☆.ㅤ 𝐒𝐘𝐍.ㅤ ㅤ──ㅤㅤ pretending to be mad at james becomes impossible when he already knows you to well
ᯓ ࣪ ˖ ִ ★ pairing ── zhao yufan , f reader.
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ contains : playful arguing / fake argument , teasing , small bickering , light tension
wc: 1,2k masterlist⋆˚꩜｡
— kisses ₊˚⊹ ᰔ
The whole thing starts because James refuses to stop talking.
You are sitting comfortably across his bed with one of his hoodies swallowed around your frame, legs tucked beneath you while the evening settles quietly outside his room.
The rain had started earlier and now soft tapping sounds press against the window while music hums somewhere from his speaker, low enough to blend into the room without demanding attention.
James is stretched lazily against the pillows with his phone balanced in one hand, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who has spent the last fifteen minutes bothering you.
“You know,” he says without looking up, “I’m starting to think you only date me for my clothes.”
You glance down at the oversized sleeves covering your hands and shrug.
He finally lifts his eyes.
“I also date you because you buy me food.”
That earns a quiet laugh.
“Wow.” He presses a hand dramatically over his chest. “Good to know my personality never made the list.”
James lowers his phone slowly.
And immediately, you know that expression.
The one that means he is about to become unbearable.
“That’s interesting,” he says, sitting up a little. “Because I was just thinking the exact same thing about you.”
You smile innocently and continue scrolling on your own phone.
Unfortunately, he takes your silence as encouragement.
“You’ve been stealing my hoodie all day, insulting me for free, and now suddenly I’m the problem.”
He narrows his eyes, clearly entertained rather than offended.
The thing about James is that he enjoys these little arguments far too much. Half the time they are not even disagreements anymore, just excuses to keep your attention focused on him.
And honestly, you encourage it more than you admit.
Still, tonight you suddenly feel like pushing it further.
So you lock your phone, look up at him, and sigh dramatically.
“You know what?” you say. “I think I’m upset with you.”
James does not even blink.
“That sounds so fake already.”
You try keeping your expression serious.
“No.” He sets his phone aside completely and leans back against the headboard, looking entirely too relaxed. “You’re entertaining yourself.”
“You think this is funny?”
“Actually I think you’re funny.”
That annoyingly calm smile stays on his face while you sit there trying not to laugh.
Which only irritates you more.
“Maybe I should stop talking to you.”
“That’s not really specific.”
He looks at you carefully for another second before shaking his head.
“You don’t even sound mad enough.”
You grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him.
He catches it immediately.
“There,” you say. “Better?”
“And you’re cute when you’re pretending.”
That makes you sit up straighter.
James looks genuinely thoughtful for a second.
Then, with complete confidence, he says, “Okay. Leave then.”
He gestures toward the door casually.
The confidence in his voice bothers you more than it should.
So naturally, you decide to commit.
You push yourself off the bed and start walking toward the door.
Behind you, James stays suspiciously quiet.
For approximately three seconds.
You do not need to look back to know he is following you.
“You walk so fast,” he comments.
“That’s kinda impressive actually.”
You reach the hallway while he trails after you with absolutely no shame.
“You know I hate you ignoring me, right?”
You continue walking toward the kitchen with your arms crossed while he follows at an annoyingly relaxed pace.
You open the fridge despite not wanting anything at all, mostly because you need somewhere to stand.
James leans against the doorway.
“No,” he says calmly. “You’re just really bored.”
You close the fridge harder than necessary.
“You don’t take anything seriously.”
“You literally don’t believe me because you don’t love me anymore.”
He studies you for a second.
Then his eyes drop toward the hoodie.
“Alright then, take off my clothes.”
You push past him and head toward the living room instead.
And somehow that annoys you while also making you smile.
“You know what your issue is?” you ask.
He looks delighted immediately.
“Oh this sounds promising.”
“You always think you’re right.”
“That’s because I usually am.”
“That is genuinely insufferable.”
“And yet,” he says while falling into step beside you, “you’re still here.”
You drop onto the couch dramatically.
“You’ve said that already.”
“But I mean it more now.”
You try scooting away again but his knee bumps yours before you get far.
“You know,” he says softly, “if you were actually mad, you’d be quieter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You talk more when you’re fake mad.”
For some reason, that answer throws you off more than you expect.
Before you can respond, his fingers poke lightly at your side.
You immediately grab his wrist.
You let go of his wrist and look away dramatically.
The teasing fades into something softer while the rain continues tapping against the windows.
Then you feel him looking at you again.
“You done?” he asks quietly.
“You’re making fun of me.”
But then his shoulder nudges yours.
And once more until you finally crack.
A laugh slips out before you can stop it.
James looks victorious immediately.
“Oh wow,” he says softly. “Look at that.”
You cover your face with your sleeve.
“That’s a lot coming from someone who kept kissing me last night.”
You groan quietly and lean back against the couch.
The worst part is that he looks so pleased.
Then his hand reaches toward yours and somehow you already know where this is going.
His fingers slide gently through yours before you can pull away, warm and familiar.
The room feels quieter suddenly.
The teasing still lingers between you, but softer now.
He squeezes your hand once.
“You know,” he says, voice lower than before, “for somebody trying to leave me five minutes ago…”
“You’re holding my hand pretty hard.”
Your face warms instantly.
You try pulling away but he does not let go.
And unfortunately, his smile only softens.
“You’re awful,” you mumble.
James leans back against the couch, still holding your hand between both of his like he won something.
“Sure,” he says quietly. “But you were never actually leaving.”
