearing him slither out of the room, his heavy breathing muffled.

Satan:

Of all the brothers, to be honest, you least expected him. Even Lucifer wouldn't be much of a surprise, considering how he has no such outlet for being pent up. But Satan had books. And yet, despite all those books, some erotica and some educational, here he was, unsatisfied, seeking the real thing through going through your laundry. On second thought, maybe that was believable.

He immediately froze, whipping himself around to face you and promptly dropping the panties on the pile of clothes in shock. He stared at you wide-eyed for a moment, before realizing he’d dropped his long-awaited bounty. He ripped his eyes away from you and set them on the panties instead, reaching down to pick them up again, and turning his face away, holding them out to you. He was flushed red, from the height of his cheekbones to the base of his neck. He probably knew that you never would have expected him, which was why being caught was so humiliating to him. You snicker into your hand, and he trembles in embarrassment at your laughter, still holding out the panties. You graciously reach forward and accept them, plucking them from the tips of his fingers. He quickly retracted his hand, still trembling and refusing to look at you.

You would have expected him to be shouting all sorts of profanities and curses alike, anything to deflect and avoid the situation at hand, because he is simply full of wrath. But he simply stood, trembling, and turned away, his eyebrows creased downwards in an unsurprisingly angered expression. Perhaps he was more angry at himself than the situation and that was why he was turned away? Regardless, you placed the underwear back in your hamper and moved to collect the rest of the clothes, and Satan wordlessly helped you, still blushing furiously and refusing to look at you.

When the task was done and the hamper was full, he made to leave, but you commanded him to stay. Rooted to the spot and unable to move due to your pact, he stayed, but refused to turn to you. His neck was still very red. You approached him from behind and placed a hand on his back, making him jump. You simply chuckled in response and said “Please Satan, the next time those erotica books aren’t doing it for you, you just have to ask.”

His breathing picked up and his flush grew redder and deeper. You could hear the slight wet sounds of his mouth opening and closing, as though he had something to say. You waited patiently for him to speak, but he eventually growled and stalked off, posture tight as a stitch. You knew he’d cave eventually.

Asmodeus:

Well, this guy’s shameless. The color did indeed drain from his face at first, but it was quickly replaced with a humble blush and a knowing smirk. He was still holding the panties rather close to his face. “Sorry, doll…” He drawls, gazing at you with lidded, suggestive eyes. “Couldn’t help myself.” He giggles after saying that, whisking the panties away from his face and hiding his hand behind his back. He leaned forward and put a finger to his lips, smiling devilishly. “You can keep a secret, right sweetheart? I don’t want my brothers to know about this…” He mock pouts, and you roll your eyes. You’d figured it was him because most of the ones that went missing were pink, and we all know who adores that color.

You could also tell he knew you weren’t exactly uncomfortable with this, him stealing your intimates for his own personal desires. Of course you weren’t, he was your suitor. You sigh and shake your head. “Sure, Asmo. But, let’s be more polite and ask me next time, okay?”

He throws his head back and laughs, as though genuinely amused at your words. When he finishes laughing, he wipes a tear from his eyes and mutters “Politeness from a demon… Really…” He flips his hair over his shoulder and smiles at you. “If it is what you wish. However…” His voice turned sly and low, as he revealed his hand once again and dangled your panties from his hand. “I’ll be taking these for now, dear.”

You laugh at him, and he simply smiles wider in response. “Well, sure, but… wouldn’t you like a fresher pair?”

The words stop him in his tracks. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he realizes your offer. However, he is only shocked for mere moments before smirking again, another blush dusting his cheeks, a drunken look on his face. “Oh, dear!” He squeals, walking over to you and holding your face between his hands, bringing himself very close to you. “I would very much like a fresher pair~. You come to my room later, okay? I’ll be waiting~.” He taps your nose and begins moving away, blowing a kiss your way and winking as he drops the panties into your open palms.

You wondered what the rest of the day would be like.

Beelzebub:

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing this simply out of curiosity. You'd be willing to excuse it. Poor guy, didn't know how to approach you so instead resolved to innocently nick away your clothing for innocent, curious inspections. You were prepared to forgive him after giving him a slap on the wrist.

You are surprised, however, when he starts profusely apologizing, clutching the panties in his hand, muttering about how he just couldn’t satiate his hunger.

His face is red and his head is bowed forward, not making eye contact with you. Suffice to say this is not what you expected. You cock your head to the side, looking at him curiously. "Beel…" And he immediately looks up obediently. You don't even have to ask. "...What kind of hunger?"

You figured you knew what he meant, but couldn't resist a little teasing. He squirms under your gaze, bowing his head down again and clenching and unclenching his hands, panties still gripped in both. He purses his lips before explaining, "I'm not sure how to explain it, MC, but when I smell you, I get hungry." He is still avoiding your gaze, but you can tell he's being sincere. "And it's not hungry for food, it's more like… a strong, lustful hunger… And I've never felt that before, so I was curious." His head is still bowed shyly, and he's raised his hand to hold out the panties. "I'm sorry, MC. I won't do it again."

You smiled genuinely at his sincerity and apology, your heart swelling just slightly. "No worries, Beel." You take the panties from him and pile them into the hamper. "Will you help me put the clothes back?"

He nods and helps you pile your clothes back into the hamper, a light blush still on his cheeks. Once you're done, you turn to him, smiling mischievously. "Beel. The next time you want a pair, please don't be afraid to ask me, okay? I'll be happy to help you."

Beel bursts into a blush wordlessly, his eyes widening at your offer. Hesitantly, he nods, clenching his eyes shut before turning on his heel and walking away, probably off to the kitchen. He's a glutton, right? He'd be back.

Belphegor:

Of all demons, the Avatar of Sloth is tirelessly rummaging around in your laundry? Of all types? He looks at you, color still drained from his face, before tiredly huffing and looking down at the spoils of his efforts, probably contemplating if it was all worth it. He sighs and looks up at you again, too tired to be embarrassed, and hands you the panties before collapsing into the pile of your clothes he'd created from his rummaging. He turns over like he's getting ready to sleep, and mutters a quick "Sorry. G'night."

You're tempted to laugh at his actions, and you almost do, but you decide to poke him back awake. He protests a little bit, rolling over back and forth and wiggling out of your reach, before huffing and whining. "Comfy. Smells like you. Tired. G'night." You roll your eyes and decide to use your pact to your advantage.

"Belphegor. Get up."

Suddenly overcome by the power of the pact, he finds it fit to rise off of the pile, taking his sweet time. He stretches, curving his back and whipping his tail around in annoyance. "What? What now?"

"I need to wash these, Belphie. I can't stuff you into the washing machine." You chuckle lightly, moving to gather the pile and place it in the wash.

Belphegor whines in protest. "What about me? Your smell helps me sleep…" He looks away, a light blush on his cheeks.

Your eyebrows rise in surprise. "And this is why you've been stealing my intimates?" He rolls his eyes and quietly mutters something about getting off but waves away his comment before you can respond.

"Doesn't matter." He quiets down and leans against the wall, waiting for you to finish. When you turn to him questioningly, he simply raises an eyebrow. "What? I fully intend to drag you to my room to sleep with me. If I can't have your panties then I'll just have you." He turns away and blushes furiously despite his words being quite direct. You simply laugh.

"Don't worry. I'll be done soon."

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a/n: waaaaaaaaah i hope u all enjoyed! it's a little cringe yea and i apologize if anyone was slightly ooc i did my best!! i don't have a masterlist or anything yet but if u liked this please lmk! i plan on writing one for the other dateables soon!

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oceansblvds · 5 months

Note

I SENT THE ASK ABT TEACHER CORYO IM BEGGING YOU TO WRITE TA/PROFESSOR SNOW 😝

OKOKOK IM GONNA WRITE SOME HEADCANONS BUT I MIGHT HONESTLY EXPAND THIS INTO A FULL FIC BC im a whore!

warning(s): nsfw, obsessive behavior, lowkey an abuse of power

coriolanus, almost out of university, was selected to teach a higher level math class on the account of dr. gaul saying he needed a little bit more experience with teaching and leadership if he was to be head gamemaker. so, he was a TA, teaching under a professor but was basically given full rein with the class, as the professor seemed to focus more on research than teaching the class. the second he was in the lecture discussion, he saw you walk in. you were a junior, just a year under him in university and god were you beautiful. almost mouth wateringly so. it made him sick in the head at how pretty you were.

and gods above, you were smart, almost as smart as he was (though he wouldn't ever admit that) and it was clear that you liked him. you always smiled when he complimented your high scores on tests and quizzes, and would read the notes that he put in the margins of your essays with a glimmer in your eyes. he needed to talk to you, needed to be closer to you, and the only way that he could think of was to give you slightly lower marks on your essays and homeworks. never on a test, he would never want to drop your grade low enough for it to be concerning, but he did wait for you to stumble into his office hours. and you did. you asked him how you could do better on the material, and he told you that he'd help you.

he didn't have an office, only a classroom that he was lent during his office hours in the top floor of the math building. it was there that you would meet him, every tuesday and thursday, to go over problems. he liked the way that your lip would be bitten in between your teeth when you were looking at a particularly hard problem, or when you would look at him with your big doe eyes when you asked him for help. and whenever you asked him for help, he would lean closer, and explain it to you.

one day, he finally got the courage to make a move. you asked him for help and he placed his hand on your thigh, as if he was using it to keep himself steady as he leaned over. but instead of watching him explain on the paper, you kept your attention on his face. and then he pushed his hand further up your thigh, under your skirt, and you didn't stop him. your hand came to his and you pushed it up until it was cupping your pussy. he fingered you right then and there, hoping beyond hoping that no one else would walk into his office hours for help. the two of you made out while he fingered you, going as far as to press three fingers into you, with a squelching sound, your moans echoing through the room softly.

that became somewhat of a normal thing. you two always met during his office hours, until you decided to go to his home one day for some extra tutoring. it ended with you in his large bed with your legs spread, while he put his fingers in your mouth as he fucked you with such fervor that you were sure you were going to break.

sometimes when he was grading papers, you would slink under his desk and pull his cock out, spitting on the tip and bobbing your head up and down until he gave you the attention you wanted. he always fantasized about you doing this when he was teaching another class, with you working him with your mouth as he sat on his desk and no one else knew the wiser. he would have to try that with you one day.

lots of words like how dirty you were for sleeping with your teacher. "you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" "show me how good you've gotten" when you were riding him. "you probably fantasize about my cock in class, don't you?" it was all so derogatory. and other times he would praise you. he would tell you how smart and beautiful you were. he would let you cum when you got a problem right while he sat under the desk, eating you out. when you got a problem wrong, he would stop, and no amount of begging would get him to continue unless you continued your work.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #tbosas #the hunger games #tom blyth #angelica talks!!

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janeyseymour · 1 month

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you could right a Mel x Reader fic where R gets super drunk at PECSA and ended up getting knocked up(from a rando), her and Mel not being together but flirts pretty heavily. And Mel finds her crying in the bathroom abt after finding out, and after Mel finds out why she starts distancing herself and being cold. Then maybe when R’s a few months along Barb tells Melissa off for being so rude, then fluff + whatever ending you think is best?

your wish is my command. lemme know what you think, because i lowkey loved writing this :)

as always, entirely unedited.

Unexpected

WC: ~3.55k

You’re at PECSA, and of course that redhead that you constantly flirt with is right by your side. Neither of you have mentioned anything about going out or whatever is going on between the two of you, but you quite like having her by your side.

You’ve both had quite a few drinks, and the flirting is beyond ridiculous at this point- anybody at the convention can see that the two of you are madly in love despite the fact that you aren’t in a relationship or even doing anything remotely ‘romantic’. She’s not hanging off of you, you aren’t hanging off of her… it’s just the look in both of your eyes and the smiles on your faces when you’re together.

But eventually, she calls it a night as Barb tells her it’s maybe time to head up.

“Oh, go,” you roll your eyes. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure, hun?” Melissa asks you, voice oddly soft considering the party still going on around you.

You nod. “I’m sure, babe. I’m probably just gonna have another drink and retire to bed myself.”

“Have a good night,” the redhead tells you as she pulls you in for a hug. She turns on her heel and heads out of the room with her work wife.

And that leaves you as the last Abbott worker at PECSA. You head up to the bar and order yourself another when a man tries to approach you. You’ve seen him at a few of the different panels and discussions, but you haven’t spoken to him and he hasn’t spoken to you (mostly because you’ve had Melissa by your side this entire weekend, not that you mind that at all). He offers to buy you a drink, and you don’t have it in you to say no.

That last drink, although you were heavily intoxicated to begin with, does you in. You end up blacking out.

The next morning, you wake up in your room naked and alone. There’s a familiar burning sensation between your legs. Fuck- you just had a one night stand… and at PECSA weekend of all places. What a fool.

But you figure nothing will come out of it. You’re on the pill, there’s a condom wrapper in the trash… you’re safe.

That was two months ago. And now, you’re sitting in the Abbott Elementary bathroom, sick as hell. You did have the leftovers that you let sit in your fridge for maybe a day too long before eating last night. After expelling the contents of your stomach from your body, you wipe your mouth and head down to the office, looking like you’ve absolutely had the life sucked out of you.

“Girl, what’s got you lookin’ like shit?” Ava asks you in her conventional Ava way.

You groan as you sit down in the chair in her office. “I think I have food poisoning. I need to go home.”

“You got emergency plans?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Mel knows where they’re at in my room.”

“Okay, but I can’t promise you gon’ have a competent sub. Mr. J might even have to-”

“I don’t care,” you groan as you hoist yourself up from her chair. Suddenly, you get insanely dizzy. Your vision goes dark, and you wake up with Melissa sitting on the floor next to you looking at you with more concern and love than you’ve ever seen from her.

“What happened?” you groan as you try to sit up.

“Stay down,” the redhead tells you gently. “You passed out in Ava’s office.”

“I what?” you mumble.

She just brushes a few hairs away from your face. “Here. Drink.” She holds a water bottle up to your lips and helps you take a few sips.

“Good god,” you mutter. You lay there for a few more minutes before you finally have your bearings.

“Let me drive you home,” your colleague insists.

“I’m okay,” you sigh softly. “I can just walk.” You don’t live far from the school, so it really isn’t a problem.

“I’m driving you. C’mon.”

Melissa gets you comfortable in your home before she drives back to Abbott, and she’s back at your house come the end of the work day with what she claims to be her own remedy to a stomach bug or food poisoning.

The next day, you’re feeling much better, but then at lunch, the smell of Melissa’s lunch makes you queasy and you have to excuse yourself. You don’t think you can stomach lunch with the way you’re stomach is churning. What the fuck could make you feel so shitty?

And then you remember… you should be on your period right now. But it still hasn’t come. Actually, now that you really think about it, you’re a week late.

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Without thinking, you grab your wallet out of your purse and head down to the convenience store on the corner. You buy a pregnancy test and sigh. Ducking into the bathroom, you rip open the package and take the test. You sit there for a few minutes, silently praying that you aren’t with child.

But as luck would have it, five minutes later the word pregnant is staring up at you. At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you. How are you pregnant? You’re on the pill, the last guy you slept with was… shit- you had a one night stand during PECSA weekend. You burst into tears. Loud enough tears, that when a certain redhead comes to check on you, she can hear your sobs from the hallway outside the staff bathroom.

Concerned, she knocks frantically. “Y/N? Hun?”

You wipe the tears from your face as you try to catch your breath. “I- I’m fine.”

“No you ain’t,” she tells you, seeing right through your act. “C’mon. It’s just me. You need me to hold your hair back while you puke?”

“‘M fine,” you say again, but the crack in your voice gives you away.

She sighs loudly. “Hun, you either let me in, or I pick the lock.”

You don’t think she can pick the lock, so you don’t open the door. She counts to sixty, and then you hear the door click as the lock unlatches approximately ten seconds later. She appears in the doorway looking quite proud of herself as she slides the bobby pin back into her hair- that is until she sees the puddle that you are.

“Y/N?” she lowers her voice and softens it. “What’s wrong?”

You just hold up the test as you hang your head in shame. Her eyes go wide as you see what you’re holding up.

“You’re… When did you…?”

“PECSA weekend,” you choke out. “After you- after you left. I- I thought I was fine.”

“You had a one night stand?” she asks you, clearly bewildered and a little hurt.

You nod as the tears continue to flow down your cheeks.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“What are you… you seriously had a one night stand?”

“I did,” and you pick up on her tone- the sharpness. “I’m allowed to do that, you know. I am single, and I don’t need you judging me.”

“I ain’t judging you. I’ve had my fair share of those, but not when I’m talking to someone!” she bites out.

“What do you mean?”

“It means I thought we had somethin’ going on here, but clearly I was wrong,” she huffs out. Before you can get anything else out, she’s gone, and you’re left on the bathroom floor crying alone.

You try to talk to her during dismissal, once you’ve collected yourself a bit more- although you haven’t collected yourself by much. As you would later realize, your hormones are very much already all over the place. But she pretty much refuses to talk to you.

You cry on the way home. Oh how you wish you could have a glass of wine to at least somewhat numb the pain you’re feeling, but now you have a child to think about. Speaking of, you should probably make an appointment with your doctor to confirm that you are pregnant, although you’re almost 100% certain that the test didn’t give you a false positive.

The next day, you take a half day. The doctor is able to confirm that you indeed are pregnant- already about eight weeks along.

You show to school the next day in bulky clothes, as if your stomach grew overnight and you feel the need to hide any sort of signs that you’re pregnant before you’re ready to tell everyone.

Melissa avoids you like the plague. And it absolutely breaks your heart. The next few weeks continue on like this.

And with your hormones and mood swings only getting worse, it becomes harder and harder to fight the big emotions that you’re feeling. So, about a week out from being able to tell everyone that you’re with child, you burst into tears when Melissa comes into the break room, grabs her lunch, and leaves without so much as glancing in your direction.

The sob that erupts from your body startles everyone in the room, and their eyes are on you immediately.

“I- I’m sorry,” you rush out as you grab your lunch and head down towards your end of the hall. Your tears don’t stop, and once you’re in the confines of your own classroom, the dam really does break. You’re reduced to pathetic whimpers and choked out sobs as you almost curse the day that you conceived this baby that you’re carrying- he or she cost you Melissa.

You hear heels making their way to your room, and there’s some stupid part of you that hopes it is the second grade teacher. It isn’t, of course. It’s Barbara instead.

“Sweetheart, what has gotten into you?” the kindergarten teacher asks as she enters your room and closes the door behind you. She makes her way to where you’re curled up in your desk chair and perches herself on your desk.

“I- I’m fine,” you try to tell her, but the tears that continually fall down your face say otherwise.

“Y/N, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer truthfully,” she says calmly, evenly. You nod. “Are you pregnant?”

You gasp. “How do you know?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been through it twice… I’ve had many friends who have had children. I know the signs: not being able to handle certain foods you love anymore, craving the oddest food combinations, more frequent bathroom trips… the fact that you’ve switched from espresso to tea. How far along?”

“Twelve weeks,” you whisper.

“I didn’t realize that you were seeing anyone,” she says softly.

“I’m not,” you mumble. “PECSA weekend… I blacked out after Mel left.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs quietly. “When did you find out?”

“A month ago,” you cry. “And since I told Melissa… she- she hates me!”

“She doesn’t hate you,” the kindergarten teacher tries to assure you.

You sniffle as you wipe your tears on your sleeve. “She does! She was mad!”

“Why would she be mad?”

“Because… because she said something about how she thought something was going on between the two of us, but clearly she was wrong… Barb, I- I didn’t mean to hurt her!”

The older teacher frowns at that. “Sweetheart, are you and Melissa dating?”

“No! I mean, yeah we flirted, but she also flirts with Gary to get cheaper stuff from the vending machine! And I- we were never dating… we never even talked about it, and if I had known that was going through her head… I never, ever would’ve slept with that guy.”

“Does she know that?”

“No,” you mumble as the tears begin to subside. “She left and hasn’t talked to me since.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Barbara says, slightly pitiful.

“It breaks my heart, and it’s made… it’s made me hate this baby,” you admit, and the second it comes out of your mouth, you hate yourself. You can’t believe you just said that. “I- I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t,” the kindergarten teacher assures you as she pulls you into her arms for a hug you didn’t know you needed. “I know.”

You nod silently, aggressively wiping away at the remains of your tears and relaxing into her touch. “I- I’m fine. I just… got a little emotional. This has been really hard, especially all by myself.”

“I’m sure,” Barb says softly. “If you ever need anyone to help out, you know Gerald or I will always be more than happy to assist you… now, and when the baby comes.”

You start to cry again at that- the genuine kindness radiating off of the woman. That, and while you’re more than grateful for the support, you want that support from Melissa.

“I appreciate it,” you whisper. “I really do… I just wish Melissa would’ve been more supportive… I wish she was here with me through this.”

“I’m sure she’ll come around,” the woman promises. You don’t know it, but she’s already made up in her head that she is going to be giving her work wife a piece of her mind later about this.

You just shrug as you pull away from Barbara. “I- I’ll be okay, no matter what.”

“Yes you will be, dear,” she assures you. “Yes you will.”

“Thanks for coming and checking on me,” you give her your best smile considering your emotional state. “Go enjoy your lunch, I’ll be alright.”

“You need to eat too, Y/N,” she reminds you. “Especially now that you’re eating for two.” She extends her hand out to you, and you take it gratefully.

“Can we just… not talk about what just happened… the Melissa part?” you request softly as you follow her through the halls.

She nods, and when the two of you walk in, she gives everyone a stern look when they ask if you’re okay.

You sigh softly as you settle back into your chair next to Barb. “I’m okay. Just a bit emotional lately… because I’m pregnant.”

There’s a collective gasp heard throughout the room, and then you’re bombarded with questions as they all talk over each other.

“Twelve weeks, no I do not know the gender, no I am not seeing anyone, yes I am keeping the baby, yes I will continue to work throughout my pregnancy,” you state. “And: I expect that none of you will act like I’m broken. I’m not; I’m just pregnant.”

Barbara looks at you proudly as you finish your statement and take a bite of your lunch. Then she turns and gives them all another stern look, and they’re quiet again.

“Congratulations,” Janine says sincerely, and then the rest of them are congratulating you just as genuinely and letting you know that the Abbott crew is always going to have your back and that this baby is going to have more love than you could ever imagine.

You give a sad smile. You wish this baby had Melissa’s love.

When the lunch period is over, you’re able to get through the day without another breakdown, and you’re so grateful that you get to go home and veg out on the couch for the night- no appointments, no meetings, just peace and quiet.

Meanwhile, Barbara Howard is marching her way over to Melissa Schemmenti’s house.

“Melissa Ann, you better open the damn-”

“Barb, what the hell?” the redhead whips open the door.

“What in the Earth, Wind, and Fire are you doing, just dropping Y/N like two day old bread?! She is pregnant, and alone and scared, and all she wants is you- but you decided that you’re too good for all of a sudden? Melissa, I thought you were better than this,” the kindergarten teacher goes off.

“She’s the one who went and slept around,” Melissa rolls her eyes as she walks away from the front door. “She’s the one who threw away everything we had.”

Barbara enters and sets her bag down on the plastic covered couch before she follows the second grade teacher further into the house.

“As far as Y/N was aware, the two of you weren’t together,” the older teacher purses her lips. “Because for once in your life, you weren’t direct with somebody you had feelings for.”

“I thought I was pretty damn obvious about it!”

“You flirt with Gary too! She thought it was innocent!” Barbara tells her. “All I’m saying is, all she wants right now is you. And I do hope you’ll pull your head out of her ass and be there for her- because while I can offer my own support and the rest of the Abbott group stands behind her, it doesn’t matter; she wants you.”

“Doubt it.”

“Melissa, look at me,” the kindergarten teacher orders, and Melissa pulls her eyes away from the carrots she’s peeling. “Y/N left the break room crying when you came in and didn’t so much as look at her. I followed her, and she told me directly that she thinks you hate her- that she wants you to be there with her through this… that she has some not so pleasant feelings towards this baby because it made her lose you.”

“What do you mean?” the redhead teacher asks as she places a hand on her hip.

“It means that she told me… before redacting the statement, that the situation involving you has made her hate this baby.”

“She doesn’t mean that.”

“She doesn’t hate her baby, but she does hate that you aren’t talking to her… that if she knew that you two flirting was anything more than innocent, she never would’ve slept with the guy at PECSA.”

Melissa sighs. “I should go talk to her.”

“You should,” is all Barbara says back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home to Gerald.” She turns on her heel and leaves.

Melissa runs a hand through her red hair before glancing at the pot of water that is just beginning to boil. She turns off the stove and grabs her keys before rushing to get to your apartment.

She pulls in all too quickly, nearly hitting your car in her haste to get to you. She’s able to slip into the building thanks to another resident and books it to your apartment number. She knocks swiftly.

Inside, she can hear you groan as you pull yourself off the couch. You assume it’s just the pizza you ordered, and you open it. What’s on the other side of the door shocks you.

“Melissa?” you ask quietly.

“Hun, I’m sorry. I’ve been an-”

“What are you doing here?” you interrupt her.

“Just let me get this out,” she tells you. “I’ve been practicing this the entire way over.”

You nod and gesture for her to continue.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was an ass, and you didn’t deserve the reaction I gave you. I was… I let my emotions get the best of me, and when you told me that you slept with someone else, I just got so jealous and angry because I wish it was me that you ended up with in bed instead, but I wasn’t direct enough with what I wanted, and I fucked up. I- I don’t hate you; I could never hate you. I am so, so ridiculously in love with you, and I want to be here for you in any way I can if you’ll let me- for both you and this-”

You hiccup out a sob.

“Hun, hey, why are you crying?” she stops her speech. She pulls you into her arms and holds you tightly, playing with the ends of your hair.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” you choke out. “Just really emotional lately… hormones,” you hiccup out a laugh at the last word.

“I’m so sorry I left you alone when you needed me most,” Melissa whispers. “So sorry. But if you’ll let me, I want to be here for you and the baby.”

“That’s all I want,” you tell her softly as you wipe at your tears.

“And I want to be here for you as more than someone who just flirts with you innocently,” she tells you. “I want to… we should date.”

You give her a sad smile, and she knows she’s blown it. “Mel, I-”

“That’s okay,” she says softly. “I- I get it. Not the right-”

“You still want to be with someone who’s three months pregnant?” you ask her hesitantly. “You want to deal with all of this, and then a new baby?”

“If it means I get you,” Melissa whispers.

The tears that had started to subside hit you again, and you cling to her as if your life depends on it. “Please.”

“I’m right here,” she promises you as she continues to hold you in her arms. A hand slowly makes its way down to your still relatively flat stomach. “I’m never leaving you, either of you, again.”

You smile as you lean into her. You, and this baby, will be just fine with Melissa Schemmenti by your sides.

tags (and lmk if you want to be added to the list!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels—slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @nothere1111 @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary

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