#it's absolutely not entitled or intrusive to want to know more

[gayfreeloder]

DON'T FAKECLAIM PEOPLE HOLY SHIT

[cw; ableism, fakeclaiming, disabled rage, this is a rant]

Very long, skip to topic -> (1: intro) (2-3: fakeclaiming) (4: publicly disabled?) (5: faking for clout?) (6: self-diagnosis?) (7: misinformation?) (8: outro)

(1) As a person with mental and physical disabilities, the audacity of able bodied people to fakeclaim disabled people will always be infuriating and absolutely absurd to me.

(2) People will tell wheelchair users that still have use of their legs that they are "depriving an actually disabled person of equipment" and that they are giving disabled people a bad name by pretending to be. People use mobility aids for more reasons than just being paralyzed, and I feel like this isnt a hard concept to grasp.

(3) You have no entitlement to know what disability someone has or how they got it. This can be painful and intrusive. This is where I think a lot of people fall short.

(4) "If something causes someone pain, why would they want to share it publicly?" It's literally just the reality of their existence. With a lot of disabilities, getting better isn't an option but learning to live with it is. That means accepting it and moving forward as best you can. Many people struggle daily, it's a huge part of their lives.

(5) "Fakers are exploiting disabilities for clout, you can tell they're doing it for attention." How could you literally ever determine if someone is faking unless they just tell you? And how could you pick out the actual malingerers from people with similar real experiences? Fakeclaiming people is a really good way to make the lives harder of an already marginalized group and to excuse ableism. But I do agree that there are some people who exploit disabilities. Hunting them down on the internet isn't the way to deal with them because it puts actual disabled people at risk.

(6) "They are self-diagnosed, so they can't know if they have (x)." Diagnosis is a long and arduous task that can take literal years and thousands of dollars to accomplish. Again, this is just the way that people exist, often for their entire lives so they may be able to find ways to cope and heal on their own. If they don't need treatment, there isn't any reason to go through the grueling headache that is the diagnosis process. If they realize why they may experience the world differently than others later in life, that's fine. If they don't have access to diagnostic services, funding, or reason be diagnosed, that's also fine. If a label helps them relate to other people and how they experience life, why bother trying to take that from them?

(7) "Fakers spread misinformation about disabilities/disorders." If someone is consistently stating verifiably false facts about a disability they claim to have, that's probably the only time I'd allow myself to be skeptical. Other than that, if they behave predominantly in harmful stereotypes of said disability then I'd be suspicious as well. But that's it. And I'd keep my comments to myself. If someone is claiming to have a disability and they spread no false information, there's no justifiable reason to think they are faking.

(8) In summary, disabled people owe you no explanation for our existence. People say that they go on witch hunts for the sake of disabled people, but it only makes able bodied people more and more suspicious of all of us. I've even seen disabled people participate in the whole "fake disorder cringe" shit. Seriously, why? Fdc doesn't care about you unless they can make you into content.

.

.

(Bonus) "(X) is a lot more common in (group), they can't have that. It's really rare, too. Why weren't they diagnosed as a child?" Fuck you thats why

#disabled community #actually disabled #fake disorders #fakedisordercringe #disability #physically disabled #disabled pride #differently abled #ableist bullshit #fuck ableists

[goldenfharry]

Everything is been taken so seriously. What he posts, who he's hanging out with, WHY is he hanging out with them, if he's fucking them, if there's a bigger plan behind it, why he did this? why he did that? People fighting eachother all the time! We have lost the plot.

REAL. Some people have reached the point where Harry is not just an artist they love but an object for projection and the parasocial relationship with him is getting out of hand. What Harry is giving us is MUSIC. And we should stick to that. We have not the right to know what he does in his life, openly discuss it, scpeculate it and act as if we know because WE DON'T and we SHOULDN'T know. Some people feel entitled to know as if they have any say in it. None of us has. I get why people acted the way they acted with Holivia. It was a stunt and he did it for the public to see. That was the purpose in the first place. But now this Harry and Brad discussion is making me feel uncomfortable because I feel like we're intruders to his privacy. Whatever his relationship with him is, we shouldn't put our noses in it. In case they are just friends and nothing more, people blow it up and make it into something that it isn't like Larries did. And in case there is something more in between them, people are talking about his private, romantic, sex life openly on the internet which is gross. It's WRONG and intrusive. We are not his friends. We might feel close to him because we love him and think we know him but it's not the same for him. For him we are STRANGERS discussing his life on the internet. His MUSIC is for our entertainment. Not his life. We have to learn to separate the two and let him live.

You are absolutely right but this will never be consensual. People think that they respect him, but they really don’t. The fact that someone posted a tiktok of him today where you can see and hear him kindly rejecting a pic request says everything. If he denied the pic, why would you think that it’s actually a good idea to record him without his consent and post it for the whole world? And before someone says that it happened before because he’s a celebrity, well, we can’t spent our lives justifying our actions based on others. That’s just wrong. Don’t record him when he clearly doesn’t want to. Don’t post it for everyone to see it. And sadly, my impression is that people are getting worse and worse with him. He is not public property, he’s human!

[prettysweetprettysweet]

hii sorry i'm new here and don't know anything, why are you saying we probably won't get a s2 of kinnporsche? i only saw few things, but they sounded like it'll happen. just trying to manage my expectations 🥲

hello @kerasines! don't worry, what i said was not based on anything official by any means, it is more based on 'vibes' i've been getting, having been tuned in from the first episode.

the things that are of the greatest concern are:

the period of very heated tension mid-season between the original novel writers and the production company, and some perceived animosity between the writers and certain members of the cast. a lot of it was due to fans bringing attention to videos in which one half of the writing duo sexually harrassed multiple members of the cast and even cast members calling her out on it, on video. at this time Pond had said something like 'we may have done all we can with the source material'?? (don't quote me on that) and contractually they can't go forward with a season 2 without the writers' endorsement and involvement. however they now seem to be on good enough terms because the writers were at the Bangkok concerts? who knows!

the loudest and most active fans online are overwhelmingly entitled, demanding, aggressive, and detached, and harangue the production company (Be On Cloud) with the wildest opinions, conspiracy theories, and general noise. in person, large groups of fans have swarmed the cast both at work events and in their personal time, and there have been multiple instances of fans tailing cast members/trying to follow them home and other terrifying intrusive behaviors (why hasn't BOC hired bodyguards yet?), leading Be On Cloud to issue multiple warnings to fans. this is definitely a 'me' thing, but if i was in any of the actors' shoes i don't think i could handle another year of that and would probably tap out.

it seems like some entity was trying dig into all the cast members' social media histories to find controversial content. some truly upsetting things were found, apologies were made, you know how it goes. but it left a lot of fans hurt and unhappy.

i am very dubious about the financial wellbeing of Be On Cloud on its own. Even with their many many sponsorships, the production quality standards are sky high and I don't see how they could possibly have made enough of a profit off the show by itself to keep going. My theory is that they introduced the world tour as a way to generate income, and the fate of a season 2 might rest on how successful it is. I also have a theory that a lot of the recent big spends for the company have come straight out of Mile's pocket, who doesn't seem to have any qualms about personally funding the company and keeping it alive so that he can keep doing the stuff he wants to do and making the stuff he wants to make (you know, gay stuff).

the way BOC just announced that they're having 'global auditions' for the new Be On Cloud project - "Join us and become one of the cast members for our upcoming series together with other Be On Cloud’s actors." The wording to me sounds like its not KPS2 that they're casting for, and the vibe is sort of like…'hey we're moving on.'

a lot of the actors posted social media messages after the finale that read like goodbyes to their characters. I got the impression that they are all operating like this is the end.

there are some things that give me hope, though!

there is absolutely no doubt that IQIYI is begging for a second season. It pretty much stayed at #1 for its entire run and continues to chart high even after the finale. every business that BOC collaborated with for the series like Farmhouse all saw huge returns on their investments (that Farmhouse bread was sold out everywhere for a hot minute)

social media engagement was through the roof and only increased as the series went on. i'm sure BOC knows that if they go forward with a S2, it will produce exceptional viewership again, so thats one uncertainty that they can eliminate from the equation. they have an audience that desperately wants more.

when it comes to merchandise, ticket sales, and events, they have literally always sold out. any magazine that features any of the BOC actors always have enormous runs to meet higher-than-average demand.

if we're lucky, maybe Mile will say fuck it and fund a whole 'nother season

okay thats it also disclaimer i won't be sourcing any of this. source: just trust my vibe analysis

#kinnporsche #yo mismo

[scuopsie]

if i can speak - i think both “parties” of fans are in the wrong. fans who are adamantly for the group as a seven need to respect the fact that the boys have “gone their own ways” (in the public eye and professionally anyway - i am not so delusional to think these boys don’t hang out still) but fans who are fine with the group as a six also need to respect that people really got hurt during that time and they’re entitled to express that. it’s not fair for anyone to be telling anyone how to feel about it but when your behaviour and actions are now affecting someone else you need to take a moment to think about whether you’re simply emoting how you feel or you’re now imposing your feelings and wants on someone else (without the consideration of how it makes them feel or what kind of a position you’re putting them in - this goes for both “parties”)

as someone who became a fan literally last year i’ve never know mx as more than six but i understand the struggle and pain that comes with losing members of groups especially in a highly publicised and riddled with rumours type of way. it sucks so much and that horror kind of sticks with you for a long time. i’ve watching old mx stuff and i grieve the fact that i became a fan so late because i never got to see wonho in the group.

this all being said i don’t really know if i have a place to speak because i am such a new fan but that’s my opinion. everyone is right in their feelings but not necessarily in their actions.

Maybe I should’ve been more clear in my other ask; the side you're refering to isn't the same one I was talking about.

1)the delusional ot7 stans who keep pushing their ot7 narratives down everyone including monsta x and wonho and make them uncomfortable

2)the normal ot7 + wonho fans who support both monsta x and wonho individually as well as grieving the absence of wonho and not excluding him from things he was involved with.

3)fake woke stans bashing both other parties as if they're the same.

i didn't mention the first one in my previous ask because in my head they're a minority and i didn't want to consider them an entire group of stans (I may have downplayed their numbers) and that I thought that there was no questioning that they're 100% in the wrong. so yeah I mostly agree with what you're saying but we were talking about different groups of people.

I don't mean to be insensitive but I don't think you or anyone who didnt experience 2019 understands what monbebe and monstax+wonho went thru then. reading through the stories of the events and even having gone thru members leaving other groups doesn't even come close to really knowing how it was like and even I wasn't ulting monsta x. so even I don't fully get it and I'm still devastated just thinking about it (and remembering bits and pieces hearing about it back then). so I wholeheartedly believe that newer who didn't experience this have absolutely no right telling older mbbs to "move on". (I know u r not saying that. Im speaking generally)

even for the more extreme ones who refuse to accept that wonho will probably never join monsta x and they may never talk about each other or be seen together publicly, telling them to ‘move on’ is only going to make it worse. they just need to find a way to deal with this and understand that their intrusive actions and words will only make things more awkward and difficult for both monsta x and wonho.

I support wonho as a solo and consider him one of the best soloist of this generation, but in my heart he will always be monsta x's wonho too. I will never mention monsta x and wonho in each other's comment/fancall/concert erc or encourage people to do so because I understand that it would be pointless and disrespectful, but I don't think I'll ever move on and not be upset about the fact that wonho had to leave and start from 0 to get where he is now.

#one of he arguments anti ot7s (idk how else to refer to them dkdkd) use is that wonho is thriving now in a way he never did/could in mx #and i have to disagree #he could’ve had a solo career alongside his place in the group and it would probably be much easier to succeed actually #if the events of 2019 never happened he could’ve had a solo debut without the weight of those false allegations dragging him down #sure maybe it wouldn’t have been his main thing but in my personal opinion if i had to choose between having full time solo wonho and the- #-events of 2019 never happening id choose the latter because that situation hurt so many people most of all wonho himself. #id rather him not have gone thru that #but i cant change the past and insisting on wanting things to go back as they were before 2019 is delusional and impossible #so i will support him and monsta x and love them as they are now #but i will never be okay with what happened 2019 or be able to see it as a silver lining that solo wonho came out of it #i think only post-2019 mbb/wenee could feel that way #every once in a while i will cry abt missing wonho in monsta x and their interactions together here but never directly TO THEM (like on twt- #-or other platforms commete and just places they might see it) #ask #anon

[dykefaggotry]

Hi! This might be a bit of a weird question (feel free to ignore it if you want) but that one post you made about deviations from routine and autism crossed my dash today, and it was oddly relatable to me. Many autistic behaviours are relatable to me, because they are oftentimes shared with adhd, but this one struck a chord, and I had a very specific question about it. I tried to look it up online first because I didn't want to bother someone with something so silly, but I couldn't find a satisfactory answer, so here I am...

More specifically, I wanted to know what someone in the autistic spectrum might feel when someone else decides for them to change their pre-planned routine. I can find a lot of sites talking about how the person in question would be upset or distressed, but they never quite dwell on what that is like from the autistic perspective, only from the point of view of the person who has to 'deal with' that distress and how to best do it.

My question, then, is this: from your experience (I would also be interested in the experience of other autistic people, it doesn't have to be yours in particular if you don't feel comfortable speaking about it), how do you feel when someone decides for you to change your routine?

The media usually portrays autistic people that deviate from their routine being extremely upset, screaming or crying, or stemming sometimes, but I know that most portrayals of autistic people are bullshit and can even infantilize them and show them 'throwing temper tantrums' like a toddler, so...

Is it more like extreme annoyance because now things won't be 'how they should be'? Like you had this mental schedule that you spent the previous day, or even days before, crafting in your head and suddenly this ass feels entitled to your schedule and didn't even tell you beforehand that there was going to be a change of plans, even though they should have, because if an activity involves you then it is rude not to tell you that it's going to happen until the last minute. And now you have to change your plans, but the schedule doesn't fit well enough and you either need to take something out of it or eliminate some of the 'buffer time' between activities that you absolutely need to prepare mentally for the next activitiy. So now you're stressed, and that stress translates as tears of frustration, or even lashing out in anger at other people, and it feels even worse because you can't control it, or you might not even notice that you're 'over reacting' until later when you're more calm.

When I say schedule and activities, I don't mean anything too important, it can be little things like 'ok tomorrow morning I'm going to clean, then take a shower and then study until lunch'. But then suddenly that morning someone tells you that you have to walk the dog, and that might not even take you an hour, but it disrupts the schedule and it feels idk how to describe it, extremely rude or even intrusive??

Again, feel free to ignore this question completely if you don't want to answer it, I understand that I'm not entitled to your personal experiences or anything. Or, alternatively, if you don't want to answer because it's too personal, but you know where I could find more information on this, that would be lovely as well.

you're all good! I don't think it's a weird question at all and I don't mind answering 💖

it always feels very frustrating and overwhelming and honestly panic inducing? like physically my chest feels tight and it's harder to breathe and I'm just more irritable. when I was younger that would translate to tears and yelling or "throwing fits" but I got in trouble enough times for that that now I just get really irritable and want to hide away by myself. sometimes it can result in tears if the frustration has built up enough but usually for me it's very internal. that's not the case for everyone though bc some people didn't get it punished out of them as kids or they don't internalize it even if they did get punished.

but yeah you're absolutely right! it feels very rude or intrusive (for me that depends on what it is, sometimes it feels rude if I feel it's something they should've asked me about first but if it's just unavoidable I just get frustrated with no target) and it's just a whole spiral even if it's small.

[virtualduckbrigade]

i think the thing that gets me the most about stupid ass internet discourse about the moral purity of using the objects that are fictional characters as meabs and modes of sexual pleasure is that the excuses that people who are against it and think thought crimes are a thing are so *fucking ablist about it*. Like let me be clear, a solid 95% of people who are into that kind of shit are trauma survivors/victims. We get into it sexually as a way for our brains to cope with the traumatic events that happened to us. To make things that WERE and ARE *fucking terrifying*, things that keep us up at night in fear, not only palpitable, but pleasurable. AND SINCE ITS ALL FICTIONAL-- no one is actually getting hurt!!!! we can recontextualize our feelings in a way that is safe to LITERALLY everyone! and guess what! as long as you can still enjoy sex without the need to think about your fucked up kink, youre actually fine!! in fact, youre normal and healthy!!

Now, dont get me wrong. I DO think that if you make art about it, it needs to be tagged and posted places where minors cant get at it, because some people do get into certain things because of a minor(as in small and not underage) trauma around having unsupervised internet access too early minor(as in underage and not small), and thats what we're starting to see pop up around now with a lot of folks; but either way, if it is tagged and filterable, YOU, yes you, are the one responsible for curating your internet experience and if you dont know how to, frankly you shouldnt be anywhere outside of a search engine online. digressing from that too, if you filter out the things that you dont want to see and are triggering to you because you healed in a different way, you are 100% valid in doing so, so long as youre not screaming at the people who are healing in other ways that theyre "doing it wrong" because then, really what that says is that youre NOT healed. Because if you were healed, you wouldnt care what other people do if no real living person/animal was getting hurt.

You are not entitled to anyone elses personal information, when you go online. Some people might even be doing things to make it look like whatever is wrong with them ISNT wrong with them. You saying "anyone who does this is a freak and a pervert and a pedo who needs to be shunned from society" isnt helpful. it doesnt stop it. The only thing youve done is assert that "hello. i am an ablist and absolutely NOT a safe space for ANYONE who has any desire to heal from their trauma-related disorder. In fact I hope you die instead. You should be absolutely nothing but ashamed of what happened to you and the well-documented psychological responses it left your developing brain with". Like i get it, its fun to shit on Freud because 95% of the time the things coming out of his mouth were batshit. But Freud Was Right about A Lot Of Things. Specifically about Developmental Trauma and things people find uncontrolably sexually arousing down the road. AND AS LONG AS YOU CAN RECONTEXTUALIZE THAT AROUSAL TO *ONLY FICTION*, YOU ACTUALLY HELP *SOLVE THE PROBLEM*!!

and dont even get me STARTED on people with OCD who LITERALLY cannot move on from fucked up intrusive thoughts after they have them, or after someone makes a comment like, say, this post. All youve done is make them feel horrible too, over things that arent true and arent hurting them. Or the folk who suffer from delusions, who will believe more people are out to get them than the amount they thought prior.

Youre not "proctecting kids" or whatever the fuck, because if you WERE, you'd be lobbying for not only more therapy and better sex ed, but also better control over our collective internet experiences including advertising-free safe spaces for kids, and more massive archives of free well-tagged and correctly-tagged sometimes pornographic art something similar to ao3! but youre NOT. Youre projecting a belief not dissimilar to the religous trauma some people experience growing up that is only going to serve to blow up the issue and get more people to look at more fucked up shit online, earlier.

Youre not "taking a stance and stopping pedos", youre in the denial stage of your own minor(as in small) traumas because theres no safe spaces on the internet anymore since social media and capitalism fucked all of us, and the people with Major traumas dont have anywhere else to recontextualize that shit in a safe way anymore.

#tw #trigger warning #trauma #content warning #discusses anti behaviour #youre getting quacked at #rustled feathers in the night #do not make me turn off comments and reblogs because i WIL

[evil-wakes-in-vengeance]

Somehow I don't think you'd rather eat your own eyeball. And there is no restraining order, they're called bail conditions which aren't even necessary at this point. I haven't been any where near you or Milton for god knows how long now - a long, long time, and I have no intentions of imposing myself. I've sent the odd message now and again and we've had a couple of 'pleasant' convos since, but that's about all at this point. As I said, I lost my shit way back then. I don't want you as badly as you think though, I just miss you now and again. It's a weird mixture of lust, loneliness, nostalgia, and I miss the intimacy we had and obviously that's past it's sell-by-date but I'm not sat in a dark corner of my house rocking back and forth over it. I've got shit going on, but you'll of course exaggerate the amount I've messaged you.

Apparently any opinion that differs from your perception of yourself is gaslighting now too. How does that even make sense? You think I'm trying to fuck with your head, when actually, I just had a moment where I thought about everything, and I got myself in a mood and vented to you because this was a two sided relationship and we both made mistakes but you don't see the ones you made. As for most dudes trying to be with you, am I even wrong? Please show me one male friend of yours who hasn't even at the very most hinted they either fancied you, or wanted more with you at some point? I'll wait. It's not fucking gaslighting if it's true. And you don't even know what "Red Pill" mentality is. It's not what you think it is, i.e, how 2 fck loadz of bitchez and shhit. I was getting girls way before I ever even knew what Red Pill was. It's fuck all to do with that.

"you claim to have abundance and awareness , yet your heavily clouded by your own brains intrusive thoughts , and my gosh do you believe them , your not in control nor do you have the great self discipline you for claim you’re controlled by yourself , delusional and entitled narcissistic behavioural tendancies." Oh no! Kirsty is gaslighting me with her opinion! That's fine that you think that. Anyone who deals with anxiety has a heavily clouded brain. You should fucking know that Freud, since you also deal with it. And I don't believe every intrusive thought that comes into my head, don't be silly. You say I don't know you, but you clearly don't know me either. I never claimed to have great self discipline. I've admitted about a thousand times how many mistakes I've made, it's pretty fucking self-evident that I'm not perfect, duhhhh. Maybe you should realise you're not too, and I'm not talking about your looks which you seem to be obsessed with.

If only I were a woman so I could cry about how men victimise me, but never actually take into account any of the mistakes I might be making in relationships.

I said I didn't give you any reason to mistrust me in the beginning. That's clearly what I said to you. "Early on". And I didn't. Because of the way Will treated you, shat all over your commitment to him by sleeping with all of the easiest, trashiest lays in New Milton you naturally ended up traumatised as fuck (partly your own fault too for not having the "discipline" to break up with him sooner), and then you projected all of that mistrust on to me in the beginning. Was it fair? no, but I understood. I had the same doubts and fears as you because of how much I was betrayed in the past. Shit happens. Just recognise it.

Despite ALL of that said. I don't hate you at all Kirsty. I'm mad about what happened and I wish I could rectify it.

As far as I was aware and told by Molly there was a restraining order which meant immediate arrest if you came near me or Luna. And it is absolutely necessary , abd I'm glad you only miss me a little bit but enough to make various accounts and find a way to contact me ? Look what can I say I'm a decent girlfriend lol , I give to much and try my best , and I'm sorry but the only things I will be held accountable in the relationship was not leaving sooner , I genuinely genuinely cannot fault myself in any respect when it came to being a girlfriend , maybe I'm not as affectionate as I could be and my sex drive isn't the best but I'm on fucking fluxontine I'm cutting myself a break there. The only toxic behaviours I believe I exhibited would be reactive abuse when I finally started to lash out about the way you where treating me , which is exactly what happened with will. And I should have ended both relationships way before they broke me entirely . I'm very aware I'm not perfect I'm far from it I'm extremely messed up , I have a lot of physical and mental issues and I'll never try and hide that? But I've never cheated I'm always loyal I provide I listen I give advice Im open minded I can give space and allow my partner to have a life , I know when to back off and when to be there, I genuinely as a girlfriend don't really see where the fuck I'm failing ? Please do fucking enlighten me because really was a bad girlfriend you wouldn't miss me at all !!!

I have anxiety yes but I as a self aware person don't impose my anxiety onto others unless I'm physically in panick and need some reassurance but that's just called soppourt . And Im aware it can make you believe unrealistic things but again I DONT impose them onto others , you do huge huge difference , thanks for the Freud comment mind I appreciate it lol.

[vroenis]

The Last Sunday

You certainly look like you have your life together and that's not facetious, I know tone is rough on the internet - sincerity is scary after all (note from the next day: oh-ho-hoooo what a foreshadowing!).

If there's one thing I've become by whatever means, internal or otherwise, it's become more sincere. I have a lot of confidence which is odd. Confidence in some specific things, things I'm fairly sure I know the shape of. The rest - what I'm supposed to do, what I'm able to do, I've no idea. I don't have a template for that and I suspect I know the immediate response to that but I have good excuses, in that they're actually debilitating, not figuratively.

Somewhere back along the road my thoughts have taken tonight was a further meditation on intimacy and ownership, or perhaps the vernacular around it, taxonomy even.

I thought about the love songs I've struck from my collection, the ones I hear that immediately set me on edge;

"... make you mine..."

"... I belong to you..."

"... give myself / yourself..." etc. which is a particularly strange one. The act of giving is meaningful and I'll say in a cursory sense for now, not harmful, but that's not really the application in romantic works.

This sense of possession - and that it's key, important, normal, empowered, central. Etcetera.

I'm not interested in owning anyone. I'm not interested in bring owned. The initial association would be to blunt dimensions of slavery and there's a decent element of truth in that. There's nothing good about enslaving and being enslaved.

Nor is this a "we're all free lol I can fuck who I want" and everything that comes loaded with the concept of monogamy at least how it's most commonly understood and applied. I've not really spent a lot of time in a polyamorous relation but I've high contact with a decent handful of folks who do it full time and they're great, close friends, seem to get on fine with their own challenges no doubt. For purely practical (more or less medical) reasons I don't think I have the energy and bandwidth for it myself so I'm pretty exclusive - also for many other reasons.

But ownership is weird. Utilising it in language as a banner of pride is weird. I don't know, maybe for folks it's normal and maybe that's a significant part of why I don't like it. I've not had a normal life. I've not had access to the same things, the same assumptions as normal folks. Let's be blunt - white cis-het neurotypical folks. Hey it's no slight against any of you and again I'm being sincere - it absolutely isn't your fault that you fit in nicely with the societal norms we've constructed over tone as humans, and today isn't the day for hashing that particular facet of culture our, and what you can do about it etc. You're good. I don't hate the straights.

I believe I continue to struggle with relating to people. This is an odd thing for me to say at this specific time of writing (October 2022) given I'm currently experiencing a rapid but I think firm expansion of my social circle. Nevertheless I do think it's tied to the way I position myself when considering romantic intimacy. I pretty much begin from the same position;

- - assume I'm not welcome, will not be treated with generosity and difference, make no assumption of mutual intention, diminish my presence as much as possible...

... unless the other person makes an effort to clearly communicate and display affirmative behaviour and intent - -

Is that an Autistic thing? Is it a queer thing? Bipolar? The combination thereof? Is it a defensive position taken up by being an outsider regardless of why?

I don't know what signals I'm supposed to be sending romantically. Something about that doesn't sit right with me. Decletations or even suggestions, uninvited and not mutually initiated feel entitled and intrusive. I'm demonstrating my intentions on the assumptions not only that they're welcome, but that they're reciprocated. What a fucken dick move, honestly. I don't understand how that's kind, respecting, mutual and empowered in any way.

So I operate platonic friendships much the same way scaled back from there. If you don't demonstrate to me that you want my time, I assume you don't... which is fine and very normal. I figure most friends I make happen more or less mutually by us displaying and demonstrating an interest in one another, on casual levels first, then with increasing intimacy. Slowly sharing more interpersonal and intersocial elements of our lives, remembering, taking particular note of, and displaying knowledge of one another - treating with difference.

Scaling back up, for most of my life that's been my developing understanding of romantic intimacy, how I understand it. There's no withholding, there's no provocation of risk, there's no game, there simple is or is not engaged and either state is fine.

Ownership/possession seems to disempower that.

Assuming that I have rights regardless of mutual consent, is to me a horrifying concept. Giving someone rights and privileges to the extent of diminishing autonomy is equally as horrifying.

My understanding of how I love, and how I'm interested in being loved, what I want - what I expect - is that it's a choice. A set of actions, behaviours, access and privileges granted with mutual empowerment, that any one person can freely withdraw from at any time.

Sure, there are some really good social structures like respect we can load onto that, as in, when you want to leave, you hopefully respect the other person enough to declare what's happening... by the same token, if the other person is abusive, you hopefully respect yourself enough to know you don't owe them anything and you take care of yourself in the safest way possible (I know, heaps to unpack about that but there's a lot of great writing around if you look for it and much better than I could discuss here).

A while back I wrote that happy endings were for straight, neurotypical people and I stand by that. I know the shape of things that make me happy when I'm on my own but shared happiness is something I've decided has value and it's incredibly rare. When I'm in the midst of a depressive cycle, I deploy a frame that states "I don't know what happiness is // I don't remember what happiness is" and in the place where I am, it's very true.

I have more to say but it's late and I'm tired.

#queer #autism #autistic #bipolar #outsider #outsider culture #lgbtqplus #neurodivergent #neurodiversity

[yesevendoyoung]

.

#I'm so sad about Love #it's absolutely not entitled or intrusive to want to know more #it's called caring about people #the situation stinks of something not being right at all #and it's pretty shitty manipulation to push it back onto fans by suggesting it's irresponsible of them to even ask #I hope we don't just never know #but we'll probably just never know #love #onlyoneof

[troquantary]

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight meta #edward cullen #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #long post #major credit due to therealvinelle for having basically all the ideas already #theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin too since they agree and build off each other's metas a lot #idk how people who write meta can just crank these posts out i've been here for two hours #edited to add stuff i forgot to mention about edward's disproportionately violent fantasies

[wonjaekook]

Residual Starshine

Pairing:  Soccer player!Yuta x fem!reader

Description: You’ve experienced plenty of irritations in your life. For better or for worse, none of them are quite like Nakamoto Yuta.

Word Count: 19.3k

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers ; fluff, smut, touch of angst

Warnings: my first published full blown smut scene (only one towards the end, nothing crazy), sexual references?, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Mingyu appears as a somewhat bad character in this, but I absolutely don’t think of him that way. As always, this is entirely fictional. If you want one song to vibe to while reading this, I was listening to Everybody Talks by Neon Trees a lot :-) this is the longest fic I’ve ever written and the first one containing smut that I’ve ever published, so please let me know what you thought!

Taglist: @junglewoos​ @insomni-writing​ @neowritingsnet​

This is my contribution to @/leesmrk’s sports collab, but she deactivated (Dee I miss you) so @lucas-wongs​ has compiled the masterlist in her stead! The link to the master post with all other submissions is in my masterlist.

You didn’t expect to be spending your first morning before classes with your face smashed into your pillow, pressing the cotton over your ears. Yesterday morning had been perfectly lovely - you slept a solid eight hours and you only awoke to the beautiful morning sunshine greeting you through your blinds.  All things considered, it was a very natural wake-up. However, the loud J-rock blaring through the floor from the apartment below you is the exact opposite of natural. Perhaps the music isn’t as loud as you perceive it to be, but you happen to take things quite personally when you’re woken up an hour early.

Except, you don’t take it personally enough that you force your body out of bed. Instead, you allow yourself to let out a loud groan of annoyance before you pull your covers over your head. Thankfully, the music shuts off about five minutes later and you drift back off to sleep.

When you awaken again an hour later, the sunlight coming into your room doesn’t seem nearly as friendly as it did yesterday. Still, this time you do force yourself to get up. You go through your usual routine - bathroom, change into your running clothes, and stretch. You hear no sounds of any stirring from your roommates as you get ready. It’s somewhat of a relief to have the apartment to yourself in the morning. You put your headphones in and step out of the apartment, trying to get yourself in the zone with your workout playlist while also doing a quick look around to see if anyone is out. One set of stairs and you’re at the door leading out of the small complex - a building with four apartments, two on the first floor and two on the second floor. Outside on the step leading to the sidewalk and there’s still no one around. Without a second of hesitation more, you’re off at a light jog. Half of the apartments in this area of your campus are dedicated to student athletes and there’s nothing you dread more than running, quite literally, into someone who’s by far your superior at this activity and who would judge you. As you run, the thought of your lower neighbor comes to you. You wake up early to go run - but they woke up earlier. At that thought, a frown subconsciously makes its way to your face. Shooting a quick prayer to the heavens that you don’t run into anyone, you continue on.

Though you hadn’t started running until this summer, you know your campus well enough in the years you’ve been here to find a nice path. That also means that, when you see pairs of runners ahead of you, you can make unexpected turns to avoid passing them. At one point, you veer out of the way of a pack of people who you assume is the running club. About forty five minutes later, you’re sweaty and more physically exhausted than when you had left, but the energy thrumming in your veins leaves you with a deep sense of satisfaction. You had successfully avoided every person you had come across on your run and-

You nearly open the door of your complex into one of your neighbors. Acting on reflex, you step back and dip your head, avoiding looking at him. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” His voice is a smooth rumble and you look up, briefly forgetting about your sweaty and near-unpresentable state. He looks freshly showered, his skin smooth and just slightly sunkissed. Based on his physique, you would have guessed that he’s a student athlete, but his hair seems a little too long to match the stereotype. It’s a bit of a mane, a dark mop sitting atop the throne of his handsome face, and you think it suits him. As your eyes drift from his hair to his eyes to his nose and finally to his mouth, which has been set into the crooked angle of a smirk, it dawns on you that you’re checking him out very openly. Your face, already warm from exercise, turns blazing hot. After all of the hard work you went through to avoid embarrassing yourself this morning… “You’re cute, too, don’t worry.”

Several very intrusive thoughts come to you at once. By his very specific phrasing, he thinks you’re attractive. He also knows he’s attractive. The warmth of the complement fades to indignation at his cockiness. You press your mouth into a thin line and lower your head again, not making eye contact with him as you slip past him through the door. You’re not sure if his gaze follows you as you march back up the stairs to your apartment.

“One of our neighbors is a total ass!”

One of your roommates, Sowon, is lounging on your sofa as you sit at the small table in your shared living room, grinding the pen in your hand into your planner in frustration. It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun casting lines of shadows through your blinds, and you’re still hung up on what happened earlier. Sowon is also perfectly aware that you’re exaggerating, but she encourages you to continue. “The soccer neighbors or the volleyball neighbors?”

“Of course it’s one of the soccer neighbors! The volleyball neighbors would never do this to me.” You huff, eying the nearly empty container of cookies on the table.

“You’re aware that Johnny just brought those over so he had an excuse to hit on Yein, right?” Sowon releases a strand of hair that she had just idly wrapped around a finger, watching it twirl in the air. Your second roommate only sighs at the mention of her name, but doesn’t deny it.

“And Doyoung was the one who actually made them. So, by association, I am entitled to an equal share of cookies.” You consider Doyoung a friend - you shared a chemistry class with him once and he seemed to tolerate your presence, even enjoy it at times. He even sends you the occasional text still. “That doesn’t mean Yein isn’t going to be the one to give the container back, though.”

Yein frowns and opens her mouth but Sowon raises a finger to stop her. “Y/N is correct.”

With a shake of her head, Yein turns her attention back to you. “You were talking about the soccer neighbor?”

After you explain the situation as truthfully and dramatically as possible to them, they look at each other once before looking back at you. Sowon speaks first. “He’s definitely flirting.”

“Or he’s just like that naturally.” Yein counters. “Who flirts at eight in the morning?”

“You’d be surprised.” After you say that, her words sink in. You ran into him at eight in the morning, when he was looking refreshed. He’s a member of the soccer team, meaning he probably exercises in the morning. He also has pretty stereotypical rocker hair. “Holy shit, he’s the asshole who was blasting J-rock through the floor this morning!”

“Okay, never mind. He is a jerk.” Sowon wrinkles her nose.

“Was it at least good J-rock?” Yein prods.

You shrug. “It was alright, I guess. But that’s besides the point!” You slam your planner closed. “I’m giving him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.”

For several days, as classes start, you still get in your morning run and, each day, without fail, you’re woken up by the boy’s J-rock about an hour early. You fail to catch him at any time of the day until, finally, you’re on your way out of the apartment one morning. As you pull open the door, you nearly ram into him once again, though the situation is reversed. He’s the one who’s sweaty and warm, headphones firmly in his ears. That changes as he smirks, popping them out at the sight of you in the door. “So, we meet again.”

“Uh-huh.” You take the position of a displeased mother about to lecture a child, your arms crossed over your chest as you block the door. “You know, I have words for you.”

“Wow, already? People usually don’t have words for me until at least the third time we’ve met. Well, at least not more than a few choice ones like-”

You cut him off before he can inflate his own ego more. “Stop playing music so loud at six in the morning.”

He tilts his head like he’s confused, but the way his lips are quirked up tells you that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “Baseless accusations. Maybe you should take this up with Jaehyun or Kun. I would never do such a thing.”

“Come on. I know it’s you.” The look you give him is entirely unamused, so he relents slightly, the smile falling from his face.

“What are you gonna do, report me to housing?” Before you can reply that, yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, he continues. “I’ll tell them about the parties you and your roommates have. I’m sure they’d love coming out here at 3 AM one day just to tell you to keep it down. Almost as much as they’d love to come to my door at 6 to do the same.”

He starts walking towards the door and you turn your body inward, allowing him passage while silently fuming. “You-”

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta. You can say that if you need something to scream.” He gifts you a sly wink as he unlocks his door and lets himself in, leaving you so bewildered that you can’t think of a response at all.

“Stop messing with the soccer boys.” Sowon immediately reprimands you after you recount what happened. “You know the school will punish us before they punish them.”

“Yeah, and if this is your way of flirting, you need to think of something better.” Yein adds from the connected kitchen, tossing the stir-fry in her pan. “I’m not risking getting kicked out because you decided to mess with the soccer team’s star player.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he was really upset about the interaction. He seemed amused by my reaction.” You slump down, your forehead resting on the table. “And I didn’t know who he was until he said his name.”

“Well, he doesn’t know who you are-”

“And I don’t want him to.” You cut off Sowon. “I’ll just… deal with it.”

You get one more peaceful morning of running alone before, two days after you had first talked to him, Nakamoto Yuta comes jogging up to you. You don’t hear him at first. Music blares in your earbuds, drowning out most of the background noise of the morning, and your heartbeat in your ears fills out the parts of your internal sound profile that your music doesn’t quite reach. He comes up behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin when you see the figure of another person jogging in your peripherals. Your pace falters, but you immediately try to right yourself and regain momentum, praying he’ll just pass by you without saying anything. Except he doesn’t leave. With an internal sigh, you turn your head towards him. He offers you a grin and air-taps over his ear. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you pull out your headphones. “What?”

“Great morning, isn’t it?”

You contemplate shutting your eyes so that you can purposefully trip and eject yourself from this conversation. “I guess.”

“It’s soccer season. You know that, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, but nod. “Our first game is coming up soon.” You don’t like where this is going. “You should come.” “You must be hard-pressed for attendees to be randomly asking your neighbor to come to your game.” You reach for your earbuds again.

“Hold on, hold on.” You pause, then immediately wonder why you’re even giving him the time of day. Still, you relent for a moment. “If you come to the game this Saturday, I’ll stop playing music so loud when I wake up.”

“If you were a kind and courteous neighbor, you would just do that without having to threaten me to go to one of your games. And,” you state flatly, “I’ve already been to enough soccer games for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

As you jog away, he doesn’t try to stop you again, but you could swear that he seems the slightest bit disappointed.

The next morning is more of the same as usual. The same loud J-rock that wakes you up an hour early, your same run, your same shower and breakfast and classes. You consider shifting your sleep schedule so that you wake up at the same time as Yuta, though you dismiss the idea because why should you change your lifestyle to adjust for his? You’d rather suffer the early wakeup.

Except, two days after he asks you to come to one of his games, the music stops. That first morning, you wake up at your usual time. You’re prepared to be upset at Yuta waking you early again, but when your foggy morning brain processes that you had woken up to your own alarm and not his music, you lie there confused. When you go out for your run not long after, you almost hope that you’ll run into him. There’s no way he’s just being nice is there? He has to be sick or something. To your disappointment, you don't run into him and you’re just stuck in your confusion. This goes on for three more days and each day you become more perplexed.

As you’re returning to your apartment after your classes that Friday, someone holds the door for you as you approach. “Thanks-” you start, then see who’s holding it for you. “-oh! Jaehyun!”

“Hey, uh, Y/N, right?” You smile at him, nodding firmly. You’re almost surprised that he remembers your name because you’d only chatted once before, back when you were moving in. He’s perfectly polite, almost shy-seeming, and completely different from his roommate. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just getting back from classes.” Thinking of his roommate… “I was actually wondering, um…” He gives you a confused look, waiting for you to continue. “Is Yuta doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that you were at all acquainted with his roommate.

You appear equally as confused as he does. “Oh, I… never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s your next game?”

He brightens up at that. “It’s a home game. Tomorrow at six, don’t miss it!”

You return his smile. “Great, thanks, Jaehyun! I’ll see you around?” He sends you off with a wave before you go your separate ways, entering your respective apartments.

Should you actually go to his game? You don’t owe him anything, you never agreed to his deal, but he did stop playing his music so loud. You’re not really doing anything on Saturday either… maybe you’ll bug Sowon and Yein so that they’ll come with you.

That evening, the apartment below yours is particularly busy. All of the soccer boys are home - Yuta, Jaehyun, Kun - and the volleyball and art boys are also over - Johnny, Doyoung, Jungwoo, Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng. After all, as Johnny says, Friday nights are for the boys. Conversation flows from school to girls to boys to soccer, upon which Jaehyun shares a very interesting observation with his friends.

“By the way, it seems like you have another admirer, Yuta.” Jaehyun says as he takes a swig of his soju, recently acquired from the nearby Korean market and grossly overpriced.

“Sure,” Yuta responds, rolling his eyes, “who would that be?”

“You know that girl from upstairs? Y/N? She asked about you today and then asked me about our next game.”

“We haven’t even had our first game and you’re already collecting fangirls? Come on, Yuta,” Kun chimes in this time, breaking away from his conversation with Sicheng about their shared organic chemistry class.

“That can’t be right,” Yuta says, leaning back into the couch, “L/N Y/N? I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. I tried to make a deal with her to get her to come to the game and she just brushed me off.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his friend. “Y/N doesn’t just hate people for no reason. What did you do?”

Yuta raises his hands defensively and half-glares at him. “I didn’t do anything! I was just being myself and she decided to hate me.”

“The star-player, cocky version of yourself or the normal version of yourself?” Doyoung says, looking entirely unamused.

Yuta thinks back to all of the encounters he’s had with you and cringes slightly. “Listen, she was the one who was checking me out first-”

“Stupid.” Doyoung shakes his head before taking a sip of the water he’s drinking. “Some people take well to forwardness, but not her.”

“Are you sure? Because if she’s asked after me, I think that means she likes it.”

“I am going to spike a ball into your head, you-”

“Guys, calm down,” Sicheng says with a rather flat tone. Instantly, the two bickering boys stop, resorting to glaring at each other. Jaehyun gently shoves his roommate to get his attention and the room quickly returns to normal. Later, Doyoung passes Yuta a new bottle once his has run out, so he knows that the younger was never truly angry at him. The small party doesn’t go long into the night - tomorrow’s the first game of the season, after all - and, surprisingly, there isn’t much noise from their upstairs neighbor either.

That is mostly thanks to you. You had convinced your two party-addicted friends to attend someone else’s get together instead of hosting their own, so you ushered them out of the house at around ten in the evening. You know that they’ll come back fine in a few hours, rumpled and with their makeup half sweated off, buzzing with alcohol and the blaring music of whatever houseparty they were invited to, but you still tell them that your phone will be off of silent in case they need anything. Previous semesters, you might have gone with them, but, now, you just want to sleep so you can wake up early and go on your usual run.

The morning comes with your sleep uninterrupted by your roommates. After you awaken, instead of lying in bed and contemplating life for a while, you drag yourself up and to their rooms, where you find each of them peacefully asleep in their beds. Yein bothered to change out of her party clothes and into pajamas while Sowon didn’t, her dress half off of her shoulder and bunched up under her butt. Both of them are snoring away, hugging pillows and blankets.

The relief of seeing your roommates in good condition adds a spring to your step. A few minutes later, after you’ve stretched on the floor of your bedroom, you’re halfway out the outside door of the complex when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You know who it is even before you turn around.

“Y/N,” Yuta says, grinning much too brightly for how early it is. He doesn’t seem like he’s been out yet, which is strange. “Good morning.”

“Is it?” You lift an eyebrow.

“Perfectly!” As he talks, you begin to move farther out the door. Down one step. Down two steps. On the sidewalk. “Do you want to run together?”

“Shouldn’t you be just coming back from doing that?” You pull out your phone.

He quickly matches his stride to yours. “I decided to start running an hour later on the weekends. You know, sleep in a bit since I have the time.”

“I’m happy for you.” You select a song and put one ear of your headphones in.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Didn’t I already answer that?” In all honesty, you feel like you should be more irritated with him than you actually are. He’s at least amusing to talk to. Plus, he stopped waking you up an hour early without you even promising to come to his game.

“Yeah, but then you asked Jaehyun about it.”

You stop moving, turning to look at him. He has another one of those infuriating smirks on his face and all of your previous enjoyment flies out the window. “Maybe I’m a huge fan of his.”

“What position does he play?”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Now, your face is already warming and you haven’t even begun your exercise. You turn away from him again and begin to slowly jog. “Bye, Yuta.”

“He’s a midfielder! And I’m a forward! You can see today at the game!” He calls after you as you get farther away, his voice getting more distant. Part of you feels bad for your neighbors - the windows aren’t exactly soundproof. You just wave a hand back at him in dismissal. A minute later, you look behind you. To your great relief, and mild surprise, he isn’t following you. He went the complete opposite direction.

“Will you guys please come with me? I promise some of the guys on the team are hot.” You tug on Sowon’s sleeve like a child does to their mother when they want something.

“I thought you hated college soccer because of your brother.” She flips a page in her textbook, scribbling down something in her notes.

“I don’t think this one will be so bad. Our team is supposed to be really good this year, right?” You look hopefully at her.

“How am I supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Today is their first game.” She stops attempting to study, looking at you. “Also, I’m messing around. I’ll go with you.”

You look at your other roommate, who is in the middle of the very exhaustive task of sitting on your sofa and scrolling through her phone. She gives you a thumbs up. “As long as I can put on face paint!”

A couple hours later, you find yourselves in the bleachers surrounding the soccer field. It’s a modest stadium, not a stadium at all but just a normal soccer field with bleachers on either side and some decently sized flood lights for night usage. Not too far away is a moderately sized building that is a shared locker room space for all of the school’s athletic teams. Your school never invested much of its funds into soccer until recently, largely thanks to Yuta and some of the other members who are in their third or fourth year playing who made a name for your university in the sport. You also suspect that they probably talked the ear off of the provost so that he finally agreed to give them more funding, but that’s just a personal guess.

From your place on the home side of the bleachers, you have total vision of the field. Both teams are running warm-up drills and it’s easy enough to spot the people you know: someone from your physics class named Mingyu, someone you remember from a party named Baekho, and your lower neighbors, Jaehyun, Kun, and, of course, Yuta. His hair is pulled back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head and a small version of your university’s lion mascot stands out proudly on his red jersey.

You purposefully make a point to look for him last, only to find that he’s completely focused. Though it’s just shooting drills, he seems like he’s entirely in the zone, his eyes sharp and calculated. From what you can tell. The physical distance between you isn’t huge, but you can’t read his expressions that well from this angle.

The sharp scream of a whistle being blown indicates that there’s five minutes until the start of the game. The teams both do a bit of last minute stretching as they gather around the coach, a man you recognize as a biology professor. Finally, just as the clock hits six, they squeeze closer together, arms slung over each others’ shoulders in a tight circle, and do some sort of indistinct chant that ends in something like “Go Lions!”

After they break away, you can see the shift in atmosphere. Everyone is completely serious. It’s the first game of the season and they aren’t going to destroy the reputation they’ve built up for the last three years. You watch as Jaehyun moves to his position as a midfielder, Kun moves to his position as defense, and Yuta lines up in the position of forward center. A coin flip gives the kick-off to the away team, a school with a hawk mascot. Everyone shifts slightly on their feet and, for a moment, the world seems to be silent. The crowd leans forward in their seats.

Then, the whistle is blown.

The game gets to a roaring start. From how cautiously the other team is playing, they seem to know the reputation of the Lions - a team that shot up out of nowhere and suddenly has one of the best forwards in college soccer. You find yourself grinning as the ball barely makes it past your team’s defensive midfielder Mingyu before it’s in the Lions’ metaphorical hands. Your midfielders carefully juggle the ball between them, passing and passing and passing, before it reaches Jaehyun at center midfield. He does his job quickly and efficiently, making it almost look easy, and the ball meets the half-tip. From there, the ball is stolen by one of the Hawks’ defense at a failed pass to the second striker, Baekho. The ball shoots all the way to midfield.

For a few tense minutes, you watch the players run back and forth across the field, their eyes never leaving the target. The game pauses every so often when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, but it always resumes with just as much vigor. About a quarter of the way through the game, Yuta finally has his breakthrough. Jaehyun lands a kick directly in his direction, giving him the perfect opportunity. The strike is clean and so fast that you would have missed it if your eyes weren’t glued to the movements of the ball. All of the people on your side of the bleachers launch to their feet in roaring cheers as the ball sails past the opponent goalie’s right side and into the net. You’re standing alongside everyone else, your hands cupped around your mouth as you yell in excitement. It’s not often that you see such a well done shot from a college team.

The boil of the crowd’s blood dies down a bit as the game continues, but soars back up whenever something particularly exciting happens. In the third quarter, the Hawks manage to land a goal on your team, but Yuta comes in clutch a few minutes later and scores two easy goals almost one after the other. The final score is deeply satisfying at 3:1.

The opposing team try to be good sports about it, but they’re obviously sulking when they shake your team’s hands. After they break away, they’re all gloriously sweaty, which you’re sure Sowon is excited about. Some of the spectators immediately rush out of the stands and make their way down, friends and significant others of the players, you presume. Part of you wants to go down there and be a part of the excitement. Luckily enough, a distraction comes in the form of some of your other neighbors before you’re forced to make any decisions.

“Hey, Yein, Sowon, Y/N!”

When you turn, you see Johnny and Doyoung approaching. Yein stiffens slightly and you nearly start laughing at your friend’s embarrassed behavior. Sowon greets them first. “Hi, guys.”

“I didn’t know you guys were into soccer?” Johnny asks, his eyes shifting easily from Sowon to you to Yein, where they remain.

“Not really! But Y/N wanted to go today.” In her nervousness, Yein easily exposes you.

“I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go,” you huff, crossing your arms. Doyoung and Johnny exchange a look that makes you want to change the subject. “I guess you guys are here to support some friends?”

“Yup, Yuta, Kun, and Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, looking towards the field, where some of their other friends are already gathered around the star player. “They played really well. It’ll be a good season.”

“I hope so,” Sowon says, also watching.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you guys from them,” you say, wanting to eject yourself from the conversation before it turns in a different direction. To your displeasure, Johnny is a master of knowing exactly what you don’t want and then doing it anyways. You’ve never really talked to him before, but it seems that he’s similar to Yuta in that way.

“Why don’t we all go say hi?” The tall boy says, grinning. “You guys can tell me how those cookies were, too.”

There is no escape. Now, as you follow them down the bleachers, you reflect Yein in a way. She no longer looks quite as nervous, eagerly chatting with Johnny, while you grow increasingly more fidgety. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Yuta. You just don’t want to give in to whatever game the two of you silently decided you were playing.

Then again, it is much more fun to play along than it is to outright reject him. Plus, today’s actual game was good. You’ll give him that.

Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, you join the small crowd surrounding Yuta. If you thought he glowed normally, he absolutely shines now. There’s something about him being in his element at the very top of his game that makes you forget your irritation with him for a moment. In that instant, he’s a star. In that instant, he reminds you of your brother. Then, he spots you and opens his mouth.

“Y/N!” As he calls out to you, the girl he was talking to before you arrived seems perturbed, but he ignores her, pushing his way closer to you. “You actually came.”

You turn your nose up at him slightly. “No one ever said it was for you.”

“Of course not. You and I both know the truth, though.” The wink is nowhere near subtle or sly and you scoff at him. He seems unbothered. “This was your first Lions game, right? Did you enjoy it?”

You nod hesitantly. “I heard you guys were good, but I didn’t know how good. You played a near perfect game.”

The self-satisfied smile drops from his face. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?” Tilting your head, you match his somewhat grim face.

“There’s always better plays to make, better places to have been. You know.” He quickly tries to play it off like he’s uninterested rather than deeply bothered. You’re not sure you know what the truth is. You haven’t talked to him nearly enough to know. This is the first hint of something serious that he’s shown you. It almost makes you want to talk to him more to find out.

“Dude, shut up, you’re good.” From the side, Johnny butts in, elbowing his friend. You’re glad for the interruption, as you once again didn’t know what to say. The mood raises, with some of Yuta’s friends reenacting the best parts of the game, joking about his long hair, betting on what next week’s game will look like. A few minutes later, the Lions’ coach shouts for all of the team members to go shower and get changed, so the crowd slowly disperses.

After you’re alone with your roommates, Sowon and Yein can’t help but give you playful shoves as you walk home. Sowon is the first to verbalize her amusement. “I thought you hated him?”

You grumble under your breath, not saying anything in particular.

“You played a near perfect game.” Yein mimics, making your face burn.

“I do not sound like that! Also, I know a good game when I see one and I know when to admit it!” You kick your shoe against the pavement as they giggle at you.

From then on, it seems like you run into Yuta far too often for your own good. Every few days, you bump into him when you’re either about to go run or when you’re coming back from running. When you go with Yein to return Johnny’s cookie container, Yuta is in his apartment, lounging on the sofa and chatting with Jungwoo, your third volleyball neighbor. Once, when you’re studying at the school library because you need a change of scenery from your apartment, he runs into you. That time, you snap at him.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

He places a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended.  “What do you mean? If anything you’re the one stalking me. I come here every Thursday after practice to study.” He huffs. “If you’re talking about when I was in Johnny’s apartment, I was already there before you even arrived. Unless you’re accusing me of being psychic, too.”

Your shoulders slowly lower at the guilt you feel. Cringing slightly, you raise your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply…” You sigh. “Sorry. Can I buy you a coffee or something to apologize?”

Only after Yuta’s mock hurt shifts to a triumphant look do you realize the implications of your words. You’re really on a roll with implications today. He grins. “If you really want to.”

As you pack up your things, Yuta tells the few teammates he had come to study with that he’s going, and you walk out of the library side by side. Luckily, he actually makes for easy conversation and good company. You don’t know why he insists on the flirting and cockiness in your shorter interactions. As you walk to the campus coffee shop, you learn that he’s a studio art major. He learns that you’re a physical therapy major. You learn that he’s taking a statistics class that you had already previously taken - he put it off while you got it done in your first year - and, without thinking, you offer to help him if he needs it. After you order both of your coffees, finding out that he likes a lighter roast, you sit at a table in the shop with him. Silence comes and goes as both of you do some of the studying that you intended to do at the library. Every so often, he asks you a question. Usually, you answer him. You always return with a question of your own. You find out that his favorite of the bands that he used to blast through the floor is One Ok Rock.

“Sorry,” he finally says, appearing genuinely remorseful with the sheepish look on his face, “I didn’t have upstairs neighbors last year. I didn’t know you could hear it through the floor.”

“It’s fine. Sorry I snapped at you back then.”

It’s very strange to be on perfectly good terms with Nakamoto Yuta.

A few days later, when your brother sends you a ticket for the local professional soccer team, the Ravens, you almost feel like you should ask for a second so you can bring Yuta. Figuring it would be too much to ask, you plan to go by yourself, thankful that the game falls on a day the Lions aren’t playing. Plus, you can’t imagine what your roommates would say if you chose to go out of your way to take him with you.

You’ve taken to hanging out with the long-haired center forward, helping him with his math when he needs it and just… generally enjoying his company. That doesn’t mean you’re all sugar and smiles to him - it’s much more fun to mess around a little, make him think that you don’t like him quite as much as you actually do. The only thing you can think of that would personally offend him would be to say you’re going to one of his games and then failing to do so.

On the bus ride over to the stadium where the Ravens are playing, you’re thankful that you don’t recognize anyone from your school. You’re in the team’s colors, silver and forest green, and it would be clear to anyone where you’re going. Only after you get off of the bus do you realize just how many came to watch. The stadium is full, packed to almost capacity. That’s probably why your brother hadn’t gotten you tickets earlier - all of them were taken. He probably gave tickets to the earlier games to your parents. They would have thrown a fit if he had only invited you earlier, even if you are his favorite.

As you make your way to your seat, you remark on how strange it is to see your last name printed on the backs of the shirts of a bunch of strangers. The vibe of the crowd is completely different from that at your school’s field. While college students are excitable and energetic, these spectators are rabid. At any moment, there’s one hundred people yelling, someone trying to start a chant, someone screaming just for the sake of it. The air is buzzing with the anticipation of the crowd.

There’s a moment of sudden thick silence, like the moment before a dam is about to burst, where the crowd is silent. Then, both teams are stepping out onto the field and the stadium explodes. In the middle of the line of the eleven Ravens players, like he’s trying to blend in even though half of the crowd is chanting his name, is your brother. There’s a coin flip and it’s decided that the Ravens will start. He gets into his position, forward center, and the audience takes another breath.

You’re on the edge of your seat. Half of the game you’re standing. There’s a thrill about the experience that makes you so invigorated and proud beyond belief. If it had been strange seeing your last name on the backs of fans’ jerseys, it’s just as weird hearing the announcer say your brother’s name as he scores. If Yuta had been residual starshine, your brother is a shot of pure gold. He has long given up trying to make himself small where he glows the brightest, smiling as the whistle is blown for halftime. His teammates slap each other on the back when they go for water. Just as the game is about to resume, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket once. You figure that whoever is texting you can wait.

The other team makes a comeback in the second half, scoring on the Ravens and tying the score. You feel a bit bad for the goalie, a guy you know as Kim Yongsuk, who your brother had introduced you to in the past. He’s probably beating himself up over it. Still, the team doesn’t falter, doesn’t repeat their mistakes. It’s a hard game - from how close you are, you can almost see everyone breathing hard. Finally, with just a few minutes left to spare, the ball travels smoothly from the Ravens’ defensive line, to the midfielders, to the offense. Once it’s in your brother’s possession, it’s over. He shoots and he scores.

To be fair to the other team, they try to recover, but it’s just not enough. Time is called and it ends 2:1. The Ravens have won. You find yourself clapping and cheering with the other fans, shouting your elation to the huge stadium. As things begin to wind down and the teams shake hands, people begin to trickle out of the stadium. A satisfied hum is in the air, leaving a smile on your face, too. Perhaps soccer games are the reason you like parties, too. The warm, excited atmosphere, the noise, forgetting about the outside world to become absorbed in something else.

Finally, reality calls again after all of the players filter out to their respective locker rooms. You pull out your phone, about to send a text to your brother. However, when your phone comes to life, the first thing you see is a text from Yuta.

NaYu: Are you at the Ravens game??

An instant later, right on cue, you hear his voice. “Y/N!” Upon looking up, he’s bounding down the aisles towards you, also donning forest green and silver. Watching him weave through the rest of the people trying to leave, you wouldn’t be surprised if he would have slid down the railing if there weren’t other people there. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for him to reach you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” You tilt your head, smiling slightly. You’re in too good of a mood to outright lie to him.

He blinks. “I thought you hated watching soccer.”

You hold your hands behind your back, swaying playfully. For once, he’s the confused one. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. I really enjoy seeing the Ravens play.”

“But… you said…” He furrows his eyebrows. “Didn’t you say you’ve seen enough soccer games to last your whole life already, or something?” “I changed my mind.” Your phone buzzes in your hand.

B/N: You still in the stands? I’m coming up.

At that, you freeze. Yuta nudges you. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You’ve kept the fact that your brother is the Ravens’ star striker away from everyone, besides your roommates, and you can’t even begin to imagine how Yuta would react if he found how. What would he think of you? “You can head out without me, Yuta. I’m waiting for someone.” The concerned expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you sure? It’s kind of late-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, I’m-”

“Y/N!”

You turn just in time to see your brother jumping the gate blocking off the entrance to the field from the stands. Most of the stadium has cleared out by now, ushered out by staff, leaving very few people. Your brother has a hoodie on with his team’s colors, the hood up and partially blocking his face from distant onlookers nonetheless. You cringe internally as he jogs up to you, not seeming tired at all, and you greet him as he engulfs you in a warm hug. “Hi, B/N.”

“I’m glad you could make it. It’s not often that I get to play for my favorite sibling.” You’re looking at your brother, but you’re sure that Yuta has a shocked look on his face as he connects the dots. Now that your brother has directly stated who he is to you, there’s no avoiding it. He looks past you and realizes that you’re not alone. “Who’s this?”

“I…” Now that you’re actually looking at Yuta, you realize he’s entirely starstruck. He looks like he’s stuck in one place, his eyes wider than normal and full of awe.

You take over for him. “This is Yuta. He’s my friend from school and our team’s center forward.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m B/N! Since Y/N finally decided to show her face at her own team’s games, I heard you guys are doing well this year. Go Lions!” He raises a fist, giving Yuta a sunny smile.

Yuta blinks hard, looking almost like he might pass out. “Y-yeah. We’re doing alright, I guess. Thank you for your support.” He reflexively dips into a shallow bow, making your brother chuckle.

“You don’t have to be so formal. Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” He elbows you not-so-gently. “Y/N! Tell me next time you want to bring him. I’ll throw in a second ticket.”

Yuta unfreezes a bit and looks at you. “You don’t bring Yein or Sowon?”

You shrug. “I don’t like to bring only one of them. It feels unfair to the other.”

“Still, I’m glad to see that you’re not lying about having at least one friend.” Your brother gives you a wicked grin and heat fills your cheeks.

“I have friends!” You insist, clenching your fists at your side.

“Do you?” Yuta teases, making you press your lips together in a look of indignation.

Before you can counter him, your brother interjects. “I hate to part with the two of you, but I have to leave.” He steps back, waving a hand at the two of you. “See you!” “I hope you stub your toe on the way out!” You shout back at him as he retreats.

“Hey, this toe is worth a lot of money! Love you, too!”

There’s a period of silence as you watch your brother disappear. Yuta clears his throat. “Do you want to go back?”

“Yeah.” You follow him wordlessly for a while, making your way out of the stadium. He walks by your side, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t seem upset, just a bit shocked still. As you approach the bus stop, you finally speak up. “Did you come with anyone else?”

“Some of the guys from the team. I told them to go ahead without me so I could talk to you.” Of all the things he’s ever said, that makes your heart feel strange. A tiny flutter of a butterfly’s wings, if you will.

Then, as you make it to the bus shelter, you turn to him, grabbing onto the edge of his sleeve. “Yuta, promise you won’t be weird after this?”

He blinks, not fighting your grip. “Why would I be weird?”

“Just… I don’t really tell people about my brother. I don’t want you to think any differently about me because of it.” This level of vulnerability isn’t something you usually show and it feels foreign, unfamiliar. When you told Sowon and Yein about it, it didn’t feel this way. Yet, standing under the shelter with Yuta, his deep green sleeve in your hand, his eyes on yours, the light of the city falling faintly on your faces, you feel your heart pound even harder in your chest.

“I already liked you before I ever knew that.” He reaches up oh so slowly. You don’t know what he’s going to do. Touch your cheek, pat your head, kiss you? Before you can find out, the bus pulls up with a loud exhale, spewing exhaust. The doors open and the driver looks at you expectantly as you turn and get in. Yuta follows you, silent. Both of you pay your dues and sit down, side by side, his sleeve brushing yours.

You know exactly what it is about him that drives you insane. At the same time, you have no idea. While you don’t want things to be different with him after tonight, you also desperately wish for the opposite. You’re tempted to slap yourself in the face to try and wake yourself up from whatever strange dream you’re happening, but you don’t know how the boy next to you would react.

The ride passes excruciatingly slowly, as does the short walk back to your complex. Finally, as you’re standing in the stairwell, about to part ways with him, he speaks. “Do you want to study together tomorrow?”

At that, such a normal suggestion, you smile. “Sure.”

He reflects your expression. It’s a familiar look on him, which you’re grateful for. “I’ll text you. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next day is entirely ordinary. It’s like the previous night never happened. Yuta is perfectly normal, perfectly flirty, perfectly infuriating. In fact, the entire week after is normal. You go to the Lions game, cheer on your neighbors, and pretend to be difficult with Yuta after the game. He’s always so hard on himself after his games, remarking on what he believes are the many things he could have done differently to play a better game, despite scoring all of the team’s goals and securing wins every time. You hope that you talking to him afterwards raises his spirits just as much as you enjoy it.

Then, one Saturday, you’re out running when Yuta jogs up to you. Once again, he scares the shit out of you, making you nearly trip. “Hey, Y/N.”

You tear out your headphones, giving him a look. “Have you tried not jumpscaring me?”

The shrug he gives you looks strange, as he’s jogging slowly next to you when he attempts to emote. “It’s kind of funny.” You grumble under breath about showing him what’s funny, and he continues. “Do you want to run together on the weekends?”

“This again?” You say, frowning.

He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re lonely. Since you come out to my games, I thought I should do you some sort of favor in return.”

“I also help you with your statistics homework.”

“Anyways, you’re in luck because I also don’t have a running partner. It’s a lot easier to set a pace and keep moving if you have someone with you.”

You know he’s right, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. When you’re running, you’re at your most vulnerable - sweaty, tired, out of your element. There’s plenty of reasons you shouldn’t want him to run with you. “You have to run so much faster than I do. I would just slow you down.”

“Not really,” he says, looking at your feet as you jog next to him, “see? We’re both doing fine right now.”

You realize that he’s right. You keep moving wordlessly for a minute, until you speak quietly. “Would you really not mind?”

You focus on his hair bouncing as he takes each step for a while before you look at his face. In the morning sunlight, he gives you a pure smile. “Not at all.”

On Saturdays and Sundays, he’s waiting for you just outside of the complex at seven in the morning with his hair tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He easily matches his pace to yours. He’s always much more awake at that hour than you are, but the quiet encouragement he whispers whenever you slow down help perk you up. It takes you a little while to realize that he’s doing something very similar for you to what you do for him after his games.

It’s a cloudy Sunday morning. Usually, you don’t talk a ton while you’re running together, but it seems that his curiosity has gotten the best of him. “What made you want to start running?”

“Hm?” You hum, snapped out of the world that was just your feet thudding against the ground and the sound of your breathing in your ears. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“People usually don’t just randomly start doing it. Maybe they want to get stronger or lose weight. Maybe they want to impress someone.”

“It’s not about impressing anyone. I’m doing this for me.” You say it firmly, confidently. His pace stutters and he watches you continue forward. There’s something in your voice that makes him incapable of moving, and all he can do is stare at you for a moment, his heart speeding up in his chest for reasons other than the running you’re doing. When you realize he isn’t following, you turn towards him, jogging in place. The way your face is illuminated by the sunlight being cast upon it makes him sure he’s never met someone as incredible as you before in his life. “Are you coming?”

You don’t know what’s up with him. His expression is something you’ve never seen but can’t quite place. He catches up in a few bounds and you resume your run.

The next Friday, you receive a strange text.

Unknown Number: Hey, is this Y/N?

You contemplate whether or not you should respond, but you get a second text.

Unknown Number: This is Mingyu from physics

Now, that’s strange. You start to type out a reply.

Y/N: Hi! What’s up?

Kim Mingyu: I was wondering if you could help me with the lab report from last Friday? I’m having some trouble

Y/N: Sure, do you want to meet in the library later?

Meeting up with someone who you’ve never really talked to before is strange. Mingyu tries to joke with you, but something about them falls flat. You try your best to laugh and help him anyways, figuring it’s just stiffness from interacting with someone new. Though it’s nice to finally have a physics buddy, you’re almost relieved when you go home.

As you approach your complex, you see a small group formed on the lawn outside. Sicheng and Ten are standing on one leg, holding the other leg up and trying to knock each other down. A small smile comes to your face when you realize that Yuta is in the group, cheering for his friends. Around the same time you see him, he sees you and his eyes light up. He’s quickly getting to his feet and bounding towards you. Taeyong calls after him with a frown. “Yuta, you’re next!”

Still, he sidles up next to you as you walk closer to the circle. “Y/N! Where are you coming from?”

“Just the library. Actually, I was meeting up with one of your teammates, Mingyu. We were working on physics.”

The smile he wears twitches downwards for a moment. “I didn’t know you had a class with him.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning. I never talked to him before today.” You shrug, shifting the backpack on your shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“One-legged fight. You should join.” He suddenly has a sadistic gleam in his eye and you take a tiny step away from him.

“And give you an excuse to push me on the ground? No thanks.”

“Aw, Y/N, I’m hurt. You don’t think I would just push you if I really wanted to?” At his proclamation, you shake your head, trying to force down a smile but failing miserably. “I’m kidding, of course. I would never.”

It’s almost sunset and he looks glorious in the golden light, the sun reflecting off of his dark hair and making his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. If you were bolder, you might say something about it. Instead, you let out a snort of laughter, looking away from him. From the circle a few yards away, cheers erupt. Ten is curled on the ground, dramatically bemoaning his loss to Sicheng, who stands proudly over him. Taking that as his cue, Yuta gives you a small wave and rejoins his group.

When you enter your apartment with a small, content smile on your face, Yein looks up from her cooking. “Good day?”

“You could say that.”

The next morning, thankfully, is a Saturday. Yuta is waiting for you, looking just as fine in the morning sun as he did in the evening rays. He’s stretching as you approach him. “It looks like it’ll be good weather for the match today.”

“It better be.” He says it lightheartedly, but you can really imagine him threatening the weather. He’s told you that he hates the rain, partly because it makes it unpleasant to play but also just because it dampens his mood. The team is lucky they’ve gotten good weather for the season so far.

As you’re running, you remember what something you needed to ask Yuta about. “Hey, are you free on Wednesday night? My brother offered me two tickets for his game.”

His eyes light up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, trying to keep your pace steady. “He said he would pull through, so he did. You made a good impression on him.”

“I am totally free. Completely. Did I tell you how free I am that day?” The child-like excitement in his voice makes you smile in return.

“Wow, with how not free you are, I guess I should invite someone else,” you tease and he lets out an uncharacteristic whine.

“Y/N, I know you’re messing with me, but if you take someone else after asking me, I will never forgive you.”

Now it’s your turn to pretend to be offended. “I see how much our friendship means to you, Mr. Nakamoto.”

He sighs dramatically, bringing a hand to his forehead as he acts like he’s going to faint. “You’re so serious.”

You stick out your tongue at him. “You’re such a fanboy.”

“I can’t help it. Your brother is just so cool. I don’t know how you don’t try to hang out with him literally all the time.”

That gives you pause. You feel your feet connect with the earth repeatedly for a minute, thinking about your brother and your complicated but not complicated relationship. You trust Yuta with so many things, so you may as well tell him. “A few weeks ago, when I said I was only doing this for me, I lied. Just a little.” You say, not looking at him. You’ve never really admitted it out loud before. “I want to get good enough to run with my brother. I almost never see him these days, but if I can start getting up to run with him sometimes… it’ll be like when we were kids. Or something. I don’t know.”

“He’s important enough to you that you want to change something about your life to spend more time with him,” Yuta says quietly, keeping pace with you. “I hope he knows how much you care about him.”

“You don’t always need to change to show you love someone. That’s why it was only partly a lie when I said I’m only doing this for myself.” You flash Yuta a smile, which he returns. Though your lungs burn and your legs ache, the air you breathe in is cool and fresh. “I’ll race you back.”

His eyes flash. “Challenge accepted.”

The next time you see Yuta is later that day, at his game. He’s serious, as usual, in the zone. As the season goes on, the bleachers fill up more and more with students eager to see the Lions throw sparks. The games continually get harder, but they manage to clutch this one out with a final score of 3:2.

Despite the win, Yuta still seems somewhat down. Afterwards, you’re about to go up to him to describe the glorious moment when he slid between two of the opponent defenders and scored, but you’re stopped by a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N.” To your surprise, Mingyu is the one approaching you. He doesn’t take his hand away.

“Oh! Mingyu, hi.” You try to smile at him, but your eyes wander over to Yuta briefly. “Good game today! You guys played solidly.”

“Ha, thanks. Could’ve been better on my part, I’m always looking to improve, you know.”

“I get it,” you respond, nodding.

“Are you possibly free on Wednesday night? We have a lab due on Friday and I just think it would be easier to do if we can work together, ya know?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually busy then.” You force yourself to not look at Yuta. “Does Thursday night work instead?”

“Sure, whatever. I’ll see you then.” The way he squeezes your shoulder once before stepping away to talk to some of his own friends makes your stomach turn. Why is he being so… weird?

Shaking your head, you turn back to who you had intended to greet in the first place, only to find that he had been looking at you already. What’s with the look in his eyes? Why is everyone being so weird? Ignoring the feeling, you join his circle. Yuta moves closer to your side, his arm looping around your waist as he does so, pulling you in slightly. The touch is brief but intimate, sending a bolt of electricity through your body. You swear that you can almost feel the heat of his skin through your clothes. Then, his arm is back at his side like nothing happened. You want to speak up, say what you were planning on saying before, get your mind back on a normal track, but you find that Johnny, Ten, and Jungwoo are already recreating the scene, making Yuta smile through the veil of whatever emotions he’s experiencing right now.

When the entire team heads over to the locker rooms to clean off the shine of sweat and dirt that had been accumulated through the game, you can’t help watching him. As he goes, you catch flashes of his smile while he congratulates his teammates. Something stirs in your heart.

That night, you dream of healing smiles dressed in a lion’s mane of black hair. That same visage is waiting for you the next morning when you go out to run but, here outside of your head, he’s solid, real, more than heated touches and soft caresses. At the same time, he is those things. Or, so you wish him to be.

When you study with him the next night, he is as he usually is, theoretically. Sometimes it feels like his eyes linger longer than usual, his hand rests a little closer, he smiles a little wider. It’s nothing you can confirm because, to any normal gaze, he seems entirely the same. Perhaps you’re confusing yourself into imagining things. Has his flirtatious nature finally tricked your brain into thinking he likes you?

Sometime that evening, you go to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You pat your face rather harshly to try and drive some sense back into your brain. You should tell him. This new boy who has become so close to you. Why are you afraid of it going wrong? You emerge from the bathroom with the same feelings that you entered it with and, there he is, looking up at your return.

The next day, Tuesday is a brief reprieve from the torture of trying to figure out his feelings through his actions. Then, your brother’s game comes. Your chatter fills the space between you on the bus ride to the stadium, him telling you about the anime he’s watching, you talking about the drama you’re watching in response. He jokes about culturing you by getting you to watch a show with him.

Watching your brother’s game with Yuta at your side is an entirely different experience. While you think you normally have pretty good commentary on your own, he provides an extra edge, excitedly explaining why some players choose to do some things or making observations about small moves that you ordinarily wouldn’t notice. Both of you absorb the atmosphere of the stadium, bursting into cheers whenever something incredible happens, screaming extra loud when your brother scores.

During halftime, when the roar of the audience is less deafening, you realize that you’ve never asked Yuta about his background with soccer before. You nudge him. “Hey, Yuta? How long have you been playing?”

He taps his chin, trying to think back. “Probably since I was five?”

“No wonder you know so much,” you say, “I’m talking to an expert right now.”

“You know too much for just a casual viewer,” he says back, snorting, “don’t tell me you don’t have some experience.”

“I only played a bit when I was younger, but I wasn’t any good. It was always more fun to watch B/N. I ended up just taking care of him whenever he pulled something or fell and scraped his arm… you know.” A wistful smile forms on your face. “It started off as just kissing bruises like my mom would, but then it turned into intense Googling whenever I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong with him.”

“Maybe you can kiss my boo-boos whenever I get hurt, too, then.” He’s smirking, the ever-familiar gleam of mischief in his gaze.

You force yourself to roll your eyes at him, ignoring the feeling of your heart jumping in your chest. “You’d better not get hurt, Nakamoto.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

A few minutes later, the game resumes. This matchup is considerably more difficult than the game you had attended before. Each time the Ravens seem like they’re close to scoring, the opponent defense sends it back towards your end of the field or the goalie successfully blocks it. All the same, your defense and goalie do their jobs, too, leading to a brutal back and forth. By the time the game is over, the only goal that had been scored was the single one your brother got in the first half.

“Ah, that was tense. They almost took it back there for a second.” You stand, stretching your arms behind your back to loosen them up a bit. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuta gets up as well, following you as you begin to climb the stairs. “Is your brother not coming to see you this time?”

“He told me he has some press deal after this.” Once you’re in a more open area, Yuta walks next to you instead of behind. You can now see that he’s frowning.

“Does he keep you a secret on purpose?”

“I asked him to.”

“I can’t imagine keeping someone like you hidden like that.” At that strange comment, you stop, looking at him. He seems to be taking the issue very personally.

“It’s easier this way. No one prying into my life, no one asking me for autographs from him all the time. People know who our parents are. What’s so important about an unknown sister?” Is there something else he wants you to say? The look on his face is something you’ve only seen maybe once or twice. He’s in a strange mood, that’s for sure.

“I get it, it’s just…” He sighs, looking at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yuta.” He finally meets your eyes. “It’s important to me that what people think about me is what I show them first. I don’t want to be a reflection of my brother, no matter how much I love him.”

“Is he the reason you didn’t want to talk to me at first?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s voice again, that strange seriousness gone.

You start to walk again and he keeps pace. “No, that was just because you woke me up at six in the morning.”

“I guess both of us have experiences that precede our reputations then, huh?”

The bus comes not much later. The previous reminder of how you met has him offering you one side of his earbuds, saying that this would be a better introduction to J-rock than the one you had before. As you listen, you’re tempted to lean your head against his shoulder or take his hand, which is resting oh so close to yours. Instead, you just sit still and look out the window.

After you get off of the bus, the topic of shows you both like makes a return.

“I will take it upon myself to expose you to great art. Are you free tomorrow? We have to start immediately.” Yuta begins to pester you, practically bouncing as you walk.

“Actually, I’m busy tomorrow. I’m working on physics with Mingyu again.” He doesn’t initially not react to your first statement. However, when his teammate’s name comes out of your mouth, he frowns.

“Of anyone…” The sudden change in his attitude catches you off guard. “Why him?”

“I don’t choose who’s in my classes. What’s wrong with you? I thought you got along with your teammates.” You’re nearing your complex at this point. The lamp posts bordering the sidewalk cast long shadows on the ground as you walk.

“In a team context, they’re fine. Usually. Just, that guy…” He’s scowling now, making you frown deeply in return.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N.” He pauses, but then his feet stop moving a moment later. “Fuck it, I do know. He’s not a good person. He’s a manipulator. He’s a good manipulator, but he’s bad at lying when you actually confront him-”

“Yuta, you’re being ridiculous. Even if he is, I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”

“Y/N, he was with me at that first game! The one where I found out about your brother? What if he saw? He’s the type to use information like that to get what he wants. What if he-”

“What if he what, Yuta?” You glare at him, anger muddled with some other hurt now filling you. “He hasn’t done anything. He isn’t going to do anything. Our ‘secret’ isn’t going to get out. I can take care of myself.”

With that, you brush past him, into the complex, into your apartment. Thankfully, your roommates aren’t in the common area, so you safely make it to your room. Once you’re there, you shove your face into your pillow. You consider screaming into it, but you know he’s probably in his own room, where he could hear you. Instead, you just heave breath after frustrated breath.

You don’t know why you snapped at him. Actually, you do. It’s the fear that he’s actually doing what he accused Mingyu of. After every word you’ve exchanged, every conversation, you should be confident that he’s not like that. But, you’ve never been in this situation before. What if he…

It’s a stupid notion and you know it. That’s just the surface. Another layer of your feelings peels away. You hate when people are too protective of you. You want to make your own decisions, to learn for yourself. You hate when your brother is too protective of you and you hate when Yuta is.

That’s not even all of it. Finally, you reach the root of your aggression. What right does Nakamoto Yuta have to try and be protective of you when you aren’t even together? Was that the concern of a friend or the concern of a jealous lover?

You curl in on yourself even more tightly, breathing through the pillow under your face. No one has ever flirted with you as much as he has. You’ve never been so ridiculously on and off with someone before. Still, neither of you are willing to answer the question. You’ve never actually fought like this with him before.

Perhaps he hates you now that you’ve thrown his warnings back in his face.

The next day, after your classes, you force yourself to go to the library to meet Mingyu, Yuta’s words heavy in your mind. As you work, you can tell he’s still trying desperately to get on your good side, even emanating Yuta in a strange, off-balance way. It’s not amusing when he does it.

Finally, the subject you’ve been dreading comes.

“Are you a fan of the Ravens? I think I saw you at one of their games once.”

You swallow back disappointment. Mingyu is the worst fear of your insecure self and you finally have to come face to face with it. “I guess you could say that.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take it farther than that. If Yuta’s right about him, then it’s probably just one piece of a larger goal. Though you never cared much for Mingyu, it doesn’t feel good to see things begin to unfold.

Not seeing him for two days in a row brings your mood down more than you’d like to admit. At the same time, you’re not ready to apologize yet. You don’t know what exactly is happening on his end, you never know, so when you go outside to run at your normal time on Saturday, you half expect him to be there.

He isn’t. And you don’t run into him on your way back, either. The game it is, then.

As the day progresses, the sky gets increasingly cloudy. In the evening, when the Lions and their opponent team are out on the field running final drills, it’s easy enough to tell that a good number of people had looked at the forecast - the crowd in the bleachers is much thinner than usual. The sky could open up and pour its soul out onto all of you at any moment.

You don’t even bother pretending that you’re not watching Yuta. As he steps off the field for their usual pre-game pep talk and chant, you swear he makes eye contact with you. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother looking, because he’s usually confident that you’re there. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes is now.

The coin toss decides that the other team will start with the ball. That might have been the first omen about the game. Then again, maybe the other team is just… better. Their defense is at least tighter than yours. At halftime, they have a point up on the Lions, 0:1. Yuta seems to take this very, very personally. Within ten minutes of the game restarting, they tie the score back up.

At about three quarters of the way through, it begins to rain. The referee deems that they’ve played far to stop, so the match continues. Almost like they take the poor weather as a sign, the rival team scores nearly immediately after.

You pathetically huddle under a single umbrella with Sowon while Yein shares one with Johnny. The ball slips rather than flies around the field, back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, with barely any time to spare, it’s at Yuta’s feet. The world seems to move in slow motion, then. His right foot moves backwards. It swings forwards. He makes contact.

He misses.

You try not to gasp. Yuta himself seems to be in shock, with how he goes stiff for a moment. Then, he’s back in action, targeting where the goalie had thrown the ball. This time, it’s not enough. A minute later, after another brutal back and forth, the scream of the whistle soars above the sound of the rain. It’s over. The Lions have met their first loss of the season.

The two teams barely wait around to shake hands before they’re rushing off to the locker rooms, away from the rain. Yuta moves slower than the rest, seeming to drag his feet through the muddying grass. Ahead of him, all of his teammates are moving quickly, but moping nonetheless. From your position, you see Mingyu kick the shins of someone you recognize to be one of the younger players. You see Kun’s mouth move as he tells him off, but they’re far enough away and the rain is loud enough that you can’t hear. If you hadn’t been displeased already, you are now.

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“You guys can go back,” you say, taking a step out from under the umbrella after you’re out of the bleachers with your friends. When Sowon tries to shove her umbrella in your hands, you push it back. “I’ll be fine! It’s only a short distance.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry.” With a sigh, she turns, reluctantly walking back behind Yein and Johnny.

You take off running, trying to outpace the raindrops pelting you. By the time you make it beneath the slight sheltered roof of the locker room building, you’re damp, but not entirely soaked. It’s enough to be an annoyance, your clothes sticking slightly to your skin.

You wait outside for a good few minutes. Small groups of players from either team leave, the opponent players giving you strange looks as you lean against the wall and shiver, Baekho and his group giving you an awkward acknowledgement, and, finally, Mingyu emerges.

“Y/N?” He seems confused, but somewhat excited. As if you’re there to meet him.

“Mingyu. Answer one question for me.” You say it wearily, expressing it like the chore it is.

“What are you acting so weird for?” The excitement you glimpsed before dies.

“Were you going to use me to get in good with my brother?”

The rain is the only sound you hear for a couple solid heartbeats. “Y/N, listen…”

“He was right…” You grumble to yourself. You glare up at him. “You can do your physics labs by yourself. Delete my number.”

He stands before you for a moment more before he realizes that you’re serious. He turns and walks away, into the haze of the downpour. A minute later, Jaehyun and Kun emerge from the building.

“Oh, Y/N,” Jaehyun says, seeming surprised. “Are you waiting for Yuta?”

“Is it that obvious?”

The two of them exchange looks and smile. Kun speaks next. “He’s probably not coming out for a while. He usually gets all depressed when we lose a game, but I’ve never seen it this bad. He’s been standing in the shower for like fifteen minutes.”

You glance at the door. Jaehyun nudges you. “He’s the only one left in there. I wouldn’t tell anyone if you, say, went in right now.”

“A bonafide cupid right here,” Kun says, swinging the bag he has slung over his shoulder around so he can dig through it. He produces something, offering it to you. “Here.”

“What is…” You trail off as you take it from him, your face warming as you realize exactly what it is. “Kun, what is this?!”

“I don’t want any miniature versions of him running around. I’m always prepared.” You stare at Kun incredulously a beat longer before you shove the condom in your damp pocket.

“Good luck!” Jaehyun calls back to you as they begin to walk off, leaving you standing under the overhang. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door and walk inside.

Unsurprisingly, the place has a somewhat sweaty smell to it. The rows of lockers are labeled with names and a little image depicting the sport the owner plays, as all of the school’s teams use the same locker room, and the occasional miscellaneous socks, gloves, and other things are scattered about. A row of sinks is against one wall and past the sinks is an entrance into the shower area. You make your way there.

As you get closer, the distinct sound of one shower running gets louder. The only curtain that’s closed is a middle stall, all of the others open and empty. Parallel to the shower stalls is a long wooden bench. “Yuta?” You call out. He doesn’t respond, so you try again. “Yuta?”

“Go away.” This time, the response is sharp and harsh. He certainly is in a mood.

“Yuta, it’s me.”

“Y/N?” His voice is significantly less negative now. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

You can barely hear him sigh over the sound of the shower running. “You couldn’t wait until after I was done?”

“No.” When you say that, the water shuts off. A hand sneaks out to grab the towel hanging from a hook affixed to the partition between the stalls. You don’t see anything revealing, but you look away anyways. The scraping of the rings being drawn back tells you he has emerged from the stall.

“You can look at me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.” You look back, greeted with the sight of his gloriously wet hair and bare torso. He emerged quickly enough that he didn’t have time to dry much of the water dripping off of him. The only part of his body that’s covered is his waist and thighs, though the towel still reveals a tantalizing v-line. You forcibly swallow your thirst.

“Blatantly checking me out again? I get it, but would it kill you to be less obvious?” The comment throws you back to a simpler time, when you were just irritated with him for his cockiness and blasting music through the floor.

“Speak for yourself.” You cross your arms. It was obvious enough that he was enjoying the sight of you in a wet t-shirt and shorts.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” He says, frowning. He steps closer, leaving little space between you.

“I didn’t think it would cool down this much.” You look away, not able to face his bare chest quite yet. The room still has a certain steam about it from the hot shower he was taking that makes it a little harder to breathe. Then again, maybe that’s just him being mostly naked in front of you. He reaches out, touching the hem of your shirt.

“You’re soaked,” he says, rubbing your shirt between his thumb and index finger.

“You’re just making me wetter.” Your face burns something fierce as you say it, contrasting the chill that had settled over your skin from standing outside. “You would think you’d dry yourself off more before getting out of the shower.”

“I was just eager to see you, I guess.” You finally have the courage to meet his eyes again.

“I missed you this morning.” You almost pout while saying it, feeling small under his gaze. It’s not an uncomfortable smallness, but one that makes you feel closer to him.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers softly over the side of your face. His touch is blissfully warm. “Or, I think that you did want to see me, but you would only be angrier if I showed up.”

The thought almost makes you laugh. It would be one of the few times he’s been wrong about your feelings. But, if he always knows so much… “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I talked to Mingyu a few minutes ago and you were right. I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle it on your own.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You’re strong enough to deal with assholes like him. You don’t need me.”

“I might not need you, but I do want to keep you around.” The small confession has your bottom lip quivering. “Did I mess up your game today?”

“It was mostly the rain.” He sounds so nonchalant, but you can tell he’s still bothered. “Not you. But, if you do feel bad about it, Miss Physical Therapy, there is something you can do for me.”

His eyes have shifted away from their darkness into a different sort of moodiness. You step closer. “What is it?”

He moves back, taking a heavy seat on the bench. “I’m quite tense. Give me a massage.” His eyes bore into yours. “If you so choose.”

You step behind him. The thrill of what you feel like he’s implying thrums in your veins. The muscles of his shoulders and back are hard under your fingers, showing years of training and toning. You’re almost surprised at how well built his upper body is for a soccer player. His skin is beyond perfect too, and the little droplets of water from his steamy shower that settle on his skin glisten temptingly in the low light of the locker room.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” you practically whisper.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.” He wasn’t lying when he said he was tense - you can feel the knots leaving his muscles as you press down on them, dissolving into smooth flesh that’s soft to the touch. As you work along his back, one particularly tough knot has your thumbs pressing harder into him, drawing a low groan and a curse from his throat. “Fuck.”

The sound turns you on more than you’d like to admit. As you finish his back, you become even more hyper aware of the little noises he’s letting out, the space between you becoming noticeably warmer. Slowly, reluctantly, your hands leave his skin and you circle back towards his front, not quite wanting to look him in the eye. “Is that better?”

“Much.” The air feels heavy. “But you’re not done, yet.” Ordinarily, he’d be smirking so hard you’d be able to hear it in his voice, but there’s only a low command to his tone now. He reaches out, guiding your dominant hand forward so that it’s resting on the front of his shoulder. There’s no hiding from his eyes now. You decide then - if you’re going to do this, you might as well go all out. Sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the wooden bench on either side of him, makes you feel both powerful and small at the same time. His face is only a breath away from your own. You swear you can see his eyes flicker to your lips. Trying to play innocent, despite the fact that you can basically feel his dick hardening under his thin towel, you shift slightly, putting your focus on his shoulder and pectoral muscles. Every so often, you readjust yourself, purposefully bouncing slightly on his lap, almost grinding down on him. He doesn’t crack, remaining still and keeping his expression flat. The only signs he gives of being aroused are the slight shiver to his breath and the prominent bulge you’re now certain you can feel. That, and the hands he has on your body, one on your hip and one on your thigh, fixing you in place.

The process is slow, arduous, but you eventually finish with his pectoral and shoulder muscles. You pull your hands away, placing them in your lap and then sitting back, unmoving on his lap, reveling in the way you’ve very clearly made him feel. “Is that all?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips again before boring into your own. “You missed one spot.” Wordlessly, he reaches up, tapping his own lips.

You could walk away right now. His hands aren’t so tight on your body that you couldn’t just get up and leave, go back to your apartment and forget this ever happened. But why would you want to? You’ve been dreaming of his lips for weeks. Finally, you’re about to get a taste. Still, there’s an edge of apprehension digging slightly in your gut.

You’ve sat in silence for long enough that he’s opening his mouth, an apology about to leave his lips, when you swoop forward, pressing your lips to his.

Where he had given you the choice to initiate, he’s the one who really leads. He almost instantly deepens the kiss, dragging you even farther up his lap, pressing you hard against his barely-shielded dick. You feel his fingertips against your skin, under the hem of your top.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, but-” Where his hands had stilled under your shirt they begin to move again. “Yuta, wait.” He freezes once more, looking up at you. If you didn’t know better, you could swear you see a little bit of fear in his eyes. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “I won’t fuck you unless you tell me you actually have feelings for me. Did you mean what you said back then? After the games?”

“Is that a requirement for all the guys you sleep with or am I special?” You can feel his cock throbbing under you and your own insides ache in response. Of course, he’s delaying what both of you want by being coy. The frustration building up in your gut and in your heart makes you feel like you’re going insane.

“Yuta…” You mean it to sound admonishing, but your tone is more akin to a whine as you lightly drag your nails down his chest. His breath stutters slightly in his lungs at the motion, but in that moment, a sort of gentleness you’ve rarely seen takes over his facade.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he breathes out, eyes locked with yours, “how could I not have feelings for you?”

You kiss him, sweetly, desperately. His hands begin to move once more, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into your skin. When his hands make it to the edge of your shirt, giving you a suggestion, you cover them with your own, guiding him to take it off. As soon as the garment is out of the way, his lips are on your neck, your collar, the soft skin of your chest. He can feel the hum of your voice through your breast as you speak. “I really like you, Yuta. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else.”

His fingers nimbly unclasp your bra and it falls to the ground somewhere. As his touch ghosts over your breasts, you arch into his hand, drawing a warm chuckle from him. “That’s good,” he says, thumbing slow circles over your nipples, “because I feel the same way about you.”

You pull him back to your mouth, pulling him as close as you possibly can, breathing him like he’s air, tasting him like he’s food. His tongue is slick against your bottom lip, against your own tongue. Almost unconsciously, you rock your hips against his bulge as you move. Impatiently, he tugs at your shorts, pulling you out of the kiss.

“These have to come off.”

“It would kill you to go slow for once,” you laugh, getting off of his lap on shaky legs.

“I go slow for you all the time,” he responds, shifting the towel at his waist, which you realize is barely holding onto him from all the grinding you were doing on his lap, “I’ve been going slow for months now. Isn’t it time to speed things up?”

You roll your eyes, but shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your panties and him in his towel. From this angle, he can truly appreciate you. Every curve, every beauty mark, every fold and crease on your body. He leans back, his hands bracing him against the bench. Then, he shifts forward abruptly, taking the opportunity to snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin.

“Yuta!” The cry is half an admonition, half a laugh. You move to push his shoulder gently and he catches you by the hand, pulling you on top of him and kissing you once again. Before you realize it, he has a sneaky hand slipping into your panties, touching you where you’re most sensitive, making you jolt against his hand.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs the words against your lips and you nod, trying to focus on kissing him through the pleasure of his fingers. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched you like this and you’re not used to it.

“Mm,” you moan back, “more than okay.”

He had said he wanted to go faster, but it seems like he’s just going so slow, making you fall apart on his hand, first with just a thumb on your clit, then two fingers pushed more deeply inside of you than you could ever reach yourself. At some point, you’re no longer kissing him and your cheek is pressed to his instead. You nip at his ear, which you now realize is pierced, and the damp spikeyness of his hair rests against your temple.

His free hand rests over your breast, rhythmically squeezing it as you ride his fingers. Oddly enough, you feel like he predicts your climax before even you do, working you carefully through the release of pleasure as you shudder against him and clench around his fingers. Before you can fully regain your senses, he’s kissing you again and removing his hand, wiping his sticky digits against the towel slipping from his waist. You figure you’ll finish the job, reaching down to untwist the cloth so that it falls open against the bench.

You continue kissing him as you take his dick in your hand, your thumb sliding over the precum beading at his tip. It’s his turn to shiver, his cock twitching in your hand. Giving it slow, purposeful jerks, you watch him become perfectly uncomposed under you and you grin, leaning closer to press a kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He’s stiff, but remarkably soft to the touch, veiny and thick enough that your mouth waters. A couple minutes pass before he’s encasing your hand in his own, slowing your movement.

“I don’t want to come in your hand.” You stop, looking at him with faux-innocent eyes. He blinks desperately at you. “Please.”

“Can I suck you off later?” The words leave your mouth unexpectedly. You hadn’t even really been thinking about the later, but you figure you’re safe to assume that there will be one.

“Of course, pretty girl.” He strokes your hair and you can just think about him holding it back in the future as he-

Trying to distract yourself from the later and focus on the now, you slide off of his lap once again. He almost seems confused, made lonelier by the tiniest distance you put between the two of you. It’s almost a funny image, him half pouting at you while his dick is out, standing up against his abdomen and completely exposed. You let out the smallest exhale of a laugh. “You showed me yours, so I figured I would show you mine.” Your panties fall to the ground, where you kick them in the general direction of the rest of your clothes. The sight of your shorts reminds you of another important thing. “Oh! Also!”

You scramble over to them, reaching into the pocket and producing the little foil packet. Yuta stares at you. “You’re… prepared? I didn’t even think this far ahead and half the time my brain is controlled by my-”

“Kun gave it to me before I came in here,” you say, waltzing back over to him. He takes the packet from your hand, tearing it open. You… give him a hand as he rolls it on. “He’s awfully ready for a great many situations, isn’t he?”

“I think he was expecting this to happen a lot earlier than it actually did, honestly,” Yuta responds, pulling you back on top of him for the third time. Once again, your knees rest on the hard wood bench. “Can we not talk about my roommate, please?”

“I can agree to that.” You smile, kissing him. “Can we talk about how much I like you instead?”

“We can always talk about that,” he says, one hand on his dick, one on your hip, “are you ready?”

The mood dips, making your body shiver in anticipation again. “Yes.”

The way he positions his cock and begins to push into you makes both of you let out noises of relief, a groan from him and a sigh from you. You sink down onto him further until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, hard and pulsing and ungodly warm. He gives an experimental buck of his hips, pulling a moan from your lips and shaping his into a cocky smirk. “Already feel that good?”

“Shut up,” the complaint dies in your throat as you lift yourself up on your knees and sink back down again, bouncing on his lap slightly. You focus on the feeling of him inside of you, the sensation of him hitting your G-spot, the touch of his fingers on your clit again. His breath mingles with yours whenever he takes a break from kissing you. Your hands wander the smooth planes of his chest, your thumb briefly ghosting over his nipple, your palms getting sweatier as you hold onto him. It’s not long before you let your head fall back, your thighs tense as you hold onto his shoulders and move up and down on top of his cock.

His lips are hot as he mouths your neck. You’re not usually the type for marking, but, honestly, the thought of wearing his hickey on your skin sounds beyond appealing. He introduces the slightest bit of teeth, grazing them over your pulse as you ride him. The trail of tiny nips goes down past your collarbones to your breast. Your heart beats loudly in your ears and the desperation of chasing your orgasm makes the passage of time feel fuzzy, but in the sweet, bubbly way a soda does rather than the heavy, blurry way a cold would.

“Yuta,” you whine, the knocking of your legs against the bench growing painful, “can you…”

“I got you, baby.” With a grunt, he stands, lifting you by the thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. A breath later, your back is pressed to the wall and he’s pushing into you once again. The new angle is a change, and it’s a good change. Every one of his thrusts hits exactly right, pushing you further and further until-

“Yuta, you’re gonna make me...” you pant against his mouth, breathing the same air as him. At some point, after he had picked you up, you had reconnected your lips, and he swallows the little noises you let out hungrily. You clench and unclench your fists behind his back, as your arms are slung over his shoulders.

“Mm, good. That’s my girl.”

All you can think as he pounds into you is Yuta, Yuta, Yuta. You come undone with a final swipe of his thumb and a choked cry of his name. Once your own orgasm has stopped burning quite so bright, lowering to a comfortable simmer in your gut, his hips slow with each thrust until he pushes into you and stays there. You can feel him throb inside of you even through the condom.

Your skin feels like it’s glowing in the aftermath of his love, warm like coals after a fire has just ceased to burn. Warm with the promise of more flames in the future. You lean your face in the junction of his shoulder and neck, breathing love onto his skin. His deep, uneven breaths slow over time as he presses gentle kisses to the exposed flesh of your shoulder. The silence between you is only interrupted by the ambient sound of water flowing through pipes hidden in the concrete walls of the shower part of the locker room. That’s enough of a reminder for you to groan, clutching onto him tighter. “I can’t believe we just confessed and fucked in your sweaty locker room.”

“From my perspective, it’s more ‘wow, I can’t believe we finally confessed and fucked, even if it was in my sweaty locker room.’” That, at the very least, makes you smile. Slowly, he begins to pull out, separating from you with a sticky, wet sound. He backs up, turning so that he can place you gently on the towel still lying on the bench. He disposes of the used rubber quickly, throwing it in a trash can at one end of the room.

Now that he’s no longer touching you, it feels so much colder. “I feel bad for whoever has to clean this place. I hope they don’t find that.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He makes his way back to you, naked body still on full, glorious display for your eyes only. “Wanna shower while we’re here?”

You groan. “Yuta, I’m tired. No funny business.”

“Who said anything about any ‘funny business?’ I just suggested we clean off the sweat from all that physical exertion.” He’s smirking, not even pretending to be innocent.

“You’re insatiable.” Still you get up, joining him in the shower stall that he holds open for you. If any follow up activity happens while you’re in there, the only way anyone on the outside would be able to tell would be from the quiet sounds that are mostly drowned out by the noise of the shower.

As you finally redress, accepting the hoodie that Yuta had in his locker so that you don’t have to put your wet shirt back on, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, like he’s afraid you’ll go away. The environment between you feels different, but the same. After you’re both fully dressed and start walking out the door, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts the action, interlocking his fingers with yours. Both of you stop under the overhang of the building. By now, the sun has set and a few street lights shine along the walkways of the campus through the haze of rain. “Yuta, are you my boyfriend?”

He blinks a couple times. “Wasn’t that implied?”

You turn away, suddenly shy. “I mean… I just… wanted to clarify…”

“You’re too good for me.” He laughs, then kisses your cheek. Both of you stare out of the rain, as if it’s going to suddenly stop just because you’re politely waiting for it. “I meant it. Every time.”

“Hm?”

“Every time I said I liked you, or that you’re amazing. I was just afraid of- I don’t know. That I’m not honest enough or nice enough, or even good enough at soccer. I just-” He seems so tired as he says it, so brutally truthful, so terribly self-doubting.

You squeeze his hand. “Yuta, it’s okay. Honestly, all this time, I thought you’re too good for me. You’re so much more than the things you say you are. You’re a star.”

“I’m not. I can be an asshole, and jealous, and not serious even when I should be-”

“Yuta, if you like me despite all of my ridiculous bad qualities, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a little jealousy. You’ve shown me who you are and I still like you. You’re loyal and funny and romantic and so many other things. I like you.”

He sighs sweetly, like he was holding in a breath for so long and is finally letting it out. He’s holding your hand so tightly, it feels like he might never let go. Right now, you think you might be okay with that. “Sorry. I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

You peer into others’ eyes for a long time, content to just look. Then, the cold finally gets to your legs and you shiver, scooching slightly closer to him. You look out. The rain isn’t getting any better. “Do you want to run? To make up for us not going together this morning?”

He doesn’t even respond. He just glances at you, winks, and tugs at your hand, starting to go. The rain pelts you as you go, utterly soaking you, getting in your shoes, darkening your borrowed hoodie. His hair sticks to his forehead, making him look a bit like a wet kitten. Maybe a lion, more accurately. Still, in the passing lights and the sheen of the rain, he glows.

“Yuta?” You say between shallow breaths.

“Yeah?” He keeps going, keeps tugging you along. You have to work to keep up with him, pumping your legs hard.

“Do you want to go professional?”

He looks back at you quickly, but then turns forward. “I would.”

“I really think you could do it!”

Then he’s laughing, truly, mirthfully. “That’s the second best thing you’ve said to me today!”

At that, you’re laughing too, though it slows your pace, though it makes your lungs burn, though it helps rain water run into your mouth. When you make it to your complex, soaked through, looking like you just took a swim in your clothes, you don’t want to let go. Reluctantly, both of you part ways to change clothes in your respective apartments with the promise to meet soon and start Yuta’s effort to culture you with anime.

Sowon and Yein tease you relentlessly, both when you enter your apartment leaving puddles on the ground and when you leave again ten minutes later completely dry. They tease you for the next week whenever they catch you leaving if they know you don’t have classes. The next Friday, you end up staying up far too late watching one of Yuta’s shows, which you admit are at the very least fun, and you fall asleep in his bed. You’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it from your roommates, even if Yein has been staying in the volleyball boys’ apartment every other day for the last month.

In the morning, a mere three hours after you and Yuta went to sleep, you wake up in his arms to a strange blaring of J-rock. He reaches over you to slap his phone and shut it off. You stay awake just long enough to comment on how strange it is hearing the music next to you and not through the floor.

When you wake up around noon to Yuta staring at you, his bangs half covering his eyes, you flip over, checking the time so that he can’t see the absolutely embarrassed look on your face. “You’re so weird.” “Why are you being all shy? I’ve seen you naked. There’s nothing more to see.”

“There’s plenty more of me to see, thank you very much, Nakamoto Yuta.”

“I know there is, darling.” His arm is still slung over your torso like it was when the alarm went off and he tries to wrestle you back around to face him. You squirm in his hold.

“Darling? You’re so weird. Why are you so weird?”

“Weird? I thought I was romantic and funny and-”

“And weird!” You wiggle more until he flips you onto your back, straddles you, and pins your hands to the bed. It’s quite an incredible sight, him pinning you down with his raven hair a complete mess and no shirt, where you can faintly see marks that you may or may not have left on his chest earlier in the week. “No fair. Home ground advantage.”

He leans in, looking ever so charming despite his disheveled appearance. “You know what makes for great morning exercise?”

“You’re weird and a horndog and-”

“Running! Let’s go.” He suddenly rises up, taking one of your hands with him and pulling you into a sitting position.

“Yuta, it’s noon! There are going to be people out everywhere.” He tugs on your hand and you move so that you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “And it’s Saturday, so there’s going to be even more people…”

“You don’t need to worry about people judging you. If anyone gives you any funny looks, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Punt a soccer ball at their heads?” You’re standing now, looking at him uncertainly.

He shrugs. “Sure. But, seriously. I promise that you have nothing to be self conscious about. You also have me. That part most importantly.” You would smack him if the smile he gives you doesn’t have you reluctantly agreeing.

He’s right, of course. The run is completely fine. At least, you’re distracted enough by your boyfriend for it to be fine. When you return, you split off to take showers in your apartments. After you emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you find him waiting in your room. You register him saying something about the tables turning and “great afternoon exercise” before he practically pounces on you.

Afterwards, through your sex-high haze, you hear a loud knocking on your front door. Groaning, you move only so much as to press your face into Yuta’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up…”

“Did I make you feel that good?” His voice is a warm rumble, teasing, though full of the same tiredness that yours has. You’re about to jab him lightly in the side when his hand shifts down, two of his fingers running through your folds. Shivering at the suggestion, you wiggle closer to him, hiding your face even more.

“Let me rest, you sex-fiend.” Before he can reply, there’s a few more insistent knocks at your door. “Ugh…”

“Were you expecting someone?” You shake your head against him. He reaches over and grabs your phone. “I heard this going off earlier while we were busy.” You make no move to take it from him, so he turns it on, his eyes scanning the recent chain of texts you’d just received. “It’s your brother.”

You immediately bolt straight up. “What?” Your mind ticks back to the previous day before you’re scrambling out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, I forgot he was coming today!” As quickly as you can, you try to throw on the various items of clothing that had gotten scattered around the room in your - Yuta’s, more accurately - haste to move them off of the bed, where you had laid them out for after your shower.

Yuta stretches lazily. “Glad I could remind you.”

“Asshole, get clothes on! He’ll kill you if he figures out what we did!”

“Ah, to be killed by L/N B/N. You say ‘what we did’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“He’s my older brother, for God’s sake!” You throw a shirt at him, smacking him in the face. “He will murder you! If he doesn’t murder me for forgetting our plans first…”

“And your plans are?” He slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, slipping it on.

“I’m taking him to see your game. Maybe meet the team. Who knows? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t move your ass.” You finish putting your jeans on.

“I’ve never escaped through a window before, but it sounds fun.” He’s still smirking, clearly amused. You’re certain he would actually do that if you let him.

“On second thought, just stay here. I won’t let him into my room.” Your phone lights up with your brother’s face and number and starts to buzz. You pick it up. “Sorry, I’m coming! I was napping.” You hang up. “Please, Yuta?”

He steps into his own jeans. “That’s what I was planning on. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to incapacitate myself before the game.”

With that reassurance, you close the door to your room and head for the apartment door. Your brother, clad in a hat, hoodie, and jeans, weirdly normal for him, is standing in front of your door, his phone in his hand. He narrows his eyes. “Hi, Y/N. For a second there, I really thought you forgot about our plans. Who takes a nap on a Saturday afternoon?”

You step aside, letting him in. “I was just tired today for some reason. Sorry.” “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.” He walks in, sliding off his shoes next to yours. “Are your roommates home? It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“No, but they’ll be at the game later. You won’t miss them.” You stand there, swaying somewhat awkwardly. You’re sure that he’s noticed that you’re acting strangely. “Who let you into the lower doors?”

Your brother steps inside casually. “Your neighbor Jaehyun. Nice kid.”

“Y-Yeah. He’s one of our midfielders.”

“I guess I’ll get to see him in action soon, then. Where near here is good for something quick? We only have an hour and a half until the game.”

You’re thankful for a change in subject. “Depends what you want to eat! Think about it while I run to the bathroom?”

As you head there, you glance at your closed door. You feel kind of bad for leaving him in there, but it’s for his own protection. When you get back to the door, your brother is in the same place, staring at the shoes around the entry. He points at a pair of men’s shoes, which you realize with dawning horror are Yuta’s.

“Y/N? Whose shoes are these?”

“Oh! Those are, um, Johnny’s. Yein’s boyfriend.”

He deadpans. “Johnny. Your neighbor. The one who lives right across from you. Who is dating your roommate who isn’t here right now.” When you don’t respond, he sighs. “Y/N, it would be a lot easier to lie to me if you didn’t tell me so much in the first place. Who’s in your room? I know you hate closing your door if you’re not sleeping.”

Reluctantly, you walk to your room, cursing observant soccer players. Yuta looks mildly surprised to see you, and you walk over to where he’s sitting on your bed, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him over to your brother. If he’s afraid of your brother, he doesn’t show it.

“Yuta, was it?” He’s still expressionless. “I’ll have you know that there’s a few rules.” Before Yuta can even ask about the rules, he’s launching into a detailed explanation about consequences, saying something about maiming and making it look like an accident.

“B/N, you’re a professional now. You should really try not to say such scary stuff. Also,” you say, frowning, “I can handle myself. You know that by now.”

Yuta breaks his silence. “She really can. She’s strong enough to deal with anything.”

“You really believe that?” Your brother’s gaze is unyielding.

“I do.”

“Well, then.” He suddenly lightens up, smiling at the two of you. “Want to join us for dinner? I’m thinking noodles.”

“I actually have to get to warm-ups soon…” Yuta says regretfully.

“That’s a good boy. See, Y/N, I trust your judgement. We best be off, then.” Abruptly, your brother turns, putting his shoes back on. You scramble to join him, grabbing your things and putting your own shoes on.

“I’ll see you later?” You say to Yuta, who’s simply staring, somewhat shell shocked that he survived the encounter.

He blinks, then gives you a sort of smirk. “How about a kiss for-”

“Don’t push it.” Your brother cuts him off, standing in the doorway. He starts down the stairs. When he’s not looking, you lean over, pressing your lips to Yuta’s cheek. Before you can turn around, he sneaks one of his own onto your lips. You run after your brother.

He thoroughly grills you about Yuta during dinner, but you don’t mind. You keep out the parts about sex and the specifics of the relationship coming to fruition and he seems satisfied. You barely make it to the game in time because of your brother’s interrogation, but you still get there early enough to see some of the drills. In work mode, he crosses his arms, making approving comments about Yuta’s footwork. Your boyfriend is in a similar mood, already focused in.

Then, the game starts. The other team starts with the ball, but it makes no difference. The Lions take it back, sending it back and forth across the field, gaining and losing it, until Yuta, as usual, scores, redeeming himself from the previous week. Your brother says something under his breath about potential and skill. Through the game, the Lions make great plays and you find yourself cheering for all of them, even Mingyu. The rival team stands no chance - not for lack of skill, but simply because your team is determined. By the end of the game, the score is a solid 3:0.

You’re one of the first onto the field after the teams break away from shaking hands. You meet Yuta in the middle, jumping on him in a hug when you reach him. You can’t stop the outpouring of praise, telling him how well he played, how brilliant he was. He just laughs, telling you he did his best. It’s the most positive thing you’ve heard from him after a game.

When you let go of him, willing to let the rest of his friends surround him now, you step away in search of your brother. To your surprise, he’s chatting up the Lions’ coach, who seems somewhat flustered by the Ravens’ striker speaking to him. Before you can get close, the coach blows the whistle he has around his neck, getting the attention of everyone around him, but particularly the team.

“Boys! Gather round, we have someone here with something to say to you.”

It doesn’t take long for them to recognize who your brother is.

It’s funny seeing the team rush to your brother, some pretending to be cool, some openly fawning over him. But, there’s one person who isn’t looking at him. From across the mob forming around your brother, you make eye contact with Yuta. And, in the midst of the stars shining in the form of the Raven, the Lion’s light falls on you.

#yuta smut #yuta fluff #nct smut #nct fluff #neowritingsnet #nct angst #yuta angst #nct one shot #yuta one shot #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #yuta imagine #nct imagine #yuta fanfiction #yuta fanfic #sports collab #i hope everyone enjoys this :) #apologies for lateness #wonjaekook

[midnightsconspiracy]

The Missing Piece

The Missing Piece - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: Hank being jealous of your and Jay’s platonic relationship leads to a relationship of his own

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1801

Requested: Yes!!

‘I need some jealous hank pleeease 😩💖🙏🏻’

A/N: This is my least favourite thing I’ve written so far, I just feel like it doesn’t flow well but we move :)

I only have one request at the moment so send in as many as you like, trust me when I say this you are not ‘bothering’ or inconveniencing me at all, I love when people message me or send requests in. So don’t overthink it, just do it!!! :)

Masterlist

Your life always felt incomplete, like something was missing, but you could never put your finger on what the thing was. You had a modest apartment, a positive relationship with your family and a job with co-workers you absolutely adored. So what left did you have yet to find? Every having romantic relationships in the past left you feeling that way still, a void that could only be filled by a specific something, without knowing what it was. It was infuriating, finally feeling happy with your life but still, there was a piece of you missing, a bit that felt empty. But maybe you would find that something was nearer than you thought, and maybe that something was a someone.

The day started off as normal, getting up, making breakfast then heading out to start the day at your job in intelligence. Pulling into the car park you noticed Jay beside you, sitting In his car, reading something on his phone. Looking up as you got out of your car, he smiled, proceeding to also get out of his vehicle, greeting you just like he did each day. You walked into the district together and to the upstairs intelligence unit, talking about some recent gossip while having the same playful conversation, laughing with huge smiles on your faces. Once you had reached the unit’s floor, you both headed to the coffee machine, needing your caffeine fix before you started. Noticing that others already seemed to be deep in work, you closed the door behind you, hoping to keep as much noise in as possible. Drinking your coffee, you continued talking to Jay, putting off work for as long as possible and wanting to know anything new that could get from the man. Any time you conversed with him, it always had an unconsciously flirty undertone, not because you liked him that way, but because it was in both of your natures, not being able to turn it off specifically for each other. After a while, you still hadn't noticed that the coffee had been drunk already, the time having flown by, neither of you realising you should have started working ten minutes ago.

Unaware to you, Voight was in his office, working on some files from a case that had been passed down to him from people higher up, stress levels increasing with each sentence he read. The sound of yours and Jay’s conversation breached the walls, seeping into his office, making him angrier than he already was. ‘Why did you have to flirt with Jay all the time, was he not good enough for you?’ He thought to himself, the attraction he had for you clouding his mind. Clenching his jaw, he went back to reading his document, knowing when he thought about you too much it bought out his emotions, and that’s not what he needed right now. But he couldn’t help it when he heard your laugh, knowing it wasn’t caused by him, but instead Jay. That man was a damn good detective but also a bloody good flirt, and in Hank’s eyes that made him a threat. He wanted you badly, having liked you since you’d first joined the unit, although Jay was not the only thing in the way. The biggest problem was himself. He was so insecure, thinking that if he did eventually have the courage to ask you out, you would say no. It was just you were so much younger than him, and much better looking and just all these other things that made him think you were better suited to someone like Jay. However, that still didn’t stop him from getting angry when Jay was buttering you up. Suddenly, he stood up, not being able to stand hearing you and Jay in the room next door anymore. Swinging the break room door open, he stood in the doorway, a stern expression on his face. As soon as the door had open, you and Jay had turned towards the intrusion. Noticing it was just Voight, you both relaxed, thinking he was going to idly chat with two of his favourite detectives.

“Hey Sarg, there is some coffee leftover if you want some,” Jay started, not thinking anything of Hank’s expression, considering he usually had a scowl on. This set the flames alight as the detective completely overlooked the anger he held in his eyes.

“Both of you should be working by now! You’re ten minutes late to start and I don’t appreciate you spending that time In here having fun and joking when you both know damn well there is a case you could be helping to solve,” he shouted, not only startling you and Jay, but also your fellow detections who had looked up from where they were working away quietly.

“Sorry Voight, guess we didn’t realise that time had gone past so fast,” Jay tried to rationalise, not understanding why Voight was getting so aggravated for something that would usually just result in a slap on the wrist.

“Get to work, both of you. Plus you both know the rules about in house dating, so sort out whatever this is out immediately.” And before either of you could tell him otherwise, he had stomped back to his office, slamming the door shut in the process. Looking at Jay, you gave him a confused look, trying to figure out why your boss had come up with these conclusions as you returned to your desk.

Throughout the day, you noticed multiple strange things happening. Firstly, Jay refused to look at you at all, looking at the wall or ground anytime you would address the room or would look away as quickly as possible if you accidentally made eye contact. It was abnormal, to say the least, considering you at Jay were usually tied at the hip, spending a lot of time together, both inside and outside of work. It had started even before Voight had split you up and assigned everyone in the unit new partners. Maybe you had subconsciously annoyed him? That you didn’t know but you tried your best throughout the day to get him to even acknowledge you, but each time failing completely. The second strange thing was the looks you were getting from both Hank and Alvin as well as the looks they were giving each other. Anytime you would look up from your work, you would spot one of them staring intently at you, then quickly retreating to look at each other. The ones from Olinsky seemed to be those of intrigue as if they were trying to gauge your reaction. But the ones from Voight seemed different. How it was different you couldn’t really pinpoint, but it seemed to be more out of fondness and concern, but you couldn’t really be sure, barely seeing it before he looked away. God, what was it with all these men today? One not wanting to look at you at all, the others wanting to look at you all the time it seemed. Eventually, you and your new partner Olinsky were sent out to talk to some woman. Wanting to know if she was aware of the illegal activity her boyfriend was running. After receiving some useful information, you both got back in the car, settling in for the short car ride ahead. A couple of minutes into the drive you turned to him, adamant about getting answers on why these men had been unnecessarily watching you all day.

“Why do you and Voight keep looking at me?” You ask abruptly, wanting to catch him off guard so he would answer your damn question.

“You should speak to Voight in his office after shift.” He replied, the car falling back into silence for the rest of the journey.

The statement played on your mind for the rest of the day, but finally, you would get some answers as the shift came to a close. Waiting for everyone else to leave, you wrote your statement longhand, knowing it would eat more time up. As the last person left the room, you got up, walking into your boss' office, closing the door behind you. He looked at you as you entered, holding an undistinguishable expression on his face, despite the nervous disposition he held inside.

"Detective Y/LN, what can I do for you," he asked, looking down at his papers as if he didn't care, although his brain was screaming at him to do something!

"You keep looking at me." You bluntly stated, wanting to pull him out of his comfort zone and get the answers Olinsky wouldn't give you.

"You are my agent arent you? Therefore I am entitled to look at you." Gazing up at you, he stared into your pretty eyes, resisting the urge to just get up and kiss you.

"B-but, this is different. You keep glancing at me as if you have some sort of adoration for me," thinking he was going to look up and find a disgusted expression, he was surprised as he found nothing but a small smile upon your face.

"Maybe I do, but that doesn't matter though does it? Considering you are seeing Detective Halstead." Confusion, once again fell on your features, still not understanding why he thought this madness, you are Jay were merely just friends.

"Me and Jay? We're just- Wait what did you say? Y-you, feel for me?" The confused look on your face deepened, never thinking this would happen. You weren't unhappy by any means, thinking very fondly of the handsome Sergeant, but he was your boss so why would he go for someone like you when he could have Burgess or even Platt! Rounding his desk, he walked towards you, stopping at a comfortable distance, not too far, not too close.

"Do you deem that as a bad thing?" Stumbling on your words, you managed to mutter a 'no', as you looked back into his eyes, finding a warmness there that started filling that void inside you. Not thinking, you flung your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, placing your head in the crook of his neck as you inhaled his scent. Maybe he was that missing piece?

"Jay and I are just friends and will always just be friends Hank," you told him, removing an arm from his neck to softly stroke his cheek. He gradually tightened his arms around your waist as you reassured him of the matter.

"So you would mind me doing this?" He asked, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, full of passion, portraying all the things he'd ever want to say to you.

Just as his wish had come true, yours had too, as that missing piece of you started to make its way back to you.

#chicago pd #chicago pd imagines #chicago pd x reader #one chicago #hank voight x reader #hank voight #hank voight imagines

[ecoamerica]

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[whysojiminimnida]

i understand why you all think that way but i don’t think the boys dislike Corden and werz trolling him.. i see everybody saying this but this was not the impression I got from the intervieW, i find it a bit sad that fans would think bts are playing hypocrites like this, Namjoon said what he wanted to say that’s it I don’t think deep down they were all thinking ´ew i hate the guy',,seems like fans are projecting a lot here :/ ofc they had a script, like it always happen with those shows, but to me jimin seemed sincere. We’re hyping those host too much when they just being basic with the boys but it’s all just business at the end of the day, we re expecting too much from those interviewers I think. Really didn’t like Corden being all touchy with him though, can’t he just keep his hands to himself

Being over a situation doesn't mean that the boys hate Corden personally. They clearly do not. They wouldn't have agreed to do the show if they did and trust that they do have the veto power to get out of some things. Following up the AMAs and Grammy noms with a huge television appearance and performances was a smart move for BTS - it's business.

I think Jimin is a lovely man with a kind heart. He's also a consummate professional who knows exactly what he's doing. And let me be clear: I don't think Corden was intentionally sexually harassing Jimin. Let me say that again: I DON’T THINK CORDEN WAS INTENTIONALLY STEPPING ON JIMIN'S BOUNDARIES. He's a jackwagon, not a predator. BUT:

"Check his thighs" was a classic Taehyung overstep that was not meant badly by anyone but became a bit of a cultural WTF moment. Corden asked permission to touch Jimin when it became uncomfortable FOR HIM. And this is important. FOR HIM. Not for Jimin. Jimin was handling it well, but he'd had a lot of space bubble intrusion by that time. Corden knew how a thigh grab would read in the US and THEN he decided to ask permission. Ahem.

Corden had been touching Jimin all afternoon. His hands at one point were up Jimin's actual ass in an unscripted RUN-style moment. Which Corden felt the need to address because it had been photographed. So kind of a lot of outsider touching in advance of Tae going "well feel him up more then" in his usual "What, his thighs are thicc, we should appreciate that" Taehyung kind of way. In combination with the entirety of the day it didn't read very well and honestly I think it was getting a little weird in the room by the time the cards dropped.

For reference please note that Joon has his hand on Jimin's leg and nobody is blinking because this is normal. Jimin is perfectly relaxed with that, as are the other members. What BTS does within BTS is not the same as when the white British/American tv show guy thinks he's entitled to skinship and wants America to know you're all on good terms again. That's more what happened, here. Tae didn't mean anything by the thigh thing, he really didn't, but it was a little bit OTT for Corden specifically. Fluster happened.

If you don't think that whole Papa Mochi was a contracted setup to get Corden off the hook, you'd be wrong. It was absolutely agreed on in advance. Joon took it a step further because he was done, and good for him.

#anon #ask #it's a reasonable question #for clarification corden is an asshat but not a predator probably #i mean he blushed #things got weird on corden but they tried to fix it #park jimin taking one for the team

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

Just Look: Gwynriel One Shot

           Azriel looked around the ring, and blushed ferociously. She was the weirdest person that he had ever met, and he was absolutely obsessed with her. Emerie and Mor were currently sparring in the middle of the training area, and Gwyn stood to the side chanting, “Baby Pegasus! Baby Pegasus!” like it was a battle cry. Azriel looked to Nesta and Cassian who stood beside her, and noticed that their mouths were moving too. The shape of the chant echoing on their lips as well. At least this was better than last month’s insistence of bowing to the house every time she properly executed a maneuver because the house was “rooting for her”.

           Azriel didn’t understand how someone who was so academic could be so…quirky. Gwyneth Berdera could recite the entire Book of the East and name ever mammal who lived in the Adriata in alphabetical order, but will insist on the house conjuring a baby Pegasus for their monthly Valkyrie meetings.

           Azriel watches as the two women in the ring circle each other, and he knows that it is almost over. Since the two were mated, neither Emerie nor Mor can keep their hands off of each other, especially not in the middle of a fight. Azriel watches Mor and hopes that she goes low and tries to tip Emerie to the left, her weaker side, but one smile from Emerie at the wrong time and Mor misses her chance. Emerie sweeps her leg, and Mor is on the ground. Emerie, instead of helping her get to her feet, stoops down and kisses Mor on her sweaty cheek.

           Azriel stiffens. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Mor because he is. And it’s not that he feels entitled to her time and affection anymore now that she told him the truth, but he still feels a little tug in his stomach when he sees one of his family with their mates. And before he can stop the thought, it sounds. Why can’t that be you?

           His shadows flare in response to the intrusive thought.

“Just look,” they say. “Just look.” Azriel tells them that he has had enough of perfect couples for the day, and that he will keep his eyes on the ground where they belong.

           “All right,” he hears his brother say, and Cassian is clapping his hands.

“We have time for one more match. Gwyn,” he ushers her into the ring. “Who is going to take a beating at the hands of the death priestess.”

           “Ugg,” Nesta exclaims. “That’s worse than Silver Majesty or Fleet Footed Firehead.”

Cassian looks perturbed. “Hey.. it’s not as easy finding nicknames for everyone else as it was for you, sweetheart.”

           Nesta doesn’t blush, but she does give his brother a smile that says, “Keeping being a sap, and I’m going to kiss that smirk off your face.”

“So, Gwyn,” Mor says, breaking the Nessian staring contest before it can properly begin. “Who will it be?” Mor looks around the training ground, and more than one person looks eager for a little more training. Gwyn surveys them all, and Nesta nearly steps into the ring when the priestess exclaims, “Azriel.”

           Azriel’s eyes snap up to meet her teal ones, and he says, “I’m not really up for it right now, Gwyn. I was just about to head inside.” While actually he was going to do some more knife work, but now he has to go inside or else he’s a liar, and while spying is his profession by trade, and he has lied when he has too to whomever he has too, it feels wrong lying to Gwyn.

            “Scared, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn asks, and everyone chuckles.

Did he mention that while she was completely nuts and extremely intelligent that she was also damn cocky. He was sure that he had never been as cocky as she is, and he was the one who had the anatomy.

           “Fine,” he says while walking toward the training ring. He removes his armor as he goes, and grabs one of the duller practice swords for this encounter. He doesn’t want to hurt her after all. This is just supposed to be about learning. But when he steps into the ring, the look in Gwyn’s eyes says that he’s the one who is about to get the lesson.

           Cassian moves to the middle of the ring, and stands between them. He holds up a ribbon, and prepares to drop it, signaling the beginning of the fight. The ribbon is barely out of his hand when Gwyn takes her first strike. She moves so quickly that it almost catches Az off guard. Almost. He has been a warrior for 500 years. He isn’t going to go down to someone who has only been training for less than a year, top level Illyrian warrior or not.

           The two trade a couple of blows when Azriel’s shadows start to shift. Normally, he can keep them locked tight, during fights and otherwise, but now its like they have been let off their leash.

           And they are protecting her.

When Azriel moves to make a match ending blow, his shadows rear up and block Gwyn from his view. He tries to force them back, but each time he tries they only whisper to him, “Just look. Just look.”

           Look at what? He wants to scream. But he can’t start talking to his shadows now. Then he would be the crazy one.

           The shadows clear for an instant, and he sees her again in the peripheral of his vision. She is going for his blind spot. Azriel spins around with 500 years of training, and goes low, like he thought Mor was going to do, but before his blade can reach Gwyn, his shadows envelop his scarred hands and the blade is tipped out of his hand.

           Gwyn takes advantage, and sweeps his leg. Azriel hits the ground hard, and Gwyn is on top of him. Blade at his throat, Azriel knows that he has lost. And yet, his shadows have not dispersed. They wrap around the pair of them like a wall. They can’t see out, and Azriel is sure that no one else can see in. Gwyn stands above him, a radiant smile on her face, her blade at his neck, and damn she is beautiful. Red hair blowing and mixing with his shadows. There is light in her eyes and something more.

           Azriel wants to reach up and touch her face. He wants to rub a thumb along her cheek, and touch her hair. He wants too..

           “Just look. Just look,” his shadows say again. And this time Azriel does.

Gwyn pulls her sword back from his neck, and she smiles down at him as his shadows wrap around her once, twice before dispelling.

           The rest of the people in the ring are clapping wildly, most likely in proud admiration of seeing Gwyn win but also in satisfaction of seeing his cocky ass take a hit for once. His brother looks particularly pleased, and Az is glad that Rhys and Feyre aren’t here to witness this too.

           Gwyn smirks at him, and then reaches out her hand.

Azriel doesn’t hesitate to put his hand into her own. He gets to his feet, and says, “Good match.”

           Gwyn laughs. “It’s all about the mantra. Baby Pegasus. Baby Pegasus.”

Azriel smiles, and realizes that he hasn’t let go of her hand, and more so, that he doesn’t want too.

           Then he too, joins the cult, “Tell me more about the Pegasuses.”

Gwyn sends him another smile, and Azriel feels another pull in his stomach, this one unlike the rest. And he’s completely okay with that.

Reblogs are welcome. But please do not repost other places.

#gwynriel #Gwyneth berdara #gwyn #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #Sarah j maas #sjm #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

[perfectlymarilynmonroe]

Hi! I’m sorry for not being able to phrase this question differently, but i’ve always been confused by how the end/last few years of Marilyn’s life are sometimes described as her spiraling deeper and deeper into depression and substance abuse (some even claim alcoholism) and sometimes it’s said that she was doing almost better than ever by the time of her death.

I realize that she was doing quite poorly in 1960, around Misfits and her divorce, but would you say that her life and overall health got better in -61 or -62?

I just can’t stop thinking about her quote about Montgomery Clift being the only person doing worse than her.

Hi! This question requires a lengthy response and I hope you forgive me.

It definitely depends on the source and the time in her life. As we all do, she absolutely fluctuated over that time. After all, two and a half years is a long time and so much can happen in change in that time.

Personally, I think 1961 was a confusing year for her. It reminds me of a more struggling version of 1955. In 1955, though she still suffered with depression, anxiety, insomnia, and took pills for relief, she had a much clearer vision of herself. She had a list of things she wanted to achieve and flourished in her new life in New York. She was conquering a new and frightening journey, but her feet steady on the ground.

In 1961, she was lost. She flew back and forth between New York and Los Angeles trying to find a place she felt she belonged. Arthur was out of her life and Joe was back in. She struggled with being divorced with no children. She was ill with issues regarding her gall-bladder, was institutionalized, and didn't know what friends to turn to. She had her New York friends, but some of them were mutuals with Arthur, and her friends in Los Angeles were somewhat *new*; she was a guest, rather than a partaking member (if that makes sense). I think her battle with "who am I, where do I want to be, who are my friends, what do I want," in 1961 ultimately helped her strength in 1962.

During her last few months, those around her like her makeup artist, Allan Snyder, her publicist, Pat Newcomb, masseur and chauffeur, Ralph Roberts, colleagues at Twentieth Century Fox (her stand-in, co-stars, director), noticed some sadness, but hope behind her words and actions. Her therapist was very controlling and intrusive - hiring her a housekeeper who reported things back to him - and those like Roberts and Newcomb commented that she knew her therapist was more detrimental than helpful to her mental health. She was looking to the future differently.

She had negotiated plans with Fox that included a one-million dollar contract deal for two films, had a new house she enjoyed decorating, had officially asked to join the Actors Studio, a trip planned with friend Norman Rosten for benefit planned that September, and more.

I think her mental and physical health was on its way to a recovery. Sometimes, however, it can look that way on the outside, but a war is happening inside. Marilyn was an example of that throughout most of her life. She was mixing alcohol with her pills during her last few years, but mostly for sleep purposes. Her insomnia was only getting worse and she was desperate to find some relief. That's a simple truth that can't be twisted and turned, but sadly has. She just wanted sleep. Was she "abusing" pills or an "alcoholic"? I personally don't think so, but since I wasn't there.

A wonderful book entitled "Marilyn: Her Life in Her Own Words" was published by photographer George Barris in 1995 that helps get a sense of her over-all health. They were planning to release an autobiography and all of her words were some of her last. They were in the weeks leading up to her death and that, along with her interview with Life magazine, published August 3rd, 1962, are great sources to get a sense of her state of mind around that time. Of course, she knew a lot of it would be made public and I'm sure withheld some things.

Those who spoke with her during her final weeks and months sensed nothing but hope coming from her. She knew she was a work in progress, but believed in herself she could continue to heal.

I really hope this answered your questions. As I mentioned, when it comes to her final weeks, months, and years, a lengthy response is hard to avoid. Haha.

<3

#ask

[shorkbrian]

Piano

Me: Depressed

My Brian: Suga as your piano teacher but make it creepy 👀

Me: Depressed but thirsty.

(No NSFW lol)

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

Okay but seriously imagine it.

You start taking piano lessons from the man the next floor up from you in your apartment complex. You know he’s a pianist, know he’s the one playing the beautiful music that you can hear from your apartment because you’ve bumped into him before.

The collision had sent music sheets flying, luckily contained within the elevator you had rushed into. You had apologized profusely as you helped the poor man gather them up, cursing your clumsiness. He had laughed and said it was okay, he could be quite clumsy himself.

It was a while before you saw him again, catching him in the elevator once more. Luckily you managed to not charge through the doors and into the man like you had done at your first meeting.

You ask him if he’s a piano teacher - the man smiles, shakes his head. He’s a pianist for the city orchestra. Does his playing bother you? Hopefully not, but if it does he can close his windows or -

But you assure him that you actually quite enjoy listening to the music that floats down from the floor above you. You like it so much you had wanted to ask him about lessons, but since he wasn’t a teacher you wouldn’t bother him.

The man had stopped you then, a hand on your shoulder, a kind smile on his face.  He wouldn’t mind showing you a few basics, come up tomorrow?

And so that’s how you found yourself in Koshi Sugawara’s apartment three times a week, sitting at the baby grand that took up the majority of the spacious living room.

He was charming, and sweet, and patient - a good teacher. He had started out with the absolute basics, showing you where the notes were, teaching you about chords. Suga didn’t say anything when your hands shook with nervousness, when you hit a sour note or pressed a key too harshly.

Despite not technically being a teacher, Suga was good at teaching. He often sat beside you on the bench, his thigh pressed to yours, grey eyes focused on the keys and how you played them. Being so close allowed him to easily make corrections, moving your hands around gently, instructing you to put your hands over his own so he could show you how to play a certain chord that was giving you trouble.

You had never taken piano lessons before, so nothing seemed amiss. Plus, as handsome as Suga was, there was no way in hell he could be interested in little old you. Assuming any different would be narcissistic and vain. He was much too.... successful? Attractive? He was so far out of your league, it would be laughable for you to even think that you had a chance with him.

But that was okay. He was a good friend, insisted you pay him in visits and by maybe baking him cookies or pumpkin bread. Suga didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, preferring spicy foods, yet he always asked if you could bring a snack you enjoyed when you came to practice. 

Despite his cool, gentle demeanor, Suga was a fiercely proud man. He liked showing off for you, asking if you had any favorite songs, then immediately composing mock tunes of the songs on the piano. It was stunning, how quickly his mind worked, how practiced his fingers were.

But slowly, discomfort started to seep into the lessons.

It started out with Suga asking you to come up, no lesson this time, he just missed you. You had something else going on, a doctors appointment, so you had to tell him no over the phone. He seemed upset, and you didn’t hear from him for a few days, other than a quick text cancelling your upcoming lesson.

But the next week he was back to his kind, smiling self. You apologized for making him feel bad, but he brushed it off, giving you a quick, tight side hug from beside you on the piano bench. As far as he was concerned, there were no worries.

It started to unnerve you, how his gentle, encouraging touches seemed to wander more and more at each lesson.

When he corrected your posture, his hand would trail down your back, rest at the top of your tailbone - far too low for your personal comfort. But he was harmless, just an encouraging teacher. He was probably touchy like this with all of his friends.

He liked to rest his hand on your thigh while you played, rubbing gentle circles. Suga never voiced this, but he preferred when you wore shorts, when he got to touch your skin. Unfortunately for him, as his touches became more bold, you felt more comfortable wearing more... modest clothing.

Suga tried to invite you for dinner, lunch, would you like to go to the orchestra practice with him? Or maybe you’d want to come to a show?

He got so pushy, you didn’t know what to do, what to say, other than a cheery yes, making the older man smile so bright that it felt like you were looking at the sun.

At his orchestra practice, you got to see his coworkers, meet a few of them too. One of them came up to as everyone was packing their instruments away, introduced himself as Oikawa. Flirted with you a bit. It was quite flattering.

Well, before you got yanked backwards into a hard chest.

Suga was glaring at his coworker, his normally passive expression twisted and angry.

Oikawa got the hint, flashed you a parting flirty smile before turning on his heel.

Yet Suga still held you close, his grip so tight it was almost painful.

Apparently he didn’t like Oikawa because he was a “player”, and not just of musical instruments. Suga’s voice was laced with an unfamiliar venom as he asked for you not to talk to his coworkers, just keep your eyes on your pianist, only talk to your teacher, only let your friend touch you or be close to you.

It didn’t make you feel good.

After that, you didn’t exactly feel comfortable around your teacher. He was clingy, possessive, acting like a slighted, jealous boyfriend when he was barely a friend. It made you uneasy, the way his innocent brown eyes watched you so intensely. At first you had just thought he was watching for mistakes, ready to help correct them. But they didn’t feel quite so friendly anymore.

You began cancelling your lessons, citing that you had other errands to attend to, appointments you couldn't cancel, phone calls you couldn’t miss. Suga pouted, but had to leave you be, even though his incessant texting and phone calls “just to shoot the breeze! (Y/N), I’m lonely up here all by myself!” meant you never had a moment to yourself.

He got more intrusive, showing up at your door (when had you told him your apartment number? you were almost positive you hadn’t) and asking if he could come in for a bit.

He missed you, Suga insisted, sitting down on your couch, hands folded in his lap. Was something wrong? Was he not a good teacher? 

You didn’t know how to tell him that he was making you uncomfortable. I mean, how does one go about that? 

“Ah yes Suga-san, your touches go too far and you always sit too close. I don’t like how you feel entitled to invade my space. I like you as a friend, but you’re making me uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t see that going over well.

Plus, Suga was your friend, just as much as your teacher. You didn’t want to hurt him. Were you just reading too far into things? Were his touches normal, and you had just inflated your place in his life? Probably - there was no way Suga would go for someone like you.

So you endured, finally relenting and scheduling more lessons after Suga started coming to hang out at your apartment, hovering in your space, following you around like a kicked puppy as he tried to figure out what he did to make you hate him so suddenly.

But now everything seemed so much worse.

His touches creeped further, he practically sat you in his lap to show you a new technique for playing the keys, he was touchy and invasive and yet somehow innocent. As if everything he was doing was normal, no cause for concern.

And maybe it wasn’t.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Something was wrong with the piano, or maybe something was wrong with you? 

No,

Something was wrong with your teacher.

#yandere #haikyuu!! #yandere haikyuu #suga #hq x you #sugawara #suga koshi #sugawara x y/n #sugawara x you #yandere suga #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #idk #I'm tired #and sad #and trying really hard to not withdraw #but am failing WHOOPS