#(or they only interact with their very tiny clique) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emptymanuscript · 2 years ago

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My apologies for my own longform intrusion if it isn’t welcome. You lot are more sophisticated/experienced/knowledgeable on this than I am. I just have a lot of thoughts and desires on the subject. And, I dunno, maybe it might help maybe. Under the cut because I can’t say anything short to save my life.

I feel like it’s tremendously easy to community build in person and I don’t think I have ever managed to really participate in a community that wasn’t based on an irl community.

That’s not to say that I don’t connect with individuals. I absolutely have mutuals I feel close to and think about even when I am not on tumblr. But I think you’re right that doesn’t end up translating into community.

I can think of some reasons out of myself for this failure. I’m often not high on energy when I come to tumblr, it’s a common low energy activity. I don’t feel the pressure of a deadline, so I will often think, “I’ll come back to that,” or, “I don’t have the energy for that right now.” And then I end up not coming back or just missing it. Whereas back on LJ, for me, there was a real time deadline of when I saw the person next. I think there’s also just that tumblr is for everything - it’s not specifically for the writeblr community, so the writeblr community is only getting the proportional amount of time and energy as the ratio of the posts on my dash. It’s also… I dunno quite how to put it. Akin to the idea of it being just marketing. The majority of “simple” interactions are things like ask games which are pay-it-forward rather than pay-it-back. So it’s double my social stress for half the intimacy. And it’s just always. There’s no on time. There’s no off time. So the energy I can bring is semi-random.

Thinking about how easy it is in live settings, it’s got very different rules.

There is a set location, which is easy enough to replicate with something like discord or even just “only look at this tag.” The location is occupied at a set time for a set duration. There are very purposeful breakouts for re-energizing, self-care, and socialization. Those are also at set times and for set durations. There are semi-permeable sub-divisions that allow for different social arrangements to form while also purposefully breaking them at the end of the set time. So I might just deal with speculative fiction for a few hours, then just short stories for a while, then just creative non-fiction for a bit, then just a tiny clique I’m a part of for a while. And that’s a big one. There are cliques in my experience. We’re all one big writing family, we’re all in “it” together but there is also the speculative fiction junkies subgroup, and there is also the little tiny clique of people inside of that who just kind of vibe in their own weird way and sit at their own table. The cliques break because of the time division. So you end up in multiple cliques, allowing the community to join across lines.

But I think the biggest thing is the explicit idea of unequal trade. You get time. The time is for your writing. I agree that I am going to read your writing and respond to it the best I can. This isn’t based on whether or not I like it. I might hate it. That’s besides the point. I give you the time because it’s your time, allocated to you. Within that agreement, there are the particular people who are in my clique, the people who I want to give more to for various reasons. And within that are the stories that I am actually an audience for, the stuff I would want to read even if I wasn’t in the clique or the subgroup or the writing community as a whole. That’s part of my return on investment. I give everyone who’s up to read time in exchange for the joy that I will love some of the stories as an audience member with the understanding that for most I am NOT the audience, I am a fellow writer. I am not expected to be a fan or a signal booster. I am expected to deal with your writing and then chase down the stuff I happen to love. And somewhere in all that, the other major payment is that my own time will come up. And then it will be over.

It’s much more like trade and work than it’s like completely free association. The semi-permeable boundaries (as opposed to no boundaries and totalitarian one) form the limits that encourage social creativity. I have this amount of time, I have this subject, I have these people, how do I have the best experience with that? In my experience the most community comes out of the broken out clique times - when I go to lunch or whatever with my clique and we just talk about whatever which usually involves whatever we loved at the last subgroup. That ends up being the real community bonding. Not the reading itself but the talk enabled by the organization of the reading.

How you do that with social media, I have extremely little idea. However, I have noticed variability. When I think about the time I spent on The Science Fiction and Fantasy Online Writing Workshop, I definitely noticed some more of that kind of connection. I would review as work for which I was rewarded with partial credit for time. For every 4 pieces I reviewed, I got the opportunity to put up 1 piece for review. In general, we weren’t allowed to have up more than 3 pieces at a time. And, after a month, a piece was automatically taken down. Within that set up, there definitely formed cliques. People who I sought out and who sought me out for various reasons. And one of the potential reasons was, again, that I wasn’t just a fellow writer but that I actually really enjoyed the piece and was an audience member as well. The strongest bond tended to be between people where we liked each other’s work and way of critiquing. And we would start talking in between the lines and private messaging. That was the closest I got online to the offline experience. But I know for myself that I simply burned out because there wasn’t the set time limits. I either spent too much or too little time. And at a certain point I just need a break to be low energy and not engage in writing or writing community.

So, while again I don’t really have any idea how to do it with social media, I suspect that boundaries are a part of the key. That to build a community there need to be times when you’re expected to participate and times when you’re not expected to participate and probably times you’re expected NOT to participate. The harder boundary, I suspect, is that there needs to be the expectation that I am NOT the person you are selling to and vice versa. I am, for lack of a better word, your coworker. We’re both writers, not a writer and a reader. If I end up being a reader for you, that’s a bonus perk. But our primary relationship is as people engaged in the same activity rather than a circle of consumption. Because there simply aren’t enough writers to be a readership, let alone enough writers who happen to like your writing enough to engage with it as a regular reader. Relying on fellow writers to be our fans is relying on too small a base. It can’t deal with the natural fluctuations of life and energy.

So I guess that’s my tl:dr opinion. I feel like the struggle to find readership needs to be different from the struggle to find community. Readers are customers. Community is coworkers. While the two overlap they just aren’t the same and trying to do both doesn’t work because it inevitably treads on someone’s boundaries AND inevitably leaves someone abandoned in the cold.

I done got frustrated

My desire to keep my opinions to myself managed to last most of the day. New record tbh.

So like I wrote this big long rant a couple of weeks ago and decided against sharing it while I was still frustrated. But I do feel like maybe there is a larger discussion to be had! I think it's important that we as a writeblr community really take a look at why so many of us are getting so frustrated so often and how we as a community and as individuals can work towards an actually community vs a corner of social media. @blind-the-winds did an excellent job of explaining some of what I'm seeing as well in relation to why a lot of positivity and support posts and such ring hollow to so many of us. I wanted to bring a slightly different perspective to things coming from a marketing/social media marketing background. Under the cut out of respect for everyone's dashboards lol

This is going to get INCREDIBLY LONG. So I have a read more here. Behold, the bitchfest.

So this started today when I was chatting with an irl friend and expressing my frustrations about writeblr in general as a community. And what I've recognized now is this: writeblr isn't really much of a community, and it is very rare to find other creators and writers who are willing to treat you (the hypothetical writer) as another human being with a love for the same craft they do. Those people who do treat you like people are some of the loveliest people I've found on the internet, but they are hard to find.

Now, to be clear, I don't think the problem is completely writeblr's fault, nor do I believe it is any one or two or five hundred individual's fault. The problem comes from a number of different sources, and my friend did a great job of helping me see the problem from a number of different perspectives.

The problem being this: it is impossible to get engagement on posts that feature original long-form writing, and it is exceedingly difficult to effectively foster meaningful connections with other writers.

Some disclaimers: it's not impossible, and the people who successfully receive engagement on their long-form writing tend to be the people who are the exceptions proving the rule. Also, by "engagement" I mean any interaction that serves to both consume the content and spread the content. "Original" writing refers to writing that is not fandom related, and "long-form" means 1k words or more.

Do you think 1k words is a little short for "long-form" writing? Me too. I'll get to that.

I'll start my explanation here with what catalyzed these revelations in my little head. Over night, I got quite a few new followers, all directly coming from a post that got mildly popular here on writeblr. So, I looked at what other posts of mine have been popular, and I started to notice a trend.

My most popular posts tend to fit into one of three categories: memes, tag games, and boost posts/recommendations. Memes tend to be popular because they're funny and easy to spread, and as long as they fit the theme, they don't ruin a blog's aesthetic. Tag games get more interaction because I am directly tagging people to see the post. But the popularity for those posts tend to stop at the half dozen to a dozen people tagged in each given post (the person or people tagging me, and the several people I tag to continue the game). The last category is most interesting to me, the boost posts and recommendations.

Here's the thing, I only boost or rec other writers and blogs if I have invested interest and care into the person behind the blog and their content. AKA, I only really boost friends and writers I admire/like their content. It's great to see that those posts get popular with people outside my circle, but out of those three categories, none of them feature my own content.

Why is that?

It seems like every day I see a new post with a few thousand notes at least complaining about a lack of interaction on writeblr and the importance of reblogs and blah blah I rarely stop to read those let alone spread them. And a few dots connected, I think.

If my content isn't getting interaction, and your content isn't getting interaction, then what is? And I think the answer is this: memes, advice, and boosts.

Memes and advice are self-explanatory. But boosts are interesting because you will see everyone hop on to rec other people or more frequently market themselves, but they stop there. And I see my greatest influx of interaction and new followers when I boost other people's works or blogs.

My conclusion is that many people are using writeblr as a hustle and not a community. In a community we engage with each other, talk to each other, enjoy each other's company. And I've found many mutuals to be very lovely people who I do enjoy and who I love to engage with and who I like to genuinely call my friends. I like a lot of yall for different reasons too! Some of you are great hype buddies, some of yall are all about that accountability buddy system, and I really love when I get to have intellectual conversations about the craft and different concepts with different members of writeblr too.

But largely, I find that a lot of people who engage once with my blog, usually on those boost posts, or who ask for engagement more frequently than when frustration strikes, tend to be the people who think of writeblr as a hustle. They see that I (and many other writers) will boost and rec our friends, and jump on that bandwagon, but instead of putting in the effort to get to know us and our work, they say what needs to be said, hop on trends, and avoid any genuine connection.

So what gives?

It's not the individual writers, I think. It's the nature of social media, marketing, and the medium.

Listen, I work in marketing, and long-form writing is a dying art that is very difficult to market. I genuinely think the concept of "tldr" really ruined a lot of people's ability to engage with longer form writing. Whether that be nonfiction opinion posts or actual fiction. Tumblr is one of the only places I can think of where long-form writing is a feasible medium to post at all, let alone gain a following for.

Think about it: instagram is best suited for images, videos, and short-form aestheticized poetry. Twitter has a character limit that requires long threads of individual tweets or images to get your message across. Pitch events are well-suited for twitter because your pitch by definition needs to be short. But sharing actual summaries, snippets, or excerpts? Not really possible. Tiktok is for videos, which as we know can be utilized, but is not the most efficient method of marketing written word. Ao3 is an archive with an excellent tagging system, but to get readers, outside marketing is required. Facebook requires a real name, and isn't really well suited for content creation either. Wattpad, Royal Road, and others are great for posting actual works, but they don't necessarily have well-functioning tag systems that help the author find their audience. That really just leaves Tumblr. Pillowfort is also an option, though it's still so in the beginning phase of development that it's pretty difficult to get started there.

It's well known in marketing that images and videos catch attention and long paragraphs of text (AKA what most prose looks like) tend to be scrolled past. The very nature of the long-form writing medium is against most marketing techniques. Marketing long-form writing needs to look different from any other medium.

All that being said: the culture of social media engagement has shifted, and this is a conversation that fandom has been having and I think has actually been doing well discussing the different facets of how the culture has shifted. Fandom (and content creation in general) is seen as a commodity to be consumed. Consumers want to see the content, maybe save it for later, and then move on to the next piece. This is easily done with visual mediums, but writing mediums are especially vulnerable to this culture shift because it does require so much time and energy to consume, let alone engage.

Creators don't see their work as a commodity to be consumed, but it is now. When consumers view a piece of visual media, they view the image (consume it) and then move to the next, some will spread it to others by engaging with the picture through reblogs or sending the post to someone else. But most often, there will be a "like" to tell the creator good job, and then scroll to the next. This is harder to do with written media unless one has the time and energy to read the piece. There's the extra step of critical thought.

To put it a different way, the market is flooded with content and creators. With so much to choose from, the consumer now does not have to participate in the community to ensure continued creation. There will be another creator tomorrow. The consumer no longer feels connected to a community of their interests, it is simply being sold to them.

So back to writeblr, this is where I am at a crossroads. I am tired of creating content to be consumed, I want community. But also, I have nowhere else to turn. I can either completely withdraw from what sliver of community I have found, or I can keep trucking along, create my stuff, play the games we play, chat with the people I do like and do care about, and hope that I don't get too frustrated one day and leave for good.

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miryum · 3 years ago

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Hi, Idk if someone already requested this, but I'll request it. Can you please do a Newt Au where in he's part of a mob and the reader is a college professor and she saw Newt's mob kill someone or something like that and Newt pretended to be a student in the university where the reader is working to assassinate her, but he fell in love with her something like that.

I don’t know how I feel about the whole teacher x student thing but weirdly I’m fine with the mob part. 😅 That’s a fanfic writer for you.

Warning: OOC for everyone (they’re in the mob, it’ll be dark), mob stuff including mentions of murder, guns, a tiny bit of stalking, sexual innuendos, someone being beaten up, happy mob ending, my thoughts are kinda scrambled and all over the place (sorry about that). Also, idk shit about being a professor or the mob so half of this will be complete guessing. (And there’s a part that’s a little unbelievable but I didn’t know how else to write it)

When the dean informed you that a new student would be joining your class, you didn’t expect a man your age who looked like he was a son of a CEO to march into your class. “Hello,” he walked right up to your desk and stuck out his hand for you to shake. Hesitantly, you shook his hand. When new students enrolled in your class, they usually just slunk to the back of your class and didn’t engage for the first couple of weeks. It also didn’t help that this new student was very handsome.

“I’m Isaac,” he introduced himself. Isaac was wearing khaki pants and a professional- looking sweater, an unusual choice for a laid- back college student.

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, Isaac. I’m Professor L/n. Welcome to European History. I hope you enjoy it.” Realising his hand was still in yours, you quickly pulled away. “The syllabus is online on my website where I’ll always post information and homework assignments. Usually, the only homework is a bit of light reading unless we’re working on a project.” Isaac nodded, studying you in a way that made you clear your throat and use your teacher glare on him. “Obviously, you enrolled a little late in the semester, but I have your transcript here and luckily, we’re basically picking up right where you left off. We’re finishing up the Middle Ages before we move onto the Renaissance. In any other class, I would offer you any seat, but this group of students are a little picky on where they sit.”

Your eyes grow kind at the mention of your first class of the day. It was a mixture of all cliques and groups, but yet, meaningful discussions and debates still took place, pushing against the stereotypes of college. The students interacted well, bouncing ideas back and forth.

“Which seat would you recommend?” Isaac tilted his head and you had to remind yourself that you were his superior, not the other way around.

“Well,” you looked around the room, visualising the students. Some were already starting to trickle in, eyes flickering towards you. “I would sit you in the first row, but that’s a little intimidating at first. How about third row all the way to the left? And hey, if you need anything you can ask me. I know moving to a new college is overwhelming, so seriously, if you need any help, I’m here.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks.” Isaac shot you a grin and strode back to the seat you suggested. Some students looked around, confused that he was a student. They had expected him to be another faculty member. Isaac leaned back in the uncomfortable college seat, not taking out any materials of any sort. You stared at him a bit longer, wondering about his past. And why did it seem like he walked with a limp?

Once the rest of the students filed in, you started class, pulling up a series of slides for them to take notes on. Most students scribbled furiously, raising hands to ask questions or to clarify something. Today, however, you found yourself a bit distracted, having trouble remembering certain parts of the lecture or needed someone to repeat their question. You caught yourself sneaking glances at Isaac more than once and was surprised to find that he was always staring back. He still had no notebook or pencil out and wasn’t even watching the slides you clicked through. His gaze was always fixed on you. The coy smile on his face only grew whenever your eyes flickered to him.

Once class was over, much to your relief, the new student simply whisked away, not giving you another second of his day. While this was normal for college students, especially if they had another class they needed to attend, you thought (or maybe it was wishful thinking) that maybe he would stay. Quickly, you shook the thought out of your head, firmly reminding yourself that he was a student.

Isaac, on the other hand, walked briskly down the street, tugging at his sweater. He was much more used to a button- up suit and tie. He rounded the corner, seeing a large black car sitting idly in front of a coffee shop. Making sure no one was watching, Isaac quickly opened the door to the back and slipped in.

Inside, sat the notorious mobster Thomas Mazer and his third- in- command, Minho Glads. “Hello, Newton.” Thomas drawled, lips flicking up into a grin. “How was your first day at school?”

Newt rolled his eyes, used to the teasing. “It was fine, Thomas,” he sighed, “I still don’t see why we’re doing this.”

“Because we can’t have any loose ends.” Thomas explained for the umpteenth time. “Y/n L/n saw messy Minho over here,” he jerked his head towards Minho who gaped, “attempt to murder someone. We’re thankful she hasn’t already gone to the police.”

“I would’ve finished the job, too,” Minho growled, “if it wasn’t for her scream.”

“She ruined a month- long organisation,” Thomas said calmly. “We’ve taken people out for less. This’ll get the message through that we’re not to be messed with. Hopefully, Ava and Ratman will keep their distance.”

Newt glared, having heard this a thousand times over. “But why me? Why not Gally or Alby? Hell, even Chuck! At least he looks like a college student.”

Thomas rubbed his temples, Newt having been protesting ever since Thomas brought up the assignment. “Because Gally and Alby were with Minho that night and Chuck is too much of a loose cannon. We both know he’s too young and could mess this all up. You’re someone I trust, has experience, and can get the job done.” He punctuated the last four words.

“But why not a sniper? Brenda could easily do it.” Newt asked. “Why me? Why do I have to go to fucking college?”

“A sniper would be too obvious,” Thomas said. “A broken window with a bullet in her head? Too suspicious. No, we need this done in a way that it can look accidental or suicidal. Only a person on the inside.”

“And why not Teresa?” Newt kept coming up with ideas and people. “She’s a girl. And actually likes learning.”

“God damn it, Newt!” Thomas yelled, sending a jump to Newt’s heart though he kept his composure. “I don’t know! Why not Teresa?! I chose you and the mission has already started! I didn’t have time to go over every single idea or option! We need this done soon! We can’t send Brenda in now because a new student in L/n’s class and then her dead the next day would be too coincidental! Just do the damn assignment.” Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know why this is so hard for you. You’ve done so much worse. Just take out this woman. It’s not difficult.”

Thomas, with bags under his eyes, turned to stare out the window, his actions meaning the end of the conversation. After a long minute, Minho muttered out, “Was she hot?”

Newt huffed a chuckle. “Yeah,” he conceded.

“Thought so.” Minho smiled at Newt in a way only life- long best friends could. “Her file was nice.” He drew out the word.

“I just don’t get it, Thomas.” Newt turned back to his boss. “She’s spotless. Hasn’t done a bad thing her entire life. I’m sure a little… persuasion could convince her to bury this memory. Maybe she doesn’t even know what she saw. She has no way of knowing it was Minho.”

Minho shrugged, making a high- pitched noise that disagreed. “Hate to tell it to you bud, but I’m pretty sure this chick knows it was us.”

“But as Thomas said, she hasn’t gone to the police. Let’s just watch her for a couple days and if she doesn’t go to the feds, then we’ll simply sweep this up under the rug.”

“Why do you care?” Thomas frowned. “Why are you protecting her life?”

Newt quickly responded. “She’s not working for Ratman. Why take an innocent life? Isn’t that why you built the Maze up? To stop WICKED from doing just that?”

Thomas hummed. “Touche,” he finally relented. “Alright. Let’s monitor her for a month and if this all goes away, so be it. But,” he leaned in close to Newt, his stare piercing into his soul, a warning if Newt ever saw one. “If there is one scrap- one crumb of evidence she’ll turn us in, you’re finishing the job.” Thomas sat back in his seat and said casually, “This is why I like you around, Newton. To rein me back during times like these.” Newt’s gaze flickered to Minho, sharing a glance. They walked on a thin line in their choice of occupation. However, Minho and Newt had worked with Thomas for many long years and felt close and comfortable with him. Thomas relied on them for important decisions and they, including Teresa, are the few who could change his mind.

“I almost feel bad for her,” Newt ventured carefully. “L/n seemed nice when I talked to her- made me feel welcome. Still, I don’t like going to college.” He shuddered. “Those kids have no idea what the real world is like.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho interrupted. “Could we go back to the part where Newt complimented someone? When does that ever happen?”

Thomas chuckled and Newt kicked Minho in the shin. “Whatever,” Newt grumbled. “At least you don’t have to mingle with children who think the whole world revolves around them.”

Minho laughed loudly. “That’s true. But seriously, how was European History?”

Newt groaned. “Why do I need to know which king waged war on whatever king?! It’s stupid!”

“You’ll grow to like it.” Minho chuckled. “Soon you’ll be able to name every duchess and knight in Europe and their affairs. It also helps that the professor is nice eye- candy. I have some fantasies she could fulfill.”

“Minho,” Newt’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s not a toy. She’s- she’s just a victim of circumstance. Another person we have to eliminate.”

Thomas cocked an eyebrow, Minho squinting briefly at Newt and then looking quickly at Thomas. Why was Newt defending this random woman he had just met that day? They had all made jokes like that before. Hell, Newt had one of the dirtiest minds of them all, though he rarely shared his gutter thoughts.

Something about Professor L/n had already changed Newt, though none of them knew how much she truly would change him.

Walking back from your classroom, you passed a dark alleyway. It was just a small walk to your apartment and you had made the short commute everyday for a couple years. Why would this night be any different?

The universe had different plans for you as shouts soon reached your ears, along with the sound of groans and punches landing.

Against your better judgement, your teacher personality and worry kicked in and you quickly lit up your phone flashlight. “Hello?” You called into the darkness, fully intending to break up a student fight and then file the paperwork in the morning.

The sound of violence stopped immediately and when you lifted the light a little higher you saw something you knew wasn’t just a student fight.

Two men in suits were restraining a third while a fourth had his fist raised as if to punch him again. The man being held down already had a black eye, a cut lip, blood matting his hairline, and a smattering of other bruises and cuts. The man who had, you assumed, threw the punches suddenly stood, calling out, “Hey, lady,” while reaching slowly into his suit.

At the time, the gun didn’t fully register with you. A small little part of your brain simply screamed DANGER! so, you ran. When a gunshot rang out behind you, you only ran faster, letting out an instinctive scream.

Thankfully, your apartment wasn’t that far away. Running up the steps and locking the door sharply behind you, you took a sigh of relief. A second later, the irrational part of you started dragging over a drawer and blockading your door, just in case.

Dialling your dad, you let your heart calm as the phone started to ring. On the second ring, your dad picked up.

“Hey! What’s up!”

“Dad! I need to tell you something!”

From your panicked state and your hurried retelling of what just happened, you dad did the last thing you thought he would do. “Okay sweetheart, I know this is going to sound crazy, but you can’t go to the police.”

“What the fu-”

“Y/n, listen to me. I think you might have just encountered the mob and I want you to be as safe as possible. A little while back, a buddy of mine saw something similar. He went to the police and then a couple of days later, he was dead. If it is the mob, then going to the police will only confirm for them that you need to be taken out.”

“Dad,” you started reasoning with him. “Come on, this isn’t a movie. The mob?”

“Y/n.” Your dad’s voice turned strict and unyielding. “Shut up for a moment and listen to me. I don’t want you to die. If nothing unusual happens in the next week, then you can go to the police. But if you're sure of what you saw, then lying low is the safest way to go. Be on the lookout and call me if anything bad or suspicious happens. And you should probably stay away from the internet for a bit. Be cautious. I love you. Do you feel safe tonight?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Love you too.”

“Okay. Call about anything.”

~Click!~

With your phone still pressed to your ear, you listened to the emptiness. Disbelief entered your system. Why was your dad so scared? Why did he immediately think it was the mob? Should you listen to him? And why did you have to get messed up in this?

What did a college professor do to get wound up in this?

You didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning, you got an email that a new student would be joining your class in a week.

Eating your take out Chinese food because you definitely didn’t feel like cooking that night, you thought back on the day- specifically, the new student. Something about Isaac struck you. You don’t know whether the feeling was good or bad. Half of you wanted to get to know the older, mysterious student more but the other half warned you that something bigger was at play. Twirling your glass of wine, beer, champagne, or whatever alcohol you had off-handily chosen, you reminded yourself that Isaac was a student. While you had taught many older people before, some even older than you, you had never taught someone who looked like they could’ve just hired a private tutor or simply used their daddy’s money to coast through life. Something in your gut told you that something was off. Planning on playing it safe, your mind kept wandering back to that one night a week or two ago. It had been so terrifying. You wondered if the men had run after you. Did they try to enter the building? Your dad had warned you to-

Your thoughts were cut off by the ringing of your home office telephone. You pressed the decline button, letting your thoughts thankfully shatter.

Taking a gulp from your drink, you listened to the message as it played to you.

“Hello Professor L/n,” Isaac’s voice rang out through your apartment. It sounded clear and suave, nothing at all like a student’s. “This is Isaac from your first class. I was wondering if I could stop by office hours to... talk a little bit.”

Fuelled by alcohol and your dad’s words in your ears, you pressed the button that accepted his call. “Hello Mr. Johns.”

“Professor L/n, I’m happy you picked up.” Isaac said, sounding somewhat surprised.

“As it’s after office hours, I’m going to be quite blunt,” you stated. “What do you need?”

Isaac laughed. It was a nice sound. “I was wondering if I could stop by during your office hours to get some help on the homework.”

“Mr. Johns, you don’t have to call me and ask for my permission to do so. But yes, you may stop by.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“How’d you get to be a professor so quickly? You look so young.” You could almost hear the flirtation in his voice.

“Compliments will get you nowhere, Mr. Johns,” you warned. “But to answer your question, I’m an assistant professor. I’m working my way up.”

“Well, if I may say, you're an excellent assistant professor. I think you deserve the title of lead professor.”

“That’s not what it’s called. But thank you. Mr. Johns, why did you transfer to my class?”

There was a pause at the end of the line. “Because I moved colleges.”

“Yeah, no.” You clicked your tongue, not believing him. “Too many coincidences have been happening lately. If you want to meet up, we can meet in the public library. And why don’t you wear something comfy for a change? I’ve been around enough college students to know that most of them don’t wear khakis and sweater vests. Goodbye, Mr. Johns.”

“Professor-” you hung up before he had a chance to say anything. Albeit against a teacher’s code of conduct, you were a little tipsy and just wanted to go to bed.

On the other end of the line, Newt groaned and slammed his head on the table. “Wow,” Minho huffed out a burst of air. “You are bad at acting.”

Newt looked to Thomas who simply said, “Go to the library, wear something comfortable, and get her to trust you enough so you can see if she’ll rat us out.”

“She’s my ‘professor’,” Newt argued. “She knows she can’t get intimate with a student. Even I know that’s weird.”

“You don’t have to get intimate.” Thomas waved him away. “Just get her to trust you. Be her student. Actually learn something for that empty brain of yours.” Newt glared at him as Minho let out a laugh.

“Fine,” New agreed. “But what qualifies as comfy?”

Browsing the shelves, you heard someone clear their throat from behind you. You turned to see Isaac dressed in low- drooping grey sweatpants and a tight fitting white shirt, a gold chain hanging loosely from his neck. His blond hair was ruffled, floofing up over his forehead in a way that made you want to smooth it down.

“My eyes are up here, professor.” Isaac chuckled lowly.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” you shook your head. He’s a student! You had to remind yourself. No matter if he was your age and looked very hot in that outfit, this was entirely against every single rule. You would immediately get fired with an ugly mark forever barring you from teaching ever again. “But that isn’t exactly what I meant by comfy.”

“What did you mean?” Isaac’s tone was nothing like it was in the classroom. It seemed more meek and unsure, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I don’t know, some jeans? A sweater?” You shrugged, pushing your hands into the pockets of your own sweater. “Hell, you’ve seen what I wear around the classroom.”

“True,” Isaac laughed.

“Where would you like to start?” You asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, letting you get an impressive view of his biceps. “Maybe some of the things you were covering before I transferred?”

You nodded, “Got it. Come on.” You led Isaac to a row of dusty books that looked like they hadn’t been checked out in a while. “Here you go.”

You dropped two large books into his arms. Isaac grunted slightly under the weight and let out an embarrassed chuckle. “How do you lug these around all the time?”

“Practice. A reader is always stronger than they look, Mr. Johns.” You smiled coyly.

“Um, can you call me Newt? It’s what all my friends call me.” Isaac asked hesitantly.

“Friends?” You shot a sarcastic look at him. “I didn’t know the son of a CEO had friends.”

“Wow, you’re cruel for a teacher. And that’s not who I am.” Newt laughed along with you.

“Where’d you get the name Newt?” You asked before handing him another book. “You like the lizards?”

“No,” he explained, “I’m named after Isaac Newton and my friends just took to calling me Newt.”

“Oh, that’s very clever, Newt.” You thrust more books into his arms.

Newt stumbled under the weight and grimaced, “Do we really need all these?”

“No, we only needed the first two. I was just wondering how long you could hold out for.”

Newt's shocked face made you laugh. His faux betrayal slowly morphed into laughing alongside you, setting down the other books on a cart before following you to a table.

The next couple of hours were spent with you giving him mini lessons and Newt scribbling it all down in his spiralled notebook. You started on the opposite side of the table from him, but after a frustrating rant, you ended up on the same side as Newt, hurriedly flipping through pages and citing evidence that backed up the explanation no one asked for. In the beginning, Newt would try and write down all that you said, wanting to immortalise your words, a hand running through his hair that you eventually swatted down, inserting a comment about how his hair was too fluffy that made him smile. However, after a while, when you turned the pages, rambling on about one king or running to get another book about some obscure war, Newt would just stare and watch as you delved into the world you cared so much about. His eyes sparked with silent happiness as you waved your hares around, trying to capture the long lost history in words.

After a particularly long winded ramble, you caught yourself and took a deep breath, a sheepish grin on your face. “Geez, I am so sorry. I get a little… passionate about history.”

“That’s clear to see. But I like it!” Newt nodded, leaning a bit closer to you. “It shows that you should be a history professor. It shows that you care about the subject- as all teachers should!”

“Thank you.” You bowed your head. “But it wasn’t always seen that way. There used to be a lot of teasing in high school.”

“But you made it now!” Newt tried to encourage you. “Where are your former peers? Not making… How much do you make?”

“I’m not telling you my salary.” You pointed a non- threatening finger at him.

“Okay, whatever you want.” He held up his hands, surrendering to you. “But seriously, thank you for taking time out of your day when you certainly could’ve been doing much more important things than help me.”

“Of course. Helping students is my number one priority.”

Newt gnawed on his lip, hesitating in an unsettling way. “Can I tell you something?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Yes, but I should tell you that if I learn of or believe that you are threatening serious harm to another person, I am obligated to report that. This can be in the form of telling the person who you have threatened, contacting the police or placing you into hospitalisation. If there is evidence that you are a danger to yourself and I believe that you are likely to kill yourself unless protective measure are taken, I may be obligated to seek hospitalisation for you or to contact family members or others who can help provide protection.”

“You have that memorised, huh?” Newt’s chuckle seemed like forced sadness. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I need to go.” Spinning out of his chair, Newt whirled away, hands shoved in pockets and eyes cast downward.

“Newt!” You called out. But he didn’t turn. Why did he leave? Obviously he had something to tell you that applied to those scenarios. But what?

A couple of weeks had gone by, you watching Newt leave quickly from class every day. Sometimes he simply didn’t show up. After a while, you had enough. Making you worry was one thing, but skipping class and falling behind on grades was another thing entirely.

“Mr. Johns, see me after class.” The cold infliction in your voice made some students snicker, just like back in primary school. Meeting your gaze, Newt knew that if he disobeyed there would be consequences.

“Yes Professor L/n?” Newt saddled up to you.

“Sit down,” you commanded him, directing him to a chair. “I’m going to be frank; who are you and what is your secret? Why are you here?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m talking to you as a friend, not a teacher. We’ve both known that you’re different from the other students. Maybe not in a good way, but definitely different. I can assure you that I will not reveal anything you say to anyone. I would like you to be completely honest with me right now.” To bring the point home, you stood from your desk and sat with him on the other side. Equals- not student and teacher.

“Do you remember the night when you heard the gunshot?” You tensed up at his words, subconsciously knowing where this was going. “That was my friend. He was the one with the gun. The man he was beating up was someone named Randall Spilker, a hit-man for a mob called WICKED. They’ve been terrorising this city for years. Another friend’s father created a group called the Maze. My friend took it over a while ago and appointed me second- in- command. Our mission was to make sure WICKED stopped hurting innocent civilians, such as yourself. However, it was clear that all of this had gotten out of control. A year ago, WICKED’s leader, a woman named Ava Paige, made a decision that ultimately doomed everyone unless we stepped in. Unfortunately, in the midst of stopping her, you got in the way.” He slowly looked at you, analysing your every movement. “I was sent in to kill you. No loose ends. That’s how Thomas said it. We were so close to stopping Ava Paige and WICKED. We couldn’t afford to have you screw it up for us. Clearly, it didn’t go as planned. I found out that I may be in love with you.” You reeled back. Newt couldn’t meet your eyes, and continued muttering, “I’m not exactly sure when it started. Maybe it was how you welcomed me into the class. How you agreed to help me even though I’m older than you and a little arrogant.”

“Just a little?” You asked.

“A little,” Newt pressed his thumb and pointer finger so close that they were almost touching. “Just a little arrogant. Or maybe how you run into class apologising because you were up late last night reading and didn’t get that much sleep. How your eyes light up when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about. How you care so much for this job and your students. Or maybe it was that one day when you were sick and just spent half of class rambling on about whichever TV show you were watching at that point. And then you drank so much NyQuil that you nearly passed out. I don’t know exactly when I started falling for you, but I did. I fell. I fell so hard for you.”

Newt stopped talking, letting you process. He awaited your words, his tongue brushing out to wet his chapped lips. Running a hand through his hair, something you now knew meant that he was stressed, he didn’t say anything.

“So,” you puffed out a burst of air. “You’re a mobster who’s part of the mafia that almost had me murdered who’s now in love with me, your teacher. What do you want me to do with that information?”

“Well, technically, you were never my teacher. Isaac Johns doesn’t exist. My real name is Newton Stead. Or Newt. I wasn’t lying about that part.”

“I’m sorry, your last name is Stead?”

“And an ‘I love you too’ would be nice.” Newt shrugged.

You let out a brief chuckle, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s entirely against the code of conduct for me to have feelings towards a student and I could get fired for this. And you’re in the mob! Newton, don’t you know how terrifying that is? I could never allow myself to become close to you due to the fear of you getting killed.”

“So… you do have feelings for me?” Newt’s lips quirked up into a smile. “You’re not denying it.”

“You’re right, I’m not denying it.” You laughed loudly, not fully comprehending everything.

“So you love me?”

“Maybe not love you, Mr. Jo- Mr. Stead. Oh my god, that’s such a bad last name! But, I’d be willing to go on a date with you. But you’d have to unenroll in university immediately. Now that I know you’re in the mob and that you don’t actually need my education, in order for us to go on a date and for me to not lose my job, you need to drop out of university.”

“Are you asking for me to derail my education just to pursue you?” Newt asked, aghast.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” You stifled a laugh, trying to look serious.

“Well, you know,” Newt leaned a bit closer to you, making your heart race. “There’s a lot of money in my line of work. If you want, you could quit your job and I can support you. You won’t need to ask for anything. Anything you want, at all, I can get it for you. What’s your favourite food? Favourite brand? You can have all the clothes you want. I’ll make you feel as comfortable as possible. Cause I care for you, Y/n.”

“It’s so weird hearing you call me by my first name.” You evaded the question until Newt gently took your chin in his fingers, lifting it up to meet his gaze. With a kind smile, he extracted more words and confessions out of you. “I can never leave my job. I love teaching. But…” Newt grew hopeful. “Maybe, if things turn out well with us, then I could think about moving in with you. However!” Your voice raised, shutting down the complete look of love sickness Newt had on his face. “If we ever do move in together, you’re not to spoil me with your money that you probably swindled.”

“First off, it’s not swindled money,” he pointed a finger at you, smiling coyly. “Second, if you’re my girl then I’m going to spoil you all I want.” He punctuated the last three words. “I’m talking about jewellery, clothes,” he ticked things off on his fingers, “the best food money can buy, and maybe even some… underclothes?”

“Oh my god, Mr. Stead! You are still my student!” You cried out, slapping him lightly.

“I promise, I’m going to go to admissions right now, drop out, ask you out on a proper date, and while I’m spoiling you I’m going to have all your things moved to my apartment so you’ll have no choice but to move in with me so I can love you forever.”

“You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you Newt?”

“Only because of you, love.”

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notnctu · 4 years ago

Text

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details - hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances.

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.”

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression.

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander.

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room.

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head.

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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holden-caulfield · 4 years ago

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Hi! Hope everything is great with you! ❤️ are you taking requests now? I have an idea for a Draco x reader fic. If you want to write. It’s ok if you’re not feeling it or if you’re not taking request ☺️

I was thinking about plot with something like that the reader and Draco are always on each other and fighting, but secretly like each other. They fight to make the other to notice them or to interact. One day the reader borrows a book at the library and made some notes in it (even if she’s not supposed to, just a bad habit that she has). She just writes some thoughts or comments regarding the book or life in general. And then Draco borrows the same book after the reader and sees that there are notes in the book but don’t know who made it. He likes the notes and decided to write his own notes in the book. The reader borrows the book again and see the notes that Draco wrote. So maybe they go back and forth writing notes in the book or even change to another book. Then I don’t know about the plot only that they end up together and it is a fluff ending ❤️

Oh. God. This request was e v e r y t h i n g, i loved it so much, thank you lovely anon!🤧

Wouldn't You Like To Know

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader hate each other but a common interest might change everything.

Warning: none :)

Word Count: 1207

Nothing could make you angrier than that slytherin prick, Draco Malfoy, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to loathe him. There was something just so intriguing, so intoxicating about the boy that made you forget about how much of a haughty twat he actually was.

He seemed to be always picking on you, always having to comment on your choice of clothing of the day or stating how 'immensely insufferable' you were. You obviously never backed down, taking every chance you got to talk with the slytherin, even if it was just to insult his incredibly unnatural, yet entrancing hair or his arrogant ways.

You hated the boy, but you couldn't ignore him. Even though you very much wanted to on certain occasions.

It was saturday, a moment to finally be able to relax a bit and forget about lessons for a while, but someone decided to importune you. It was way too early to engage in a full battle, so you saved your efforts, leaving him in the hallway with his clique and a snarky reply. He had a rather surprised look on his face at the lack of interaction, but you couldn't notice it.

You made your way to the library; it seemed to be the only place you could find solace in. Reading had always been a way to unwind for you, therefore it was no surprise that the library was exactly where you were headed.

You skimmed through the long shelves of books, stopping your finger on a very old-looking volume. You took it out carefully and found yourself a cozy spot in the library, near a window so that you could see the lovely morning unfolding.

It was a copy of your favourite book of all time and you could swear the vintage-like look of the tome was due only to your continuous readings. You loved that book, every time you read it feeling like the first time and successfully taking your mind off of whatever you were worried about.

You started reading it for the hundredth time, taking your time while doing so, and without even realizing it you were starting to underline certain sentences. The quill and ink in front of you on the desk seemed to be begging you to use them and that you did. You highlighted all of those phrases that struck something you, you wrote tiny notes near the words you found the most interesting and you realized that when it was too late. The damage had been done, so why stopping?

You kept reading for a long time, the sky visible through the windows changing vastly beside you until it was already past lunch-time. You closed the book lovingly and put it back where you found it, sure to be able to return later, and took off towards the great hall.

Unbeknownst to you, that was also someone else's favourite book because when you came back, more notes had been added. Tiny messages in the most elegant calligraphy you had ever seen were adorning the pages you had previously stained. What really surprised you was that most of those short lines were actually replies or simple comments to your own.

'This is my favourite line.'

'I'd argue that the best line is actually at the next page.'

'This passage, i will never get tired of reading it.'

'How could one get tired when it's the best piece of literature ever written?'

You were completely shocked but somehow your heart warmed at the gesture: a stranger liked your same exact book and took the time to reply to the silly comments of some heedless student, it sounded almost romantic.

You immediately took a quill with the intention to add more comments but froze as you dipped it in the ink. What were you going to write?

You stopped to think for a moment and the most obvious question came to mind, so you retrieved the quill from the inkwell and wrote onto the last page, the only blank one.

'Who are you?'

You let the ink dry and placed the book back in its place, planning to come back the next day and find an answer.

It was silly really, to be so excited just because a couple words exchanged with a stranger. It had no meaning either: said stranger might have had the same habit as you, writing in all the books they read, or maybe said stranger only found your comments funny and wanted to add their own.

Nevertheless you returned to the library the next morning, very early given the fact you hadn't really slept the previous night, excitement flowing freely in your veins and keeping you awake. You hurried to the chosen section and grasped the book, clutching it in your hands as you brought it with you towards your usual spot.

You opened the book and quickly browsed through the pages until the last one. A reply was there, but not the one you were expecting.

'Wouldn't you like to know...'

What now? You couldn't just keep writing there, you couldn't just change book and keep on writing on every single volume in the library...

Defeated, you stood up, book opened in your hands as you walked through the library you knew by heart, trying to decipher who your mysterious correspondent could be.

"You?!" your eyes shot up from the book to meet his grey ones, Draco Malfoy.

"What? Can't even visit the library now?" you replied, eyebrows raised. You noticed he was oddly eyeing your book and slowly closed it.

"Why do you have that book?" he asked again, almost ignoring you with his eyes still set on the tome.

"I was reading it? That's what i usually do with books, you know."

"Are you sure? Because i have a feeling you write in them." your displeased frown soon turned into one of stupor.

"You?!" he nodded, smirking; for the first time you noticed a tinge of genuineness in his smug grin and the thought that maybe, just maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't the bully everyone thought passed through your mind.

You didn't know what to say and apparently neither did he for you both remained still and silent, staring in each other's eyes. It wasn't awkward: you looked into his grey orbs with longing, as if you had always known he could have been what you wanted and finally were able to see this side of him, the side of him you were in love with even if you didn't know it existed.

He cleared his throat then, making you focus back on reality.

"Although i enjoy the library, i think we should find a different place to talk about... this." he motioned to the book and your dreams completely shattered. He was probably not pleased with the discovery, one of the students he hated most exchanging notes with him. "Maybe at hogsmeade, tomorrow, at 8?"

"You don't hate me?" as relief washed over you, surprise did too.

"Not really, i actually quite like you, but i thought you hated me so i played along." you smiled at the unexpected confession and he furrowed his brows. "So, is that a yes? Because i can go back to hating you if not and forget everything."

You chuckled lightly, rolling your eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy..."

Taglist <3

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#draco malfoy #fanfiction #harry potter #draco lucius malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco x y/n #draco malfoy fluff #fluff #fanfic #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n

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bidisaster-peanut-romano · 3 years ago

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Is Jimmy actually dumb? Obviously he gets called that by a lot of the characters, as per the name of the game, but he never really seemed that dumb to me, like he may not be a genius, but in most of his interactions where others think he’s thick, it seemed to me more like he just didn’t care a whole lot about their problems they wanted him to fix, and he seemed to understand how to keep peace with different people, even if he wasn’t particularly fond of them, he still managed to somewhat get along with all the different cliques, it wasn’t until Gary that that fell apart, and he was aware that others were using them to do their dirty work, but they were also paying him so I don’t think he cared much about that.

oh you're absolutely right!!

i think i might have misworded something along the way because what i mean is that he's. emotionally dumb, you might say? i honestly never got the feeling he was ever really able to tell when he might have something a tiny bit too hurtful (like the smash it up cutscene where he literally brings up zoe's traumatic experience with mr. burton as a joke and doesn't really look sorry to me afterwards)

i do agree that there's definitely a good portion of him simply. not giving a fuck. like the one time he actually felt like he cared about someone who wasn't actually close to him was in discretion assured where he. really felt guilty about what he'd done. but for example that doesn't happen with zoe in the example before or him never noticing pete's feeling of being... quite a bit left out? there's obviously a factor of him being busy thinking about something else, but i think he genuinely doesn't realize, iykwim

bc tbf you're right, in terms of more... objective?? dynamics he is smart, also bc he's got a very straight-to-the-point mentality, so he's good at intercepting the main problem and fix it directly. i think this is also what put him in a position of disadvantage in front of gary- when he realized that gary was plotting behind his back he would always wonder if gary was behind any inconvenient, but until the end he wasn't able to realize the whole scheme. but, when everything came to a head, he was able to fix it, as, you might say, all the threads had come to only one thing. idk if that made sense, written out this way??

#thanks for sending me this ask though!! i definitely didn't word my message the best possible way <3 #also idk who you are but. i love the way you wrote this message if you feel like it id love to interact more w u #bully #canis canem edit #jimmy hopkins #odyposts

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bigbadredpanda · 4 years ago

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A lot of the Western MDZS fans seem to think that Wei Wuxian has self worth and self esteem issues.Is this interpretation true to the text? What does the Chinese fandom think about it?

Well, I don’t think the dividing lines within the English-speaking fandom (the West vs the East, Asian vs non-Asian, America vs the rest of the world, etc) are that clear-cut. Sure, cultural sensitivities differ, I only have to look at the comments on my translation of the Gusu Lan Sect rules to acknowledge that, some lambast the Gusu Lan Sect for the outrageous deprivation of fundamental liberties, others view the rules as strict but fair and even experienced something similar as part of their own education. However geographic origin is not the be-all and end-all that decides whose opinion is more informed. Curiosity, open-mindedness and a willingness to challenge one’s own frame of reference go a long way to apprehend a work outside of one’s own culture. And that’s what MDZS is for the vast majority of the fans in the international fandom, a piece of fiction from another culture and even a first encounter with a work of Chinese origin. In the end, international fans share the same fandom space without borders, they use the same social media, read the same version of the English translation, come across with the same fanmade content and engage in the same discussions.

The more manifest divide in my opinion is between the international side and the Chinese side. Within the English-speaking fandom, we have differences of interpretations and clashes of opinions but the Chinese fandom has an altogether separate fan culture and another relationship between the audience, the author and the source content. There are superficial similarities between the two sides such as some common fandom trends but they often differ in essence, for instance, the motivations and modus operandi of antis and purity cliques in the Chinese fandom are dissimilar to those in the English-speaking fandom. Both the international and the Chinese fandoms exist while being more and less dimly aware of the other’s presence but there is precious little interaction between the two of them as a whole. When content from one side makes its way to the other side, it’s fanart for the most part as well as Chinese-to-English translations of official and fanmade content. It’s more a unilateral transfer than a conversation between different cultures.

Chinese fandom is organised and segmented, the novel and its adaptation have their own supertopics on Weibo and proper tagging is mandatory so that people can stay in their own lanes. Contrary to the international fandom in which there are relatively few spoken and unspoken rules (you can pretty much post whatever wherever as long as it’s not offensive or stolen), the Chinese fandom abide by a whole set of mostly self-enforced regulations. For example, the MDZS supertopic which is novel-centric has its very own wall of rules in its pinned post, among these there is giving due respect to the author, the characters and the novel; the proscription of breaking up or reversing Wangxian, of disseminating content that distort the facts in the novel, etc, etc... There is a more rigid adherence to what is established as canon. What is not supported by the novel runs the risk of being considered ooc. It’s quite common for fanfics to have an author’s preliminary statement along the lines of “the characters belong to the author, any oocness is on me” as a precautionary measure. I’m describing all this to give a tiny bit of insight on what it’s like on the other side, I don’t think that one fandom culture is superior to the other. It’s like free verse and regulated verse, there’s not much point in comparing what cannot be compared. It stands to reason that the international and the Chinese fandoms have disparate views of the original content as they have evolved independently over the years and they do not consume it the same way. You also have fandom-specific interpretations that spread and become a prevalent norm (e.g. Lan Wangji’s speech patterns).

So, after excessive meanderings, I finally return to the main topic of your question. Wei Wuxian’s supposed self-esteem and self-worth issues are definitely prevailing traits in the English-speaking fandom. It seems to me that it stems from a misreading of cultural norms as many of Wei Wuxian’s actions are rooted in a specific historical and social context steeped in filial piety as well as a literary genre that idealises the archetype of a noble and righteous hero fighting for the greater good. That’s not to say that such representation of him is completely non-existent in the Chinese fandom, it does come up from time and time, perhaps more on the live action side. The more common portrayal of Wei Wuxian though is as a brash young man and a self-assured genius and you have some very good meta on why “perfect equality” between Wangxian is one of their main strengths as a couple (x).

Hope that answered your question despite the long digression =)

#i'm not a spokesperson or a mediator for either side of the fandom btw i'm just a casual observer #so take this as an individual point of view #answers #lyn-p

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years ago

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Read into Me Chapter 5: Romeo and Juliet

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 2,955

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, bullying mention

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @banjino-in-the-hole @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @alwaysstressedout @linkispink1995 @asharpkniffe @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa

After that afternoon, you spent practically every day after school with Steve, either in his bedroom or the library. It was weirdly nice. You didn’t always talk; mostly you worked in silence, Steve answering English questions or doing work for other classes and you doodling. You’d finished the sketch of Steve you’d started in his bedroom the same night you’d started it. You were actually quite proud of it; you’d managed to get the shadows on his face to make his face look hollow and strange, not beautiful like it usually appeared. And yes, you were comfortable with calling him beautiful. You found a lot of your subjects beautiful, they all fit into an easy collection of strong, attractive faces that could be found in Hawkins. Hawkins Most Beautiful: the collections of portraits labelled themselves.

Steve called you fairly often as well; usually on the days when you didn’t meet up he’d call so he’d have someone to keep him company as he worked. He seemed lonely to you. From your conversations, you learned little of his supposed friends, but you learned a fair bit about his family. Both his parents were rarely home. His father worked in the city and kept an apartment there, keeping him as far away from home as possible most of the time. His mother was home more often, but kept her hours in certain places, leaving him home alone most of the time. So it seemed, he was ignored past the age of twelve. You sympathized with that, your own parents weren’t exactly present, albeit for different reasons. He asked you a lot about Samantha, which didn’t bother you; you could talk about her far more than you could yourself.

“I can’t honestly say that I even really know her…” Steve laughed. You were sat in his bedroom one evening, the sun setting in creamy red swirls, ominous strawberry pieces in homemade ice cream. Sweet and yet worrying for reasons beyond you for the time being. You were sat at his desk, leaning back in his desk chair, turning left and right. Steve was sprawled out on his mattress, feet kicking beyond him casually, his papers spread out in front of him.

“Yeah, she doesn’t really associate with some of your friends. Tina isn’t really our biggest fan…” you replied, smiling softly. The memory of Samantha dumping a miniature carton of chocolate milk on her head in the seventh grade flashed through your mind, her shrill screech making you chuckle.

“Oh yeah? What’s up her ass?” Steve asked, turning onto his side to look at you fully. He looked incredibly posed and uncomfortable, his head placed in his palm and his ankles stacked neatly one on top of the other.

“They used to be best friends, before I showed up. Once I was on the scene, Tina decided that I was someone to bully and Samantha decided that she wanted to be my friend. They fell out because of it and Tina started bothering both of us. She stopped once we were in middle school.” You explained, pulling one of your knees to your chest.

“Tina’s a bitch…” Steve muttered, shaking his head solemnly.

“She’s got such a thing for you.” You chuckled, watching as his face coloured. You continued “Vicki too…they want you so bad.”

“How’d you know?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. His face was still pink, it was almost adorable.

“Oh my god, they spend every class with their heads so far up your ass!” you linked your fingers together and pulled them under your chin. You batted your lashes at him with wide eyes, starting into an imitation of Tina “Oh…Stevie, tell me more about your basketball game…oh Stevie you’re soooo strong!”

Steve pulled the pillow from the head of his bed, throwing it at your head. “Oh shut up!” he groaned. You caught the pillow, chucking it back at him, smacking him square in the face.

Steve was great to hang out with. But that sort of friendship didn’t seem to transition outside the privacy of his bedroom. In school, the rules of social interaction began again. Steve returned to the arms of Tommy H and Carol, whose attentions flip between him and Billy Hargrove, and Samantha kept you busy with her questions, her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, squeezing you tightly into your side. And every time you passed Steve, she cracked a joke in your ear that turned you beet red.

In truth, it was clear that Samantha did not believe you when you told her that nothing was going on between the two of you. She had already decided that the pair of you were in some sort of torrid affair of Shakespearian depths. She seemed to earnestly believe that it was some secret, clandestine romance was happening behind closed doors. You didn’t really understand what she was imagining; it didn’t make sense to you. Steve was far too obviously interested in other people to be doing anything with you. You tried to point out all the girls who hung off his arm whenever she tried to embarrass you about it, but she didn’t see it.

“What you’re missing,” she said through a massive bite of cafeteria shepherd’s pie “Is that all those girls pay attention to him, but he doesn’t pay attention to them.”

“If we were having an affair, don’t you think that I would tell you about it? I tell you everything anyway.” You retorted, rolling your eyes at her.

“You didn’t tell me about Byers until I weaseled it out of you. That’s what I’m doing right now.” Samantha replied with a shrug, mushing her meal together with her plastic fork until it was a disgusting shade of brown, golden corn accenting the pile.

Talking about Jonathan Byers wasn’t fair and she knew it. In short, there was nothing to talk about. You’d had a small, teeny tiny practically nonexistent crush on the boy a year prior, but it was very clear that he didn’t like you back. Samantha had gone to Tina’s party in October, right as your crush was subsiding, and she’d told you that he was all over Nancy Wheeler. You’d had your suspicions about it, but hearing that he’d gone after someone else’s girlfriend and rejected you along the way hurt. Even though you weren’t interested, it still hurt. Samantha was still annoyed that you hadn’t told her about it until it was over, and since it was the only source of knowledge she had on your comatose love life, she brought it up all the time, much to your chagrin.

“All I do with him is sit in his room and help him study. And when I say help him study, I mean literally help him study, we do the chapter studies together and discuss the stupid book.” You said. That wasn’t the whole story; you talked a lot about life and listened to music. You were confident in saying that you were friends by now. You’d almost met his mother twice, both times in passing, and that seemed pretty important to friendships, when their family knew who you were. Still, it didn’t break into school. Steve stayed with his clique and while you tried to stray from yours, Carol or Tina would always scare you off before you spent too much time with Steve. It didn’t take much to scare you, a mere gaze could send you packing, and those two had been mastering the annoyed sneer since the fifth grade.

“Yeah, well you don’t see what I see…” Samantha muttered, turning her attention away from you and onto the loud clique at the centre of the room. Billy Hargrove was show boating, as usual, with Tina and Macy practically drooling onto their lunch trays. Vicki was trying to get Steve’s attention, her thin, spidery fingers gripping onto his wrists, speaking animatedly into his ear. Steve wasn’t facing her though; his whole body was turned away from her, and directly towards your table. Samantha noticed how he watched where you went, it’s why she thoroughly believed that something was going on beyond the surface, something even you might not realize. She knew what a person looked like when they were love struck. Often times, from the outside, it was easier to see when someone was in love with someone else before she could catch onto who actually liked her. She’d watched the women she yearned for fall in love with boring, lame men enough times to have mastered the signs of how men fall for girls. And Steve showed all the non-verbal signs. She couldn’t get a full read on you yet though.

Tommy had caught onto to Steve’s strange behaviour just as fast as Samantha had, although he wasn’t nearly as impressed. You were simply not worth the effort. Not by a long shot. You were fucking lame-never at the parties, never at dances, never at the lake on the weekends. And he knew you had money, you could afford to do all those things, you were just too much of a pussy to show your face. That was fucking pathetic! He knew his friend better than anyone else and a chick who couldn’t hang was not the girl for him. Steve liked fun girls, girls who could turn up for a last minute thing and not be weird about it. Nancy Wheeler was the farthest Steve needed to go on the preppy nerd scale, and that bitch ended up being a massive slut! Like nobody expected that shit. But Tommy knew that you didn’t have any surprises up your sleeves. Despite the fact that you never talked, he knew that you were plain about who you were. Everything was on the surface, and what he saw was not worth his friend’s time.

“Steve, buddy, I’m gonna go get another milk, walk with me.” Tommy motioned him over. Steve followed blindly, if only to get Vicki’s cold, clammy hand off him. Tommy had seen The Godfather one too many times and seemed to believe that he was some sort of small town mob boss, but Steve didn’t really mind following along with him flights of fancy. Usually they were pretty funny.

Tommy wrapped an arm around his taller friend’s shoulders, lowering his voice from the onlooker’s ears. “Listen, buddy, you gotta tell me what’s going up with that Y/N chick I mean you just keep staring at her it’s freaking weird, dude.”

“Y/N? She’s my writing partner for Lawrence’s class, she’s cool…” Steve replied, turning to catch your eye as they passed. He smiled at you, giving a short wave, which you returned with a small smile.

“She’s cool? That all?” Tommy pressed, stepping into the line and grabbing a carton of strawberry milk and the largest chocolate chip cookie in the basket. He unwrapped his arm from his shoulders, letting him go free for the first time in the conversation.

“Yeah, I mean she’s nice, what else do you want me to say?” Steve knew that was being a little defensive, but he didn’t like being questioned for his choices in friends or girls, he never questioned Tommy’s choices and he made the worst decisions most of the time. Carol was no prize and he didn’t say a word about her.

“You fucking her?” if Steve had had anything in his mouth, he would’ve spit it on the floor. Tommy didn’t even turn to look at him, paying the lunch lady in change.

“Jesus, dude, no.” Steve cried, recoiling from his friend. Tommy needed to get hit and while he didn’t have cause to do so yet, he firmly believed someone was going to do it soon.

“Hey, no need to freak out, it’s just a question.” Tommy pulled his friend back in, slapping his friend on the back. Instead of simply heading back to their lunch table, he pulled him to the side, standing next to the hot grab and go table, next to the cartons of fries.

“Now, the way I see it, you have something great going for you.” Tommy began, cracking open his milk and taking a long swig, leaving a milk film on his upper lip. “Vicki Clarke is a fucking babe and she’s begging for it! She’s all over your ass and she’s hot as hell! But you’re blowing it by spending all your time staring at some freak of nature instead. You could have a smoking hot babe at your beck and call, but you’re wasting your chances here, you see what I mean?”

“Not at all, dude.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest, looking over his friend doubtfully.

“Look man, I’m just trying to set you up for success here. Because that girl,” Tommy pointed at you slyly “Is not interested. If she was, she’d be over here, acting like Vicki is. But she’s keeping herself planted at that table with that goth freakazoid.”

Steve had no idea what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, to deny having any feelings for you, but that wouldn’t mean shit if he kept watching you. And Tommy was right, there was a girl there who wanted to listen to whatever he said, who chased him down. Vicki was there and you weren’t. So he swallowed his words and went back to his table.

“Hey, Steve…” Vicki drawled. There was red lipstick on her teeth. Steve didn’t say anything about it. It didn’t make her ugly. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, letting her rest in the crook of his neck. Vicki seemed over the moon by it and it gave him something to focus on other than catching your attention.

Samantha frowned, turning her attention back to you. “What’s Steve’s opinion on Vicki Clarke?” she asked.

“He didn’t like when I told him that she had a thing for him, why?” you retorted, flipping through the college magazine in front of you. You still hadn’t chosen anywhere to apply and applications for the major schools were due in the winter and community colleges needed their applications in for the fall semester in by the end of June at the earliest.

“Well, he doesn’t seem embarrassed now.” Samantha hooked a thumb towards the couple. You looked once, narrowing your eye to scrutinize the pair.

“Eh, that seems about right…” you murmured. You wouldn’t deny that something about it hurt. But you ignored the pain until returning home from school. As always, you called before making any moves. It was the polite thing to do, even though Steve had made the plans to meet up with you after school the night before.

The phone was picked up after three rings. Steve’s car was in the driveway, not his mother’s, so you knew who would answer. “Hello?” his voice sounded anxious and breathy, maybe even annoyed.

“Steve-o, we still studying? You wanna go grab food at Hula Burger?” Steve had introduced you to the burger place in Carmel, a little mom and pop shop with the best Cajun fries in the county, at least in your opinion.

“Oh shit…” Steve muttered “Y/N I’m sorry I-I kind of made plans, can I take a rain check on the burgers?”

“Oh…yeah, sure I guess…some other time…” you said softly. You wouldn’t try to hide the disappointment in your voice. The pain you felt in the pit of your stomach returned with abundance, not exactly sore and angry pain, but more of a black hole opening up there.

“I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?” Steve asked. He was already running late. He was supposed to pick up Vicki in twenty minutes and he still needed to shower. He had genuinely forgotten about his plans with you and he felt like an ass for doing so. He did want to hang out with you, but a date was a good step after being decimated by Nancy. He wasn’t super into Vicki, but it was still exciting to go out with someone new.

“Sure…” you hung up after that. You stood from your bed, dropping your book bag at your feet. You were used to spending afternoons alone, that wasn’t strange to you. Just because you’d spent a few days with a boy didn’t mean that he was yours to hold back from his life. You could’ve pulled a fit and tried to make him hold true to his word, the way your mother used to act towards your father. But those memories made you sick, you didn’t like that behaviour. But you also didn’t like being cancelled on. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to, not from friends at least. Samantha never really cancelled on you, she always made sure to tell you when she was busy and not agree to plans. She’d never cancelled on you for a date, even when she was dating Keith the creep she always put your friendship on a different level than him. Of course, she wasn’t really into Keith, she came out like a week after they started dating and broke up with him after kissing Jessica Klein at a house party, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Steve had ditched you and it made your heart hurt.

You couldn’t help but watch him run out of his front door and into his car. You watched it pull out of his driveway and out onto the road. It was clear to you now, Steve was more interested in passing English than he was in being your friend. Vicki Clarke was the girl to pay attention, no matter how he acted around you.

So why pretend like he was your friend at all?

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uwunnie · 5 years ago

Text

Hello, everyone.

To recap: There are new fans, and old fans as well as recently turned fans, who truly believe you have to choose Monsta X or Wonho otherwise you’re not a “real” fan. It has reached a point where toxic idiocy is spewed all over Twitter — not really that surprising, but still very annoying — and it has now reached Tumblr; the one place I felt was pretty neutral.

Initially, I wasn’t going to say anything because I felt like it’d only add to the drama. However, as time passes, I see the fandom heading into a direction that is very...well, doomed. Of course, this is merely my opinion and I don’t really expect anyone to hold it to a high regard because I am not God, nor do I believe I am a God-like figure. However, I do think I can still state my opinion upon the matter and try to shed some knowledge that may be utilized positively.

Before I begin, I’m going to try and insert a ‘Read More,’ but should I not be able to make it to a laptop in time before my patience completely disappears, I will tw it as a “long post.” If you dislike long posts and don’t have them filtered, though, and this pops up on your dash and annoys you — I apologize, kinda.

Anyways, let’s go.

—

I don’t really know what happened. Or well, I do, unfortunately.

In the beginning, Monbebes stuck together. We all came together and showed our support as a united body of like-minded individuals who shared their love and support for Monsta X — whether they were seven or individual.

Things went well. Petitions were signed. Billboards were funded. Zoo’s were created.

But at some point, Monbebes began idolizing other Monbebes — and I don’t mean looking up to sensible fans, but ones who are problematic.

Allow to me to repeat this to avoid misunderstandings: It’s okay to look up to fans who are NOT problematic. It really is — be friends with them, aspire to be more like them, I don’t care; do you so long as it’s positive.

But....but....to choose problematic fans to look up to? To choose ones who are known to fetishize a culture? To choose ones who are known, and praised, to fetishize sexualities? To choose ones who provide false hope in exchange for clout while simultaneously invading REAL people’s lives?

Yeah, that’s where everything went wrong.

The wrong people built platforms and their voices were, inevitably, elevated. Everyone began dividing and forming cliques in the name of “unity.” Everyone began losing sight of the big picture — the big picture being a positive resolution.

People stated they wanted a positive outcome, but only if it was on their terms.

Greed. Greed. Greed.

Selfishness replaced selflessness.

Various Monbebes began inserting themselves into the narrative as if it was their own personal emotions that mattered more than Monsta X’s — and that’s not to devalue anyone’s feelings, but I mean...it’s the boys who were directly affected by what happened.

Wonho was the one who had to receive backlash for past events that don’t equate his worth.

Shownu’s voice was silenced despite being a victim to sexually implicit lies and harassment.

Minhyuk sacrificed his own emotions and began keeping hardships to himself.

Kihyun was forced into voicing over his friend’s song lyrics, and is also continually made fun of despite him speaking out and asking fans to not refer to him as “small” and “tiny.”

Hyungwon received, and continues to bear, backlash because certain fans think he’s a liar and also like to criticize him for being “lazy” as if the dude doesn’t work his ass off every day.

Jooheon’s mental health issues were pushed under the rug by many people within the fandom and as soon as he returned, various fans demanded he work more — try harder, be louder and more energetic.

Changkyun’s emotions were disregarded — many fans stating he has an “attitude problem” and seems cold despite the dude literally trying to make everyone around him happy and also sticking up for Monbebes.

Monsta X, regardless of the number, were all continuously pushed past their limits; treated as machines and play-things rather than human beings.

And this is only what has been shown to us. Think about everything that’s transpired that we haven’t seen.

—

I understand that those months were hard, I really do. I was right there with everyone not getting any sleep and trying to balance school, work, projects, etc. I understand it was very emotionally upsetting and I am not devaluing anyone’s feelings because I know it was hard.

But a line has to be drawn.

There has to be a realization that it is Monsta X who has endured the worst of the entire situation. It is not fair to say that the fans had it worse when MX’s actual jobs, lives, health, and futures were all tampered with, endangered, and victimized.

And to top it off — as positive of a resolution that could be made in the situation has been met and people continue to complain.

I understand it may not be ideal — everyone wanted them to come together as seven again and I know how disheartening it is that that isn’t an option right now, but...they’re still here.

Wonho get’s to continue with his career. He can still interact and talk to us. He can do what he wants — I mean, the dude literally has a whole Instagram account to himself when it took a year or two, maybe more, just for SSE to give MX personal cell phones.

The six active members get to continue as well. They released an album that is more than likely going to be nominated for a golden disc award and they’re all, seemingly, recovering. They’ve been able to vacation and from the looks of it, the company is going a little easier on them with their schedules — in a way.

In other words: All seven of them are content.

And for the fandom, we still get to see them. We get to listen to their voices and see their faces. We get to interact with them and watch new shows, etc.

They’re still here — and honestly? It’s a miracle.

Do you know how hard it is for a people to continue considering what transpired? How unusual it is for an artist to be able to overcome legal battles that usually deem unfavorable in the position he was in?

I’ve been in the Kpop fandom for nearly 12 or 13 years now and this is the first time I’ve ever seen legal cases turn out okay for an idol.

History was made and a positive resolution was met, but yet — hardly anyone wants to celebrate.

Instead, a big chunk of the fandom now wants to dive into more drama — separate Monbebes and Wenees from each other and build more cliques.

Say stupid shit like “you’re not a real fan if you only support Monsta X” and “you’re not a real fan if you only support Wonho.”

“Wenees are superior.”

“Monbebes are superior.”

“Wenees love Wonho!”

“Monbebes love Monsta X, and Monsta X only!”

“Let’s listen to boycottbebes!”

“Let’s listen to problematic tarotbebes!”

“Let’s listen to akgaes!”

Just...shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up.

—

I hate to break it to everyone who believes the quotes above, but we are all the same.

Monbebes are Wenees, and Wenees are Monbebes.

There is no competition.

There is no Monsta X without Hoseok, and there is no Hoseok without Monsta X.

—

You cannot hate the root and only love the flower just like you cannot hate the flower and be fascinated by its roots. In the same regard, a leaf cannot hate another upon the stem because to do so would be the leaf despising itself.

—

TL;DR: Stop the fan wars before you ruin damn near six years of love and (relatively abundant) peace.

#i have said my peace #tw: long post

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bcbdrums · 5 years ago

Text

Mistake

I am depressed, so you get angst fic. Credit for an outstanding line near the end goes to Gothicthundra.

FFn AO3

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

Mistake

Six year old Drew Lipsky sat in the school cafeteria squished between two children he didn't know. He knew their names of course, as his first grade classmates. But he didn't know them. His classmates had all gone to kindergarten together. But he was the new kid.

He nibbled on his sandwich as he watched his classmates and listened to their avid conversations, not really catching any of it but simply studying their mannerisms and how they interacted. That is, until one of the other kids addressed him.

"What's that?" a girl said, her face twisted in disgust. He thought her name was Sarah.

Drew followed her gaze to his peanut butter sandwich and then back to her confused face.

"My lunch," he replied softly.

Drew had barely been spoken to by any of his classmates in the few days he had officially been in the school. And as he had never been to kindergarten, or preschool, or daycare...he didn't really know how to talk to them either. He was an only child, after all.

"Why does it look so funny?" Sarah asked, wrinkling her nose further. Drew noticed her friend next to her, Amanda, doing the same. And some of the boys around them, who had been talking about some TV show Drew had never heard of but was apparently the favorite show of his entire class, stopped their conversation to stare at his sandwich and at him and the girls.

Drew processed all of this while looking between them and his sandwich. A feeling he couldn't quite describe started to come over him; a feeling of being confined, and like ants were crawling over his skin.

"It's peanut butter and jam."

One of the boys—Matthew—leaned in closer. "What's jam? Why does the peanut butter look funny?"

The feeling of being closed in got worse. And a new feeling—one that he'd somehow made a mistake—began to take over. He wanted to undo the mistake, but...he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. And now all of his classmates at the table were looking at him and making faces at his sandwich. He struggled to think of something to say, but before he could...

"This is a sandwich," Sarah said, holding out a food item young Drew had ever seen.

It was...a peanut butter sandwich. At least, as far as he understood the concept. But the 'bread' was white and didn't look like bread. And between the two slices that squished very appealingly under Sarah's fingers, were a brown substance and dark purple substance that must have been peanut butter and jam. But they didn't look like the peanut butter and jam on his sandwich.

"This is peanut butter and jelly," Sarah continued with an air of superiority. Drew suddenly noticed that almost all of his classmates had sandwiches like Sarah's. He had missed it due to staring at James's prepackaged Lunchable—another food item he had never seen before.

Of course, he had also spent some of the time staring at James himself. His classmate with the rich brown hair and the name that was just...cool, was sitting directly across from him, eating the colorful and fascinating prepackaged lunch and drinking...chocolate milk. It was in a little paper box with a tiny plastic straw—yet another thing Drew had never seen.

What was chocolate milk?

He wanted to think about this. And he also wanted to keep turning over James's cool name in his head, and the way the letter E didn't make a sound and yet was crucial to the name being what it was. But he couldn't, for the way everyone was staring at him and his lunch.

"What's wrong with your bread?"

It was Amanda who had spoken this time, and Drew looked down at the bread his mother had baked. It had smelled so wonderful coming out of the oven the night before and was still soft when he bit into it.

"Nothing," Drew finally said, wishing all of the eyes would leave him.

"Where did you buy it?" Sarah asked.

"My mommy made it," Drew explained. The feeling of somehow having made a mistake grew stronger.

Matthew started laughing. "It looks like poop. Poop bread!"

Drew looked down and quickly took another bite of his sandwich. It was delicious.

"He's eating the poop sandwich!" Matthew shouted, pointing as he began cackling. This brought the attention of others, even at the surrounding tables. And across from him, drinking his chocolate milk, the cool-looking James with the cool name smirked and began laughing. Drew hunched down as he chewed the delicious food his mother had made him, ignoring the laughter of his peers.

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

"Did you get those glasses on purpose?"

Eleven year old Drew looked up from cleaning his glasses in the school bathroom to where Matthew, Zach, and Shaun were standing several feet behind him. Always distant, in case they might catch whatever made him...him. But always nearby, ready to taunt and mock.

"Yes," he answered plainly, confused. Why wouldn't he have gotten the glasses on purpose? He couldn't see the teacher's handwriting on the chalkboard from his seat in the back of the classroom, and he and his mom had only recently realized that he'd actually been in need of vision assistance for years.

After putting the blessed new glasses back on, he looked through the mirror to where James stood a few feet to the left, closer to the bathroom stalls, creating a triangle between him and the group of bullies. His sometimes-friend looked equally perplexed at the question, but forgot it instantly as the group beckoned the popular boy to join them. He did so with his usual cool and confident smirk, and the gang headed out of the smelly bathroom.

Drew was prepared to ignore the familiar 'mistake' feeling as they all left, but when James tossed Drew one last look before leaving, the dim light from above glinted off of James's own glasses and understanding suddenly hit Drew. His new glasses were almost identical to James's. It was coincidence... But his classmates spent a lot of time trying to destroy the thready friendship he had with the one and only person who didn't mock him. And the similarity of the glasses would just be used against him.

He wondered, as he had for as long as he could remember, why his classmates seemed determined that he not have any friends. And the feeling of somehow having made a mistake was starting to take root in his mind.

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

Toward the end of sixth grade, when James had fully immersed himself in the clique of the other boys, he had taken it in silence as Matthew told him to his face that he wasn't wanted, and to go annoy someone else. He had tried following them on the playground for days to get James's attention back, but gave up after that declaration. He spent the rest of his recesses of sixth grade alone.

In eighth grade on a class trip to a museum, the boys had acted suspiciously friendly, drawing his attention to a display on the history of robots. As he had gazed at the display and begun talking excitedly of what he already knew, he realized he was surrounded by silence. He looked around to discover the boys had ditched him, their drawing him to the display a purposeful distraction tactic.

By his junior year of high school he had given up, relishing instead in talking to his chemistry professor after school. The older man would always smile, nod, and hum his acquiescences to young Drew's ramblings. Drew knew in his heart the teacher wasn't a 'friend' and didn't really 'care.' But he tolerated him... It was the most Drew had ever gotten from anyone, so he indulged every day after class for the entire semester.

He forgot about trying to be friends with James for years, burying himself instead in his studies and reading Captain Constellation fanfiction instead as he tried to fill the void. He let the fictional characters and his joy of learning put a temporary bandage on the wound that had been in his heart for as long as he could remember. From the prank calls in elementary school, to the way other kids would flat-out ignore him in middle school and high school... And in college, as always, it seemed everyone already had friends and he was still the outsider.

But after the two quick years of powering through all of his general education requirements, he could finally devote his attention to science. And that was when he remembered James.

James had a new posse now, as he called them. Bobby Chen and Anand Ramesh weren't just cool kids he tagged along with in the social chaos that was childhood, but genuine friends. And Drew wondered if finally, with their shared love of science, he could truly and finally be James's friend. And maybe even have more than one.

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

Time slowly crushed Drew's hopes. Whether he was lab partners with James or Anand or Bobby, the three genius men always laughed with one another, and Drew was simply...there. When the group went to get lunch or dinner together, Drew was never invited. He tagged along anyway, and none of them told him no, so...it was okay, right? It was implied that all were invited when someone said, "Let's get some lunch," and they all migrated together toward the University Union. And during the meals he laughed at the jokes, tried to insert commentary and new topics...but he was always ignored.

He saw a glimmer of hope one day in the lab when Anand and James teased Bobby about his glasses, both of whom had ditched their frames for contacts years before. But Bobby simply responded that he didn't need contact lenses to get the ladies. Drew had never had a witty comeback in his life. And it didn't matter anyway, as the posse weren't teasing him about his glasses... For once, he was grateful. But he started to wonder if it was his conversation that was the problem.

After that he tried to be more assertive, having studied the endless back and forth banter of the group he called friends, though he didn't know if they applied the appellation to him. He determined that clever and quick commentary were necessary in friendship, and so boldly practiced at every chance he got.

It proved to be a mistake, as the other three did in fact start to notice him more, and the teasing and mocking he remembered from all of his formative years returned. He couldn't tell which remarks about his nerdy looks, his lack of intelligence—that one always cut deep—and obvious virginity were part of the posse's cultural banter, and which were actual insults. He played all of them off as humor, however, laughing along with the other men no matter how deeply the words hurt.

But still he stuck with them, walking behind the trio on the sidewalk when it grew too narrow for four, left sitting on the metal folding chair at video game nights and Captain Constellation marathon parties because James's apartment's sofa wasn't large enough for three.

They were, after all, his only friends.

But like every other attempt at social interaction in his life, it wasn't to be. The robot dates he built as the ultimate attempt to win them over proved to be his greatest mistake of all.

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

Drakken watched Shego pass through the door of the lab, not even giving him a glance or a hello before she flopped into her chair far from his workstation, grimacing as she tried to find a comfortable position, and then flipped her magazine open to the dog-eared page.

She was so beautiful... But those were thoughts that could never be entertained. He locked them away again, until such time he knew they would unwittingly break out. No, that wasn't in his cards. But perhaps...

He swallowed hard on the word that froze in his mind and brought a lump to his throat.

...Friendship?

She mocked him and insulted him more harshly than the school boys or his college posse ever had. The only real attention she ever gave him was to understand the plan before heading out on a caper. But...she was still there.

After three years of nothing but failed plans, jail stints, and injury to body and ego, she was still there. Yes, he paid her well. But plenty of other villains paid well too.

"So what's the plan today, dingus?" was her eventual greeting that day. He blushed and whirled around to face his desk, worried she'd caught him staring. But then he realized she'd never looked up from her magazine. She was just...talking.

She was talking to him. And she didn't have to. She didn't technically need to be in the lab, either.

"Robots of destruction," he answered after a moment, despite his desperate desire to keep the new plan secret.

"Ugh, not again..." she groaned.

Drakken smirked and left it at that. He couldn't tell her everything... Because if this one worked, he would be ruling the world when it was over. And he would get a small revenge on James in the course of it, using his technology to make his robots function. But that wasn't the real reason for his secrecy. He was sure this one would work, and maybe...if he took over the world... Maybe Shego would be nicer to him. Maybe...she would come to bowling night without complaining, and come to karaoke without it being written into her contract. Maybe...if he was successful...

He turned to look at her again, still staring down at her magazine. She didn't have to come to the lab. She didn't have to sit on the edge of his desk and make cracks at him while he worked. She didn't have to have dinner with him, or join him for movie nights on the sofa he'd brought to the lair to make it feel more homey...

Despite every warning in his head, he stood up and took a few steps toward her chair. She didn't look up.

"Um...Shego?" he asked.

His heart was pounding. It was a mistake, it was a mistake, it was a mistake... 'Don't do it!'

"Hn?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in annoyance as she looked up from the magazine. Even twenty feet apart, he backed away from her immediate ire.

"Are...are we friends?"

Shego's brow rose. She blinked in surprise, and then without fully meeting his eyes she rolled her own and looked back at the magazine.

"I'm not watching movies with you anymore, if this is what that's going to lead to."

Drakken swallowed again as he hung his head and turned back to his desk. The familiar feeling of ants crawling over his body got worse as did the feeling of having made a mistake as he replayed her rejection. It all coalesced to a clenching pain in his chest, and hot tears in his eyes that he struggled to hold back.

He doodled with his pencil in the corner of a blueprint he'd been working on for the new lair complex his latest plan would need. Why couldn't he have left it alone? Pretending to have a friend was better than the truth. And the result was he had lost his movie night companion.

His bitter thoughts continued deeper, back over his past desperate attempts at friendship that had always ended in disaster, no matter what he did.

He nearly let the pencil fall as reality suddenly slapped him cold. It...didn't matter what he did. From the very beginning, from the first time he had met other children...he was destined to be a laughing-stock. He had always been different, even when by all rights he should have fit in seamlessly. But he never had, and he never would. He was the wrong puzzle piece thrown into the box. And so it didn't matter how much he tried to fit... He wasn't made to.

He glanced at Shego reading her magazine, part of him clinging to hope despite the truth he knew he needed to simply accept. Wouldn't he be happier if he just accepted it? He looked down at his notes about the Hephaestus project. He glanced at Shego again. Despite the endless failures that were the hallmark of his life...she kept coming back. He closed his eyes tightly, angry with himself for the hope that wouldn't die.

He had tried for years to change himself to fit in, to adapt to everyone and everything around him. But it simply wasn't possible. It wasn't that he was making mistakes... Drew Lipsky was the mistake.

Dr. Drakken...was his last chance.

#drakken #shego #kim possible #james possible #drakken and shego #drakkenandshego #drakkenshego #drakken shego #drakgo #dragko #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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