#(this isn’t far from something I have actually participated in doing…)

[thedilfydoctorshow]

My Type

A/N: So I used to write fics back in the day and I haven't written anything in years but noah wyle and his stupid brown eyes have pulled me into the depths of the pitt and I cannot leave

Summary: I kind of got stuck on the idea of Robby and younger reader who is a kindergarden teacher and how their relationship would unfold

Warnings: smut (cunnilingus, felatio, etc.), age gap relationship (Robby = 50s, reader = 25 (20s in general works but there is one specfic date of birth joke)), medical inaccuries because author does not work in the healthcare field

Are there more important things the chief attending physician to be doing than some simple stitches. He’s sure there is something that needs his attention but he needs to take a break and do something basic before he ends up back on that roof he told Abott he’d try to stay away from. 

And so here he is, looking at his patient’s arm before he starts. Mid 20s, kindergarten school teacher sliced her arm with an exacto blade while prepping her classroom. 

“Oh that’s a nasty gash,” he whistles when he unwraps the towel she has around it, “You did this to yourself?” 

“Not on purpose,” you say quickly, “Like you don’t need to call a psychiatrist for me or anything. It’s the end of the month and I have this big calendar that I do with holidays and the kids birthdays and stuff so I was getting that set up and I was cutting a piece of cardboard for it and it just kind of got stuck and yeah. I’m kind of embarrassed because I tell my kids about scissor safety all the time and here I am.” She gestures at her arm

Robby laughs, “Accidents happen all the time, trust me, this isn’t remotely the most embarrassing injury I’ve seen.” 

You pause like you’re debating on asking what you want, “I’m sorry, I have to ask, but please feel free to tell me to shut up if I’m overstepping. What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever had to…remove from a patient.” 

Ah yes, everyone’s favourite question to ask an ER doc. So common Robby immediately knows his answer. He debates not answering. 

“Way back in my med school days someone came in with a flashlight stuck in them.” 

Your jaw falls open, “A full flashflight? Not partial and it got stuck?” 

“A full one. Still worked when the surgeons got it out of him too.” 

You laugh, “of course it was a dude.”

Robby shakes his head in amusement, “it’s always a dude. Women live longer for a reason.”

He finishes up relatively quickly, it was a pretty standard irrigate and suture - probably would have been good to have the med students lean, but Robby is grateful for the small pause in his day. 

“Alright keep those dry for the next 48 hours. After that they’re okay to get wet in the shower just make sure you dry them off properly afterwards. You can get them removed in  2 weeks.” 

“Not to sound totally vapid but how badly is this gonna scar,” he sees the way you bite your in anxiety. 

He chuckles, “Not to worry, it’s a completely normal question. But, lucky for you, I have been doing this for a very long time and I am very good at my job so scarring should be minimal. If you’re very concerned then you can speak to a dermatologist and they’ll have some options for you as well.” 

You smile at him, “Dr. Robinavitch I hope you don’t mind my asking but sometimes I ask people to come in and talk to my kids about their work. Obviously they’re young and not actually thinking about careers but it’s a fun exercise for both the kids and the adults that have participated so far.” 

Michael Robinavitch is many things. He is a good physician, a decent father figure for Jake, an above average tennis player. But at the end of the day he is still a man, and a weak one at that. He noticed your sweet face as soon as he walked in, the way your brightly coloured dress complemented your deep skin tone and highlighted your curves-

“What exactly would I have to do?” 

You light up at the realization he might say yes, “Oh its simple really. You just talk about your job as a doctor, maybe some interesting cases - but they are kindergartners so not too interesting. I doubt parents would like it if their children came home talking about foreign objects in rectal areas.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind” 

~~~

So that’s how Robby ended up in a kindergarten classroom on one of his precious days off. He did some prep, it reminded him of his med school days a bit. Even his actual presentation felt like he was being interrogated by his peers in an auditorium again - except this time his peers were 5 year olds. 

“Dr. Robby, I went to the doctor and they took my blood away. Why?” 

And honestly, Robby is having a great time talking with the kids. Usually the ones he deals with in the ED come in distress so he rarely gets to interact with them when they’re having fun, “Oh it’s very common. Your doctor was just making that your body is healthy, and blood has lots of stuff in it that can tell us that.” 

“Dr. Bobby,” a few of the kids keep messing up his name, he can’t bring himself to correct them, “My brother broke his arm at hockey and the doctor took a picture of bones.” 

“Yes, that is called an X-ray.” 

“And then they put his arm in a cast and our cat scratches it like her tree in my room.” 

“Well you probably shouldn’t let your cat do that.” 

By the end of his time Robby feels lighter. The kids are heading out for their recess and sticks around to help clean up after the activity you set up for them. 

“Oh, Dr. Robinavitch, you don’t need to help me clean up.” 

“Just Robby, please,” he says as he collects the discarded items, “I don’t mind, really. Do you think the kids had fun?” 

“I’ve never seen them ask so many questions before. And you answered them well even when Ava asked how her baby sister got in her moms belly.” 

Robby feels like he didn’t handle that one super well, he kinda just clammed up and sputtered until you had guided the conversation along, “Oh I never know what to say to kids about that.” 

“Yeah I know that I’m their teacher but I teach little kids, not reproductive health so I feel like that conversation is above my pay grade.”

By now the classroom is clean and it’s time for Robby to take his leave. But he lingers for a moment debating his options. You’re obviously very pretty, but you’re also nearly three whole decades younger then him. He doesn’t think he’s making up the way you look at him, but the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable.  

“Dr. Robby,” you say as he starts to pull on his coat, “I know that you’re a little bit older than me but if you wanted to ask me out, I wouldn’t say no.”

~~~

“Mikey” 

Your voice rolls around in his head as he kisses down your throat. He tried to be the gentleman his mother raised - took you out to a nice a dinner, paid the bill, and was about to drop you off home and call you in the morning. But the second he got into the drivers side of his truck you climbed over the centre console, planted yourself on yourself on his lap and pressed your lips to his. Conversation over dinner had been pleasant, the two of you taking the time to get to know each other, but now Robby is learning that there is a completely different side of the sweet kindergarten teacher.

“Baby,” he tries when he feels you messing with the buttons on his shirt, “baby, slow down.”

“You look so sexy in this suit. I’ve been wanting to rip it off of you as soon as we sat down.” 

It takes every ounce of willpower for Robby to physically pull away from you, “No. Not here.” 

“Afraid your old man knees can’t handle some good old fashioned car sex?” 

And honestly Robby does consider dragging you into the backseat to show you exactly what these “old man knees” can handle, but he has plans for you. 

“The car does not have enough space for me to bend you over the way I’ve been planning since you walked through the doors of my ED.”

~~~

Robby has died and gone to heaven. He’s sure of it. You, between his knees on his bed, looking up at him with your big doe eyes, nuzzling his cock through his boxers. You tease him, your hand coming up to comb through the wiry hairs on his stomach before they dip below the waistband and pull his cock free. Robby’s head falls back against the headboard. 

“Oh you’ve been holding out on me,” you let out a moan as you lick a stripe from base to tip, “might not fit.” 

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll make it fit.”

Your lips stretch around the tip of his cock and he’s certain his heart stops for a moment. His head falls back. You reach up and thread your fingers between his before guiding his hand to your hair.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You’re going to kill me.” 

That spurs you on, bobbing your head lower and lower each time. He can’t control the way his hips juts up as you swallow him down, but you don’t seem to mind. You use your hands to help with what you can’t swallow. You let out an occasional cock-drunk moan and the vibrations go straight up his spine. He loses track of time, doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed by how quickly he feels that coil in his belly. Needs you to pull off so he can savour the moment. 

“Baby, “ he tugs on your hair, guiding your head up, “baby, need a minute.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Your voice is hoarse, and the knowledge that he’s the reason why makes his cock twitch. You look up at him, lashes wet with your tears. Robby wonders if you’re wearing mascara, and if it’s waterproof, and what he needs to do to get you to throw it out and wear something that runs. 

“No, god no. You’re perfect but if you keep going I’m not gonna last long enough to fuck you.” 

You smile at him, “I don’t mind.” 

“I mind. In case you haven’t noticed, I am much older than you.” 

You roll your eyes, “yes and-”

“And that means once I finish, I’m out for a while.” 

“Oh,” you look like you’re processing the information, “well unless you were planning on kicking me out, we’ve got all night.” 

And really what else is he supposed to do except flip you over and bury his face in between your legs until it feels like your thighs are going to cut off his oxygen supply.

~~~

Robby is not an idiot. He knows 30 some years between the two of you is a lot. In fact he was worried that after the initial lust faded that the two of you would be left in awkward silence. But that time never came. 

You might not see the worst that humanity has to offer while working with 5 year olds, but you understand the struggle of being overworked and underfunded - though you and Robby have a fundamental misunderstanding of what underfunded means (Robby nearly has a heart attack when you ask him for budgeting help and he sees your biweekly paystub - he decides then that he’s paying for your gas every week, would also take care of your groceries if you’d let him). You listen when Robby complains about his inability to move borders because of the hospital’s refusal to hire more nurses and he returns the favour when you have a breakdown over the district’s decision to increase class sizes again. 

On his days off he looks forward to picking you up from work and either taking you somewhere nice to eat. You both are aware of the optics of your relationship; pretty young woman, getting wined and dined by an older man who probably bought the expensive dress she’s wearing and the sparkling rocks in her ears (because he did). Sometimes you like to play that part of the relationship up, thanking him for dinner by getting down on your knees in his living room and sucking his soul out through his cock. But Robby isn’t actually a skeevy old man, the night always ends with you tired and spent, curled up against Robby’s body. 

~~~

Dana’s the first one to realize he’s seeing someone. He’s not surprised, no one can ever hide anything from her. 

“Let me see a picture of the new girl,” she all but attacks him as they walk into PTMC together. 

“What new girl?” he knows playing dumb isn’t gonna work, but he has to try anyways. 

“You think I don’t know you? This is the happiest you’ve been in years, and I know it’s not because of Jack’s therapist…unless the new girl is Jack’s therapist.” 

“Jack’s therapist is a man,” he corrects, because he is a feminist after all, “I don’t know if I want to tell you about her yet.” 

“What are you hiding from me?” Dana punches him lightly in the shoulder, “I gotta know what she looks like. I’m your emergency contact, I need to know who else to call if you end up dropping dead on me.” 

“Won’t be much longer if you keep making jokes about me dying. You’re not that much younger than me, you know.” 

“Tell me about her.” 

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“Because she’s…” he’s trying to figure out some way of getting out of this, “young. A lot younger than me.” 

“Collins was younger than you.”

“Younger.” 

Dana stops in her tracks, “Robinavitch, she is legal, right?”

“Jesus, fuck, Dana yes. She’s 25. She’s a teacher. I’m not some pervert.”

She hold her hands up in surrender, “You were scaring me there a bit. 25 is…fine.” 

“You’re judging.” 

“I’m not judging, I'm just surprised. I thought you would end up with someone who had the same number at the beginning of your birth year.”

Oh. 

It had never really occurred to Robby that you were born this century. Or that he was born last century. 

~~~

When he finally gets home after his shift that ended up going overtime again all of his qualms about your relationship melt away once the smell of whatever delicious meal you’ve conjured up hits him.

“Hey baby,” you smile at him, wine glass in hand. You’ve changed from your school clothes to one of his old shirts that hangs off you like a dress, nipples poking through the fabric like something out of a wet dream, “hope work wasn’t too awful.” 

He just wraps his arm around your waist and pull you close to him. He’s still in scrubs, you don’t care. 

“Dana figured out I was seeing someone.”

You gasp in jest, “finally telling the world about us?” 

“She gave me shit about you being half my age.” 

“What, she doesn’t think it’s sexy?” 

“I don’t care what she thinks.” 

He lifts you on top of his counter, stepping inbeween your legs before he slides your body so he can feel your pussy against his clothed crotch. He peppers kisses down your neck, scratching with his beard the way he knows you like. He continues down loweer, a trail between your breasts, still covered in his shirt. He continues lower until he sinks down to his knees. He already knows you’ve forgone the panties - still shudders when he hooks your legs over his shoulders and presses a kiss to your inner thigh. 

He squeezes your thighs, roaming then presses a kiss to your clit. You let out a soft hum, hand coming down to card through his hair. He can never get enough of you, his hands tighten around your hips, holding your legs open as he dives in. He can feel his nose bumping against your clit, gulping you down and moans. Every bad thing that’s happened that day melts away as you writhe underneath him, chanting his name.

 Robby, Robby, Robby 

It plays through his mind on a loop as he adds two fingers. He can feel the heels of your feet digging into his shoulders trying to pull you impossibly closer to you, can feel the way the cabinet handle is digging into his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise and yet he doesn’t care. Nothing matters except for the sound of you coming undone for him in ontop of his kitchen counted. 

[askthehedgehogs]

Hi there Sonic. As a frequent cryer myself (which I hate but this isn’t about me right now), I totally understand why you’re crying right now. You went from that high of getting remarried to the love of your life and being on your honeymoon to not being in your own body (with chronic pain throughout no less) and sure, while that’s over now, the minor inconvenience of Shadow not being able to get chili dogs was just the last straw. I find for when I’m sad like that, listening to music, eating a meal, and entertaining myself helps quite a bit. No seriously, you would not believe it but sometimes it seems like all you need when you’re sad is food. But besides that, expressing how you feel to someone you trust helps get that off your chest. Shadow’s there for you, you guys got this 👍 also make sure you have something to wipe your nose. At least in my case crying gets my nose running and no one wants to be a boogery mess. Ah, you’ve probably received a bunch of chili dogs already but here’s another one to go along with the advice

(It’s ok if mod ignores this ask, I just happen to be all too familiar with crying so thought I’d participate since I couldn’t during the bodyswap event)

Thank you for your concern. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let go of him. I’m sure he appreciates the virtual hug, as well.

Thanks… um, I actually haven’t gotten a bunch of chilli dogs, but, um… I guess this makes two. Yeah, you’re probably right. I just need to eat and then I’ll be cool.

Sonic, please…

Can’t I just… skip to the part where I take a nap and wake up and everything’s fine..?

… is that really what you want? After you’ve come this far? Wouldn’t it feel better to just talk?

I don’t even know where to start…

Why don’t you start with what’s freshest in your mind? Tell me why swapping bodies was so upsetting to you. I know that’s not the whole story, but maybe it’s easier to talk about. Tell me what I can do better.

… okay. Just… gimme a minute.

[stankycowboy]

I love how efficient you are at using the tools around us to be as annoying as possible.

He looked up from his strange construction. Five rubber bands were strung taut over a yardstick he had shoved through an old coffee can, all detritus that had been scattered about the wreckage of the abandoned building.

“Oh, now I s’ppose a man can’ en’ertain h’mself”, he huffed impatiently, resuming his attempt at tuning the haphazard instrument. When at last it twanged something resembling a note— flat, but not all that discordant—Severen gave a short cheer. “It’s alright to be jealous in the wake of my…what was that? Efficiency?” he winked at her, and leaned back into the crumbling plaster wall.

Giving it a few test strums with a run up and down the chords, the would-be guitarist nodded to his sole audience member. A jaunty tune began, pointedly out of place amongst their dreary trappings, but certainly brightening the atmosphere. He cleared his throat, lifted his chin to the ceiling (what remained of it) and began an accompaniment to the notes reverberating around them.

“I got spurs that jingle, jangle jingle”, he sang, voice carrying well in the open acoustics; whether that was a good thing was yet to be decided, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant if not obviously untrained. “As I go riding merrily along…” He tapped his foot in time, his spurs indeed giving a faint ‘clink’ to the beat of the tune. Severen was entirely caught up in his little act, completely jubilant with his craftsmanship and his impromptu performance. Juliet was left to figure a way out of this predicament herself, so lost was he in the thrill of his own minor success; pleased as punch to sit here and warble amongst the ruins.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Clichés and Canapés (M) (Pt. 2)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: best friends to lovers; fake dating; billionaire au

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (f)

Word Count: 40K

Author's Note: Part of the In Bloom collaboration with @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @leahsfavefics, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan. Unfortunately, this is so long it has to be posted in two parts; please interact with both!

Synopsis: After twenty years of friendship, you’d think you were used to Seokjin’s proposals by now. In the past he’s forced you to participate in skydiving, skinny dipping, and even staging a rescue from the local shelter. Seokjin has always had big ideas but this time, even he may have gone too far. Granted, break-ups are stressful, and Seokjin’s latest one up was bad. Really bad. As in, they-ended-things-in-December-and-now-she’s-dating-his-brother bad.

It almost makes sense then, when Seokjin asks you to come home with him for his parents' party. Almost makes sense when he says his family assumed you were dating, and he didn't correct them. What doesn’t make sense is the longer you fake things, the more you find yourself wondering if this was real all along.

Rating: 18+; explicit sexual content.

Warnings (explicit content): oral (f. receiving), nipple play, delayed orgasms, sex w/out a condom, cum play, semi-public sex, light spanking, fingering, dirty talk, mention of voyeurism

Warnings (other): depictions of micro-aggressions, mentions of divorce (past tense), emotionally abusive/manipulative parents (side character)

A/N: this is not Part 1. Read Part 1 here.

The next two days pass without incident. Seokjin continues sleeping on the couch, even though you protest and offer the bed. Both dinner parties are mostly uneventful, except for an incident with the Morgan family on Wednesday. Mrs. Morgan drinks too much and snips something about how gracious Mr. and Mrs. Kim are to allow Emilia into their home, at which Jaesuk sets down his fork and point-blank asks them to explain the remark.

Mrs. Morgan got cagy and apologized, but she and her husband left swiftly following. You had to admit, you kind of got what Emilia saw in him then. Jaesuk isn’t as funny or outgoing as Seokjin, but he puts his foot down when needed – actually, he and Seokjin are alike in that manner.

The rest of your days are spent in the larger library. No one else is around, so it lends an aura of peace and quiet. Seokjin grades papers while you search the internet, make Pinterest boards, and finish an outline – all in the name of writing progress.

Slouched on the couch beside him, you peer over your laptop at Seokjin. It seems improbable that someone like him would happen naturally. Suspiciously, you wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Kim concocted him in a lab. Even his flaws – for example, near-sightedness – end up hurting you, since Seokjin is wearing wire-rimmed glasses while shuffling through his papers.

When he glances up, you look down and pretend to be working.

Softly, he chuckles. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”

You frown at your laptop. Tonight is the cocktail party before the main event. The Morgans will be back, along with several others – at least the Astors won’t be there. You only met Emilia’s parents once and can’t say you care to repeat the experience. If billionaires were ranked on a scale of questionable to terrible, the Astors would fall towards the latter.

Part of what you agreed to this week though, was putting up a façade, so you nod.

“Yep,” you agree. “I have a dress, don’t worry.”

Seokjin watches you over the rim of his glasses. “Okay. I think I’ll get ready in the room next door so we can both shower. Does that work?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He seems to wait for something and, when that doesn’t come, he exhales and looks down. Sinking deeper into the couch, you stare at your laptop. The party starts at seven, but you need to get ready before then.

With a heavy sigh, you shut the screen. “I’m going to head up now,” you announce.

Seokjin nods without looking, and you exit the library. Outside in the hall, you hover before heading upstairs.

Cranking the heat up on the shower, you step inside and stare at the brightly tiled wall. Even the bathrooms here are beyond your pay grade. When you worked in consulting, you made good money, but nothing like this. This much money only comes from generational wealth, and while your parents were middle-class workers, billionaires they are not.

Possibly this weighs heavier on you than usual due to tonight’s guest list. You haven’t been in a room with these people in nearly a year. Not since you quit your job and started pulling away. The idea of pretending to be with Seokjin and pretending to fit in with the upper crust makes you want to scream.

With a sigh, you turn the heat higher. And then… there’s the fact that Seokjin broke up with Emilia.

You’ve been trying not to overthink this since Monday. Still, the memory beckons, and you dive in again. Turning it over and over, you pick at it like a scab until it starts to bleed.

At that moment, you didn’t pay attention to Seokjin’s face, but now, the memory haunts you. He seemed beseeching, as though there had been more to his words. Each time you try to think what, though, self-preservation kicks in. You two have been friends for twenty years and nothing has happened.

It seems foolish to think something could happen now. This was the entire reason you pulled away in the first place. If Seokjin ever felt more than friendship, he should have told you. He would have told you. If there’s one thing you know about your best friend, it’s that he goes after what he wants.

When he wanted to pursue academia, he did. When he decided to start running, he began the next day. One time, Seokjin terminated his lease and moved the week following into an apartment that opened above his favorite coffee shop.

He would have told you if he cared.

Despite this, you can’t remove the small seed of doubt. The way Seokjin looked at you Monday continues to replay in your mind, wedging a crack in the friend façade.

Turning the knob on the shower, you linger another long moment. It took nearly twenty years to admit your feelings for Seokjin. What if he’s been experiencing the same thing?

The thought stays while you dress, mechanically fixing your hair and make-up. Glancing at your phone, you realize the time is nearly seven and swear, hurrying into the bedroom to grab your outfit. The staff took it the first night, steaming it and ironing wrinkles from silk.

Placing it on the bed, you dig out your heels and search for your bra. “Fuck,” you hiss, realizing you forgot your strapless at home. You’ll have to go without. Stepping into the fabric, you shimmy this upward and pull on the zipper – and it sticks. “Fuck, shit, fuck.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Hang on!” you yell, hopping to gain better leverage. Desperate, you tug harder, but nothing budges. “Crap!”

“Are you okay in there?” Seokjin calls through the door. “It sounds like you’re tap dancing, and Y/N, I’ve seen you dance. No need to add metal.”

“I’m a – ugh – great dancer!”

“Of course, you are. Can I help with something?”

“No, no – well,” you sigh, coming to a stop. “Yes. Come in?”

The handle turns, and Seokjin slips inside to shut the door. Glancing at him, your brain short circuits. Seokjin is wearing a suit. Logically, you knew he would dress up but seeing it in person is an entirely different matter.

The dark, three-piece suit fits his body in a way that’s obscene. It takes everything in you not to blurt something stupid like, what the fuck – or – hey, let’s skip this party and make out on the bed.

Seokjin turns and stops in his tracks when he sees you. His expression shifts from concern to – well, something different. Slowly, agonizingly, his gaze drags down your body.

“You…” Seokjin croaks. He shakes his head. “What did you need help with?”

For a moment, you don’t remember. Clutching the dress, you ensure nothing is visible, but something about him still leaves you bare.

“The zipper,” you blurt out. “It’s stuck.”

A beat passes between when you turn, and Seokjin walks closer. Delicate straps hold up the silken sheath of the dress. You don’t typically show this much skin, but evening dresses are made to show off.

His fingers brush warm skin before he pulls back. “Sorry,” Seokjin murmurs, then grips the zipper.

You can’t help but shiver and know he must see when Seokjin clears his throat. Continuing to clutch the dress, you focus on the wall. After a moment, Seokjin curls a hand over your hip to brace himself and tug upwards. The zipper catches, then glides all the way to the top. Still, he doesn’t move.

If anything, his grip on you tightens. A beat passes, then another, and your heart starts to race. The space between you feels so small, either of you could close it with a single step – and yet, neither of you does.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door.

Seokjin coughs and withdraws, his warmth gone in an instant. You shakily exhale, taking a moment before turning around.

“Hey,” Seohyun calls from the hall. “Mom is asking where you are. Wanted to let you know before she sends staff upstairs! Get decent and come down.”

You only move once her footsteps recede. Briskly crossing the room, you grab your heels and slip them on. “Ready,” you declare.

Seokjin watches you, inscrutable from beside the door.

Everyone always says Seokjin is the expressive one. And in some ways, he is. He wears his optimism like armor, making others laugh to detract from discomfort. Most people only know him this way. Few know him as well as you do and can tell something’s wrong in this sudden silence.

Before you can ask what is wrong though, he holds out an arm. “You look beautiful,” Seokjin says, folding your arm around his. “Before we go down and deal with all… this.” He pauses. “I just want you to know that.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself.”  While you mean it to sound joking, the words come out solemn.

Seokjin holds your gaze a second longer than necessary, then nods and leads you to the door. You head down the main stairs – according to the itinerary, the party starts in the main hall. Indeed, once you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by a wait staff with a tray of champagne.

You accept a tall flute, noticing heads already turning. Mr. and Mrs. Kim spot you from across the room, beaming with their own glasses. They’re the only ones that seem happy to see you. Seohyun is grimacing, conversing with Mr. Goldenrod, and Emilia speaks quietly in a corner with strangers.

Grabbing a quiche from a tray, Seokjin stuffs this in his mouth. “Eat up,” he says over the string quartet. “Who knows if they plan on serving dinner?”

You laugh, clutching his arm when he leads you towards the nearest couple. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a slight paunch and his young, blonde wife.

“Mr. Brown,” Seokjin says, shaking hands. “Thank you for coming. Have you met my girlfriend, Y/N?”

Mr. Brown nods, barely sparing you a second glance. “Ah, yes. I heard you were dating someone new.”

When he ends the sentence, Seokjin’s face tightens. “Not new. Y/N has been a friend of the family for years.”

“Lovely.” Mrs. Brown jumps in, her smile saccharine. “Are the Astors here tonight?”

When a muscle tics in Seokjin’s jaw, you step in.

“No, they’re not.” Your smile is sweet enough to match hers. “But we’ve been enjoying spending time with Emilia this week. Are you close friends of the Kim family?”

“Well, we –”

“We’re neighbors,” adds his wife.

“Oh, yes.” Seokjin frowns, the very image of faux concern. “Wasn’t there a whole incident with the gazebo last year? Something about your builder crossing property lines?”

Mr. Brown’s face turns a bit purple. “That was – that’s not –”

“Of course, my mistake. Enjoy the party,” Seokjin says, taking your hand in his. Your stomach flips at the contact, although you play it cool. Once you’re out of earshot, his expression sours. “What I wouldn’t give to be back in the library. I don’t know how Jaesuk does this type of thing.”

“Why did your parents invite them?”

“Oh, you know. Politics.” Seokjin frowns. “My mom needs funding for her latest project downtown. She wants to subsidize housing in rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods for families that have lived there for more than twenty years. Obviously, it’s not popular amongst real estate moguls.”

“Ah,” you say, and take a sip of champagne.

Seokjin exhales and faces the foyer. Black and white tile stretches from here to the windows, where the sun is beginning to set over the lake. It would be beautiful if it were only you here, but the reality of this evening stretches before you. The itinerary listed at least twenty names – nothing compared to Saturday, which will host one hundred – but more than the cozy oblivion you’ve had until now.

Near the fireplace, Seohyun, Jaesuk and Emilia chat with several people who look close to your age. Seeing them, Seokjin raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a surprise,” he murmurs. “Seohyun and Emilia. Your doing, I assume?”

You take another sip. “Who, me? Maybe you finally got through to your sister.”

“Unlikely.” Seokjin nicks a cocktail from a passing tray. “Seohyun has ignored me since she was five. Jaesuk used to be the only one who could reach her.”

His use of the phrase used to be hangs between you, reminding things are different since Seokjin and Emilia. Their entire family dynamic has been uprooted. Lifting the glass, you finish off your champagne.

Seokjin begins walking, and you follow. “How… did he tell you?” you ask.

“How did Jaesuk tell me about him and Emilia? He told me in person. It was very considerate of him. In February.”

You look at him, surprised. “I thought they didn’t tell you until March?”

Seokjin nods. “That was after they started dating – when they knew things were serious. Jaesuk came to me in February though, before he asked her out. He wanted to get my side of the story, to understand what all happened – all he’d heard was Emilia’s version.”

“Emilia’s version?”

“Yeah.” He pauses at the window. “Partly my fault. I broke up with Emilia the week after my birthday. There were a lot of holiday events with both our families invited and I… well, I asked Jaesuk to go in my place.” Seokjin frowns. “At first, he was standoffish to her. He didn’t know the full picture, but he knew I was hurting, and then… I don’t know. They started talking.”

“He should never have done that,” you say sharply, surprised by how tightly you’re gripping the stem.

Gently, Seokjin reaches over to take your empty glass. “To be fair, there are usually only a handful of attendees at these things under forty.”

“Seokjin.”

“Y/N.” Fondly, he mocks the tone. “I know. I was mad at first, also. But then…” Seokjin sighs, and something about him seems tired. “I told him the truth. I wasn’t in love with Emilia. He asked if I minded if he asked her out.”

You can’t help but bristle. “You shouldn’t have had to respond to that.”

“Maybe not.”

“Not maybe,” you insist, lowering your voice to move closer. Seokjin watches you carefully. “Seokjin, I know you look up to Jaesuk. I know you feel… I don’t know, indebted to him? That’s the wrong word. He took over the Kim family empire and left you free to do what you wanted. But just because Jaesuk made that decision doesn’t mean you need to pay him back.”

His expression softens. “You see right through me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches, hearing the break in his voice. Setting aside your drinks, Seokjin takes a step closer.

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “Really. And I know this. I won’t say… I mean, I do feel guilty about Emilia. I dated her for a year before realizing what I wanted. I feel guilty about Jaesuk paving the way for Seohyun and I to do what we wanted. But… if I had any real problem with any of this, I promise I’d say so. Do you believe me?”

You stare him down until eventually realizing Seokjin is serious. “Fine. I believe you,” you exhale, poking him in the chest. “You must be a better person than I am.”

Chuckling, he grasps your finger and pulls you close. “Disagree,” Seokjin says before turning around.

Casually, the two of you drift towards the fireplace. Considering his newest revelation, you can’t help the nagging feeling you’ve missing something important. Suddenly, you realize.

“Seokjin,” you say slowly. “If that’s true, and you’re fine… then why did you ask me to come here this week?”

He seems to miss his next step. Seokjin’s eyes dart around the room, assessing, but his hand tightens in yours.

“Seokjin!” Mrs. Kim interrupts, gliding into his side. She grasps her son’s arm. “Thank goodness. I need your help. Mr. Hoang has technical questions about the program. Can you talk to him for a few minutes?”

Seokjin hesitates, and you see indecision war across his features.

“Go,” you say, patting his arm. “It’s fine – I need another drink, anyways.”

Although he seems dubious, Seokjin nods. His mom thanks you profusely as he bends, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be right back,” Seokjin promises.

The warmth lingers on your skin after he leaves. You don’t recognize anyone around you, so you make good on your word, and head towards the bar. Mrs. Kim has set up a drink station near the dining room, arranged on an antique bar cart with black lacquer.

Ordering another glass of champagne, you drum your fingers on the counter. Taking a long look at your face, the bartender pours longer than usual.

“You look like you need it,” he chuckles, sliding it towards you.

You grant him a smile. “You’re not wrong.”

Steeling yourself, you wade into the crowd. Part of the reason Seokjin brought you was as a buffer, to deflect from the talk of Emilia and his brother. Spotting a group near the bookshelves, you head in their direction. Some of them you recognize from past parties, and you join with champagne in hand as the conversation shifts.

“Oh, good,” says a woman – Mrs. Hurst, you think? – with a smile. “Another woman to save me from endless golf talk. Unless you play,” she hastens. “In which case, you’re in good company.”

“I don’t play often,” you confide with a smile. Years of corporate mixers have prepared you for this. “You can commiserate safely.”

 “The hint’s been dropped, boys,” booms a man with red cheeks. “Let’s move on to more interesting topics.”

“Such as?” asks the man beside him.

Mrs. Hurst leans forward. “Have any of you attended the theatre recently? Or the symphony? Henry and I attended a performance last month featuring that lovely, young violinist. Oh, what was her name? I always pronounce it wrong.”

“Midori,” supplies the first man.

“Yes!” she gasps. “Oh, she was exquisite. But you know, it’s no surprise. People like her are just better at the violin, aren’t they?”

Your smile tightens. “People like who?”

“Oh, you know.” Aimless, she waves and takes a sip of her drink.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you say, wide-eyed. “Could you explain the reference?”

The rest of the circle shifts uncomfortably. A man coughs and looks down; the other man pulls out his phone, leaving Mrs. Hurst to fend for herself. She seems sufficiently flustered until you give in and change the topic.

“I’ve been to the theatre recently,” you offer. “Have any of you seen Titanique?” you add, referencing the parody musical.

Blank stares greet you.

“No,” Mrs. Hurst says carefully. “I can’t say that I have. But I’m sure it’s an… experience.”

“Where do you work, Y/N?” asks one man, putting down his phone. His expression has hardened, and you know your comments have revealed you to be an outsider.

“At a coffee shop in the city. I worked in consulting until about a year ago, then quit to work on my novel full time.”

The other man perks up. “Which consulting company?” When you offer the name, he vigorously nods. “I know the CEO! Kevin,” he says to the other man. “Terrible golf game ever since his wife left, but who can blame him? She took half of everything he owned since the idiot agreed to no prenup. Always get the prenup,” he says sternly in your direction.

Unconcerned, you nod.

Mrs. Hurst continues to watch you. “What kind of book are you writing, dear?”

The infantilization in the word ‘dear’ makes you stiffen, but you do your best not to react. People tend to assume you’ve suffered a breakdown when you tell them about your abrupt career change. As though realizing corporate life sucks is a symptom of a broader illness.

“Fantasy.”

Politely, she nods. “How exciting.”

“Kevin’s the one who was living a fantasy,” grumbles the other man, “if he thought his wife wouldn’t take him to the cleaners after that prostitute in Munich. Or was it Rome?”

Conversation reverts to Kevin and his divorce, and once your glass is drained, you excuse yourself for another. No one seems to mind or notice as you walk away.

Another glass of champagne is pressed into your hand at the bar, and you drain half on the spot. Turning around, you make eye contact with Seohyun, who waves you over to her smaller group.

When you reach her, she clinks her glass with yours. “I might have to start double fisting,” she mutters. “Each person I talk to is worse than the last.”

“Tell me about it. I just escaped a conversation about violinists, prenups, and prostitutes.”

Seohyun perks up. “Okay, that sounds way more interesting than the conversation I had about Bitcoin.”

“Oh, god.”

You both laugh until a woman breaks from the circle. “What are you gals talking about?” she simpers.

The circle expands to include you, and suddenly you find yourself faced with several similar-looking women. Swiftly, you rack your brains for appropriate conversation.

Managing a smile, you tip your head towards your glass. “We were debating whether champagne has become overrated. A lot of sparkling wine regions are vastly overlooked.”

A thin, redheaded woman places a hand to her throat. “Oh, no. None of them have the same history as champagne. You can’t overlook that often a person pays as much for the label as for the product.”

She’s not wrong, but you feel inclined to point out that many other regions have history in winemaking, as well.

A stout woman nods. “Too true, Beth,” she chortles. “Champagne is incomparable.”

Beth sniffs and looks you over. “Is the cuvée not to your liking…”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I often find when I’m not familiar with a region, it’s harder to discern its true quality.”

Another woman – thin and brunette – turns to hide a laugh in her palm. You pause, hearing exactly what Beth intended. Essentially, she called you poor by saying champagne wasn’t something you had often, insinuating it was beyond your price range.

Seohyun hears this as well, glaring daggers at Beth. “Y/N is right. I have my sommelier license, and a lot of champagnes – especially those from big houses,” she adds, and you feel like you missed something earlier, “are vastly overrated. You get a worse product for a higher cost.”

“Oh, dear.” Beth’s tone becomes pitying. “I’m afraid I only know what my sommelier tells me. I haven’t the time to take, ah, classes. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

God, you hate these parties. In their world, getting an education or having interests is somehow an insult.

Seohyun bristles, but you place a hand on her arm. “Well, it seems the debate has been settled,” you say, taking her empty glass. “I’ll have to taste more to become a true expert. Excuse me, ladies.”

Tossing them a bland smile, you head for the bar. After three glasses of champagne, you feel a bit buzzed, but if you pace yourself from now on, things should be fine. Playing on your phone, you wait for the bartender to finish and then, a new drink in hand, you scan the room again.

Mrs. Hurst has joined the group you just left, so that’s out. A group of men in the corner is also low on your list – unless you want to discuss golf or prenups again. While you stand there, deciding, a throat clears itself to the side.

“Enjoying the party?”

Hoping for someone bearable, you turn and are immediately disappointed.

Bradley Wainright lounges against the wood paneling, his hair disheveled and suit vest only half-buttoned. You remember him from childhood, and not fondly. He attended a neighboring private school but ran in the same circle as Seokjin’s family. Bradley is the type of guy who uses his trust fund to get himself out of messes rather than help other people.

Seokjin never liked him – in fact, he hated Bradley with a passion you never quite understood. Sure, Bradley was an ass, but so were a lot of people. All you know was Bradley did something to him in high school that took them from neutral to enemies. If Bradley is here tonight, he’s likely up to no good.

“Pass,” you mutter as you turn around.

Bradley chuckles and pushes himself from the wall. “Is that any way to greet a former classmate?”

“We didn’t go to the same school, Bradley. Ergo, not classmates.”

Stopping before you, his gaze drops to your cleavage. Fighting the urge to cross your arms, you take a long sip of your drink.

“Ah, yes,” he says, looking up. “You went to public school. My, how you’ve risen, Y/N.”

Choosing to ignore him, you look around the room. Bradley continues to nurse his whiskey, not looking away. Eventually, you give in.

“Clearly not that high,” you mutter, draining your glass. “If I’m standing here talking to you.”

Softly, he laughs. “You always were smart. Too smart to be wasting your time with Seokjin. I told him as much once, you know.”

You should know better than listening to anything Bradley says, but this piques your interest.

“What do you mean?”

Plucking a glass from a passing tray, Bradley exchanges your empty champagne for full. “Oh, you know. I wanted to ask you out in high school, but Seokjin told me to get lost. He didn’t think I was ‘good enough’ for you,” he drawls with air quotes. “Although now I suppose his true intentions are clear.”

You can only stare at him, mind reeling from more than the alcohol.

Noticing this, Bradley pauses. Genuine curiosity shines in his gaze. “Did Seokjin never tell you? Odd,” he comments, sipping again. “I would have assumed it came up at some point.”

“No. No… it never did.”

Bradley nods before his expression sharpens. “Word to the wise, then, Y/N – be careful. Playing in these circles is hard enough with the money, with the bloodline. Just ask Emilia. This group is downright ruthless when a stranger swoops in and takes something the elite views as theirs.”

Uncertainty churns your stomach. “And by something… you mean Seokjin?”

He merely shrugs.

Realizing you’re strangling your glass, you ease off the stem. The room around you feels blurry, the result of five – or was it six? – glasses of good champagne. It loosens your tongue, your next words spilling out.

“Why am I even listening to you? You hate Seokjin.”

Bored, Bradley swirls his whiskey. “True. I can’t say my motives are pure.” His canines flash when he smiles. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

You search for a response and when nothing comes, he chuckles again.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His cologne drifts past when he leaves. “Tell Seokjin I say hello.”

Left standing alone, you stare at a painting on the wall that must weigh more than you. A floor to ceiling recreation of a famous Monet. Stomach swooping, you examine the paint pattern – it may be the Monet. Feeling vaguely ill, you drain the rest of your glass and hand it to the nearest waiter.

Striding away, you stumble and realize you might be past your limit. The notion seems dull, far away, and you easily push it aside. Every conversation from this evening blurs into one, echoing one another as you order another drink.

Often a person pays as much for the label as for the product. Playing in these circles is hard enough with the money, with the bloodline.

Lifting the champagne, the room spins, and you immediately set it back down. “Fuck,” you mutter, gripping the edge of a table.

A man nearby notices, turning to his companion to mutter something in his ear. They both laugh and leave, and you scowl hard at their backs. The hypocrisy is ridiculous. Most of the people here are either drunk or high, and they have the audacity to look appalled when you imbibe a little.

“I wouldn’t say appalled,” Seokjin says, appearing at your elbow. He smirks, and you realize you’ve spoken out loud. “Maybe a little morally superior – or vindicated, depending on the person in question. You’ve made quite the splash tonight.”

 You do your best to turn sideways but somehow trip over your own shoe. Smashing into Seokjin’s chest, a soft oof leaves your lips.

Obedient, he wraps both arms around you. “I didn’t know you wanted to dance this badly,” Seokjin murmurs in your ear.

Throwing your head back, you squint. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“No,” you grumble. “You’re supposed to stay here longer.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “Not true. I came, I chatted, and I convinced several families to donate to my mother’s causes. The dance floor has started – albeit on the other side of the room – and my duties are done. Let’s go.”

“Your duties,” you groan, laying your head on his chest. “You have sooo many duties.”

He hums. “Right now, my only duty is getting you into bed.”

“I wish.”

Seokjin stills, and you feel his heart stutter. He restarts after a moment, palms sliding to your elbows. “You’re drunk,” he says, tugging you onward. “Come on.”

You follow him reluctantly, taking his hand in yours. Vaguely, you see heads turn in your direction but can’t bring yourself to care. Seokjin makes it to the foyer before he bends abruptly and scoops you into his arms.

You squeak, arms wrapping tightly around him. Head resting on his shoulder, you examine his profile while he walks upstairs.

Deeply, you inhale. “You smell good.”

“Thank you.”

“Like, you always smell good. Do you wear cologne on top of the body wash? Or is that a super-secret super-special scent only rich people know?”

Seokjin chuckles, the sound vibrating your chest. “Yeah, that’s it. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Might be worth it.”

He laughs, louder this time. “You got me, Y/N. I’ll show you the bottle when we get to our room.”

Contented, you hum. Mid-nuzzle into his neck – Seokjin has stiffened beneath you – you realize something and pause.

“Oh no,” you blurt, looking up. “Put me down!”

Seokjin fumbles, one foot over the threshold. “Why? Do you have to pee? Is this spring break 2014 all over again?”

“No, and for the last time, I didn’t pee in that bar! Someone spilled their drink on me.”

“Down the inside of your pant leg?”

“Yes.”

Seokjin chuckles. “Okay, fine. Why are we stopping now?”

Wide-eyed, you watch the corner of his jaw. “You shouldn’t be doing this. Helping me.”

He pauses, then cocks his head. “Why not?”

“Because,” you whisper, “we’re alone.”

“And?”

“No one’s around to see!”

His brows sketch upwards. “So, someone has to be around for me to help you? Sounds like a shitty friendship.”

“No… but… this is more than what friends do.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Let me help you, Y/N.”

Miserably, you nod.

“Besides. If I thought this was too much, I would say so. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say in a small voice.

He would have told you if your actions were over the line. He would have told you if the situation with Emilia was painful. Over and over, Seokjin keeps insisting he’ll tell you when there’s something important. Again, making it highly unlikely he’s harboring any secret feelings.

Your disappointment must be etched over your face, since Seokjin notices and frowns. His grip on you tightens when he enters the room and kicks shut the door. Not breaking stride, he crosses the room to set you on the sofa.

“Stay,” he says, as though you were a dog. Chuckling to himself, Seokjin walks into the bathroom. Minutes pass before he emerges – during that time, you might drift off a little. “Okay,” he announces, emerging from the bathroom. “I started the shower. Can you stand by yourself?”

“Of course!” you huff. Seokjin stares at you long enough that you wilt. “Maybe… you might have to unzip me.”

He hesitates, then nods and takes a step closer. Rising to face the window, you brace your hands on the sill. Seokjin steps behind you, brushing baby hairs from your neck as you fight back a shiver. His fingers drift lower, grasping the zipper to drag slowly down.

For the second time tonight, you find yourself clutching the dress to your front. Inch by inch, your back is bared, leaving you dizzy from more than champagne.

“Done,” he rasps.

Quickly, you nod and flee to the bathroom. You don’t dare look back at him, and once the door is shut, sag against the counter. Dropping the dress, you step under the spray before you can think. Overthinking is bad. Overthinking leads to why you drank so much and got yourself into this mess.

Body dry and face washed, you hover at the door with a towel wrapped around you. Eventually, you push it open a crack.

“Seokjin?”

Through the crevice, you see Seokjin seated on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. His tie has disappeared, and his shoes are arranged neatly beside the closet door.

His head snaps up. “Yes?”

“I… need pajamas.”

“Oh.” Seokjin has clearly been running his hands through his hair. “Right, yeah.”

Awkwardly, he rises and heads for the wardrobe. Pulling out a t-shirt and boxers, he crosses the room. “Do these work?”

“Yep. Thanks,” you blurt, snatching them quickly and shutting the door.

With a barrier between you, it’s easier to piece the night together. Seohyun, champagne, Mrs. Hurst, more champagne, Bradley Wainright – you stop trying after that.

Tugging on the t-shirt, you realize it belongs to Seokjin. The shirt smells like him, clean fabric and a spicy, peppery scent. Inhaling deeply, you remember you did this in the hall and nearly groan out loud.

When you re-emerge, Seokjin stands next to the sofa. He’s changed into pajamas, much to your disappointment.

Before you can say anything, he gestures at the nightstand. “Drink the water before bed, okay?”

Nodding, you avoid eye contact as you slip past. Sliding between the sheets, you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the way the room spins. You shouldn’t have let those people get under your skin. Despite what they all said, the only person who matters to you is Seokjin.

Speaking of whom – cracking open one eye, you watch him remove a decorative pillow and ready the couch for bed. Seokjin adds a blanket while you watch from the covers.

“Are you… are you really going to sleep on the couch tonight?”

He pauses, then straightens. “I was planning to, yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.”

A bemused smile. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You swallow. “I was just thinking… it’s silly. We’re both adults, right? We can share a bed without it being weird.”

Seokjin watches you intently. He remains silent for so long you begin to wonder if you said anything at all. Maybe you drank so much you entered an alternate reality where you never made a fool out of yourself, never asked Seokjin to share a bed, and he never rejected the prospect.

That would be nice.

“Alright,” he says, and your brain short-circuits.

“Wait, what?”

Seokjin freezes one step away from the mattress. “Are you retracting the offer?”

“No, but – I’m not still drunk, right? You did just say yes?”

Lips twitching, he pulls back the covers. “Those are two different questions. Yes, you are still drunk. Yes, I said yes. Like you said, it’s not weird – right?”

Unable to answer the question without giving yourself away, you stay silent while he lowers his weight to the mattress. The divot from his weight forces you to cling to the edge so you don’t roll inward. Switching the light off, Seokjin rolls over to settle his head on the pillow. It takes several moments for your eyes to adjust, and once they do, you find Seokjin watching.

“Right,” you whisper, answering his question.

His smile curves upward. “Why are you whispering?”

“It’s nighttime.”

“Oh, right,” Seokjin whispers back. “Should I tell a scary story, or something?”

“No need. I have the perfect one. Did you hear that Kevin didn’t sign a prenup and now, his ex-wife is taking half of everything in their divorce?”

Seokjin mock-shivers. “A modern-day Poe tale.”

“Oh, I heard worse things,” you murmur. “Apparently, you’re someone else’s villain.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Who did I terrorize this time?”

“Bradley Wainright. He said he liked me in high school, but you forbade him from asking me out.” Unbidden, a giggle escapes. “Can you imagine? Forbade. Like you were my chaperone or something, and I was an unruly debutante.”

“That’s…”

Seokjin struggles to respond, and you stop talking, wide-eyed. Some of your earlier buzz has faded, allowing you to think clearly. “Wait,” you say slowly. “Is it true?”

A flush creeps up his ears. “Kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?”

Seokjin groans and rolls onto his back. “Bradley was an ass in high school. He kept a list of people whose virginity he’d taken taped in his locker. So yeah, when he said he wanted to ask you out, I told him not to.”

You stare at his profile, limned in moonlight. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know.” Seokjin sighs. “I know you can make your own choices. I was just a stupid kid back then.”

“No – well, yeah. You were. But even if Bradley had asked me out, I would’ve said no. I hated him then. Still don’t like him much now.”

Seokjin smiles at the ceiling and places his arms at his sides. “Well, consider yourself in good company.”

“Oh my god, no.”

“What?” Seokjin looks over, alarmed.

“You are not sleeping like a fucking vampire beside me.”

His eyes widen. “I was trying to be polite! If I sleep on my back, I won’t roll around as much.”

“I am telling you right now – I will go downstairs and ask Bradley to take me to his hotel if you don’t sleep like a normal person.”

“What, like this?” He folds both arms over his chest in an x. “Is this how normal people sleep?”

“Seokjin!” Reaching over, you tug his arm down. “Stop!”

“Oh nooo,” he groans, half-rising from the mattress. “I feel the dark forces upon me!”

“NO!” Laughing, you throw yourself sideways. Dragging him down to the mattress, you helplessly giggle.

Seokjin’s entire body shakes with laughter while wrestling your arm from his body. Somehow your hand winds up beneath him, one of your thighs flung over his leg. Seokjin falls back, his chest rising and falling. You’re suddenly aware of every dimple, laugh line and mole on his face.

Slowly, his laughter fades. Seokjin reaches between you to brush his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Eyelash,” he murmurs.

“Make a wish.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like you – too breathy. Too soft. Seokjin doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze again on your lips. Heart hammering, you think he might close the distance until his face shifts, and Seokjin pulls back. Gently, you tug your hand free to tuck it against you like armor.

“Well,” Seokjin says quietly. He searches your features. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

Rolling onto your side, you stare into the darkness while he shifts behind you. Eventually, his breathing evens and you assume Seokjin sleeps. You, on the other hand, stay awake for much longer.

Even when you do sleep, your dreams are full of hedge mazes, running towards a nameless something which moves further and further away.

At some point in the night, you become a cover hog. Your first thought the next morning is how pleasantly warm it’s become within the confines of your sheets. Arching a little, you wriggle backwards – only to freeze when your ass hits something hard.

Your eyes open.

The surrounding warmth isn’t the covers as you imagined, but a toned arm. The weight at your back isn’t a pillow, but a heavy, male body – Seokjin’s heavy, male body. Realizing this, heat floods your core, and you go utterly still within the confines of his grasp.

He must be asleep, since he squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face in your neck. Breath held, you nearly melt when you realize your t-shirt has ridden up your belly. Seokjin’s thumb absently strokes your bare skin, coming dangerously close to the top of your panties.

With how close you are, your ass is pressed to his front. He must be asleep, because there’s no other way this could go on for so long. Quietly, you attempt to dislodge only to make matters worse. His hand cups you closer, and you find yourself sinking back into his chest.

Murmuring your name, his hand drifts even lower and you give up entirely. Seokjin’s fingers brush your shorts, then your panties and a soft whimper escapes you. For years, you’ve wondered what this would be like. For years, you’ve repressed the tiny voice in your mind wanting more, but now it roars back, voracious.

Casually, you push your ass backwards, inhaling when you feel his stiff member behind you. Seokjin is large. You suspected as much but had lasted until now with plausible deniability. Now though, you’ll be forced to imagine his size with complete accuracy and can only assume the effect will be devastating.

Seokjin groans, shifting closer – and freezes. Several moments pass until he clears his throat.

“… Y/N?”

Cursing internally, you say, “Morning.”

Lightning-fast, he rolls over and yanks his hand away. “Fuck,” Seokjin wheezes. “I’m – I’m so sorry, Y/N. That was just... my body just…”

Turning to face him, you see he’s buried his face in his hands. Cheeks hot, you realize what he’s referring to. “It’s fine,” you assure him. “I have slept with men before. I mean, I’ve woken up next to them. I mean, I’ve also had sex, but –” Cutting yourself off, you shake your head. “That’s not relevant, I guess.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “I’m not usually this… clingy.”

You snort.

Dropping his hands, he scowls in mock-outrage. “I’m not!”

“Seokjin. I’m friends with your sister. She told me all the horror stories of you sharing beds on vacation.”

The tips of his ears redden. “I can assure you that this” – Seokjin waves to his lower half – “never occurred with my sister.”

“Well, I should hope not.”

“Y/N,” he groans, dropping his hand to stare at the ceiling. “Can we just forget this ever happened?”

A beat passes, then two.

Stomach sinking, you nod. “Sure. Right.”

Hearing your tone, Seokjin rolls over to face you. His gaze is intent. “I’m saying this because I’m embarrassed, Y/N. I basically groped you in my sleep.”

“Groping is a little extreme.”

“Just… let me bask in my embarrassment in silence.”

Right. Of course. Because touching you is embarrassing.

Shoving away the barrage of emotions this brings, you push back the covers. Still not meeting his gaze, you swing your feet to the floor. On most days, you’d be able to deal with his jokes. Not today. Irritation pinches the longer you lay here.

“Don’t bask too long,” you say, heading for the bathroom. “Tomorrow is the big night. I’m sure your parents have plans for today.”

Your head pounds at the door, forcing you to remember the events of last night. Wincing a little, you turn and find Seokjin watching. His expression seems hesitant, almost wary.

“Are there painkillers in the bathroom? And, uh, water?”

He nods. “First drawer on the right.”

“Thanks,” you say and walk inside.

Every inch of frustration goes into your lather. Scrubbing suds from your body, you imagine you’re removing each trace of Seokjin. This is your own fault – for reading into his actions, for believing him when he says nothing, for seeing something real that just doesn’t exist.

You knew this when you accepted his offer. You knew being this close to Seokjin would raise feelings, and yet, you told yourself it wouldn’t matter. That you didn’t care.

You lied, obviously. And now you’re paying the price.

For a moment, you stop and simply concentrate on breathing. Every emotion from the past week washes over you, again and again. No matter what you do, you can’t win. Seokjin is your friend. You should be there for him. You know this and yet, it’s impossible to hide your true feelings.

Outside of the shower, your phone rings.

Hastily, you finish washing and turn off the water. Stepping onto the bathmat, you wrap yourself in a towel and scoop your phone from the counter. A missed call from Jimin. Seeing this, you press redial.

“Hello?” you ask, wondering if the house is on fire.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Jimin tsks. “What have you done?”

Blinking, you turn and rest your ass on the counter. “What do you mean? Why are you calling?”

Jimin snort-laughs. “Y/N. Do you not remember texting last night?”

Frantic, you lower your phone and open your recent texts. Several threads rise to the top, the one with Jimin first and foremost. Scanning the messages, you groan.

“Jiiiiimin. Seokjin wore a suit tonight. I’m gonna combust. Also, rich people suck,” Jimin reads, pausing for effect. “But champagne is yummy. You know who else is yummy? Seokjin. He looks soooo –”

“Okay, okay,” you hiss, glancing at the door. “I get it.”

“Do you?” His tone is gleeful, and you imagine Jimin in his dress robe kicking up his feet. “The ten text messages you sent suggest otherwise.”

Sluggishly, you pilfer through your memories of last night. Closing the toilet cover, you collapse on the seat.

“I was inebriated,” you moan.

“I mean, clearly. The first five texts alone would’ve been a cry for help. Ten is just… sad.”

You slump against the wall. “It is sad, isn’t it?”

“You don’t want me to answer that. Where are you now?”

“Just got out of the shower.”

“Y/N, you dog!”

“Alone,” you hiss.

“Oh, that’s less fun. But seriously – is everything okay?”

You pause for a moment, glancing again at the door. Before you can decide either way, Jimin sighs.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

You close your eyes. “Mhm. You could say that.”

“For how long?”

You open one eye to peer at the wall. “We’ve been friends for twenty years. I guess… I don’t know. A part of me has always wanted more.”

Jimin hums but stays silent.

“I’ve tried to pull away a few times before now,” you confess, the words quiet. “Somehow, I keep going back. Last year I tried to stop being friends entirely. I got pretty close, too. But then…”

“He called.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.”

You laugh, soft. “Yeah.”

A chair creaks in the background. “So why haven’t you told him how you feel?”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“If you like him, why haven’t you told him so?”

“Because,” you sputter. “We’re friends – best friends. If I tell him how I feel it would change things. What if he doesn’t like me back?”

“And… what if he does?”

“Even then.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “What if we date, then grow apart and break up? I’ll have ruined our friendship – and for what? My friendship with Seokjin is one of the most valuable things in my life. I’d be an idiot to mess that up.”

Jimin hums again, and you know he doesn’t agree.

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Y/N, I’m going to tell you a story.”

“Oh, great.”

“Once upon a time, baby Jimin entered his freshman year of college.”

“I love a time jump.”

“Shhh. Anyways, baby Jimin entered college wanting to be pre-med.”

“Wait, really?” You straighten. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. And stop interrupting. Anyways, I got two years into undergrad taking all the pre-req courses. I had straight A’s but… I wasn’t happy.”

Frowning, you play with a thread on your towel. “Really?”

“I kept convincing myself it was fine, you know? I wasn’t even in the field yet. The stuff I was learning was just framework – it would be different when I was actually practicing medicine. But I think I knew from the start it wasn’t right.”

“What did you do?”

“Changed my major junior year.” Jimin pauses. “The arts aren’t lucrative, per se, but I’ve never felt as relieved as I did leaving my advisor’s office.”

“Well, that’s good… how’s this supposed to apply to me?”

“I’m getting there. What helped me to switch was realizing I’d already reached my point of no return. I wasn’t happy in pre-med. My feelings had changed, and they wouldn’t go back. The only option I had was to make a new choice. A different one. I think that’s what you need to consider with Seokjin. Y/N – you have feelings for him. Your friendship has already changed. The question now is… what do you do?”

His words wash over you and for a moment, you have no response. Then you swallow. “Damn, Jimin. How dare you be rational and make sense?”

“It’s a curse, I know. I’m hot and smart.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that because your advice was actually… helpful.”

“I want you to be happy, Y/N. That’s all.”

Vision blurring, you blink back your tears. “You’re a good friend, Jimin. And you’re right,” you sigh. “I’m in love with Seokjin. I have been for a while. Which means… I guess a normal friendship is kind of out of the cards. Right?”

“You can probably answer that better than I can.”

You nod to yourself because yes, you can. You knew the answer before you came on this trip. Cast in that light, you realize you already made a decision last summer. When faced with being Seokjin’s friend and confessing your feelings, you chose a third option and decided to leave. Either way, the friendship you once had has ended.

Put in that light – what do you have to lose?

“Okay,” you sigh. “This was helpful. But I need to get dressed.”

“You’re talking to me naked?”

“You called me in the shower!”

“You could have gotten dressed!”

“I’m hanging up now,” you say, standing from the toilet. “Bye, Jimin. You’re the best. I’ll be home on Sunday.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re the best, too. Tell me all the details after you and Seokjin hook up.”

He hangs up in the middle of your panicked squawk, and you spend the next ten minutes recovering enough to exit. When you do leave the bathroom, you find the room empty. Seokjin has gone again.

It gives you time, though, to plan your next move because Jimin is right. You need to tell Seokjin how you feel and let the chips fall where they may. Granted, telling him before his parents’ anniversary party might not be the best call.

At the very least, you owe it to him to fulfill his last request as your friend. Until Sunday, you’ll be the best fake girlfriend Seokjin has ever had.

And then – well. Either way, then things will change.

Saturday arrives with little fanfare. Seokjin returns to the couch Friday night, and you don’t ask him why. Instead, you focus on writing more and trying not to be a bother. Mr. and Mrs. Kim are gone most of the day, answering various party-related questions from the staff.

The anniversary party is being held in a tent on the lawn behind the main house. Heaters are stationed around the brick patio, fairy lights strung above in a million constellations. Near sunset you find yourself ensconced in a dressing room with Seohyun and Emilia. The surprise of entering and finding Emilia present has lessened over the course of your glass of champagne – only one, this time.

Seated at the vanity, Seohyun struggles to put on her lashes. “I hate getting dressed up,” she moans. “You think next time I can wear a suit? Men’s formal wear is so much more comfortable.”

“Except for the tie,” says Emilia, fiddling with her zipper. “I bet your parents wouldn’t care either way.”

Turning around, you lift a brow. “Except for the tie, huh?”

Seohyun laughs when Emilia freezes, looking as though she’s been caught. “I may have dressed as Don Draper for Halloween one year,” she admits.

Hiding a smile, you duck into the bathroom. Your dress hangs from a hook on the door, steamed to perfection by the staff this morning. The dress code tonight is black tie, leaving you few options from your closet at home. Removing your dress from its hanger, you hold it up to the light.

Sleeveless with a v neckline, the A-line silhouette is fully covered in sequins. Tiny, bronze details that shimmer beneath the light. You’ve only worn it once – to a client fundraiser required by your former employer. It was way too expensive even then, but you broke the tag in the bathroom and were unable to return.

Seokjin attended that event, also. He went on behalf of his family, and you’ll never forget his face when you entered the ballroom. It was like he’d never seen you before.

Slipping your robe off, you step into your heels and buckle them. Next comes the dress, shimmied up your body and pulled over your shoulders. Although you twist and turn, the zipper remains where it is. Apparently, this is just your lot this weekend.

Cracking open the door, you look pleadingly out. “Help.”

Emilia laughs and motions for you to join them. When you do, both hers and Seohyun’s eyes widen.

“Wo-ow,” says Seohyun, standing to help. “I don’t usually feel bad for my brothers, but I feel bad for Seokjin tonight. He might just keel over.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you scoff, glancing down. “It’s just a dress.”

“No, Y/N,” Emilia says softly. “You really look amazing.”

Her words contain no trace of bitterness, and it strikes you that Emilia really does want Seokjin to be happy. Whether it’s from her own guilt or not, you suppose it doesn’t matter. Jaesuk and Emilia are good together, and in five, ten, twenty years – will anyone care how they got together?

(Well, probably – rich people tend to have long memories. But one thing you can be certain of is that in a matter of weeks, there will be another scandal and Emilia and Jaesuk will fade to distant memory.)

“Your dress is beautiful, too,” you say.

“Thanks.” Emilia frowns and pulls at the fabric. “My mom thinks I look best in blue. It’s just easier at this point not to fight.”

Seohyun grimaces. “Sorry to say it, but your mom is the worst.”

“Seohyun,” you hiss.

She blinks, unapologetic. “What?”

“No, she’s right.” Emilia shrugs. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

She doesn’t seem hurt by this, so you figure the statement must reflect an old wound. Joining Seohyun by the mirror, you reapply lipstick.

“I get that,” you respond. “My parents are good people, but… they can be self-involved. During their divorce, it was like they forgot all about me and my sister. Ever since…” Exhaling lowly, you shake your head. “My older sister kind of thrives on her own. My mom always forgets to tell us where she is with her latest boyfriend. My dad is better, but I always have to call him.”

“Communication with purpose and without passive-aggressiveness,” muses Emilia. “What would that be like?”

 “Beats me.” You shrug.

A knock sounds at the door. “Open up!” Seokjin calls. “Your group has been selected to participate in a survey –”

Rolling her eyes, Seohyun yanks open the door. “Declined,” she says and sits down. “You can stay,” she clarifies to Jaesuk when he steps inside.

Jaesuk smiles and, upon noticing Emilia, nearly misses a step. For the first time, you watch his face when he sees her. He seems to be in awe, as though unable to believe his own luck. Right behind him, wearing a similar expression, is Seokjin.

His navy, double-breasted tuxedo is designed for heartbreak. Charcoal bow tie askew, his fingers hover just above, as though he were in the middle of fixing. Before he can move, you stand up and adjust it.

“There,” you murmur, brushing lint from his shoulder. “You look… really fucking good.”

You expect Seokjin to laugh or crack a joke but instead, his fingers slip beneath your chin. Gently, he tilts your face upward.

“You’re beautiful,” Seokjin murmurs.

So simple and yet, his words undo you. The sincerity in his voice drives another crack through reality, yet another life-fissure you can’t repair.

You realize his hands are still on your face, but Seokjin seems to neither notice nor care. Instead, he moves his thumb to skim the line of your jaw. When your lips part, his face darkens.

“Are you ready to go?” Seohyun stands at the door with her clutch. “Mom asked us to all be downstairs before guests arrive.”

“Yes, mom,” grumbles Jaesuk.

Emilia huffs and pushes him out the door with one hand. Seohyun follows close behind, leaving you alone with Seokjin. Before you can leave, Seokjin catches your hand.

“Hey,” he says, drawing you close. His fingers wrap around yours. “Before we head down there, I just…”

“Yes?”

His gaze sweeps your face. “Do you ever wonder… what would have happened if we’d met somewhere else?”

“Like, on the slide instead of the monkey bars?”

“No.” He smiles, only for it to vanish quickly. “Like, what if we had met during college? Or after?”

“Are you asking me if we would have been friends?”

“No. Maybe. I –” Exhaling roughly, Seokjin frowns.  “I don’t know what I’m asking.”

You tilt your head. “Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should –”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Seokjin interrupts. His expression clears and, still holding your hand, he tugs you away. “I’m fine, I swear.”

 “O-kay. If you’re sure. But if –”

“Y/N. Let’s go spend a horrible night celebrating my parents.”

You snort, following him to the hall and down the main stairs. Seokjin shifts your hand to his arm, so you don’t slip and fall. When you enter the backyard, you find Jaesuk and Emilia talking to Mr. Kim on the patio. The sun sinks beyond the lake, painting the water vivid orange and turquoise.

Beneath a banner congratulating the Kim’s on thirty-eight years of marriage sits a giant cake covered in frosted flowers. Photos rest on the table beside it, portraying their life together over the years. Music drifts from a band in the corner, a pianist easing their fingers over the keys.

“Canapé?” asks Seokjin, handing you a bacon-wrapped date.

“Gesundheit,” you say, popping this in your mouth.

Seokjin’s gaze lingers a little too long on your lips. Heat licks down your spine, but before you can speak, the music starts up.

“Oh, Y/N!” Mrs. Kim appears and squeezes your arm, not wanting to mess up your dress. “You look absolutely lovely. Seokjin,” she adds, frowning in his direction. “You treat her right; do you hear me?”

His gaze stays on your face. “I plan to.”

She moves to squeeze her son, as well. “What a good boy.”

Rushing away, she goes to check in with the caterer. Struggling to respond, you grab two fancy waters from a passing waiter. One thing you’re certain of is there will be no repeat of Thursday.

“So,” you say, passing a glass to Seokjin. “How many investors do you plan on snagging tonight?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

“On how many you dare me to snag.”

Your laugh is so sudden, you nearly snort your drink. Grabbing a napkin from a close table, you dab at your glass. “You can’t do that to me,” you complain.

Seokjin watches you, hiding his smile. “And why not?”

“As your girlfriend” – a deep wink – “it’s my job to impress partygoers, not make them wonder why you took me on.”

“Please.” Seokjin’s gaze flicks over your shoulder. “At least five different guys have ogled your ass while we’ve been standing here.”

Again, your drink is in peril of being spit out. Seokjin’s lips twitch when you glower, taking another step towards him. At the last second, your gaze snags on his tie – crooked again. Huffing gently, you fix it.

“I should have known I’d find you by the food.”

Glancing sideways, a familiar face makes you grin. “Taehyung!” you cry, breaking away to wrap him in a hug.

He squeezes tightly, enveloping you in Grand Soir cologne. Before the hug can end, you find yourself tugged away and into Seokjin’s side. He frowns at Taehyung over the top of your head.

Taehyung Kim is around Seohyun’s age and one of the few elites you can stand to be around. Unlike Seokjin, Taehyung is heir to his family’s company, but unlike Jaesuk, he’s committed to making himself the family villain. Every low-handed, devious corporate decision his father makes, Taehyung tries to reveal it. It’s gotten to the point where he’s persona non grata in most social circles – making it all the sweeter the Kim’s decided to invite him, regardless.

He also holds no relation to Seokjin’s family, which makes it even understandable that Emilia didn’t know who Jaesuk was. Taking a step back, Taehyung shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Long time no see, Y/N,” he says, then glances at Seokjin. “I see you finally got your head out of your ass long enough to ask Y/N out. Good for you.”

You roll your eyes, playing it off but inside, your heart races. The word finally makes it sound like everyone knew this was coming and anticipated the change. Little do they know everything about this is fake.

“Great talk, as always,” Seokjin says, although you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Hey, incoming,” Taehyung mutters. His gaze darkens at something – or someone – over your shoulder. “Bradley Wainright is headed straight for your sister.”

Seokjin twists. “Where do you –”

“On it,” says Taehyung, slipping into the crowd.

You watch him go, contemplative. “You know,” you muse. “Has Taehyung always been so protective of Seohyun?”

Seokjin blinks down at you. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he likes her.”

“Are you saying… friends can’t be protective?”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “I guess it depends.”

Seokjin gives you a strange look, but before you can process, Mr. Kim appears. “Seokjin,” he sighs, adjusting his glasses. “I could have sworn I left the” – a furtive glance – “special sheet music near the band, but they can’t find it anywhere. Can you look in my office?”

Your ears perk up. “Special sheet music?”

“Yes.” Mr. Kim sighs again. “I had Eunji’s favorite song arranged for our first dance – but I can’t find the sheet music anywhere, and the dancing is about to start.”

Glancing around, you realize the party has filled out. The patio, once mostly empty, is now crowded with evening gowns and other tuxedos.

Already nodding, Seokjin sets down his water. “I’ll go look,” he assures his dad. Stepping closer, he adds, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Of course,” you murmur, dazed by his proximity.

Mr. Kim and Seokjin head in the direction of the house, leaving you alone in a sea of people. Nervously seeking something to do with your hands, you slowly sip your drink and move through the crowd.

Spotting Bradley near the dance floor, you slip behind some people and head towards the garden. A hedge maze takes up the northern side of the lawn. Although you don’t enter, you linger near its entrance. The fresh air makes it easier to process everything you’ve been feeling. Eventually, you hear the band start and return to the tent.

Hovering just inside the flap, you drink the last of your water and watch the speeches. First, Jaesuk introduces the band. Then Mrs. Kim speaks about thirty-eight years of marriage, only for Mr. Kim to join her and announce the first dance. Their song starts to play, Mrs. Kim gasps and her husband whisks her away to the dance floor.

Your vision blurs, watching them lean on each other. You want that. You want the certainty of knowing someone loves you as much as you love them – the solidness of a relationship built on trust and friendship. Remembering your conversation with Jimin, your stomach tightens.

Tonight is the last night you have to pretend.

Tomorrow, things will change one way or another. You’ll either tell Seokjin or you won’t and either way, your future will be different. Hovering on the outskirts, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to date him. To really be the woman in Seokjin’s life, his plus one to all these events.

While you love Seokjin’s family, you don’t like the people here. And they don’t like you. No matter how many pretty dresses you wear or topics you memorize, you will never belong to places like these. Not like Seokjin does, or even Seohyun or Emilia.

This time when your head swims, you can’t blame it on alcohol. Depositing your empty glass on a tray, you step from the tent and head inside the house. You could use a few minutes alone before mingling – a quick bathroom break, and then you’ll return.

The house is blessedly quiet, nothing but ambient music playing over the speakers. You head for the bathroom on the right, knowing the other is usually occupied. Washing your hands, you survey yourself in the mirror. It’s strange to think about all the years you’ve stood in this exact spot.

Oddly enough, it brings a moment of clarity. Even if you don’t fit in with most people here, it hasn’t stopped Seokjin from wanting to be your friend. It hasn’t stopped his family from asking you to stay. There are people here who like you, who want you here – even Emilia, a woman who should probably hate you, asked to bury the hatchet.

Emboldened by this, you exit the bathroom – only to jump, realizing someone is standing outside.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you say, and then freeze.

The woman standing before you, chin quivering with indignation, is none other than Mrs. Astor. Emilia’s mother.

She realizes who you are at the same moment you do, her expression shifting from bored to borderline fury. Immediately, your fight or flight instincts kick in, and you try to edge around her.

Loudly, she says, “So. I hear you’re dating Seokjin?”

Your feet slow to a stop.

Part of you wants to gloat. Part of you wants to run. But the largest part of you recognizes this conversation is happening. Mrs. Astor is not the type to let things go. It will only be worse if this conversation happens outside.

Turning around, you meet her gaze. “Yes,” you respond.

Her nostrils flare. “For how long?”

“Since April.” Unable to stop yourself, you add, “A little after Emilia and Jaesuk started dating.”

“That’s beside the point, young lady.”

You restrain yourself from adding that’s exactly the point. Years of experience have taught you that with people like Mrs. Astor, it’s best to give them nothing.

Taking a step forward, her eyes narrow. “My daughter might be too polite to say anything, but I see right through you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course, you do.” Drawing herself upright, she looks at you down her nose. “Don’t play stupid with me – I know you’re intelligent.”

“Thank you.”

Her scowl deepens. “You’d have to be, to pull off what you’ve done.”

“And what, exactly, have I done?”

Despite yourself, some annoyance leaks through. You came here for Seokjin, and tonight is supposed to be in celebration of his parents. Outside, the party continues but here you are, trapped in a hall with a bitter woman who could financially decimate you with a snap of her fingers.

“I’ve held my tongue for long enough,” she seethes – something you seriously doubt. “I’m not going to let you waltz into this household, flaunting your relationship before my precious Emilia. Do you know how embarrassing it was for her to be dumped? To be told over and over that you’re just a friend, only for you to spread your legs the second she was out of the picture?”

Heat burns in your throat. Unthinking, you take a step backwards, as though that will save you. Your brain stutters, leaving you without a response at the worst moment possible.

“That’s…” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t…”

“That’s enough, mom.”

Head turning, you find Emilia marching towards you. Her lips are set in a thin line, hands balled into fists on either side. She stops between you and her mother, fully five inches shorter but glowering upward.

Mrs. Astor has the decency to look chagrined. “Emilia, darling, I was just –”

“I know exactly what you were doing,” she snaps. “You’re mad that people are talking about us, so you’re taking it out on Y/N. When will you learn my life is none of your business?”

Your eyebrows raise at her obvious venom. Obviously, the feelings have been building for a while. Oddly enough, it snaps you from your trance and forces you back into fight mode. A dozen retorts rise to your lips, but you swallow them. Emilia seems to be doing just fine.

Mrs. Astor bristles, her gaze landing on you. “It becomes my business when people heavily imply that you cheated on Seokjin, when it’s clear to me he was fucking this harlot on the side.”

“Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me,” Mrs. Astor huffs. “There's no need to –”

“Oh, I think there’s every need,” Seokjin interrupts, striding down the hall. His voice is tight with fury, and he stops beside Emilia, presenting a united front.

Mrs. Astor visibly wilts. “Now, Seokjin. Let’s not act hastily.”

“He’s not,” Emilia says shortly. “I told the Kim’s they didn’t need to invite you, but they wanted to extend an olive branch. They thought it might smooth things over and create a new path, but you can’t let things go.”

“Let things go?” Mrs. Astor puffs up again. “This man” – a vague gesture at Seokjin – “tossed you aside like garbage for someone with no connections, no money. Nothing of worth! Nothing beyond a passably pretty face, and I refuse –”

“To stay a minute longer,” Seokjin cuts in. “I agree. George?” He motions behind him. “Will you please escort Mrs. Astor to her vehicle? Have the staff find Mr. Astor and bring him, as well.”

George melts from the shadows at the end of the hall. “Right away, Mr. Kim.”

Mrs. Astor flushes crimson. “How dare you? We are here as guests –”

“Exactly,” Seokjin interrupts. “You are guests here under my family’s roof; a privilege I am now revoking. You’re welcome to bring the issue to my parents, but I imagine that would cause an even bigger scene. You should consider yourself lucky I’m allowing you to leave now.”

Sputtering, Mrs. Astor looks askance at her daughter. “And you really want to stay? When this is how they treat your family?”

Casting your gaze downward, you squirm with guilt. Inadvertently, you’ve caused a huge problem for Jaesuk. Emilia might not want to stay after Seokjin kicks her mom out, no matter what she said a few minutes ago.

Emilia steps forward, standing with Seokjin. “Mom,” she says. “If Seokjin hadn’t asked you to leave, I would have.”

The two of them make a formidable pair, side by side. Their designer apparel complements one another, and each of them seem confident their rule will be obeyed. You wonder what it would be like to have that type of confidence. That type of wealth and power behind your every decision.

It dulls something within you that, only a few minutes ago, felt new and shiny. Even if Seokjin doesn’t love Emilia and has fully moved on, it doesn’t change the fact that they made sense together. Mrs. Astor isn’t wrong about that.

For once, Seokjin was in a relationship with someone like him. Someone from the same social status, with the same background and upbringing. It would be unfathomable for him to move from that to someone like you. Someone who has nothing figured out, who currently works in a coffee shop and can’t finish their manuscript.

Your frustration reaches a boiling point when you realize this is a moot point. Seokjin and you aren’t even dating. Everything here is based on a lie. All that’s happened between the two of you were a few long looks and tension, all of which can be chalked up to the stress of the week.

When George takes Mrs. Astor away, you mutely step aside. She protests down the hall, insisting that this is outrageous, and her lawyers will be contacting Seokjin immediately. Not that you’re worried. Mrs. Kim is a lawyer, after all.

Once she’s gone, Emilia touches Seokjin’s arm. “I’ll get my dad,” she says and turns. Before she walks past, she gives you a sad smile. “Sorry you got caught in the middle of that. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.”

You nod, unable to voice your agreement out loud. An ugly voice insists it could have been about nothing else. Pressure builds in your mind, circling closer and closer to a breaking point.

Emilia walks away, her heels clicking down the hall. Once she’s gone, Seokjin exhales. “Are you okay?” he asks, turning to face you.

“I’m fine.”

He hesitates. “You don’t… seem fine.”

You laugh, the sound brittle. “I don’t know, Seokjin. Should I be? Mrs. Astor was cruel, but she wasn’t wrong.”

You step from his reach but not fast enough, and somehow, your wrist ends up in his hand. Before you can go, Seokjin marches the two of you in the opposite direction of his parents’ party.

Leading through the dim maze of halls that make up the east wing, he doesn’t break stride. Eventually, Seokjin pulls you into a darkened room – a library, you think – before shutting the door and whirling to face you.

“What are you talking about?” Seokjin demands.

For the second time tonight, you have nothing to say. Rarely have you seen Seokjin so heated. He glowers down at you, standing too close to be anything but purposeful. Your breath hitches, and you know Seokjin sees from the way his jaw tightens.

Still, if there’s anyoneyou can speak openly to, it would be him. Lifting your chin, you take a deep breath. “What Mrs. Astor said out there – she wasn’t wrong.”

“Which part. Specifically.”

The flatness to his tone sends a chill down your spine. “I have no connections. No money. No – oh my god,” you groan, rubbing your temple. “I sound like that woman in Pride and Prejudice.”

Seokjin’s face doesn’t move. “Charlotte. And technically, you made more money than me in your old job. You’re also friends with my family – I’d call that a connection.”

“I’m not in my old job. I work in a coffee shop and fail to finish anything I start. And your point about connections isn’t helping the way you think it is.”

“But her words didn’t mean anything,” Seokjin insists. “Even if – if – what she said was true, who cares about your money and connections?”

For a moment you see red, because he can be so infuriating. Sometimes, Seokjin is so willfully ignorant of the world around him.

“Your people care!” you blurt. “And that’s not all she was right about.”

“Again, you’ll have to be more specific.”

Exhaling, you force your gaze away. It’s too hard to look at Seokjin and confess your deepest, darkest fears. Heart beating wildly, you feel vaguely nauseated by what you have to say.

“If this relationship were real,” you mutter. “Seokjin… you have to be reasonable about how it would look.”

“I think I’m being very reasonable.”

“If we were dating, I’d bring nothing to this relationship,” you say, a fiery fist squeezing your heart. “Emilia’s family is right. When it comes to your world, your kind of people… I have zero worth.”

Tears burn your eyelids, and you frantically blink them away. In the next breath, Seokjin’s hands slide to either side of your jaw. His grip is gentle, thumb soothing your cheek as he tilts your face upward.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says quietly. “The only true thing that woman said was that you’re pretty. But even then, jealousy got the best of her. If she had been honest, she would’ve said you were the most beautiful woman in the room. In any room. In the entire universe. I haven’t done a full sweep to confirm, but I feel pretty confident.”

You scowl up at him. “That’s not funny, Seokjin.”

“I’m not being funny. I’m telling you the truth.”

“The most beautiful woman in the universe?” A hiccup. “Come on, Seokjin.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Fine,” you huff, aware he hasn’t let go. “I hear you. You think I’m beautiful. Great. That doesn’t change the fact that this fight is stupid. We’re not actually dating. We never were. My ego was hurt by the things that woman said, but I’ll get over it. When I leave here tomorrow, things will return to normal, and I’ll be fine.”

A muscle tics in his jaw. “And if I said I don’t want things to go back to normal?”

“Why would you say that?”

Seokjin stares at you a long moment, then roughly withdraws. Leaving you cold, he paces to the window and shoves a hand through his hair. He comes to a stop at the glass, lit by the moonlight.

Staring out at the lawn, he exhales. “Do you want to know the real reason I broke up with Emilia?”

You stare at his profile. When you don’t respond, Seokjin turns to face you. His expression is set, determined.

“No, actually,” he rebuffs. “It goes further than that. Do you want to know the real reason I told Bradley Wainright to back off? It wasn’t just that he was an ass – although he was – it was because I was hopelessly in love with you. Well.” Seokjin hesitates. “I don’t remember if I called it love yet. I just knew the thought of you dating him was physically painful.”

The room swims before your pulse speeds up. Seokjin still doesn’t move, continuing to watch from the windows.

“And then in college,” he says, his voice low. “I thought I’d accepted we wouldn’t happen. You started dating David in high school. I forced myself to date someone too, to entertain the thought of someone else. It didn’t work.”  

“But,” you blurt, unable to stop yourself. “You… were devastated when Lisa broke up with you.”

Seokjin shakes his head, walking forward. “And then, with Emilia…” He sighs. “I liked her. A lot. She was the first person who made me think maybe. Maybe this could work, maybe it could be enough. You seemed happy on your own, and I wanted to be happy, too. And then my birthday happened.”

Stopping before you, he breaks. His devastation is familiar – intimately so, since you’ve often felt the same. Each time he dated someone new. Each time you watched him be happy and felt selfish for worrying you’d never feel that way about anyone but him.

Shoving both hands in his pockets, Seokjin exhales. “I was drunk that night, but that’s no excuse. You had been pulling away, and I didn’t realize how much I missed you, how much I resented your absence until you showed up. And” – his breath hitches – “I almost kissed you.”

Barely a movement, you nod.

“I’m glad Emilia appeared,” he admits, looking down. “I’m glad we didn’t…”

A stone sinks in your stomach. “Oh.”

His head snaps up. “Not because I didn’t want to. No. I wanted to. God, I wanted–” He cuts himself off. “I’m glad that we didn’t because it would have ruined… this… forever. I did realize I was a fool, though. Thinking anyone could be happy being second place in my life. Because,” Seokjin admits, his voice hoarse, “they would always be second when it came to you.”

You blink up at him, dazed and questioning your grip on reality. The longer you stand there, the more Seokjin’s expression seems to waver.

“Y/N… I know that was a lot, and I –”

“I love you, too.”

For once, you’re the one to leave him speechless. Seokjin stares blankly, hand still in his pockets like he’s forgotten their use.

Taking a step forward, you place both hands on his chest. “Seokjin,” you whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” he also whispers.

“Shut up.” Your lips twitch. “I’m trying to say I’ve been in love with you since – well, I don’t really remember when it started.”

“Mm. Specific.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hitting his chest – damn. Solid. “It was when you were dating Emilia, though… that I knew. This wasn’t something I would get over. That was why I pulled away from you. I knew the way I felt wasn’t healthy, and I wanted… Seokjin, I always want the best for you. It’s just –”

Moving in one fluid movement, Seokjin steps closer. His hands cup your face, crushing your mouth to his. Everything falls apart, reforming around him, around you, around the two of you together.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, pulling back long enough to angle your jaw and dive in again. His mouth slants over yours, hands sliding backwards to cup your neck. His mouth is soft, and then not. His touch careful, then not.

Somehow, your spine flattens to the bookcase. Seokjin continues to kiss you, one hand braced on a shelf and the other gripping your waist. Breaking away, he trails heat down your throat.

“Should we” – a groan – “I don’t know” – you gasp – “talk about this?”

Seokjin pauses, then nips your earlobe. “Yeah, let’s talk. What do you want from me, Y/N?”

Abruptly, you pull back and hit your head on the shelf. “Ow!” you huff. “What do you mean, what do I want?”

Seokjin gently cradles the back of your head. “Well, I told you what I want. You. Selfishly, I’d like for us to be exclusive. I want to call you my girlfriend, and not just for this week but honestly, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs.

Uncertainty mars his expression. “Unless… I misread things.”

“No,” you blurt, clutching him closer. “No – you didn’t misread anything. I was just… wondering if I’m dreaming.”

He smiles so wide it nearly breaks your heart. “If you’re dreaming, I’m dreaming.”

“… is that a riff on the Notebook?”

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

The moment washes over you, more surreal than anything experienced this week. Seokjin in a suit, hair falling over his forehead, telling you that he wants you and always has. Albeit in a way that makes you want to roll your eyes. Happiness swells in your heart.

“Mm,” you say, cleverly. You’re having a hard time looking away from his mouth. A fact Seokjin realizes, since his smirk widens.

“So.” Bending, he brushes a soft kiss to your jaw. “We’re agreed?”

“About?”

“That we’re exclusive.” He presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“Yes.”

His lips curve. “You’re my… girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

Another kiss, this time to your forehead. “You love me.”

Silent, you nod.

His lips tug downward. “I’d like to hear it, please.”

“Seokjin,” you sigh. “I love you. And if you don’t kiss me now, I’m going to march back out there and ask Bradley Wain –”

Seokjin growls, capturing your lips and pressing you into the shelf. Curling your arms around his neck, you arch up against him. Seokjin’s hands find your waist, brushing the sequins and holding you tight. Your heart hammers, fully aware this is Seokjin touching you. Seokjin’s lipsroughly descending your throat.

“Ah,” you breathe, rolling against him.

Seokjin’s hands are everywhere – around your waist, up your back, and then cupping your ass. When he slots his knee between yours, you feel his whole length and shiver.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking away long enough to press his forehead to yours. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?”

“Probably… about the same as I have?”

“No. Definitely more.”

You laugh, although this quickly fades at the look on his face. “What did you think about?”

Seokjin considers. “Everything,” he says, splaying one hand on your thigh. “Sometimes I just thought about kissing you. Other times…” His lips brush your neck. “The other night, when you asked me to zip up your dress… I thought about how easy it would be to slide my hands underneath. To slip the straps from your shoulders.”

Your breath hitches. “You should have.”

“I wanted to touch you so badly. To run my hands” – he illustrates in real time – “up your body and tease your pretty nipples.”

“Seokjin,” you gasp, core tightening.

“What are you wearing underneath this?”

“Guess.”

Darkly, he chuckles against your collarbone. Removing his hand from the bookshelf, Seokjin bends to grasp the edge of your dress. Slowly, he stands and drags the hem with. “I’ve been watching your ass in this dress all night,” he murmurs, stopping at your knee. “I don’t think you’re wearing anything beneath it at all.”

Tantalizing silence stretches as slowly – so slowly – he inches the fabric upward. Seokjin’s hand skims your thigh, circling to firmly grip your ass. Casually, he strokes two of his fingers dangerously close to where you’re dripping wet.

“Scandalous, Y/N.” A brow lift. “Why, anyone” – shifting his hand, his index finger brushes your center – “could have their way with you if you wanted.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you say, breathless.

His gaze becomes heady. “And if I ask?”

Not saying a word, you grip his wrist and guide his hand lower. Seokjin inhales when you show him how wet you are.

“God,” he groans, reaching to stroke your clit. A shudder wracks your body, and you clutch him tighter. “But first…”

Seokjin withdraws and you glance down, confused, before he drops to his knees. With both feet on the ground, your chest rises and falls against the bookshelf. Removing his tuxedo jacket, Seokjin tosses this to the nearest armchair. His bow tie follows, leaving him in only the button-down, vest, and trousers.

Easing your hem higher, Seokjin hands you the fabric. “Hold this,” he demands, and you obey without thought. “Lift.” He taps your thigh and again, you obey – gasping when he places your leg on his shoulder. The motion bares you fully, sparing no modesty. Your pussy spreads indecently, showing Seokjin how badly you want him. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching down to palm himself.

Slowly, you lean your weight onto the shelf. Seokjin continues to watch, and unfortunately, it’s the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life. You can physically feel yourself clenching, needing him inside you.

When Seokjin finally bends to press a kiss to your thigh, a whimper escapes you. His gaze flicks to yours. Still watching, Seokjin moves his mouth to where your legs part. Gaze locked on yours, he slowly sucks your clit.

“Ho-ly fuck,” you groan, back arching.

You feel him smirk, one hand rising to cup your backside and open you wider. From there, everything is a blur. Heat from his mouth, soft flicks of his tongue, and the sound of him moaning between your spread thighs. At some point, both of his hands find your ass, coaxing you lower so he can tilt you towards him. You lose track of time after that, chasing the heat of his mouth as you roll your hips.

Broken, you reach down to grip his hair with one hand. Seokjin growls, nose nudging your clit as he licks you open. Your body coils tighter and tighter, on the brink of coming when he tears away – mouth wet – to gasp, “Come for me, Y/N. Wanna feel it like this,” and you break.

Everything muffles, exploding outward in a riot of color. Seokjin holds you through it, easing you down from the momentous high. When you open your eyes, your legs trembling, you realize you’ve eased halfway down the bookshelf. Seokjin grins at you from the ground, his neck flushed.

“So,” he says, fumbling to close his vest. “Shall we return to the party?”

Your jaw drops.

Starting to laugh, Seokjin pushes himself upward to stand. In a fluid movement, he pulls you with and smooths your dress down. “If you think I’m letting anyone else see you like this,” he murmurs in your ear, “you’d be wrong.”

Pleasure spirals through you. “If you think we’re leaving this room without you coming, you’re also wrong.”

Seokjin considers. “How about a deal?”

“Sorry, you already offered to do my laundry.”

“An offer you turned down,” he points out. “But no – that’s not the type of deal I meant. I propose we move to my room and in return, I’ll make you come twice more tonight.”

“Three times.”

He pauses, then flashes a wicked grin. “Deal.”

“Wait – what?” you blurt, suddenly panicked. “Hang on, Seokjin, I didn’t mean it. I’m sensitive! I can’t handle that many orgasms in one night, I’ll explode or –”

Gripping your hand, he steers you towards the door. “We’ll see.”

Before you can protest, he has you in the hall. His suit jacket and tie are grabbed before the door shuts and thrown over one arm. Still holding your hand, Seokjin pokes his head around the corner to check the coast is clear. Once certain, he tugs you forward.

You giggle when he repeats this around the next corner. It’s so surreal because on the one hand, you know Seokjin. This side of him is familiar – the funny, charismatic best friend. At the same time, everything about it feels new. The ease of him touching you. The sheer relief in your chest at having nothing hidden. At knowing he wants you the same way you want him.

He proves this in the next hall, abruptly turning to press you against the wall. Seokjin kisses you hungrily, one palm cupping on your jaw. When he pulls back, his gaze is lidded.

“What was that for?” you breathe.

He smiles. “Do I need a reason?”

“Well, no.”

“Great.”

His lips find yours again, and you lose track for a while. Eventually, you force yourself to surface once more.

“We need to keep moving,” you tell him.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “You forget that my family owns this place. And that everyone here already thinks we’re dating.”

“It’s your parents’ party, though! Shouldn’t we… I don’t know…”

He stops to consider. “Are you saying you want to return to the party and pretend nothing happened? That my dick isn’t hard, and I didn’t just have my face between your – actually,” Seokjin muses, seeming to change his mind. “I take it back. That could be fun.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss.

Grinning, he bends to kiss your forehead. “What can I say? I’m making up for lost time. Which – on that note, let’s head to my room. My parents won’t care. And if they do, I’ll take the blame.”

You mock-swoon. “My boyfriend, the hero.”

“See, I know you’re trying to insult me, but all I heard was you calling me your boyfriend. And that” – voice dropping, he takes your hand to press to his front – “really makes me want to forget where we are.”

Breath quickening, you tentatively cup his length through his trousers. Slowly, you stroke and feel his cock harden. You’ve always known Seokjin was large. One summer break during college, he convinced you to go skinny dipping in this very lake. Both of you closed your eyes and promised not to peek as you dove, again and again, from the floating dock.

You lied, though. You peeked. Even soft and in the dark, you could tell Seokjin was big, and this knowledge fueled fantasies for the rest of the summer. Now, you find yourself faced with this knowledge first-hand and feel some trepidation.

Watching your face, Seokjin sees the shift. “Hey,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. There’s no pressure – we can go as fast or slow as you want. We have time.”

Hearing him say this melts all remaining reservations. Curling your fingers into his collar, you pull him closer. “I want you,” you say. “All of you. Tonight.”

Seokjin’s gaze burns. “Alright. But just because you say that now doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. We’ll go slow – okay?”

“Okay.”

Taking your hand once more, Seokjin moves down the hall. Several turns and two short staircases later, you find yourself in front of your bedroom. Seokjin must have taken you the back way to avoid the foyer.

Reaching the door, Seokjin pauses. He frowns at the knob.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

His gaze moves sideways. “Nothing is… wrong. I just find myself suddenly worrying about everything that could happen. I don’t want to… disappoint you, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen, not having expected this to be going on in his head. Seokjin comes off as so confident but again, you remember this is your friend. This isn’t some guy you’re about to hop into bed with but the man you love – a man who loves you, and who knows this is more than a fling.

Sliding both hands to either side of his face, you force Seokjin to look at you. “You can’t disappoint me,” you reiterate. Seokjin grimaces, and you shake your head. “You can’t. Even if it takes time for us to figure this out, I still want you. And besides,” you mumble, face hot. “If what happened downstairs is anything to go by, I don’t think you need to worry.”

Seokjin surveys you seriously. “God,” he exhales, drawing you close to wrap both arms around you. “I missed you so much these past months.”

“I missed you, too.”

After a moment, Seokjin opens the door and pulls you inside. He tosses his jacket and tie on the sofa, stepping free of his loafers to stand in the middle. Seeing him do this, you bend to remove your own shoes, but Seokjin clears his throat.

“You… should leave those on.”

Your fingers pause on the straps, and slowly, you straighten. Seokjin walks towards you, coming to a stop mere inches away.

Lifting a finger, he slips it beneath your dress strap. “Turn around,” he murmurs.

“Yes, sir.”

When you obey, you feel Seokjin’s breath at your throat. “Now, Y/N,” he murmurs. “If you keep doing exactly what I tell you to do, I might forget the terms of our deal. Might make it four orgasms. Maybe five.”

A delicious shiver runs through you. Seokjin grasps the zipper and drags it down your body. When your back is exposed, he keeps the dress on and slips both hands inside.

“We haven’t talked about that,” he says. “What you like in bed. What I like in bed. Shouldn’t best friends know that?”

“I – I don’t know,” you gasp as his hands slide up your front to gently cup your breasts. Seokjin hums, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“So,” he continues. “Tell me, Y/N – what do you like?”

“Do you want an itemized list?”

“Yeah. Send it to my email. But for now,” he breathes. “Do you like me teasing your pretty nipples like this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Tugging gently, Seokjin’s other hand slides down your stomach to press you against him. “Based on what happened in the library, I assume you like oral?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yes,” he says simply. His hand travels even lower, resting below your belly button. “I’ve thought a lot about what your lips would look like wrapped around my cock, Y/N.”

“So, it seems you like dirty talk – ah, fuck,” you groan when his finger slides between your legs.

“Tell me more things you like.”

Eyelashes fluttering, you lean your head to his shoulder. Seokjin applies gentle pressure, slowly massaging your clit.

“I like delayed orgasms more than multiple,” you admit.

His finger pauses. “Yeah,” Seokjin grunts and resumes. “That’s even hotter than what I was picturing. What else?”

“I like being told what to do.”

“Good.” His hands withdraw. “Take off your dress.”

Turning around, you slide the straps from your shoulders and let the dress drop. Seokjin watches, gaze dark and your nipples tighten. Dizzy with want, you press your thighs together.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, shoving a hand through his hair. “This… you…”

He looks nearly broken, and you glance at your body. It looks the same to you but seems to be causing him physical harm. Before you can speak, Seokjin closes the distance between you and crushes your mouth to his.

“I should probably confess,” Seokjin says between kisses, “I totally peeked that time we went skinny-dipping.”

Rather than scold him, you start to laugh. Seokjin swallows each sound, gripping your ass to lick up your throat.

“I also peeked,” you confess. “I needed to know if you were lying about the condoms.”

Only a month prior, Seokjin had caused a minor scandal in the grocery store when a king-sized condom flew out of his wallet. You had ribbed – ha, pun intended – him about it for weeks, only to dream about it each night.

Smirking, Seokjin puts your hand on his cock. “I wasn’t.”

“I know that now, you – oh!”

Bending, Seokjin lifts you over one shoulder to walk towards the bed. He drops you with a thump, watching your tits bounce as he lowers one knee.

“As enjoyable as these were,” he says, removing your shoes. “They could be a hazard. What else?” he demands, covering you with his body.

He’s still mostly clothed, and you’ve never felt so desired in your life. Your breasts brush his shirt, core grazing his thigh as he gathers you to him.

“Tell me what you do when you come on your own.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Y/N.” His gaze drags down your body. “You’re naked beneath me. I was licking your cunt barely twenty minutes ago. Don’t tell me you’re too embarrassed to talk about masturbation.”

“No,” you breathe, but honestly, you stopped thinking around when he said cunt.

“Y/N…”

“It depends,” you say, lowering yourself to your elbows. “Sometimes I’m in a hurry and I use my vibrator. Sometimes I touch myself. Sometimes...” Heat climbs your throat. “I like using a dildo.”

Lowering a hand between your bodies, Seokjin parts your thighs. “Oh? Do tell.”

Your breath hitches when he slowly starts stroking. Up and down, up and down – lightly, he teases your swollen folds.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how you use your dildo.”

“I don’t know. How do most people use a dildo?”

Seokjin shrugs, continuing the same, maddening motion. “Some people bounce on it. Other people fuck themselves with it. Some like ass play or using two dildos at once. Me?” Voice dropping, he slips a finger inside you. “I think it’d be fun to have you rub against it, trying to get off without something inside you.”

Your eyes have gone glassy and somehow, you find yourself clutching his sleeves. “Yes. Holy fuck, yes.”

Lightly, he laughs and moves his finger inside you. “You’re so perfect, Y/N. Such a tight little pussy. I can’t wait to stretch you out.”

“You will,” you whimper, rocking your hips.

With one hand, you reach for his pants to palm him through the fabric. Seokjin has gotten harder, and you audibly swallow.

He groans. “Careful, Y/N.”

“I need more,” you whine, shifting beneath him.

Seokjin obediently adds another finger. His thumb rubs your clit, working his fingers deeper inside you. Panting, you lay back on the bed to watch. Seokjin seems fixated on your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Hold these,” he murmurs, pushing your knees to your chest. Grasping one in each hand, you spread yourself wider. With an appreciative sound, Seokjin withdraws his hand to undo his vest.

Your whimper dies when he tosses this and his shirt to the floor. Fully naked from the waist up, he lowers himself to his stomach and drags his mouth up your thigh.

“Fucking delicious,” he breathes, licking your cunt again.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, still holding your thighs.

He isn’t gentle this time, sucking your clit hard enough you see stars. With one orgasm down, you can take it. He slides two, and then three, fingers into your pussy, stroking your g-spot over and over.

The noises you make would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fuckinggood. Seokjin isn’t quiet either, grinding his dick to the mattress while eating you out. You watch his hips move, shoulder muscles bunching in a way that drives you wild. Sliding both hands under your ass, he pulls you closer and sucks hard again.

“Holy – fuck!” you gasp, the pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter.

Seokjin works you with his tongue, fucking you with his fingers and right as you’re about to come – he withdraws.

“No!” you sob, collapsing back on the mattress.

Seokjin sits up and grins, wiping his mouth with one hand. “What’s wrong?”

Scowling up at him, your chest heaves. “You know what’s wrong, asshole. I was about to come.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Guess I should try again.”

Your legs shake when he bends, immediately picking up where he left off. Sucking hard on your clit, he eases both fingers inside and strokes the same spot. Higher and higher he brings you, your hips undulating against him, until–

“Seokjin!” you curse when he pulls away.

“Ohh.” Seokjin nods, cupping the bulge in his pants. “I see what you mean. Yeah, I’m taking your feedback into consideration. Instead of four more orgasms let’s do one delayed orgasm.”

Immediately, your whole body tightens. Seokjin arches a brow at your peaked nipples, squeezing his cock once before he releases.

“I guess you like that,” he murmurs, lowering himself to the mattress. This time, Seokjin is gentle while licking your clit. “What” – he circles his tongue – “about” – a long, leisurely suck – “this?”

His index finger circles your entrance, maddeningly slow. Every so often, he dips his finger inside. By now, your orgasm is so close, your entire body is shaking. You think a light breeze might do it, but then Seokjin chuckles and spreads your pussy with both hands.

Locking gazes, he spits straight on your clit. Before you can move, he sucks hard and pushes two fingers inside.

You break. Helpless, you collapse against the onslaught of pleasure. Over and over, waves drag you under until slowly, you resurface to Seokjin’s touch. He presses a kiss to your thigh, easing your legs from their open position.

Kissing his way up your body, he captures your mouth with his. You taste yourself on his lips and savor the moment. Humming, you happily pull him against you and lock both legs around his waist.

“Y/N,” he mumbles.

You arch underneath him.

Seokjin swears. “Y/N,” he grunts, breaking away long enough to see you. “What do you want to do next?”

Blinking upward, you don’t understand the question. Then you realize what he’s asking and heat courses through you.

“I want you inside me,” you say, determined. Your hands reach for his pants. “Please.”

Seokjin nods, helping with the button as you yank down the zipper. Slipping your hands under his boxers, you shove these down to free his cock. Seokjin manages to get them all the way off, joining his pants on the floor.

His length bobs between you, and now, your mouth waters. You thought you understood Seokjin’s size before but there’s something entirely different about seeing him in this context. Your dildo at home will wither with shame – Seokjin is fully eight or nine inches, thick and veiny with a bead of cum at the top.

Awed, you encircle him with one hand. Seokjin shudders. “O-kay,” he huffs, gripping your wrist. “As fun as it would be to come in my pants, let’s save that for later – alright?”

Your eyes widen. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Seokjin leans over the nightstand, presumably for a condom, but you hold him in place. Frowning, he pulls back.

“Actually,” you say. “What if… you didn’t?”

“You don’t… want me to wear a condom?”

“I mean, you can if you want.” Breathless, you add, “But I have an IUD. And I got tested last month and am clean. I haven’t been with anyone else since. So…”

Seokjin pauses. “I was tested two months ago and was clean. I haven’t been with anyone since my break-up.”

You glance down, then up. “So… you don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to.”

“Y/N, are you sure?”

“Seokjin,” you groan, reaching between you. Gripping his length, you swipe the tip with your thumb. “Please. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Wrapping his hand around his cock, Seokjin strokes himself roughly. Leaning forward, he presses the tip to your cunt. Casually, he drags himself up and down to get his length wet.

Keeping your leg open with one palm, his other hand guides his cock to rut against you. You whimper at the motion, then moan when his cock catches at your entrance.

“Not yet,” Seokjin murmurs. “You’re being so good. Drenching my cock, and I’m not even inside you.”

“Seokjin,” you pant. Each time he brushes your clit, you nearly shatter. “Please. I need it.”

“Need what, Y/N?”

“Your cock.”

Still gripping his length, he slaps your clit. You make a noise so needy and sinful, you nearly come on the spot. Seokjin does it again, watching your whole body tremble – until he simply gives up, notching at your entrance and pushing inside.

You groan when he fills you, stretching your body. You don’t come, but nothing – nothing – has ever felt so good. Seokjin seems to feel the same way, arms trembling as he holds himself above you. Only the head of his cock is inside, but the stretch feels so good, you can barely take it.

“Seokjin,” you whimper, both arms around him.

He looks down at you, breathless and slowly pushes inside. Each roll of his hips works you open, your hips lifting to take him even deeper.

“You’re so… so big,” you groan.

“I know,” he murmurs, lowering his thumb to your clit. “You can take it. That’s nearly half.”

“Half?”

Lazily, he thrusts. “You’re doing so well.”

With soft praise and coaxing, Seokjin continues to fill you until he bottoms out. You moan when you feel his balls flush to your ass, practically split in two by his massive cock. Seokjin lowers himself to one elbow, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck.

“Look at me,” he demands, pulling out to the tip. You whimper, and he languidly thrusts in again. “That’s it. God, I could watch you take my cock for hours.”

You pant, gaze locked on his when he does it again. Stuffed full of his cock, you wonder how he lives without bragging about this to everyone. You’re going to have a hard time keeping your mouth shut after this. For various reasons.

Seeing the shift on your face, Seokjin thrusts harder. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you groan. “I was just – ah – thinking about sucking your cock.”

He pauses, then swears. “You can’t just say that, Y/N,” he complains, lifting himself to his elbows. Seokjin thrusts into you harder, deeper. “I’ve been thinking about this for years. It’s probably embarrassing how often I’ve thought about you spread out beneath me.”

“I thought about it, too. I – I couldn’t help it.”

“Neither could I,” he confesses, moving faster. “I tried to stop. Tried to tell myself it was wrong. And god, was I wrong,” he groans, licking a strip up your neck. “You’re even sweeter than I imagined, Y/N. I need to fuck you everywhere in this house.”

A giggle escapes, turning into a moan when he does something with his hips. “That would take a long time,” you pant, locking both ankles over his ass. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I am, though. My mind is going to crazy places, Y/N.” Shifting his hips, he hits a deeper angle. “I want to keep you in this bedroom for weeks. I want to come inside you, lick your pussy clean, then come in you again. I want to fuck you against the window and make Bradley watch.”

“Fuck,” you choke out.

“Do you like that,” he pants. “Do you like hearing how badly I want you?”

“Yes,” you moan, lifting your hips to match every thrust. “I like it. What else did you think about?”

“I want you to ride me. I want to fuck you against a wall. I want to have you half out of your dress, bouncing on my cock where people could hear.” His gaze darkens. “I want to take you from behind. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all week. Bending you over, licking that pussy and then pushing inside.”

His last words sound gutted, Seokjin’s gaze heavy with lust. Reaching between you, you rub your clit and let out a whine.

“Do it,” you demand. “Flip me over. I want you to fuck me like that.”

Seokjin pauses, then abruptly pulls out. Left empty, you whimper, but he swiftly turns you around to lay on your stomach. Yanking your hips in the air, he bends forward and brushes a kiss to your neck.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I love you.”

You try not to squirm, but it’s hard with him positioned behind you like this. Pussy bared to his gaze, Seokjin runs his middle finger up and down your wet cunt.

“Ah,” he groans, sinking his finger inside. After his cock, it barely feels like a stretch. Seokjin chuckles, withdraws and slaps you on the ass.

You moan, melting a little. “Again. Please.”

“You like that, hm?” Smacking your ass again, he sinks two fingers inside you. “I can’t believe how perfect you are, Y/N. All for me.”

“All for you,” you agree.

Unable to hold back any longer, Seokjin positions his cock and thrusts inside. You groan, going from empty to full in a matter of seconds. Turning your face on the pillow, you watch him as he fills you. Seokjin withdraws, then pushes back in with agonizing slowness.

Pressed into the mattress this way, his cock is so deep, you can feel yourself trembling. It won’t take long to come in this position – a fact Seokjin seems to realize. Clutching the pillow, you watch him move in and out, fucking you slowly and building momentum.

He keeps your knees spread, his grip on you tight while easing you back on his cock. You bite down on the pillow when his pace increases, slamming again and again into your needy pussy. When you tighten around him, Seokjin grunts.

“Don’t touch yourself yet,” he pants, going harder. “How badly do you want to come, Y/N?”

“So, so bad,” you say with a hiccup.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there. Just relax and let me do all the work. You’re taking my cock so nicely – such a sweet, tight pussy. Going to feel so fucking good when I fill you up with my cum.”

You cry out, ass shaking as Seokjin pounds into you deeper. Lifting your hips, he spreads you wide and slams into your g-spot. Everything narrows to the feeling of his cock inside you. You’re glad of the position because you don’t need to think about holding yourself up on your own.

Reaching around you, Seokjin brushes your clit and that’s it. Game over. Your orgasm overtakes you, body collapsing with endless waves of bliss. Vision blurring, you push back on his cock when you feel him go deeper.

Gasping your name, Seokjin comes as well. His cum fills you in pulses while he slowly thrusts and comes down from his high. You feel some of his cum drip from your body, and when he pulls out, you squeeze to send another gush.

Seokjin says something not repeatable in good company. “Fu-ck,” he groans, dragging his fingers through the mess. “How did we spend so long not doing this?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, collapsing onto your side.

Seokjin drops beside you, looping his arm over your waist to drag you against him. He kisses you deeply, thumb stroking your hip.

When you surface, you wince. “These sheets are definitely ruined.”

“There are some in the wardrobe,” Seokjin says lazily. “Or we can move to one of the many, many open rooms on this floor.”

Your smile grows. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me out for that. I very obviously wanted to sleep with you.”

His eyes go wide. “Excuse me? You made me take the couch!”

“You put yourself on the couch.”

Seokjin sputters, clearly incensed as your grin widens. Rolling from his grip, you head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. When you reemerge, Seokjin is busy stripping the bed.

“Kind of pointless, if you ask me,” he grumbles. “We’re definitely doing that again before sunrise.”

Abruptly, your core tightens. “It’s not fair,” you complain, collapsing once the fitted sheet is on. “You know way more about what turns me on than I know about you.”

Seokjin throws the next sheet over your naked body and joins you beneath it. He pulls you against him, unable to let go. “I think I said I wanted to fuck you and have Bradley watch. Was that not intimate enough for you?”

You shiver when Seokjin kisses your neck. “Yeah, yeah – that was good,” you say, placing one hand on his chest. “But next time, I want to start with a blow job.”

Against your thigh, Seokjin immediately hardens. Cracking up, you fall back on the bed and Seokjin follows, nipping your collarbone. Eventually you go still, gazing at him beneath the rosy hue of the bed sheet.

Seokjin’s gaze traces your face. “I just want you to know,” he murmurs. “I’m all in. This is… nothing will change the way I feel about you. Ever. This is it for me.”

Your heart swells, overflowing as you bury your face in his chest. “Same,” your whisper, voice cracking slightly. “I love you, Seokjin.”

And suddenly, you realize there are no more gaps between you and what you want. All the crevices are filled in and your world feels fully whole.

After all, Seokjin is it for you, too. Time may be relative, but the future before you feels long.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR READING! It is so good to be back here, posting again. Thank you to everyone who waited for me, and WOOHOO BTS IS ALMOST BACK!

Second Author's Note: I really, really wanted L2H!Jungkook to make a cameo at one of these parties but unfortunately, L2H!Seokjin is happily married to Yoongi, so it just wouldn't have made sense. Know that in a non-canon universe, CC!Seokjin and L2H!Jungkook are friends LOL

[mug-of-beans]

So we know that the reason Han shows up and is able to take a potshot at Vader at the end of A New Hope and give Luke the chance he needs to blow up the Deathstar is because that’s how movies work, and this is the unexpected assistance helping the protagonist just make it over the finish line.

But it’s fun to think about from an expanded universe perspective.

Vader wasn’t just a good pilot. He was one of, (if not just outright) the best pilots in the Clone Wars. Not only was he a talented pilot, but we know his intuitive connection with the Force gave him a preternatural edge. Per episode 1, the reason he’s even able to pilot a pod racer is because he literally reacts to things before they happen. So the fact that he sensed nothing prior to getting shot by the Falcon would stretch credulity for some. However…

One of the things that can be delved into in depth in Kotor 2 is the best ways to kill a jedi. In particular are two interesting tidbits. First, jedi generally have a harder time sensing the actions of and influencing/feeling the thoughts of people who do not believe in the Force. And second: impulsive and unplanned attacks are far more likely to succeed against a Force-using individual than planned assaults.

In A New Hope, Han proudly professes that the Force isn’t real. And he wasn’t planning on participating in the battle. The decision to join the battle was a spur of the moment one. From an expanded universe perspective, Han had kind of blundered into the perfect headspace to take a potshot at Vader and actually do something effective. I just think that’s neat.

[moonstruckme]

Your work has been a great source of joy and relief to me (at last after a day of shitty circumstance i get to thrive in my free time with your witing) and i just want to thank you for that...💗💗💗

But i do also wanna request a jealous reader to james or remus, I'm genuinely curious as to how they'll handle that and what will they do to satiate reader

Thank you, sweetheart! Love you <3

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

James looks especially sightly today, his brown skin gleaming in the sun and hair stuck slick to his forehead. He’s shirtless, which is always a treat, muscled abdomen sometimes distorted beneath the pool water and sometimes slipping above, inadvertently teasing, and his shoulders look especially strapping with Lily’s pale thighs seated atop them. 

You really like Lily. You’re quite disappointed in yourself, actually, for the hot flash of malice that goes through you when she burrows her manicured fingers in your boyfriend’s hair, laughing about losing her balance. James moves his grip from her knees up to her thighs, promising he’s got her. Something foul and warmish curdles in your gut. 

On the other side of the pool, Sirius and Remus advance like a totem pole with two wildly different faces, one menacing and the other reluctant. They’d asked if you wanted to play chicken, but getting pushed and shoved by Sirius isn’t your idea of a good time. You figured you’d be more content here, sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet kicking idly in the cool water, but now you can see how it does sort of look like a couples activity, Sirius atop Remus’ shoulders and Lily on James’. It’s no secret that James had pined after Lily for years. It was back in their school days, before you met him, but it’s been brought up a few times in a teasing way that’s made it clear to you that everyone knew how he felt about her. You wonder if Lily ever thinks about it. If she’s assured, consciously or not, that she could have him back at any time of her choosing. It’s not something you love to dwell upon. 

The pairs are fairly evenly matched. Sirius fights dirty, splashing water up at Lily and trying to unhook one of her knees from around James’ shoulder, but Remus can’t be bothered to participate and looks like he’d be just as happy to be pushed over and call it done. Lily, meanwhile, isn’t as creative a fighter and is only shoving at Sirius’ shoulders, but James provides a strong base. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her legs, calling up encouragements and occasionally freeing a hand to pinch upwards at Sirius’ side. Sirius shrieks and swears at this, claiming that it’s against the rules. Eventually, Remus gets tired of supporting his boyfriend’s weight and feigns a fall back into the water. Sirius squawks as he goes down, and Lily and James cheer and high-five before he helps her dismount with far more grace. 

You clap and smile like a good girlfriend. James beams as he swims over to you. Sometimes looking at James’ smile at full capacity is a bit like looking at the sun, and you feel like you need some special glasses to gaze directly at it. This is one of those times. 

He takes your calf in his big hand and leans his cool cheek on your warm knee and makes you feel like the most special girl in the world, and you can’t stop thinking that Lily probably knows this exact feeling. 

You make extra sure to be nice to Lily on your way out later that evening, guilty and vexed with yourself for the way you’ve been thinking about her. James waves a friendly goodbye to the group as you both step outside. 

Instantly, his arm is around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. James was prepared for the nighttime chill, pulling a sweatshirt out of his bag as soon as the sun set, whereas you’re in a tank top and shorts that have grown damp from your swimsuit. You lean into him gratefully. 

“Did you have a good time today?” he asks.

“Mhm.” 

“Yeah?” He tilts his head a bit, looking down at your face. “You seemed a bit off.” 

You shrug. You should have expected James would notice. “I guess I just wished I’d participated more.” 

He makes a contemplative humming sound. “You don’t mean that you think people didn’t want you to participate, right? They love you, angel, you know that.” 

“No, I…” You want to say I know, but you’re worried you’ll sound conceited. You never usually second-guess yourself like this around James. You sort of hate it. “I just didn’t realize that if I said no to playing chicken, Lily was going to be your partner instead.” 

He’s quiet for a second. Something in your gut twists uneasily. 

“I thought you liked Lily.” 

“I do.” 

“Are you jealous?” 

“No.” 

You answer without thinking, because whatever you might be feeling right now, you are not a jealous person. You won’t be that kind of girlfriend. The breeze picks up, and goosebumps prickle down your arms, making you shiver.

“Are you cold?” James asks. 

You know he’s going to want to give you his sweatshirt, and you really can’t be taking things from him right now. “I’m alright.” 

“You know you’ve got nothing to worry about with Lily,” he tells you, thumb brushing softly over the skin of your bare shoulder. It should be reassuring, but suddenly you’re thinking about how this same hand looked so comfortable wrapped around Lily’s thigh. You step out from under his arm, crossing your arms as casually as you can against the chill. 

“I’m not worried,” you reply. 

James looks perplexed, and also a little dubious. The thought of him not believing you, even if you are lying, fills you with a burning indignation. 

“I just don’t see why you had to be touching her so much,” you say. “You could’ve looked a bit less eager.” 

He actually laughs at that, but the look on your face stops him quickly. “Sorry, but did you really think I looked eager?” he asks, a little smile still teasing the corners of his lips like you’re a child he has to talk down from a fit. “That’s just part of the game, sweetheart.” 

The way he says it, sweetheart, suddenly feels less affectionate and more like a placation. Condescending. Heat builds behind your eyes, and you realize with horror that you feel like you might actually cry. You’ve never felt so distant from James. Not even when you’d first started dating. 

You pick up your pace, staying ahead to keep him from seeing your face. “You didn’t have to touch her legs so much,” you huff. 

“I was keeping her from falling off!” he laughs, incredulous. 

You roll your eyes. James lengthens his stride to catch up to you. 

“So let me get this straight,” he says. He sounds more serious than before, which you thought you’d wanted but now you’re not so sure. Your heart trembles. “You wanted me to throw the whole game to just avoid touching my friend’s legs?” 

“She wasn’t always your friend,” you remind him. 

“Yes, she was.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. From a factual standpoint, he’s not wrong, but you know that Lily was more than that in James’ head for quite some time. He can’t boil it down to something so simple. 

The silence stretches out between you, ice-thin and just as cold. Then you shiver again, and James sets a hand on your shoulder. It’s only there for a second before he retracts it, as if unsure what he’s allowed. Your heart throbs. 

“You are cold,” he says, and his tone is doting teetering on the brink of accusatory. He grabs the hem of his sweatshirt. “Here, have—”

“I don’t want your sweatshirt,” you say sharply. 

James pauses. “Why not?” 

“I just don’t.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re cold.” 

“So what?” You cross your arms harder, trying to hide your trembling under the guise of general agitation. “That’s not what we’re talking about.” 

“What are we talking about?” he asks you. “How I let Lily sit on my shoulders as part of a game and now I’ll surely leave you for her?” 

Even as a joke, it stings. “Would you?”

“Of course not!” His hands spread out in front of him, helpless. “What do you want me to do? Should I just never be friends with another girl again?” 

“No, it’s not—it’s not that.” Your eyes burn. You’re frustrated with him for intentionally missing the point, and frustrated with yourself for needing his reassurance in the first place. “I just want to know that you’d pick me over her.” 

“I have!”

“You didn’t pick, James.” Your breathing is starting to sound ragged. The words taste acidic in your mouth. “She picked for you.” 

“Angel, that was ages ago.” James softens his voice, likely hearing the tears in yours. “I don’t see her that way anymore. She was right, we wouldn’t have worked together.” 

“But how can you know that?” Your voice breaks just as a harsh shiver goes through you, and you wrap your arms more tightly around yourself. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” You don’t have to turn around to hear that James has stopped walking behind you, his footsteps halting. Reluctantly, you slow in response but don’t turn around, waiting to see what he’s doing. “Come here.” When you don’t move, his voice hardens into a tone you don’t hear often. “Come here.” 

You turn around, more curious than anything, and James has taken his sweatshirt off. He tugs it over your head before you can say anything. 

“James!” you protest, squirming, but his hold is strong. He manages to wrestle one of your arms into a sleeve before he seems to decide that’s good enough and leaves you be. 

“Quit being so stubborn,” he says, still in that same tone. You stop trying to get the sweatshirt off, hands dropping to your sides. James has never been so stern with you before. You don’t quite know how to react. “You’re freezing, and your hair’s still wet. There’s no sense in suffering through it just because you want to have a row.” 

“I don’t want to,” you tell him, but your words sound petulant even to your own ears. 

“Then listen.” He takes your jaw in hand, setting his eyes on yours. “I do not want to be in a relationship with Lily. I thought I did once, but I don’t anymore.” He waits a second, making sure this sinks in, before his voice softens. “I’m going to be friends with girls. That’s just…that’s the way I’ve always been. But I’m with you because I’m happiest with you, and this isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.” 

You nod, suddenly flooded with self loathing. A tear skids down your face when you blink. “I’m sorry. It’s not about…I do trust you, I promise. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” 

“Honey,” James murmurs. The tear lands on his index finger, and his face pinches like it stings. “Listen, if I saw some guy with his hands all over you, I’d—”

“In a bathing suit,” you add tearfully. 

“With his hands all over you in a bathing suit,” he amends, “I’d probably be upset too. But you’ve got to tell me these things, you know? If you’d brought it up at the time, I could’ve told you I don’t feel that way about Lily and maybe you would’ve had a better afternoon.” 

“I didn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend,” you admit. “I really do like Lily, I didn’t mean to accuse either of you of anything.” 

“I think…I think some amount of jealousy has to be normal,” James says, brows bunched pensively even as his finger strokes at your cheek. “We’re each other’s, you know? It’s just letting it get in your head that’s the problem. If you’re thinking I’d pursue someone else while I’m with you, that doesn’t reflect very well on me.” 

You shake your head, leaning away from James’ hand to wipe your nose. “I don’t really. I know you’d be—you’d at least be nice about it. You’d tell me.” 

Pain etches itself into the indent between your boyfriend’s brows. He takes your face between both hands now, looking into your eyes determinedly. “I love you,” he says, bending to press a firm kiss between your brows. “Understand?” 

You wrap your arms around his middle, pushing past his face to tuck your head under his chin. “I love you too.” Your voice is ardent if a bit wobbly, tears that feel more like a reaction to a past fright than anything else still moving sluggishly down your face. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s forgiven, sweetheart.” James’ big palm comes to rest between your shaking shoulder blades, scrubbing up and down firmly. “Let’s get home, yeah?”

[pinkaditty]

high libido jiro headcanon actually has me doing front flips omlll

this is actually a great time 2 share: im writing a long hc post about the ghouls and what i believe their sexual behaviors would be. this was partially inspired by Obey Me!, due to the sins attributing to certain characters manifesting in different ways. for example, both Solomon and Asmodeus have the sin of Lust, right? however, Asmodeus's sin manifests as physical lust, whereas Solomon's manifests as a lust for knowledge. I was thinking about how the ghouls essentially make pacts with demons, and demons typically are tied to a sin, right? i used the classic Seven Deadly Sins, and attributed a sin to each ghoul. im writing their sexual behaviors based off of those sins and how they manifest.

Sneak peek below (edited to be more concise, will be lengthier when officially posted, posting ONE character per house for this, please note that their blurbs are incomplete and i haven't posted all i have written):

I KNOW THIS IS LENGTHY BUT IT'S IMPORTANT TO READ TO UNDERSTAND:

becoming a ghoul, as stated in the story, significantly increases your physical ability, battle prowess, and gives you a “stigma”, or a pact-based power. ghouls outrank humans in strength, resilience, and!!! aggression. while some ghouls are better-natured than others, it goes without saying that they all experience an increase in aggressive behaviors. this should be obvious, but when making a pact with a demon (fictionally speaking!!), i imagine that making such pacts with beings that are avatars of “sin” increases the desire to sin and decreases aversion to it. i like to think that indulging in sin becomes not exactly “necessary”, but vital in the sense that they can live without it but it makes human-esque day-to-day living harder. eventually the "sin" cravings get out of control and they have to indulge in some sort of sin, namely the sin they are the most associated with, because they “devoured” the demons they made pacts with. for example, say jin made a pact with a demon that specialized in sloth. when his cravings get out of control, he needs to indulge in sleeping in all day (or doing something similar) at least once. note that, like in Obey Me!, the sins may manifest differently. for example, i believe both jin and ren made pacts with demons that are sloth-based, but jin’s sin manifests in sleeping while ren’s manifests in avoidance.

as far as sexual behavior goes, the sins the ghouls participate in affect their sexual behavior, i think, just as they affect their personality and societal behaviors and interactions. for example, sloth-based ghouls may prefer doing little work during sex or have a preference for low effort positions; whereas glutton-based ghouls may prefer doing as much as possible, in as many positions possible, for as long as possible, regardless of how physically strenuous.

one more hc: it isn’t impossible, but it is excruciatingly tough for a ghoul to avoid (for lack of a better word) a creampie, if you will, when not wearing a condom. they are ghouls after all, and as such, will experience more aggressive and carnal sexual behaviors. contraception drugs with immediate effects are sold at the campus store LMFAOAOAOOA

Tohma Ishibashi (Greed-based):

this guy is power-hungry i fear, and thank goodness his boss is a sloth! he can pick up the leadership role all he wants. 

this guy is greedy bc he wants power for the sake of having it. y’know that trope where it’s really the king’s advisor pulling the strings? yea.

he wants more. he wants more. he wants more. 

without indulging myself too terribly much… if jin, alan, or haku had you, tohma would covet you even more than he already would if you were still single.

haha what? nevermind.

anyways we all already know how he indulges in his greed. how does he do so sexually?

in simple terms he wants more of everything from you

you suck him off? okay do it again. 

you came on his tongue? okay do it again. 

you clench your walls tight around his cock to make him cum faster? okay, after he recovers, do it again.

there can never be too much. if anything, there’s never enough.

Leo Kurosagi (Envy-based):

not gonna lie i kinda flip-flopped between greed and envy for him

but ultimately i think envy suits him best

i think envy is what spurs most, if not all, of his harmful or demeaning actions towards others

he’s jealous! god forbid someone do something better than he does. they’re guaranteed to become his next target. 

and it’s always personal, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise

because of this, i think he’d be selfish during sex

he wants more pleasure than his partner out of something, and if he’s not being directly stimulated, he wants something beneficial to him out of it

that said, he’s easy (i say this with love)

so it’s never a problem to convince him to do what you want, so long as you pay him back with interest later

its all about the trade! but lowkey he’s happy to do anything you ask, so long as you pay attention to him specifically. keep your eyes on him while he’s giving you head and i promise he’ll cum untouched.

Haru Sagara (Glutton-based):

my gluttony king…<3

can’t explain it i just feel it

he’s not greedy bc greed is wanting something for the sake of having it, while gluttony is wanting something for the pleasure of consuming it

consider him at Rui’s bar. always drinking too much.

consider him in his dorm. always working too much.

but does he enjoy it? yea. absolutely. even when he gripes he never says he’d rather do something else. 

he does it because it gives him pleasure, regardless of what way, which is what makes me believe he’s glutton-based

i think this guy’s a masochist that likes ass im not gonna hold y’all.

he hardly pays his own pain any mind, and if anything, seems to enjoy putting himself in pain for attention (more gluttony hints, he loves consuming attention)

and has not only brought up being smacked on the ass himself, but has smacked someone’s ass in the story. 

he also just repeatedly brings up ass regardless of whether or not the conversation had anything to do with it. 

he’s a horny guy i fear. i dunno. i just feel it. why do you think he likes those rabbit-like animals so much? he’s basically one himself. sex-loving freak (/affectionate!!).

he likes to go more than one round, and probably recovers quicker than most. 

once you’ve gone one round, unless this was a quickie in the kitchen while he’s making dinner or even in his room while Ren watches Peekaboo, you can expect at least one more, and at most four more. 

he likes quickies actually, let me just put that out there

Romeo Lucci (Pride-based):

you would THINK greed, i know, i get it, but i think that greed is just part of his personality. he’s just like that. PRIDE is the sin of the demon he devoured.

he wants you shivering in his presence. it fuels his ego. 

i don’t think he cares for the money as much as he cares about his ego. i think the income the casino makes fuels his ego as the guy running it, so he always wants record profits to fuel his ego.

does that make sense? like, sure, the casino makes money and all, but for romeo, it’s more about ego than monetary gain.

why do you think he wants everybody calling him “fico” and brags about his high end products and complains when even a single thing doesn’t go his way?

its all ego, that’s why.

that said, boy i hope you’re prepared to feed his ego when you finally screw him.

has a major praise kink because of it

tell him how pretty he is, pounding into you! he’ll try not to smile like a drunken freak.

Haku Kusanagi (Lust-based):

MY FAVVVV OUUUUGHGHHGHGHHHHHHH MY FAVVVVVVVVV

haru makes a close 2nd place if u couldn’t tell. but this guy?? nnnmmmmffffghghhhh…

he seems so incredibly normal and im not saying he’s not but im saying he has a much stronger libido than others around him. like, incubus strength.

rather than lust for attention or knowledge or something else, he literally lusts for sex. he’s physical lust-based. 

to him, it kind of sucks. he’s not super fond of it. i mean, what kind of future priest gets boners this frequently? come on man. 

at the same time, though, he can’t say it’s… all bad. its exhilarating in a way, and he kind of likes being horny all the damn time. 

to be clear, it’s not ALL the time… just relatively often. 

he’s a little conflicted and overall has mixed feelings on it. 

anyone complimenting his looks, which happens often (as seen in Hotarubi’s story), can just get him hard randomly.

god forbid you compliment him, even once. he’s rock hard immediately. it’s embarrassing.

thankfully though, he does an excellent job at hiding it. being used to it has it’s perks.

he’s abnormally good at hiding his arousal though, like you wouldn’t be able to tell unless you pressed yourself directly against his crotch. 

when the cravings get bad, however… he can’t hide it anymore. thankfully though, a very long, very self-indulgent jack off session that lasts a day will stave it off. 

once he has you, though… ohohohohoooo boy. 

you end up spending more time at hotarubi than you do in the chapel

you’re always sleeping over. you’re always waking up with hickeys. you’re always doing the walk of shame the following morning.

Rui Mizuki (Glutton-based):

not going to hold you, this one should be obvious

this is rui we’re talking about. the touch-starved, flirty womanizer. what do you think he’s going to constantly want more of for the pleasure of consuming it?

hell, i like to believe that prior to his curse, he was a super touchy guy. he loved to hug people or perform small acts of intimacy, like ruffling someone’s hair or rubbing their arms or holding their hands. he loved that! and he’s been robbed of it.

he is a pure glutton for touch, i know it.

(we are going to act like theoretically you can fuck him)

this said: do not let your hands leave him during sex. don’t!

something about hands in particular. how dearly he has missed and craved the simplest form of contact: via hands

he will be desperate to touch you, all over, with his hands, and he wants you to feel the same

the sex will be bareback. sorry.

Jiro Kirisaki (Sloth-based):

high libido king. low energy king.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak!

i theorize it’s not just his illness that tears him apart, it’s also his sin of sloth

since he doesn’t indulge in it much (and isn’t really allowed to), his body oftentimes shuts down involuntarily to preserve itself, yk?

this being said…

i like to think he has an abnormally high libido

but he can’t often contribute time to it, what with him being so busy with research he hardly showers daily AND him being sick AND him needing to indulge in sloth. he barely has the time to jack off, really.

during sex, he’s generally pretty malleable to whatever you want, granted he doesn’t have to work too hard. 

will he blow your back out? sure! will he start out slow thrusting until he’s close and then speed up the pace to blow your back out? yea.

he can only go one round sorry! you’re not getting much out of him. but, surprisingly, he recovers quicker than most. so if, after an hour or so, you wanted to go again…

this was supposed 2 be a sneak peek but i think i did too much lmfao???

lowkey i was embarrassed 2 post this. this is the rawest stage of my work. straight from the brain and pure headcanon at that.

if u want 2 be tagged when this post is completed, let me know!

questions, comments, or even concerns? let me know!! and, of course, do let me know if you enjoyed the sneak peek at all.

EDIT: why is my brainslop getting likes lol? anyways I edit this 2 tag: @cupcakesmoothie and @aayakashii I put content of ur favs in this post and forgot 2 tag y'all 🫡 shame on me

[jaehaeryshater]

Tyrion’s Fifth Name Day Present

commissioned from @ilynpilled

In asoiaf, Tyrion Lannister is far from a perfect character, he is a rapist and misogynist (though who isn’t a misogynist in Westeros, unfortunately) and given that he is one of very few characters that actually acknowledges that pubescent children are, in fact, children, it is more glaring than others when reading that he is what we would now consider a pedophile (or rather, hebephile, but I feel using those terms are often used in apologia for such things rather than what we use as the umbrella term, to the point that it derails the conversation, so I stick with pedophile). When I sought to commission art of him, I was really more so interested in his relationship with Tywin than anything else regarding his character. I’ll talk about this relationship later, but I wanted to touch on something else first. When I first had the idea for this commission, I searched for artists that had drawn Tyrion before. What I noticed was for a recurrent POV character, there was a lack of art for him in comparison to other characters. I then got told by some people that a lot of asoiaf artists refuse to draw Tyrion which alarmed me but that’s their right to do as an artist. But then I started looking at the art that was available, and it made me deeply uncomfortable. Don’t get me wrong, there are some good pieces out there of him, but a lot of artwork for him makes him look like a monster or beast, inhuman. Tyrion is not described as attractive, but he also is not a goblin or ghoul. He is a person and he looks like a person, even if he’s lost his nose or is generally unattractive. Tyrion is not a fantasy creature, he is a human being and depicting as physically being a monster bothers me because his disability is not of the fantasy variety. He has dwarfism, which many other people throughout history and today also have. His presence as a person rather than a separate species (as dwarves often are in fantasy series) is really good representation. What I’ve found is that people use his really horrible and disgusting decisions as a human to justify being ableist to him and being able to talk about him in a way that is downright disgusting. Other characters that commit the same crimes are not treated in that way. Tyrion does not live in a vacuum and the rampant discussion of him as a creature does reflect only on him, but onto real people with dwarfism. Something in particular I’ve heard a lot is a recurrent “joke”, I guess, about Elia being a saint because only a saint could find baby Tyrion cute, that he had a face only a mother could love. Tyrion hadn’t done anything yet, he was a baby. He was not some monster or abomination, there is not justification for how Cersei or Tywin treated him as a baby. They aren’t treating him that way because he’s later a rapist, they don’t care about that, in fact, they both participate in some sort of sexual assault happening to Tyrion (Cersei to Tyrion as a baby and Tywin to Tyrion in his pubescence). They’re treating him that way out of misplaced anger and ableism. That is unacceptable. What we hear about the rumors of Tyrion’s birth that spread to Oldtown are meant to show how ableist Westeros is, as we know all the things said about his physical appearance aren’t true. Yet fans play right into it. People are frothing at the mouth to be ableist and use Tyrion as some “moral” way to do so. I would like to encourage people to think about who could be reading, such as a person with dwarfism or any kind of physical deformity, comments made about Tyrion’s appearance, especially as a young child. All that to say, hearing how people talk about Tyrion and how a lot of people draw Tyrion, definitely made me want to do this commission more to show that he was just a child once, children are not generally born evil. He was just a kid who happened to have dwarfism and people treated him unfairly for it.

Now on to my actual commission idea: lately I’ve been wanting to talk about and depict more serious/complex topics in my commissions, more or less so we as a fandom can have a discussion about them. With this commission and my Viserys and Daenerys commission, I wanted to talk about and show what it means to be abused by someone that is supposed to care about and protect you, someone you’re stuck with/tethered to. This is hard enough on anyone’s mind, but even more so on a child. These sorts of relationships are confusing for children, partially because they’re trying to figure out what they can do to change it or what they’ve done wrong (nothing) but also partially because it’s almost impossible for a relationship this consistent to be all bad all the time. Let’s take this artwork as an example: Tyrion canonically loved dragons as a child. He dreamed of being a Targaryen prince and having his own dragon. He wanted a small one, like himself, for his name day. His uncle let him know that dragons had gone extinct. In this artwork, Tywin knows that Tyrion loves dragons but of course, he can’t receive one, so he has a cloth one made for him for his fifth name day. In my mind, he has left it in Tyrion’s chambers for when he wakes up, because he doesn’t want to give it to him directly, he has too much disdain for him for that. But Tyrion figures that the present is from his wealthy father, so excitedly goes and thanks him, as well as shows him the dragon. This sets Tywin off, he’s angry that Tyrion assumed he would give him something, so he tries to cover it up by saying that the dragon is stupid and Tyrion isn’t even a Targaryen, so he could never ride a dragon and it was foolish to pretend. I’m sure this sounds familiar to many people that have been abused by a family member. People are complex and make many decisions that we don’t understand or seem nonsensical. An abusive person can do something nice for you, and for a child, this might spark hope that they do care and things will get better. But things don’t get better for Tyrion, and they don’t get better for a lot of child abuse victims. It’s a cycle of being let down and confused. Tywin shows some form of concern for Tyrion’s safety throughout his life: one example is forbidding him from going with Tyrion’s uncle Gerion to Valyria, as he correctly viewed it as foolish and dangerous. Tywin easily could have gotten rid of Tyrion, who he obviously views as a problem, without kinslaying. But he doesn’t; this is mainly chalked up to a sense of duty and portraying his House as untouchable. I agree that this is the main reason why he keeps Tyrion “safe” (at least physically) and provided for. But Tywin also commits acts against Tyrion that have nothing to do with duty and are downright cruel. Keeping Tyrion alive is Tywin’s duty, but having Tysha and Tyrion raped when he could easily get the marriage annulled instead is not duty, and I don’t think Tywin was under the delusion that it was. All in all, Tywin is an abuser. He verbally abuses Tyrion and had Tyrion sexually abused. He’s also a human and does things that contradict each other and I’m sure were confusing to a young Tyrion. Most people, including even Tywin probably, don’t wake up and say “how can I be the most evil today?”. They do things that may seem good or kind, but that doesn’t make them redeemable or keep them from being abusers. Abusers usually aren’t the boogeyman committing evil all day every day. So that was what I was trying to show: a hope in a child, but also that Tyrion was a child once being unjustifiably abused, and that’s not funny.

Tumblr is a much more reasonable place than Twitter these days, so I’m hoping this goes over well. People were really nice on here about my Daenerys and Viserys commission. People weren’t so kind on Twitter about that. I was accused of being a Viserys apologist because I relayed the events of his life and dared to suggest that he once cared about Daenerys, which was probably confusing for her as she ended up being abused by him. I hope this commission isn’t taken the same way. I don’t think calling out ableism makes me a Tyrion apologist and I don’t think saying Tywin probably didn’t portray himself as a monster 24/7 makes me a Tywin apologist (please Lord shoot me if I ever become an apologist for a sexual abuser/child abuser). I probably will crash out if I have to deal with braindead “apologia” takes again. I don’t think there’s much hope for us if we can’t even talk about a character or hard topics without it becoming apologia, because that results in ignoring large swaths of canon and not understanding characters.!I fear for media literacy if that becomes the case.

Thank you so much to @ilynpilled for doing my commission idea. They were always my first pick for a Tyrion comm, so I was so glad when they opened their commissions. They were really nice and finished the piece very quickly. I was impressed. It’s obvious that there’s a lot of love for Tyrion as a character from them and that was important for me in this situation in particular because it helped in portraying Tyrion as a human being and a little boy, not a monster. I hope this sparks a conversation with people and perhaps more people will try their hand at depicting Tyrion or confronting biases they or other people they come across have.

[mikanotes]

— DON'T STRAY TOO FAR

banda x gn!reader - 1.2k words

genre: established relationship, suggestive

warnings: mentions of death, killing, manipulation, aib stuff, old kinda edited! some kissing leaning towards suggestive!!!

synopsis: Banda Sunato misses his lover. Why does he miss his lover?

author’s note: season 3 he's the main antag trust . i miss him a lot

Banda was intrigued when he noticed you began ignoring him. It didn’t take a genius to understand it had to do with the game you were both participating in, especially considering it was a Hearts one.

But his curiosity and amusement turned into annoyance after six hours. Turns out Banda Sunato is not half as patient as he himself believed.

You walk right past him at least fifteen times. He tries telling you what the symbol on your collar is during each of the six rounds. He debates on distracting himself with something, like following that suspicious guy around and gaining his trust a bit more, and he does.

He does for three rounds more before he feels angry because seeing you walk around so nonchalantly without doing so much as looking at him makes him lose track of his thoughts.

Especially when he sees someone else touch your neck as they look at the symbol on your collar. He’s certain that’s the last straw, for him.

So he lasts nine hours without your attention.

“Hey.” he says quietly, coming up right behind you. You jolt a little and turn to look at him. There’s a mere second where your expression looks somewhere between startled and content and he’s sure you’re finally done giving him the silent treatment. But that look barely lasts long enough for him to feel any actual hope. Soon enough, you’re back to this neutral, stone facade of yours as you turn your back to him and walk away.

Nope. Not this time.

He grabs your wrist and pulls your back against his chest, swiftly wrapping an arm around you the moment you’re close enough. You don’t fight him back. “You’re not being very nice.” he whispers, tilting his head just over your shoulder. You turn away, as if trying to ignore him still.

“… I really don’t wanna talk to you.”

“You’re the one who told me communication was important in relationships.” he chuckles softly, letting you go but grabbing your hand instead. You step away and give him a glare, to which he responds with an innocent smile. “Am I wrong?”

He knows he’s right.

“Let’s communicate when we’re actually sure we’ll both be alive,” you respond with an annoyed tilt to your voice, “I told you Hearts games are a no, with us two.”

Ah, yes. He thinks he might be falling in love all over again. You may be doing this out of the goodness of your heart, out of pure fear of losing him— But if you are, it’s probably fifteen percent of the reason why. The eighty-five remaining ones are just the fact that you would choose your own life over his any day. But you’re nice enough to not want to get to that point. Just lovely. “My heartless lover, attempting,” he hums, stepping closer again— Just close enough not to invade your space again. “Do you really think we can’t both win this? Come on.”

You look away, irritated. He rubs your hand with his thumb slowly, tracing words into your palm. Your name. A plea to stop acting like this before he loses his goddamn mind. He isn’t sure what it is about you ignoring him that makes him feel so far away from his usual ‘sanity’, but he really dislikes it. He’s fine without you. Perhaps the idea of not having your attention on him is simply… Not right. It should always be on him, it has always been on him.

“Sunato.” you sigh. First name, he thinks, getting somewhere. He takes that as his cue and steps closer again. He says your name the same way you said his and gives you this soft, innocent expression of his. You look at him and he can see it in your eyes you’re trying not to break.

He moves just a bit closer. “I miss you.” he whispers. He tries to hold your waist but you move away right before he can, which leaves him stunned for a second.

His expression drops. “…You know me.” he says flatly, though his tone is as quiet as usual. “You know I don’t care that you’d kill me to survive.”

You look at him with that stern expression of yours and his gaze drifts towards your lips briefly. You’re gonna say something smart and clearly pissed off and then leave him again. You’re definitely gonna do that.

No. No you’re not. At least not that last part.

He half-listens to you as you begin to tell him to stop being so annoying for at least a day so you can focus on the game all whilst checking both sides of the hallway you’re in. Then he tightens his hold on your hand and tugs you towards a secluded area with him. You almost look hopeful.

“I’m going to kiss you. Okay?”

He gives you a long second and all you do is half-heartedly glare at him, so he grabs your face and pulls it towards his own. Fuck, finally. The feeling of your lips against his makes him sigh softly, a small smile forming on his features as he pulls you closer. He doesn’t think he could’ve survived longer without this. He remembers very clearly when he got addicted to you and every single thing about you. It makes him ten times weaker than he was when alone, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

You pull away after a while and gasp for air, grabbing his shirt at the same time. He laughs silently, eyeing your face. “Did you really think you could ignore me for that long?” he says, slowly moving the two of you until your back hit the wall. He leans closer to your face again but gives you time to catch your breath. “Did you?”

“Again,” you pant, pulling him in. He grunts but accepts the kiss, deepens it, even, and presses you closer into the wall. It feels so good having you in his hands, against his lips, pressed up to him. He breathes you in like you’re the oxygen he needs before pulling away, but only long enough to angle his face the other way to kiss you better. You make a soft sound that only sends his mind spinning and blood rushing to all the right places. Whenever he moves, you follow— Your desperation makes him grin. He almost feels like he needs you, too. Almost.

“You needed me badly,” he whispers when he finally manages to detach the two of you, and feels the heat of your gaze all over him, “So don’t let go of me. I’m counting on you to be the one to need me, live with me, and be the death of me.”

“I don’t wanna be the death of you…Mn…”

Another kiss, for good measure, then he’s leaning his forehead against yours. There’s something warm about the feeling of being close to you. He ‘loves’ you. He’s obsessed, if he’s to use the right terms– A long-term kind of obsession, one that runs deep into his veins. It’s as close to love as he can get. He smiles at you and chuckles softly, before looking over your shoulder. “Heart.”

“Heart.”

“It is time to make your guess. Please enter a prison cell. One person per cell, please.”

Banda pulls away and looks at you. “If you kill me, I won’t be upset.”

“I’d be. You better not be lying.” you say, gripping tighter at his shirt, just over his heart, before shoving it away slightly. You start walking off and he stares at the heart symbol on your collar. “... See you.”

“See you.” he says, like a statement. He will see you.

[toruforuu]

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.6 unravelling whispers

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 10.9k

✼chapter: 6/?

a/n: hii! hope you’re enjoying the story so far. for some reason this chapter was the hardest one to come up with cause i had to do a lot of thinking and planning as it’s kinda critical for where the story will go lol, but i think i got it now. my graduation process is starting soon though:< next week i am doing the first part, it’s similar to an essay (one in my native language, second in english) so not entirely sure how much time i will have. this chapter is a bit longer so lemme know if u mind;)

based on this // previous chapter // next chapter 

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to vision-board

Things shifted since the attack took place during the Quidditch World Cup. People’s anxiety skyrocketed and hush of whispers started swirling through the wizarding world. Rumours spread like a plague, and who was to distinguish the truth from false accusations? It was unknown whenever what people have been gossiping about was actually something to worry about or not. It had you on edge and the majority of population as well. You had a first seat at watching the situation unfold due to your mother’s position. Meetings were held, discussing the events of the warm July night, when the Death Eaters appeared and robbed fellow wizards of life. It was unclear what the goal of their attack was. To the Ministry of Magic and to everyone else. Most of the members who initiated the terror only escaped Azkaban the previous night, the news of it reaching The Daily Prophet days later. The government didn’t want to cause a mayhem of panic, because they didn’t particularly know how it might’ve happened. How they let it happen. But they couldn’t hold the information private for long at the end of the day. It would only escalate the situation.

Elections are also itching closer day by day as spring is couple of months away and their turn out will most definitely determine the future. Multiple parties enrolled in participating, nonetheless, it comes down to simply two of them which have a real chance at winning.

The liberals against the conservatives. As it always have been.

If the conservatives would win in the spring, which isn’t an unrealistic scenario, the world would be send spiralling centuries back in time. That would reserve in lawful precautions concerning those who have already committed the “crime” of marriage with a muggle or those wizards born into muggle families.

As much as the popularity of the conservative party didn’t start out promisingly, they managed to transform their somewhat unimpressive start into a worthy competition against the liberal party over the years due to their clandestine campaign. One which started the summer before your fifth year, in the muggle born while you were strolling down the street with your father by your side, completely unbeknownst to what was yet to come.

And of course, the Gojo’s have to have their fill in all of it. Since the conservative’s views stand for the pureblood utopia, the very first brick of the ideal beliefs, they are hooked onto the party and many others as well.

At first, when the speculations about the Death Eaters regrouping seized the daylight in your sixth year, people casted the possibility aside.

Out of fear.

Well, they clearly shouldn’t have.

The attack proved it, and with that a gnawing sensation that the conservative party and the Death Eaters might be connected swallowed you during the break and spat you out totally spent, frightened at the image.

It sparked more suspicion in your system. You haven’t had a proper peaceful day since you returned home from the tournament. You wrote to Arabella back and forth, recalling the circumstances of your shared weekend. It was impossible to stop wondering, especially if the white haired wizard you grew to hate over the years could possibly be involved. A mixture of thoughts courses throughout your mind. A part of you hopes he isn’t responsible for anything. For his own good, but given his family name — it was never not a possibility.

The situation somewhat concerns you, for the sake of your mother and friends at least. You can’t comprehend people are actually considering voting for the party, so many of them too. It baffles you. Their stupidity and apathy for those who weren’t as fortunate to be born into wizarding families, or to those who have been struck by an arrow of love and chose to marry a muggle.

The world is on the verge of undeniable change, put simply.

For the better or for the worse?

That is yet to be decided.

Your mother distinctly refuses to share anything with you which angers you, because it feels like she is discarding you. On the other hand, it’s understandable. However, the situation is taking a significant tool on her and you simply wanted to offer her a shoulder to rest on.

Overall, you respect her decision to stay professional about it though, and haven’t spoken of the night ever again. Unless she questioned you for details.

You know you should probably be glad, yet, something can’t let you have peace. And as if all of that isn’t enough, your father’s health went downhill and the political situation sadly keeps your mother from going abroad with him. To support him during his treatment. Otherwise, her position would be put at great risk. The conservatives would be willing to sacrifice anything to get your mother out of the office and place someone of their own as the Auror.

Another thing which the conservatives wished for, was to take after Hogwarts and replace the headmaster with someone who wouldn’t be against filling the young wizards with their dangerous poison.

Exchanging the headmaster would mean Hogwarts would never be the same again.

Even though you guessed your idea of leaving with your father would be out of the question, you asked anyway. Your father was flattered, a warm hue of affection captivating his chest at your generosity. Of course he declined and your mother scolded you, reminding you of all your responsibilities here at home.

School, right. You have to finish it.

Still, as you bid a goodbye to your father at the train station, when he was leaving, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt and a overbearing sense that something is wrong.

For Satoru Gojo the world’s situation isn’t a mystery at all. His mind isn’t being flooded with numerous of possibilities, he knows the structure of plans for the future. The moment his childhood dissolved and adulthood struck, his destiny was sealed. Since the moment his eyes fluttered open as he was born into this world, simply one thing was sought from him. To follow. Follow his family’s footsteps and submerge into whatever deal that is considered to be in alignment with their views.

He didn’t have a choice. Not really.

It was the summer before your fifth year, or was it before the fourth? He couldn’t exactly remember. All he knows is that it was the one, when he saw you for the first time outside of the school’s walls. He and his family were headed to that stupid meeting held in the muggle world. Back then, he had no idea what the outcome of it would be like. Initially it was meant to stay at low number of supporters, however, his father’s cunning and constructed ways spread the news carefully, avoiding The Ministry until he allowed it to come to the surface as a shocking blow.

And indeed a blow it was.

Satoru didn’t see any future in his father’s ideas in then beginning, he didn’t put any hopes into his chances of success as it wasn’t something he necessarily cared for. Even now, it’s not something he’s necessarily fond of. He oh so desperately wanted the approval of his father and joining his party was the easiest way to achieve it, he didn’t think there would be consequences such as bizarre. In spite of that, it took him by a chokehold, when the numbers outgrew even his father’s expectations over the upcoming years. He can’t back down now, he is glued to the plan and has a place established in the party.

And as a member, he has to serve and prove his dedication as everyone else. The start of his descent into the abyss of darkness started out at the start of summer break. Last one before your journeys at Hogwarts will be finished.

It was the first summer he enjoyed. Or at least the start of it. Seeing you over that small duration of the weekend woke something within him. It didn’t come all at once, like some dramatic revelation. There was no sudden, gasping realization, no cinematic montage of every moment leading up to it. It was quieter than that, it was subtle — like the tide coming in.

Not new, not sudden.

Just something that had been waiting there all along, patient and steady, until he was finally ready to see it.

And what he did see, he tried to cowardly push it away throughout the entire weekend, regardless of how strong the urge to be near you had him twitching. He wasn’t there for you after all. He had a mission to accomplish, creating an opening for the Death Eaters to crash the tournament unnoticed. They truly joined the conservative party lead by his father, they were one of the first to do so. His father also being responsible for the escape of the Azkaban prisoners.

Satoru scanned over the terror, when his job was successfully done. A sudden regret spiked through him, eyes gliding as guilty gagged him.

And it was barely the start.

Originally, he was instructed to come straight home afterwards, leaving everyone behind. Yet, a worry that you might’ve been hurt or worse acted for him. The white haired starlet caused himself an injury, covering up anything which could paint him suspicious in your eyes and went straight to the hill, where he was met with the image of you and Arabella. Immense relief wrapped around him.

The realisation of the effect you had on him scared him out of his mind. He contemplated a lot and proceeded to shove his feelings back into the depths of his existence, locking them away behind an unyielding wall of duty. Regret, fear, longing — none of it matters. His family must come first. Always. Whatever part of him protests, it’s ignored, buried where it can’t interfere with his role.

Maybe one day, he’ll dig it back up. Maybe. But not any time soon.

Or at least that’s what he thought. Because now, as he pushes through the long hallway of the train, full of cabins bustling with joyful laughter as students fill each other in on their summer experience, uncertainty devours him. He and his friends came too late to find seats somewhere near each other, because most cabins are already filled to the brim. So his eyes scan each cabin he passes, looking for a place to sit during his last ride to the castle, and partially to capture a glimpse of you.

Eventually, he does manage to stumble across a free seat in the back of the train. And as he steps inside, he’s immediately hit with a sway of plums and jasmine dragging up his nostrils. The smell so familiar that it doesn’t take him long to label it, even before his sense registered your presence seated in the window seat, he knew. A smell, which stuck to him and one he can’t seem to get rid of due to a popular potion,

It feels awkward. The last time he saw you, he was a completely different person. This is also the first time you’re eye to eye since the moment your mother accompanied him home and God, how slowly the time seeped through his fingers. It’s like years stretched out in between you instead of weeks. A part of him, his heart, jumps at your imagine plastered in front of him full in flesh, while the rest is ignited with the urge to turn around and storm out of the cabin. He, too, thinks about greeting you and your friends. However, he resinates from that and simply sits down onto the seat closest to an exit.

His gaze doesn’t dare to slide over to your seat, but he can practically feel you rolling your eyes at his dismissive approach, similar to the first time you two had met in this particular train. He preferably stares through the cabin door, looking out the window there. His hand cupping the side of his face as he leans into it, pretending as if none of you are there. He’s aware it portrays him as a jerk, and perhaps that’s what he needs to do in order to cut out the shape of you from his mind.

Of course, his will isn’t strong as steel so he does occasionally glance your way and makes it out as if he’s rather scanning the scenery than doing anything remotely similar to acknowledging you. His orbs flicker over the greenland out the window, your reflection haunting the corner of the glass and stealing his attention.

Your head is leaned into the cushioned seat as you grip your book, eyes focused on the words printed on the paper with ink. Arabella’s head is resting at your shoulder, unconscious and drowning in sleep. You are different. Taller, poised in a way that came not from effort, but from time itself and your hair is slightly shortened. The softness of your features had sharpened into definition, your eyes holding something deeper, more knowing. People change when you aren’t looking or more precisely, when you are dumbfounded to it happening before your own eyes. That happened with you and with the thought, he becomes aware of how much time has passed.

The feeling suffocating his chest is unpleasant, heavy and raw. He proceeds to do what does the best, look away and pretend.

Although he’s so conflicted.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The seventh year contained the most important exams given at Hogwarts based on those subjects that you had started taking in your sixth year. The entirety of your year carries the same schedule you had in the sixth year, these last months supposedly serving as a preparation for those exams which are meant to send you off into the real world.

And because of a special arrangement between the school and various other places around the world, students who have reached this stage of their education are offered the opportunity to explore various wizarding professions first-hand by signing up for an internship programme in the second half of the year.

Lastly, every year, a male and female seventh year student are appointed as Head boy and Head girl. Respectively by the headmaster and it turned out to be you for the house of Ravenclaw. The reason for the decision of choosing you are your outstanding grades and sense of responsibility.

However, your mind isn’t set on school or graduation at the moment. You’re still severely pondering about the events which occurred and quite lack your usual drive to be overly good, the position of Head girl adds a layer to your mountain of worries and things to take care of.

You wish someone else would’ve been chosen instead of you.

But right now, in this moment, nothing matters as you stand in front of the great body of water, side by side with your friends. The lake stretches out like a dark mirror, its surface shimmering under the silver glow of a nearly full moon. The air is still warm, the last whispers of summer lingering in the early September night. Crickets hum softly in the tall grass along the shore, blending with the occasional splash of water. Everything feels alive. Pulsing with energy that makes your heart race just a tad faster.

You now stand waist-deep in the water, feeling it lap against her skin, cool but welcoming. You shift your weight, which makes the moon’s reflection distort on the surface and it dances on it like a liquid silver. The night sky stretches above you, velvety and endless. Stars are scattered like tiny, watchful eyes. There is something mesmerising about the simple moment which is tainted with forbiddance — something that makes you feel as if you have stepped into a dream, weightless and unbothered from the rest of the world.

The twins, Arabella and Margaret linger at the shore, their legs tapping into the water. You watch them for a moment, their silhouettes dark against the moonlit water, before a mischievous grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you raises your arms and slap the water hard, sending a spray of droplets their way. The moonlight caresses them and then they fall back, pattering against the surface in a chorus of ripples. Your friends squeal and laugh, their laughter rising like music into the night.

“The water’s warm! Come on!” you yell out with a snicker, waving your hands to urge them to dive in. It takes them a moment of hesitation, but they eventually dip their bodies into the lake.

You then tilt your head back, closing your eyes for a brief moment, letting it all wash over you — the laughter, the water clinging to your skin, the electric thrill of the fact you shouldn’t be here. There is something perfect about this moment, something you know you’ll hold onto long after the leaves change colour. A perfect farewell to summer.

“This is what you get!” the strawberry blonde says without a warning and before you can process it, she dunks your head under the surface, holding it there for a moment. When you reach the surface again, you’re gasping for air and coughing up the water you inhaled while uncontrollably laughing at her attempt to get back at you.

“Ah, since you wanna play this game,” you smirk playfully with droplets of water streaming down your face. You cup water into your palms, splashing it into Arabella and then doing the same with the twins and Margaret.

“I didn’t wanna get my hair wet!” One of the twins mumbles into the darkness as she tries to shake off the water that had just been thrown at her. Her tone suggests she’s annoyed, however, her smile tells a completely different story.

And that’s how a war unleashes upon you.

Hands slap the surface, sending arcs of sparkling droplets into the air. Arabella shrieks as a cool splash hits their back, spinning around with a grin, planning a comeback. Waves ripple outward as you chase each other, half-swimming, half-stumbling in the shallows. Sprouts of water fleeing in the air, reflecting the moonlight, meanwhile laughter fills the hollow space of the night. And when the thrill of doing something so forbidden and sacred dies down, your conversation takes another turn. A turn regarding the state of the wizarding world.

It’s the first time you’re seeing each other at the same time after the fateful weekend, so there’s a lot to unpack. Each of you fill the others on what went on during your break, the chatter carrying an echo of bitterness due to the fact the world has managed to deform while you were away for the summer. All four of you knew it, the conspiracies of what is about to come corrupting your light conversation.

One was clear, everyone was somewhat worried.

“You know, I can’t believe we’re here not even a week and they’re already making us learn about The Unforgivable Curses,” the younger of the twins hums after you’re done sharing the events of your last school break, taking you all by surprise.

It was true. On the first class of defence against the dark arts, you were acquainted with them. With how to prepare for them, resist some of them and fight them. Since The Unforgivable Curses are three of the most powerful yet sinister spells known to the wizarding world. They’re the strongest Dark spells in existence, consisting of three of them.

Avada Kedavra — kills the victim painlessly, bringing instant death.

Crucio — tortures the victim by subjecting them to excruciating pain.

Imperio — causes the victim to become unquestioningly obedient to the caster, however, with enough willpower this spell can be resisted.

And using any of the three can lend you a one way ticket to Azkaban if you are caught using them.

Your entire class sat in silence during the whole lesson.

“Are you surprised? With what’s happening?” her older sister chimes in immediately and shoots her a sympathetic look since it’s clearly bothering her. The younger twin glues her orbs to her fingers which are dwindling with the mild water.

“They aren’t teaching us how to use them, simply how to defend ourselves,” you decide to join the conversation, making an attempt at calming her raging nerves. That makes her look up from the surface of the water.

“I-, what I meant is that I hope they’re over-exaggerating,” the younger twin stutters and stumbles across her words, nodding at your words in approval.

“Same,” Arabella whispers and then it’s silent.

When you can no longer take it, you dive beneath the surface with your eyes fluttered shut and like magic, it makes the world go quiet. Cool liquid folds around your entire body, weightless and slow, as if time itself has decided to pause. The only thing which you can hear is the sound of your own held up breath and a familiar ringing in your eyes. You manage to open your eyes, simply to be met with complete darkness, regardless of that, it comforts you instead of scaring you off like it usually would. The chaos of the world fades into nothingness. Tiny bubbles escape from your lips, spiraling upward as the water calms your nerves, cradling them. Here, in the hushed embrace of the deep, there is nothing but peace.

Moment later, you’re once again brought back to surface, dragging wet strands of hair out of your face. You blink quickly to adjust your gaze back and then you’re met with the sight of your friends floating on their backs, some open eyed staring at the night sky, and some lost in their own world with eyes closed. You hum softly, smiling to yourself as you catch a glimpse of Arabella and Margaret with their hands intertwined in the water before copying them, lying onto the body of water. Letting it hold you, letting it caress the sides of your face and letting it fill up your ears, numbing your senses.

“Guys, look, it’s a lantern,” the sound of Margaret’s voice makes you twitch, your head dunking into water in the sudden shift of your body weight. You hurriedly compose yourself and look towards the castle. And indeed see a small flickering light in the distance.

“I bet my wand it’s Flinch,” Arabella is swift to assume.

“Quick,” you mumble and all of you share a fleeting panicked look. You’re the first to begin to drag your body out of the lake, the weight of the water heavy as you near the shore.

When you reach it, you clumsily slide your body into your robe, not having enough time to layer more clothing. You grab the rest of the clothes, shoes and wand meanwhile everyone else is eagerly doing the same. Once you have your things gathered, the five of you start to sprint, making your way around the castle towards the Greenhouse.

“Shit, I forgot my tie. He’s gonna know someone was there,” Margaret stops, mumbling out of breath. Her palms rest on her knees as she’s bending down a little to catch her breath. The remaining four of you share a glance, unsure of what to do as your lungs heave.

“Go, I’ll get it,” you let out weakly, taking couple of deep breaths yourself and then proceed to shove the pair of your shoes and clothes into Arabella’s chest. You don’t let them protest, because in a split of a second, you’re sprinting all the way back down to the lake. You ponder if you chose the right thing as you make your way, fast as a thunderbolt. The quidditch practices have certainly paid off and for the first time you’re glad for all of the laps you had to run.

When you reach the spot where you were, the lantern is creeping dangerously close. You curse under your breath helplessly as you survey the area, the tie nowhere in sight. You begin to grow anxious, worried you’re about be caught and stripped of your position as the Head girl. It wasn’t something you longed to be, but you didn’t want to disappoint the headmaster who picked you out of all your fellow seventh year’s Ravenclaws.

Just as you think all is lost, you fish out the green tie of the Slytherin house out of the mud on the very edge of the shore. Your triumph is quick to deflate, because footsteps can already be heard. Panic freezes you, causing your gaze to dart in all directions, not sure where to bolt.

After chaotic contemplation, you’re strongly urged to hide your frame behind the rocks nearby. You squat down, your robe getting drenched in the water. You then place a palm over your mouth to quiet down your needy breathing. The footsteps are now bathing in the mud near the shore. Cold sweat washes over you, fingers gripping the dirty green tie you’ve come back to retrieve.

The sound of metal echoes in the air as Flinch sways the lantern, looking for any signs of intrusion. You press your back into the rocks as a light yet chilly breeze ruffles around, making you shiver as your drenched robe sticks to your body. Flinch calls out, asking if anyone is present and his musky voice forces you to stop breathing, despite the burning from the running.

His footsteps soon start to fade into the distance again, and you can finally let out all the air build up in your lungs. Relief swallows you, regardless of the fact he’s heading towards the Greenhouse, which means you’re gonna have to take another route to get into your dorm-room.

You carefully straighten your figure and map out the surroundings, Flinch already distant enough for you to take your chance and escape. Your feet rush and take you to the edge of The Forbidden forest. It most definitely isn’t your favourite place, it always gives you the creeps, however, it is the best spot. If someone were to spot you, you could easily slip in between the trees and hide yourself.

Lingering around the outline of the forest was your general idea, so you went with it. Muscles twitching in pain from the sprinting. The exhaustion wraps you in a welcoming cloak, your eyelids heavy as you stroll through the long way, weird alluring presence of the forest, or rather what’s in it, seizing you.

A twig snaps in the background and it makes you abruptly turn around, wand ready to strike in your tight grip.

“Do you point your wand at everyone or just me?”

A voice you know all too well calls out, his hands lifted in air, portraying surrender.

An avalanche of suspicion tickles you as your gaze sticks to him.

“God, you scared me,” you heavily breathe out and with hesitation place the wand into the inner pocket of your robe. You cling the robe close to your body, when his gaze lightly falters down your figure as you put away your wand. Only then realising the robe is the only layer of clothing shielding you.

Neither of you speak of it.

“What are you doing here?” you ask neutrally, voicing out what you’ve been thinking the second you recognised his ball of white hair, impossible to miss even in the darkness.

“Could ask you the same, precious,” he purrs playfully and it catches you off guard. His nickname for you which you preferably ignore. The way he so effortlessly bites back as if it were the easiest thing in the world, waking up the familiar sense of irritation in your system. But deep down, you know he’s right. It isn’t common to wander around at such an hour and especially not so close to The Forbidden forest.

“You’re lurking,” you suggest, crossing your arms at your chest while still holding the robe together to avoid the mistake you had made moments ago.

“Keeping tabs on me?” the white haired wizard arches his eyebrow at you, stepping closer as a smirk decorates his lips. Not a surprise.

“Merely stating the obvious,” you shrug and instead of giving him the satisfaction of displaying your anger, you remain somewhat nonchalant.

“You sure wander around a lot for Head girl too,” his tone is clearly teasing as he cheekily answers, hinting at the fact you’re supposed be the one preventing this from happening and not the one practicing it.

“We didn’t see each other, yeah? Now get lost,” you give up after debating whenever to offer surrender or to poke further. You chose the surrender, because at the end of the day, you have no idea what to expect from him in this department. You’ve seen what he’s capable of throughout your school years and right now, you don’t want to risk anything.

“As you wish,” he winks at you cockily, but nods his head in agreement anyway.

And without any further explanation, he’s off.

To where? You have no idea.

You’re left alone, enveloped by the forest. A dilemma rises in your mind, to follow or to retrieve? What possible business he could have here, at The Forbidden forest, so late into the night? He did speak the truth. A wind of fate could’ve lead him here accidentally just like it did with you, and perhaps it was all a big coincidence. But then, why would he venture further into the forest?

Your curiosity gets the best out of you, so before his artic locks disappear into the depths of the forest, you’re sneaking in his direction. Towering trees loom over your head, their ancient branches tangled so thickly that only slivers of moonlight pierce through, casting ghostly patterns. The further you go the thicker the air gets — scent of moss, damp earth, and something faintly metallic. Silence is nearly none existent in here. The wind whispers through the trees, while distant, unidentifiable rustlings hint at creatures watching from the shadows. Every step feels uncertain. You nearly jump out of your skin each time something unregistered makes a noise, your heart drumming in your ribcage crazily.

Your eye stay peeled on the figure meters ahead, careful to not lose sight of him. Still, when a pair of glowing eyes glistens on the right side of your peripheral vision, your attention is split. Turning to the direction, stopping in your tracks. To realise the horrid creature staring at you is not in fact a horrid creature, but a stag. Your orbs return back to the foggy forest ahead of you to find nothing, his presence absent.

You stand flabbergasted, blinking.

A howl of an owl startles you and that’s when you decide it’d be best to abandon your mission and get the hell out of the forest. Flinch must be haunting other places by now. The Greenhouse entrance is surely free, you think to yourself as you turn around one hundred and eighty degrees. You can’t bring yourself to trust what moves around the forest so you run, despite the pain you’re feeling.

You run till your body’s sore, still damp strands of your hair flying around. By the time you arrive at the secret entrance you and your friends found last yea that leads straight to the Ravenclaw’s common room, you’re surprised your body hasn’t given out.

“Thank you for waiting for me. It was a close call down there,” you exhale in between your shaky breaths as you notice Arabella standing by the entrance to the passage, she probably offered to wait and told the others to slip into their own houses.

“What took you so long? I was getting worried,” she mumbles anxiously, fiddling with the fabric of her robe. Arabella then steps out of the way to let you enter and closes the door shut after you step in.

“Lumos,” her fingers delicately move in the air as she casts the spell.

“I bumped into Flinch and hid, had to take another route around the forest,” you beam tiredly and sound almost causally. As if you did this daily. You proceed to take out Margaret’s green tie out of your pocket “found the tie, though”

“You were near The Forbidden forest?” your friend stops in her tracks in front of the stairs, turning to face you, her expression telling you exactly how she feels about you wandering near that place. Completely ignoring your success of retrieving the tie belonging to her girlfriend.

“And you won’t believe who else I bumped into,” you announce, leaving her to figure it out on her own.

“Who? Gojo? Surely not,” she snickers, the sound ringing through the rocky walls as you descend higher, each stair urging your body to give up. Her quick and witty answer makes you falter, how did she manage so fast?

“You guessed it,” you peep.

“Am I sensing this wrong, or are you still thinking about what happened at the tournament?” Arabella gathers the courage to question you after a moment of silence, her grip on her wand is gentle and she leaves it pulled out in front of her of her. Lighting up the way up.

“You aren’t?” you question back, brows softly furrowing in the process.

“Merlin’s beard! Of course I’m, but I’m trying to not assume things without knowing the context. It’s not good for you either, worrying yourself like that,” her choice of words seems to get stuck in your brain, rewinding them like a broken record.

You’re aware she’s onto something.

“I have this paralysing fear that something’s wrong,” to which Arabella simply breathes out, not out of annoyance, but rather out of sympathy and her shoulder slump down as you ascend the stairs.

“Are you sure Margaret doesn’t know anything? I know you’ve asked her in your letters, however, something isn’t letting me rest,” you leave your previous statement behind without getting an answer and instead bring up something else, something not so reminding of what’s going on.

“I think you should let it go and focus on other things. It’ll be good for you,” she responds once you reach the top, walking quietly into the common room.

“You’re probably right,” you surrender eventually and don’t press.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from conspiring.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

First few weeks of autumn indeed go by differently than they normally would, and no, it isn’t because it’s your last year. But due to the reason your beloved wizardry school is supposedly a target for those in charge of the evil. Sadly, precautions had to be put up even here. The drastic one being Dementors floating around with their miserable existence, those who are meant to be guarding Azkaban. The Ministry stated some of them must be provided to the school as the Death Eaters who escaped the walls of the prison are now amongst the wizards.

For safety, they said.

Along with that came countless others new rules, some stupider than other. Quidditch season was held back for couple of weeks, because of the atrocious black coloured creatures. The Forbidden forest became an even bigger taboo to all, and students who would be caught outside of their room after curfew would be seriously punished.

At least the professors and headmaster focused on providing you with enough information and preparation for the worst.

And it seems problems occurred even outside of the school walls. The Daily Prophet started coming out with news about the conservatives and their skyrocketing popularity, including the fact muggleborns are now being cornered and forced to leave. That’s how it starts, it’s how it always starts, isn’t it?

The spreading news create an even bigger abyss in between people at Hogwarts. Most of the pureblood loudly encourage the conservatives and grow more disgusted, degrading the presence of those who were born into human families. The shift in behaviour alters the relationship of Arabella and Margaret, their disguised romantic bond shook with the impact. The friendship act they put out on in the public suddenly wasn’t enough of a reason to see each other anymore. Margaret’s brother prohibited his younger sister from tagging along with Arabella and you.

It caused a lot of fierce destructive sparks in their dynamic.

What a terrible thing it is to be kept away from someone you cherish, because of something so simple which is not in your power to change.

One thing that doesn’t seem to dread in these cursed times is Satoru Gojo’s profound effortlessness. To you he was the same in some ways, though not in all. From time to time, you find yourself recalling the weekend in July late at night, when you can’t sleep. You toss in bed, unable to lock the humid days somewhere hidden. What comes back to you isn’t all horrible. No, some of the moments are nice enough. Occasionally, you too dwell on the short-lived conversation between you and Gojo, the memory vivid. It feels like you share some sort of a secret with him, something only he’d understand if you were to mention it. And then the uglier moments strike — the terror, the dryness in your throat as you were being chased, the thought of death crossing your mind.

You reminisce about the circumstances of the attack too often. Too many unanswered questions are still spiralling through your mind. Wondering if there is a connection between Gojo and the events of the night, or if any of the Slytherins knew it was about to happen. Before the attack occurred, you naively thought the tension between two could loosen up, but the image was popped like a balloon the second he stepped into the train cabin and acted like you were strangers seeing one another for the first time.

That precise moment, your instincts became alerted and you pondered about more theoretical question. Not due to the fact he didn’t greet you, that was very like him, but rather in the general picture of his character.

You seem to have a misfortune of bumping into him at the strangest times and it results in your sense of suspicion increasing.

He is indeed acting odd. And he’s dodging you.

The out of character meeting you two shared in the forest was a surprise, and perhaps you would be able to mark it as a coincidence and leave be. That is ff it was a one time thing only. But as time passed, it became almost a routine.

One time you were preforming your duty as the Head girl, surveying the area before curfew to make sure no one was breaking the newly set rules, you caught a glimpse of his shimmering white locks. For a small fraction of a second only, so you were left to guess if your brain was playing tricks on you. You swear you saw him to Arabella, demanding that you’re not crazy. Another time you spotted him acting inadequately was as you walked down the Astronomy tower, the sun was setting behind the horizon and soft glows of colours casted a magical light all around you, and he suddenly spawned under the stairs leading up to the tower. You shared a quick look, swirling thoughts of what he’s doing clashing within your soul.

And the last time you’ve seen your suspicions forming before your eyes, was when you finished taking your extra class early in the morning. You were on your way to your dorm-room and as you peaked out the window, the sky darkened by the remains of the night, his unique features couldn’t have been overlooked in the distance, somewhere outside heading towards The Forbidden forest.

Yet again.

All of that and more occurred within the same week.

Overall, the outlook seems to be that he’s avoiding you. To possibly keep something a secret, is your guess, because not only did the entire world shifted, but so did your banter. You should be glad, however you can’t rest mindlessly while the doubts eat at you. You still share your classes with him, yet his presence became ghost like. His usual remarks towards professors and playful stunts are now absent. It’s as if they exchanged him with a carbon copy with the sole expectation of being different at core. He stopped competing with you academically long ago, letting you take the first spot without a single protest. He no longer torments you with his mere existence. The only place where you can bump into each other is the quidditch field, nonetheless, since the season was postponed, the option isn’t there either.

To everyone else Satoru Gojo probably appears to be the same pretentious douche he has been all these years. They absolutely adore him, he’s still the talk of your year — hell, talk of the most years anyway — so the news about him spread like he’s the main attraction. Participating in parties hosted in the Slytherin common room, to which only specially selected individuals from other houses get an invitation.

He always seemed to sort of dating around, though now rumours are circling that he has finally settled into a relationship with a fellow pureblood of his house.

The starlet is thriving even as the world descends into madness. And despite your dearest friend asking you to drop it, you never did. Actually, you went in the opposite way of what she wanted for you.

It must be a facade, you think to yourself.

But at the end of the day, it’s those Dementors causing you the most worries. Incidents happen when those lifeless creatures are near. It’s inevitable. It became somewhat important to you, knowing how to defend yourself against one of them. If it comes down to that. Their haunting presence chokes you with upmost fright if it happens to be in a close radius. You can’t phantom how soul sucking it must be to have them feed on your happiness. You don’t wish to imagine what an impact it’d leave and neither how defenceless it must be. In spite of that, you started practicing. Learning the one spell which can indeed hush them off is now your priority.

Though it’s not simple at all.

Expecto patronum — forms a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. It represents a positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive. But it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it.

The Patronus has two forms, non-corporeal and corporeal. A non-corporeal Patronus can appear as a thin wisp of magic that hovers like mist. Not revealing its full form. Whereas a corporeal Patronus has a form that is clearly defined and is more than vapour or smoke.

So far you haven’t been able to charm either form so far, therefore you have no clue what form your Patronus carries. That’s precisely why you began attending early lessons with the professor teaching defence against the dark arts, every Monday and Thursday morning.

It is an advanced form of magic, yet the concept of it seems so very simple. A single memory embroidered with pure joy would be enough to conjure up the guardian.

With enough contraction, of course.

It troubles you enough to haunt you while you patrol the long hallways and hollow spaces of the castle, you dip into the furthest parts of your memory, recalling each significant time you’ve felt utopian. All memories which come to you aren’t strong enough to charm up that state. Your steps lead you to the library, your attention so far from reality you notice the tall slim figure only on your way out of there.

“The library is closing,” you announce and step into the alley of bookshelves where he’s listing through one which he probably picked up randomly to make himself look busy.

“So?” Satoru doesn’t bother to look up, eyes skimming over the lines while leaning against the wooden archive.

“I’ll have to report and take points from your house,” you urge closer as you speak deliberately, carefully letting out each word to let him taste your venom, sounding almost teasing.

“And what about Margaret and Arabella, hmm? I’m sure they wouldn’t be happy if someone spilled their secret,” his voice is low, uninterested and he doesn’t bother to glance up even now as you stand closer.

It makes you freeze.

“You wouldn’t,” you reply confidently, standing your ground, when in reality you’re not so sure about anything he does or would do.

“I absolutely would,” his voice drips with defiance.

“I’m kidding, I’ll be out in a second,” he says as a response to your undefined silence and flips to another page, piercing icy orbs flickering to meet yours for a flash of a moment, the gesture weirdly reassuring.

You remain silent, meanwhile he’s probably hoping that you will let him be and keep this to yourself.

“What business do you have in here anyway?” you lean against one of the bookshelves as well, good amount of distance stored in between your bodies.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” his voice is now painted with the familiar mischievous glimmer, his eyes focused on the book. It makes you realise the book was definitely picked up on purpose and that causes you to become curious, trying to catch a glimpse of the title.

“You’re acting unusually strange, even for you,” you remark, focus sliding over to the books aligned in shelves, most of them covered in layers of dust “you must be hiding something.”

“Hiding something, huh? the white haired prodigy repeats the words after you, adding a glint of intrigue and playfulness.

This time he fully looks up, finding you to be the one looking away now.

“The other night at the lake, you disappeared like you were hiding something,” your fingers glide over the book’s spines, eyes briefly depicting their content as you point out his behaviour.

“You’re right, I am hiding something,” he makes you abruptly stop dead in any movement, hand retrieving to your side and head tilting in his direction.

You’re surprised your jaw isn’t on the floor.

“You admit it? Just like that?” you laugh out lightly with a hint of nervousness, not believing he’s confessing to it like it’s nothing.

“Mhhm, just like that,” he utters and shrugs carelessly, shutting the book and placing back on the shelf.

“Why?” your simple question hangs in the air before you can stop yourself from speaking it.

“Meet me at midnight on the edge of The Forbidden forest and I’ll let you find out,” your eyes immediately widen a little in surprise at his suggestion, heart racing faster than normally.

“Huh?” the only thing you manage.

“You heard me,” he blesses his features by curling his lips into a smile, one so smug it could cut right through you.

“You can’t be serious right now,” you say in denial of what’s happening.

“I hundred percent am,”

“You’re bollocks,”

“But you’re the one who’s considering it,” you’re about to shush him off, tell him he’s looking into things more than he should. None of it comes out of your mouth as your gaze lingers on him. Lucent ivory lighting creating a halo, enveloping him in the arms of soft yellow tones.

“Get out of the library or I’m reporting you for real,” you nod your head towards the exit after you realise the pause in between your responses extended over the acceptable limit.

“See ya at midnight,” a snicker slips past his lips and his body begins to move, heading towards you.

“I didn’t say I’d come,” you purse your lips, a slight furrow between your brows as you stare pointedly at him marching closer. And just as you think he’s about to walk past you, he stops by your side.

“Oh, but you will,” Satoru responds with a small shake of his head while staring you down.

Once he’s looking away, he walks past you and is on his way out.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you mumble into the now empty space, left behind to drown in your own curiosity.

What the hell was this?

As soon as you regain your consciousness and shake off the peculiar offer, you instantly reach for the book he was flipping through.

You don’t know what you were expecting. But itdefinitely wasn’t magical creatures though.

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

You grip the book and look into it the same way he did, not finding anything particularly useful to piece this puzzle together. With a heavy sigh, you carefully place it back and lazily patrol the rest of the area as you were initially meant to do.

Your entire way back to your room throughout the castle is long, however, with the amount of conspiracies running your poor mind exhausted, it goes by quickly.

If you decide to not go, you’re afraid this obsessive need to figure out the truth will only progress into the wrong direction and you might actually go crazy. And if you decide to go, you might come across something that can alter the way you see the world forever, if it truly turns out to be what you’re experiencing.

Perhaps you’re wrong and it’s all in your head.

You open the door to your room with carefulness, not wanting to wake your friend up in case she’s already sleeping.

The room is pitch black when you step in.

“Arabella? What’s happened?” you whisper into the silence of your dorm-room and close the door behind you. Something’s telling you this isn’t right. The room is swallowed by darkness, drapes keeping the gentle light of the moon out. Despite it, you can tell your friend isn’t asleep by the way her body lies sprawled out in her bed on her side of the room.

You inch towards your nightstand, no answer spoken. Your fingers pick up matches laying on the wooden table, lighting it up to breathe life into your candle so the room could be illuminated by a beaming light.

“Margaret,” a weak call out of her name pollutes the air. The sound of Arabella’s raspy voice telling you enough to assume she has been crying her eyes out.

“Did you have another argument?” the way you talk moulds into a softer one, delicate enough to show sympathy. You turn around to face her side of the room, Arabella’s body shifting under the blanket.

“Sort of,” she starts off, suggesting that another set of tears is prickling its way out to the surface.

“She-“ Arabella can’t bring herself to speak, breaking into sobs.

You guess what’s happened.

Arabella manages to curl into a ball, gripping her blanket for dear life as she spills her heart out into her pillow. Your heart clenches at the sight so much you can’t bring yourself to move for a whole moment.

Soon enough you’re moving towards her, laying your body on the very edge of her bed, arms spread open to show her your invitation. She takes it without a second thought, scooping her body into yours. She’s warm. From shielding herself underneath the blanket and from all the heavy tears she’s broadcasted. Your arms wrap around her frame as hers slide around your torso, head falling into the crook in between your shoulder and neck.

“Margaret suggested we should take a break,” her broken voice mumbles in between choked sobs.

The bare sound of her name makes Arabella shudder.

“There’s a lot of stuff happening, it’s not the end of you two. She loves you too much,” you attempt to reassure her, palm drawing soft sensual circles on the plain of her back. She nuzzles her head further into your neck, wet stains left at your skin from all of her cries.

“It sounded like a soft launch break up,” Arabella sniffles, fighting the urge to start crying again.

“You’re gonna get back together, when this nonsense ends,” you go on, holding her tightly than you normally would.

“Who knows when that’ll be. By then, she might actually seek out someone she can be with openly,” and with that, tears stream down the swell of her cheeks. You can sense them. Expect this time, it’s not violent. It’s like a caress to her stained cheeks. A reflection of her sorrows.

“If it’s meant to be then it’ll be, remember? It’s what you once told me,” you muster up a reminder of her previous strength and openness, hoping to ease her. Arabella stays still, the sound of her sobs calming down and her heaving breathing slowing down.

“Please don’t leave me, not you,” she mumbles while squeezing you tightly, her thinking you’d ever leave her shatters you a little, but you manage to collect yourself for the sake of her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you exhale as you smile softly. Though she can’t see it, you bet she can hear it in the tone of your voice.

You don’t leave her bed for hours, letting her spill out ber boiling feelings. Arabella picks herself up to be able to share all the details with you. Meanwhile you think about asking her whenever it’s a good idea to go, however, you stop yourself from doing so as you don’t deem it as a good idea to bother her with it in her current state.

She does successfully fall asleep later on, her poor eyes red and puffy from the amount of tears shed.

When you look at the time, it’s nearly midnight.

You curse under your breath quietly and pick up your things, mindlessly without any further thoughts. Already decided.

The common room is cloaked in shadows as you tiptoe in, the dying embers in the fireplace casting flickering shapes on the walls. You hesitate at the entrance of your secret passage. Nothing but the steady ticking of the clock can be heard. Midnight is close. You pull your robe tighter around you and slip out, the stone corridor cool as you rush down the stairs.

The fear is there, a steady pulse in your chest, but so is something else. A thrill courses through you, mingling with it. You shouldn’t be doing this. You should turn back, climb into bed, pretend you never even considered it. And yet — you can’t.

By the time you reach the outside, your hands are trembling. The night air is crisp, laced with the scent of damp grass and fog of the early autumn days. The Forbidden Forest looms in the distance, a vast, tangled darkness against the sky. With one last glance behind you, you step forward, your feet squalling against the damp grass.

You glance around, nerves prickling. No lanterns flicker in the windows. No figures moving. The air is chilling you, thick with the scent of earth and rain-soaked leaves. The Forbidden Forest stretches ahead, embroidered with something ancient and electric. You recall the night at the lake, when your senses prickled with the same energy.

Your steps slow as you near the treeline. The forest is awake. The branches shift ever so slightly, as though whispering to each other of your arrival.

There is no turning back now.

Then there is a movement ahead. A figure half-shrouded in the gloom, waiting just beyond the reach of the moonlight in the forest.

Your pulse races.

He came.

“Thought you’d changed your mind and leave me hanging,” he teases lightly. The sound of his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, and instant regret crushes down onto you. You should’ve stayed with Arabella. This isn’t something you are ought to drench yourself in.

“Yeah, me too,” you swallow a bundle nervous down your throat before providing him with an answer.

“Come on,” Satoru cocks his head in the direction of the woods, hands shoved in the pockets of his robe as he signals to head deeper.

“You want me to follow you into the forest?” you question doubtingly, eyes widening.

“We have to get to the place first,” his body begins to move, back turned your way as he starts to move.

Yeah, he definitely knows his way around here.

“I lost my mind,” you utter under your nose, only for you to hear.

You’re right behind him the next second.

The forest thickens around you, the air growing heavier, dense with something faintly sweet — like rotting fruit. The trees lean in close, their twisted limbs tangled together, whispering in a language only the wind seems to understand.

You don’t trust him. You shouldn’t, you can’t. But there’s something about the way he walks ahead of you, half in shadow, half in moonlight, like he belongs to both.

Like he could pull you into either.

You see it then, through a break in the undergrowth. A small pond, cradled in the earth like a secret. The surface is smooth, reflecting the tangle of trees above in near-perfect clarity. Yet something about it is off. The reflection is too sharp, the water too dark. You step closer, your breath catching as the tension spikes.

Beside you, the white haired wizard crouches down at the edge, fingertips skimming the surface. Ripples break outward, deliberate. For a heartbeat, his reflection doesn’t move with him. You swallow hard. You should leave. Every ounce of your being is telling you to bolt. However, when he turns to look at you, the pull towards this unknown tightens its grip on you.

“So, what is it?” the impatient basically seeps out of you as break through the lingering silence.

“Patience, precious. Now, we wait,” Satoru lets out a playful chuckle, finding your emotions tainted with fear quite amusing. And without any further explanation, he seats himself down onto one of the rocks nestled right by the edge of the pond.

“For what?” you press, fierce although scared.

“You’ll know when you see it,”

“I’m getting tired of your riddles,” you sigh, loathing how mysterious he makes it out to be, your ribs nudging in your sides from all the possible scenarios. Your lungs let out a heavy breath, surrounding to the situation and stepping towards him to sit down as well. The rough, uneven surface of the rock presses against you as you settle onto it, its coolness seeping through the fabric of your robe.

Moonlight peaks through the branches, breaking into silver ribbons across the surface. The water, deep and unknowable, stares back at you, offering no answers, only the illusion of stillness and yourself. Suddenly, it’s not so frightening. Quite the opposite.

“Won’t your girlfriend be jealous? That you’re sneaking into the night with someone else” you blurt out, lost in thought as you zone out, and the next moment you’re drenched in upper hand embarrassment.

“She doesn’t need to know, does she?” he hums in amusement, his arogance spilling out of him so clearly it makes your blood pressure rise. At that point you don’t consider the option to tilt your head in his direction, but you can see from the corner of your eye that his gaze is on you now.

“And it sort of depends if she has a reason to be, do you think she does?” he shamelessly continues, fuelling both your embarrassment and your frustration at his behaviour.

“No,” you state too quickly and too firmly, someone would even say harshly.

Satoru Gojo simply laughs, something about it surprisingly genuine. He then averts his gaze back to the pond, looking out for the mystery.

“Quidditch is starting next week. Finally, huh?” your voice points out after another period of silence passes, trying to lighten up the atmosphere and mostly to direct the topic somewhere less awkward. And quidditch is probably the only thing you have in common, so it was no-brainer.

“What, ready to get your ass kicked?” his eyebrows arch up in a familiar way, powered by his ego since he’s still the quidditch captain.

“We’ll see,” you huff out in a light way, actually looking forward to blow some steam off on the field, especially when you’ll be playing up against him.

The water is still as you both sit at its edge, the silence between you and Satoru stretching longer with each passing moment. The conversation has faded once again. It isn’t uncomfortable, it’s quiet like the water before you. You expected it to be way more unpleasant.

All of a sudden, without warning, the air shifts. A glow so silver and soft emerges atop the water, flickering like mist catching moonlight. It takes a form, delicate yet undeniable. Hooves barely disturbing the surface as it steps forward on the surface. It’s a stag. Quite similar to the one you saw couple of days ago. Its presence is weightless, but utterly ethereal. The glow of it pulses gently, as if breathing. It does not move toward you, nor away. It simply exists, radiant and still. The water beneath it remains unbroken. And for a moment, you are certain that if you reached out, just barely, your fingers would brush something real.

“It’s a-“ your voice breaks as you can’t bring yourself to stand up, afraid it might go away.

Satoru doesn’t move either.

“A Patronus,” he takes the word right out of your mouth, breathless as you, despite seeing it multiple times.

“Who casted it? There’s no wizard around expect for us,” your short circulated brain asks a question after a question. Never in your life have you seen such a momentary example of beauty. The creature is so innocently light and pure, its energy warming you up.

“That’s precisely what I’ve been thinking, when I crossed paths with the creature,” your orbs roll over to him, he senses you so he repeats the action. He can decipher the amusement plastered in your expression.

“So that’s why you’ve been sneaking around here?” you aren’t even mad anymore at him for dragging you out here, into the depths of the forest, a place you could get punished for visiting. Your suspicions now seem silly. You’d never admit it to anyone, however, you’re relieved they were false.

“Busted. But it comes here nearly every night,” his voice is low, robbed of his usual styling of words.

“And did you figure something out?” you mumble back, eyes scanning the creature as if it might disappear if you even dare to blink.

“I picked up countless of books, none of them had anything though. Perhaps it’s tied to someone at Hogwarts and has unfinished business or it’s cursed to haunt the forest. Whatever it is, the wizard must be dead,” he proceeds to explain, your attention fully glued to whatever he has to say while the Patronus stands still, occasionally moving its head

“Dead?” you echo quietly.

The majestic creature floating on the small body of water dissolves the way it came. Unexpectedly and like a gentle caress.

“We have to figure out more,” your voice is laced with the thrill of the moment which causes his features to soften up ever so slightly. He finds your unanticipated passion admirable.

“We?” a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“You got me involved, didn’t you? So it’s now both of our problem,” you cross your arms on your chest after you’re finally put back to the planet and are able to stand up “and what made you show me this, anyway?”

“Dunno, thought it might interest you out of all people,” his body motions in the same way, towering above you, closer than you’d normally let him.

Was he always this tall? This-?

“Mhm, well, thank you for showing me,” you voice out your gratitude, your lips foreshadowing a hint of a smile. No additional twists nor banter. Satoru blinks down at you, heart skipping a beat at the situation as he opens his mouth, unable to bring himself to answer.

“We should probably head back, right? We’ll look into it tomorrow, noon,” you take a step back to look around, looking for any traces of the Patronus instead of acknowledging what has just occurred.

“Got it, noon,” the wizard with artic locks breathes out heavily.

For a split moment all feels pleasant, however, an inevitable sense of reality prickles him.

This is all an act. The stag stumbled into hiding way in the right time, allowing him to use it as an opportunity to convince you of his undying innocence. It’s a lie to cover up whom he had become over the summer and what’s about to unleash. It serves as a perfect shield from your insufferable nosy behaviour, protecting his actual reason.

Because at the end of the day he knows things you could only dream about. Things which are strictly forbidden to reveal, things worthy of being sent to Azkaban for a permanent visit.

Things that would give you a real reason to despise him.

It isn’t simply the electrifying night of terror which occurred at the tournament.

Not anymore.

There’s so much more to unfold.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

taglist: [ @k-kkiana @cuffiescariche @sylustoru @hyori2 @ethereal-moonlit @crankyarchives ]

[childrenofcain-if]

Alternate universe where D is a football player because I can honestly see it 😂

They'd still be FwB with MC, who's a cheerleader (I love cliches heh). But at one of their final matches, they immediately run to MC after winning and kisses them in front of everyone. I've been thinking about this a lot

the locker room smelled like a nauseating mixture of sweat and antiseptic. there was an overall nervous energy in the whole area because of the upcoming game: the biggest of the season.

yale (bulldogs) vs princeton (tigers). the oldest college football rivalry in america since 1873. truthfully though? you really did not have that as your priority at the moment.

D’s shoulders were tense as they leaned against the row of lockers, their football gear half on, half off, like they couldn’t decide if they were gearing up for the game or gearing up for this conversation with you. you stood in front of them, your arms crossed, trying to hide the way your voice wavered as you spoke.

“why are we even doing this if it doesn’t mean anything to you?” you asked, your words sharper than you’d intended. you didn’t want to sound hurt, but the cracks were already showing and you hated yourself even more for it. “you said you loved me, D. was that a joke?”

D flinched, their jaw tightening.

“it wasn’t a joke,” they muttered, not meeting your eyes. “you know it wasn’t.“

“then what the hell is this?” you gestured between the two of you, the space that felt both too close and too far apart. “why can’t you just—” you stopped, biting back the lump rising in your throat. “why can’t you just be fair to us for once?”

D ran a hand through their damp brown hair, their helmet still sitting on the bench behind them. “because it’s complicated, alright? i’m really not good at this. i don’t know how to—”

“how to what?” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “how to be with someone who actually loves you? how to let yourself care about someone? how to not be a complete asshole?”

their silence was worse than any answer they could have given. you felt the sting of it like a slap.

“forget it,” you said, your voice quieter now, resigned. “this isn’t worth it. i’m not worth it, apparently. not to you.”

“don’t say that,” D said quickly, their voice low and rough, but before they could step toward you, the door opened, and your cheer teammates poked their heads in.

“hey, come on!” one of them called, her tone light but urgent. “we’ve gotta go!”

you hesitated, your gaze flicking between D and the exit. you wanted them to say something—anything—that would make you stay, that would make you believe this wasn’t just another dead end. but they didn’t.

so you left, letting the door swing shut behind you, leaving D standing there with their heart in their throat and everything unsaid on their tongue.

***

the stadium was alive in a way that almost felt sentient, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the air, through the ground, through your chest.

the cheer routine was designed to dazzle; full of sharp, explosive movements, tight formations, and splits that skimmed the edge of possibility. every count of the eight-beat rhythm had its place: a high V at one, a perfectly synchronized clap at three, a ripple of tumbling that broke apart and came back together like a flock of birds midflight.

there wasn’t room for hesitation. you had drilled it for weeks, the choreographer shouting corrections until the moves were muscle memory. your body knew what to do, even if your mind was stuck somewhere else.

somewhere else was D.

you couldn’t see them from the sidelines, not at first. the field was a mass of bodies, yale’s blue and white clashing violently with princeton’s orange and black, and it all blurred together under the floodlights.

the roar of the crowd pressed against you, a wall of sound that rattled your ribs, the kind of noise that demanded participation. you gripped your pom-poms tightly, smiling like your heart wasn’t threatening to give out, and launched into the first set of motions.

high kick. clap. shimmy. back handspring.

on the outside, you looked flawless, exactly like what the crowd wanted: all energy and excitement, no cracks in the façade. on the inside, your chest was a knot, the fight with D replaying on an endless loop in your head like a broken VHS tape.

the pyramid was next, the most complicated part of the routine. the bases braced themselves, strong and steady, while the flyers climbed onto their hands. you were in the middle, the top of the pyramid, the highest point for the crowd to see. it was a position of trust. you had to believe your teammates wouldn’t let you fall. it wasn’t something you usually thought about, but tonight, the irony cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

when you extended into the final pose, one leg straight, one bent, arms raised, your eyes landed on D for the first time.

they were in the huddle, standing tall as the team circled around them and the coach, their helmet tucked under one arm. the older man was shouting something you couldn’t hear, D’s face fierce with focus. you wanted to stay angry, but instead, you felt your chest tighten.

D was magnetic in the way they moved, their command of the team absolute. you hated how much you still wanted to be near them, how much your body betrayed you even when your heart was screaming.

the pyramid dismounted, your teammates catching you as you came down. you barely noticed the applause; you were too busy watching D jog onto the field for the first play.

***

D’S POV

D glanced toward the sideline. toward you. again.

it was ridiculous, the way you could disarm them from thirty yards away. you weren’t even looking at them. your head was bent close to one of your friend’s, your pom-poms hanging loosely in your hands. you were supposed to be listening to your captain, but D could see the faint smile on your lips, the way you kept sneaking glances toward the field like you weren’t paying attention at all.

like your eyes were searching for D.

D tore their eyes away before anyone could notice. they didn’t need their teammates teasing them about this—not right now. it was bad enough that their chest felt like it was caving in every time they saw you, bad enough that your fight before the game was still fresh in their head, your voice sharp and shaking, your words a blade sliding between their ribs.

why can’t you just be fair to us?

the truth was, they didn’t know how to. not the right way. not in a way that didn’t make them feel like they were standing naked in a room full of strangers, every scar and bruise and ugly thing about them laid bare.

you deserved better than the mess that they were. you deserved someone who didn’t flinch at the idea of love. someone who could give you everything without being afraid they’d ruin it before it began.

but even as they told themselves that, D knew they couldn’t let you go. not really. not ever.

“alright, team,” coach barked, snapping D back to the present. “this is it. princeton’s undefeated this season, but so are we. you want to be champions? prove it. show everyone you’ve got what it takes.”

the team roared their agreement, slapping helmets and clapping shoulders, the kind of camaraderie that made D feel grounded and restless all at once. they shoved their helmet on and jogged out to the field, their cleats digging into the turf, their breath coming steady and sharp.

they could do this. for the team, for the win, for yale.

no.

for you.

***

the first quarter passed in a blur of plays and hits, the kind of bone-rattling intensity that left D’s hands shaking with adrenaline. they took the snap, rolled back, dodged a tackle by inches, and launched the ball downfield.

the crowd erupted as yale’s receiver caught it just shy of the endzone, but D didn’t stop to celebrate. their eyes found you again, like a compass always pointing to their north star.

you were clapping, your pom-poms bouncing, but there was something off about your gorgeous smile. it didn’t reach your eyes, and D knew it was their fault. they’d put that ache there, and it killed them to see it.

focus. they had to focus.

***

the second quarter was worse. princeton’s defense was relentless, their linemen big enough to make D feel small—a very uncomfortable thing. every play felt like a war, every hit a reminder of how close they were to losing. the score was tied at halftime, and the locker room was a mess of noise and sweat and tension.

“get your head in the game, diaconu,” their coach snapped, pulling D aside as the team filed out. “you’re playing like you’ve got something else on your mind. whatever it is, leave it in here. got it?”

“got it,” D said, even though they didn’t.

they didn’t leave it in the locker room. they carried it back onto the field, where it sat heavy in their chest, driving them forward and holding them back all at once.

you were watching. D could feel your eyes on them every time they stepped up to the line, every time they called a play. it made them want to be better, to play harder, to show you that they weren’t just a coward who couldn’t say the words you needed to hear.

it wasn’t enough to just win. they had to earn you back.

***

YOUR POV

you watched in horror as princeton’s linebacker, a hulking person who looked more suited for professional wrestling than college football, blindsided D after a throw.

it was a dirty hit, helmet to helmet, and D went down hard. you froze, pom-poms slack in your hands, as the crowd erupted in boos. for a second, D didn’t move, and your chest seized with panic. but then they rolled onto their side, their hand going to their helmet, and relief flooded through you so fast it made you dizzy.

they got up, wobbling slightly, and waved off the trainers who tried to check on them.

your fingers dug into the plastic of your pom-poms, the edges biting into your skin. you wanted to scream at them to stop being so stubborn, to let someone take care of them for once. but you were stuck on the sidelines, powerless to do anything but watch.

it was the last quarter and the score was tied, and every play felt like life or death. the crowd was on its feet, the noise deafening, as D took the snap for the final play. they dropped back, scanning the field, their movements precise and fluid. princeton’s defense was closing in, but D didn’t flinch. and then, with a leap that seemed to defy gravity, they threw the ball downfield.

touchdown.

the stadium erupted. the crowd screamed. the cheer squad jumped and waved their pom-poms like their life depended on it, but you couldn’t move. you just stood there, your heart pounding, your eyes locked on D.

they ripped off their helmet, their face flushed and damp with sweat, and for a moment, they let their teammates surround them, clapping them on the back, shouting their praise. but D’s eyes were searching, scanning the sidelines, until they found you.

and then they ran.

it wasn’t graceful or dramatic—it was desperate and urgent, like they couldn’t get to you fast enough. the crowd blurred around you, the noise fading into a dull hum, as D closed the distance between you.

they didn’t stop when they reached you, just grabbed you and pulled you into their arms, burying their face in your shoulder like they were afraid to let go. you could feel their heartbeat racing, their chest heaving as they caught their breath.

“i’m sorry,” D said, their voice muffled against your uniform. “i’m so sorry. i’m an idiot. i was scared, okay? i love you and i didn’t want to screw this up. i didn’t want to screw you up.”

you pulled back just enough to look at them, their gray eyes raw and unguarded, and you felt your own walls crumbling rapidly.

“you love me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

D nodded, their hands gripping your arms like you might vanish if they let go.

“i do. i love you,” they said, their voice cracking. “i love you so much it scares the hell out of me.”

you didn’t even realize you were crying until D’s thumb brushed a tear off your cheek. you let out a shaky laugh, leaning into them.

“i’m still supposed to be mad at you,” you said, but there was no heat in it.

D smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made your chest ache.

“yeah,” they said. “but can you be mad at me and be completely mine?”

you nodded, choking back a sob as you wrapped your arms around their neck, pulling them into a kiss. the noise of the crowd surged back in, louder than ever, and it mingled with D and your teammates hollering suddenly. but it didn’t matter. nothing mattered except D’s lips on yours, their hands on your waist, the way they held you like you were their centre of gravity.

when you finally pulled back, D rested their forehead against yours, their breath warm against your skin.

“will you still be cheering for me, baby?” they asked, their voice soft but hopeful.

you laughed through your tears, pressing another kiss to their lips. “always.”

[emetophobic1]

TODAYS TOPIC: ANALOGICAL IS OBJECTIVELY THE HEALTHIEST SHIP

I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE ANALOGICAL BECAUSE THEY ARE OBJECTIVELY THE BEST FUCKING SHIP. EVEN PLATONICALLY THEY ARE SO PERFECT. Listen, I don’t know if I’ve talked about this before but it’s FINE because I’m the CEO of Analogical Yuri and all Logan Ships. SO. YEAH.

Logan and Virgil understand each other best out of everyone in the series. They are the two chilliest and calmest (low energy) sides there. Logan can understand Virgils non-verbal cues and Virgil always seems to pay attention to Logan (this isn’t just say btw, this is REAL. It’s episode reference time BABY)

From day 1, Logan was the first side to be nice to Virgil (besides Patton but he’s nice to everyone okay) it even took THOMAS longer to accept Virgil. The entirety of My NEGATIVE Thinking was GOLDEN for Analogical shippers. Logan was the first (yes, minus Patton, he’s judged the dude before.. cmon..) to NOT judge Virgil! He didn’t judge Virgil for hissing during the debate and hardly even mentioned it from that point on, yet we know damn well if Roman was the one debating Virgil, he would’ve gotten a new nickname for it. And for the first time, Virgil didn’t immediately opt out of being dragged somewhere or completely despise having to do something he didn’t entirely like. Logan said it himself “But, despite you clearly not enjoying taking part, you still participated, you offered your points. And you even reasoned, in your own way. And all that, is commendable.” Proving what I just said. Virgil most opened up to Logan first out of everyone, he was even not fully comfortable with Patton but he was SO much more comfortable with Logan, actively opening up about how he felt “I—don’t really know how to react to you complimenting me, kind of thought you didn’t like me. Especially after like time when you called me a defeatist.” See, he actively opened up that he didn’t really like being called a defeatist and that he thought Logan didn’t like him (HE CARES IF LOGAN DOESN’T LIKE HIM, HELLO??)

Logan legit says it himself that he gets along best with Virgil because of how high-energy the other two are! “Well, you are wrong about a lot of things. But—I don’t necessarily mind your company. The other two can bring in a whole lot of sunshine and that can be unbearable… And I can’t imagine having a debate with either one of them!” Not only that but they click so much faster than anyone else in the series. They understood each other SO fast and Logan has, from day 1, always been the type to ground Virgil, saying things in their most literal form to make sure he doesn’t go through any distress from misunderstanding! “I guess I just kind of assumed that—“ “You jumped to a conclusion.” LIKE HELLO?? Logan helped Virgil see reason and even began to understand VIRGIL better!

In fact, everything after the actual debate that they said was the absolute sweetest and purest thing ever. They even went as far to jokingly “go back to disliking each other” when Thomas commented on them working things out! “We didn’t work anything out.” “He’s stubborn as ever.” They got comfortable with each other SO fast. Even during the end card of that episode, Logan is continuously talking and mentioning that he feels better now that he’s more friendly with Virgil, and despite Virgil clearly being in his own space with his headphones on, he listens to Logan nonetheless. AND NOT TO EVEN MENTION HOW VIRGIL SOMEHOW MANAGED TO RUB OFF ON LOGAN AND MAKE HIM SAY SLANG. AAAAAAHHH!!?

RIGHT. NOW. Moving On parts 1 and 2 were INCREDIBLE for Analogical. The episode was hardly centred around them and yet their moments seemed to shine the very most! In these episodes Virgil seems to rely on Logan for a lot of things, he wants to stay grounded, feel a sense of comfortability and familiarity because of how things were going. Logic and Anxiety go hand-in-hand VERY nicely. Logic can bring reason into your anxious thoughts, and boy was Thomas having a lot of those in these episodes. NOW. Logan proposed the idea of being nostalgic and while Virgil didn’t entirely want that, he agreed with Logan nonetheless! They get to Pattons room and Virgil instantly starts feeling anxious and overall REALLY upset. Things are getting chaotic, Logan’s trying to get Thomas to look forward to the future, but even in the chaos, he’s the only one to notice Virgil despite being the busiest. “…Virgil? Are you.. okay?” And Virgil shakes his head which Logan understands INSTANTLY which also allows him to see the mistake he made in the decision to go to Pattons room. “However incorrect that outlook may be! Their anxiety, worsens.” “Virgil, that’s not happening, right?” “…..No—“ “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” LOGAN JUST UNDERSTANDS BRO AAUUGGHH. Ahem… not only that but Virgil is the most concerned when Logan leaves the situation! And when they finally leave Pattons room, everyone else is all awkward and not sure what to do when they see Logan again but Virgil is instantly all like “Hey—what the heck was that?! Disappearing on us?! (Me) don’t you dare try that stunt again.” LIKE CMONNNNN (and we wont mention the infamous… “Okay… well. Warn a dude next time.” Because I fear I may accidentally summon Ashley, aka the other Analogical CEO.) OH AND LOOKING AT THE VIDEOS COMMENTS, someone actually said “guys when Logan asks if Virgil is okay and he shakes his head no without speaking, it shows that he’s already overwhelmed and looking to Logan for help because he can’t do anything by himself at that moment. He’s relying on Logan to help him out of the situation, and when he leaves you can see how devastated he is, because for him, that was the only way out” AND THAT IS EXACTLY THE TYPE OF SHIT I AM TALKING ABOUT. Logan can perfectly calm Virgil down, they are GENUINELY made for each other!?

And this is just a little tidbit but it was Logan and Virgil who first noticed that Patton wasn’t actually Patton in Can LYING Be GOOD? 💔 and also how Logan was (once again) being literal with Virgil when he pointed it out that something was fishy with Patton to make sure there was no misunderstandings. (Also look at the way he leans closer to the staircase (where Virgil is standing) to talk to Virgil.. UGH.)

OKAY. Dealing With INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS is my FAVOURITE episode. So how they are in this episode BRRREAKS ME. Logan is struggling to make everyone see reason when Remus is completely fucking them over. Virgil is panicking the most, making Thomas think he’s a bad person for having these thoughts. So, it should be Logans job to make sure Virgil calms down so Thomas can see reason. “Logan, I’m sorry, but Thomas can’t logic his way out of this one! Facts are facts. And the fact is, Thomas had twisted thoughts, that a stable person, would NEVER have!” And Logan does go to calm Virgil down, ground the situation. “Actually—A stable person, as you put it, could absolutely have those thoughts—“ but Remus stops him. Okay now this breaks me 💔 “What he’s saying, is worth noting.” “But what if he’s lying?!” “I can assure you he’s not. You’re just para—expressing an unhealthy… amount of concern… thank you, for being on guard. But for now, you must listen.” 💔 save me. SAVE MMEEEEE. Logan makes the mistake of calling Virgil paranoia when that’s (apparently) harmful to him. He corrects himself, praises Virgil, and tries to assure him that it’s okay. Henceforth making up for his mistake. What Logan said genuinely affected Virgil and you can tell by how silent he got, crossing his arms, trying to fold in on himself pretty much. They both care what the other has to say, so while Logan understood and tried to validate Virgils fears of Thomas being a bad person, he couldn’t tolerate panic and did what he could in the moment.

When Logan said he knew who was causing their issues, he pointed to Virgil. While Remus mocked that and tried to make Virgil more uneasy, Virgil was genuinely taken aback and looked hurt that Logan was saying that he was the issue. But, he seemed to calm down more when Logan corrected himself and added Patton into the mix. And from then on, the rest of the video, Logan is pretty much perfectly calming Virgil down. Giving reasons to certain issues, making everything okay.

OKAY, some honourable mentions because I don’t feel like going into depth with every video: Are There Healthy Distractions?; Logan once again helping Virgil overcome an anxiety attack; giving him areas of escape; reasons; and grounding techniques. — What Makes The Perfect Gift?; Virgils gift to Logan was absolutely STUNNING. He knows Logan so well and managed to get him the most perfect gift possible; and also the other Christmas video where Logan gave Virgil a giftcard for some music, beautiful stuff.

Something I am willing to acknowledge is that their relationship is a little one-sided with Logan typically helping Virgil more often than Virgil helping Logan. However, that’s simply how they work and to be honest, that’s most likely how they PREFER it. Logan is there to be the voice of reason, to ground people, help them, etc. Virgil is the perfect candidate for that sort of thing, someone who needs help a lot of the time! And in either case that constant comfort that Logan has to bring to Virgil can be combated by genuine friendship / relationship. They both understand each other and are the lowest-energy sides there. Virgil is willing to listen to Logan no matter the circumstances, that’s one of the perks that comes from Logan helping him all the time: Virgil tends to agree with, listen to, and turn to Logan first in any given situation. And considering how everything is going, Logan being ignored and whatnot, what he would need right now is someone who IS willing to listen, someone who will turn to him first in any situation. Virgil.

And to mention: Virgil was once an outcast! Misunderstood and ignored, out of everyone, he would sympathise with Logan the most and therefore be able to help him the best. And after everything Logan has done for him, Virgil would be more than happy to help return the favour! I have very little doubt in my mind that when Logan finally has his little crash out, it’ll be Virgil who helps him the most.

OKAOKAYDGS EHHEHE. Now based on their personalities, I feel like if they were in an actual relationship, yk, calling themselves a couple, they would be so diabolically chill about it that if they never told anyone, nobody would know they’re dating. They seem very off-limits with PDA and their affection would most likely be given in verbal forms or gestures like acts of service. Hell, just being in the same room together would be like a date for them. And with Logan’s communication skills and always being there for Virgil + Virgil feeling comfortable enough to be open around Logan, any possible fight would just lead to another debate and everything would be solved fairly quickly. If it were ANY other side (and I’m not being biased), Logan might try to communicate but the other side would make it difficult, for example; Patton might hold off telling Logan issues and that’ll make it harder in the long term; Roman would be FAR too dramatic, I mean, we saw how they were in Why Do We Get Up In The Morning?; Janus and Logan most likely would be able to solve any arguments and communication issues very fast, looking at it from a non-biased opinion, Loceit is possibly the 2nd healthiest Logan ship! (Just Logan ship because there’s too many ships in total to count who’s 2nd healthiest.); And Remus…. 💔

Henceforth, making Virgil and Logan’s communication skills with each other top tier in comparison. Virgil would feel safest in a relationship with Logan and Logan would feel most comfortable in a relationship with Virgil! They’d simply be able to tell each other if they had any issues because Virgil knows Logan can help and Logan knows Virgil will listen. AAUUUUUGGGGHH 💔💔💔💔💥💥💥💥💥💥

Heheh. Giggles. Kicks feet. Bats eyelashes. I apologise for any spelling mistakes, I think I’ve been writing for like 2 hours in pure autistic excitement about these two… UHM and I decided to write this because I tried to make an AU in my head to daydream where Logan and Virgil were fighting or something, just vaguely toxic.. I LEGIT COULDN’T THINK OF ANY REASON THEY WOULD FIGHT AND IT WAS SO IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO CONJURE UP ANY THOUGHT OF THEM BEING MEAN TO EACH OTHER 😭 FREE MMEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAHHHH

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜 DA:TV spoilers under cut.

When the Community Council played the game, in the working version they played, it sounds like when the 'no dying' mode was turned on, when the player's health gets low the screen turns red (but you don't then die, of course) [source]

Caitie of Ghildirthalen shared that everyone that she talked to from the Community Council really liked the gameplay. "They were all into it, none of us had any complaints about how they were doing the gameplay, we all thought it was solid" [source]

The Lighthouse isn't literally an actual lighthouse by the sea. It's in the Crossroads. It's "like a bubble in the Crossroads, kind of like what Morrigan brings you to" in DA:I. "It's its own little bubble, it's not actually the Crossroads, it's like its own little bubble of reality." "It's not really in the Fade, but it kinda is, but it's kinda not". "It's so cool, I loved it so much [...] it's very comfy". It used to belong to Solas and "as you walk around there, you will see, like, stuff, that kinda shows what Solas has been up to for the past couple years" [source]

"They say in the [Game Informer cover] article that [The Lighthouse] like looks gaudy, and stuff, and like it does, in like an ancient elven way, but it's not like going to grandma's house which has that 2005 Tuscan kitchen feel." It sounds like there are a lot of frescos made by Solas in there. "It's kind of like, sad, too, 'cause it's a little bit like, ancient elven bachelor pad that he's been too busy to really keep up with it". "I think it's the coolest hub [in a DA game] by far" [source]

After the gameplay reveal video, Solas essentially gets trapped in the new prison he was trying to build for Ghil and Elgar'nan. "I don't think they explain it well in the [GI cover] article what happens, like, lore-wise, like how this connection between Solas and Rook one, works, and then two, like, how it's done. [...] From that [Community Council participation and talking to devs], I have a better understanding of this link, and I do think the explanation given [in-game] is good, and is satisfying to me. They're just not explaining it well in the article, I do think they give a better reason in the game"[source]

Caitie shared that she doesn't know why marketing for the game keeps saying/trying to say that Rook isn't a Chosen One as a talking point. "Maybe [Rook] wasn't chosen, [they] just happened to be there, but now there is a connection there, like [they] can't just leave, [they] have that strange Solas connection that nobody else has". "In this game Rook was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, or right place right time, depending on how you look at it, and it could have been anyone in that scene, that's kind've what they're trying to say" [source]

Photomode is something the devs expressed to Community Council that they want to include in the game [source]

User: "many of us would love to see cosplay kits again of the new companions. Just thought to throw that out into the ether" Trick: "Agreed! Definitely bring that up to official BioWare accounts. I think it's a great idea." [source]

John: "at this point my brain is about 70% DATV and 30% everything else" [source]

User: "I keep looking at that horn [Taash's blue one], thinking: 1. What -is- it made of?" Karin Weekes-West: "If only we knew!" [source] User: "If this turns out to be some high-value gemstone or crafting mat, I can't promise I'll be able to suppress certain... larcenous urges." Karin: "How very Lords of Fortune of you! :D <3 It really is SO PRETTY, isn’t it? Our art team is so good. :)" [source]

User: "I need to know if Rook gets their own room CAN WE DECORATE" Carly: ":^)" [source]

User: "anyway they [Neve and Harding] are both in this concept art. next to each other even. this has to mean they are both alive after the prologue. right? right???" Carly: ":^)" [source]

Kala: "the overall UI is very nice" [source]

Kala: "I remember the sliders [in CC] having pretty good range tbh, so probably pretty tall and pretty short" [source]

Kala: "I can't wait to learn who the VAs for Rook are! I know one and I know people will be really excited for this person to join the Dragon Age family 🤫" [source]

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

be constantly in own world for me (level 2/3 autism) mean like. think pretty much only about self. understand only self. entire world just me n special interest, sometimes/often times not even include own basic needs, like “hair greasy clump body itchy need shower” (unconsciously feel bad sensory, n make very uncomfortable annoyed easily frustrated, but don’t consciously know am feeling extra irritated or that am feel this way because need shower). n world often limited to thing in front of me. n sometimes not even include thing in front of me. see it (as in physically capable of vision) but not see it. n thing, people, any that not put infront of me for while, stop realize they existed in first place.

n be in own world, only think only able know self, mean that, see self as normal, as norm. everyone (this abstract concept of other people that have memorized like you memorize history fact for test), everyone like me. not even “am like everyone,” but that everyone is like me. everyone same ability as me. everyone think like me.

“everyone think like that to extent”

right. to extent. thing is am far greater than that normal “extent”

to point that average day, ask me, n would only able explain that, “think everyone same ability as me, everyone think like me. everyone exist like me.” stay at vague generalization because not able think any deeper not able think of examples. to give example in this situation mean on some level need have ability understand “am think this normal but others may think it abnormal for them”. n. most times not have ability to second part, because in own world theory of mind.

sometimes try force it. try really hard force it. try really hard think, look at other people, try make sense try find what exact different. but can’t force something not have ability. so go back rely on scripting. sometimes advanced scripting n rephrased scripting.

special interest in something social-related let me cheat little bit. appear more capable. like break down complex autism community disability community dynamics. but am videotaping camera. computer analyzing research data. not participant. it thankfully happen, but it only happen because special interest allow it be part of own world, n it only part of own world because can only see these (supposedly very humanly n organic n messy) interactions as flow charts, maps, equations, inanimate objects. closest metaphor may be, with this special interest lens that allow these social dynamics enter own world, am looking at these “people” these social dynamics similar to regular person playing the sims n thinking of sims character made out of code that they control.

rare rare times able suddenly realization of outside world. usually happen in flash. n then end. n then left to chase that feeling trying so hard remember what it felt like so can memorize it like another history fact to memorize for test removed from source removed from emotion, to make self appear know what am talking about know more than am capable of, next time someone ask, “isn’t everyone like this?”

just had flash of that that lead to write this whole thing. but already gone. something about… “those funny ‘gen z fix up work force’ stories. they actually people same age as me?’” something about sudden realize what people my age my life stage expected do usually do. something about think am so normal but actually am missing out “so many” things (what things?).

friend tell me “by be young person who severely disabled you missing out so much on same age activities”. n. inside think, (i am but) “don’t know. …am i?” n for it be genuine question, or disbelief question.

n respond with “haha, yea.”

it not lying. it just script. am don’t know what my script means.

don’t follow up by ask me “so what you think you missing out on?”

don’t know. don’t have that script (a script am don’t know meaning to) yet that make other people think am understand, either.

[please don’t say you “relate” or “feel same” “this me” or similar unless am know who you are.]

[voxslays]

Making Caramel Apples Alastor x Reader

(Welcome to Haztober day one! I will be posting a new Hazbin Hotel/Helluva boss inspired fic every day of October! I hope you enjoy! Also I know I’m technically posting this on the 30th….but it’s 7:45 for me…so…It’s literally October first. Also why isn’t tumblr schedule posting working??? So confused.)

Alastor wasn’t one to usually participate in group activities usually liking to be on his own but, maybe he’d participate this one time. He closes the book he was reading and places it down nicely. He stands from his spot, straightens his bowtie and suit and then starts to walk over to where the group activity was. Alastor walks up behind the others and watches them decorating the hotel. Of course Alastor wouldn’t participate at all if there was a possibility of getting dirty (with all the glitter glue from Charlie). So he just watched for now.

“Hi Alastor!” He heard an excited voice from behind him. Alastor turned his head to see who was speaking and saw it was you. He smiled wider and put his hands in his pockets. “Ah. It’s a pleasure to see you, My dear. What are we doing around here if you don’t mind me asking?” He tilted his head and leaned a bit more forwards towards you, curious to hear your response.

“Oh! I’m making caramel apples!” You exclaim happily. “Ahh. That’s wonderful. How are they turning out so far? Have they tasted very good or have the apples been rotten within?” Alastor chuckled to himself, amused by his own joke. He had a dark sense of humor but sometimes his words could be taken seriously. “W-what? Uhm…I don't think so…” You say worriedly, holding up one of the un-caramelized apples and checking it. He laughed and waved a hand. “I’m only joking, dear. I’m sure they’re fine.” Alastor looked down at the apples, still a little suspicious. “You haven’t been eating them have you?” He asks. “Maybe like one or two…but now I’m seriously concerned.” You say, your voice wavering with uneasiness. 

“And you didn’t get sick..?” Alastor tilted his head curiously. He still couldn’t really believe that someone had eaten a couple of the apples that he was now slightly convinced could be rotten. “I ate them like a minute ago….how long does it take for poison to kick in!?” You say, your heart racing with anxiety and paranoia. “Well, that depends on the poison I believe- Wait, did you actually EAT them!?” Alastor asks, now worried as well.

You suddenly feel dizzy, and pass out due to stress. Alastor quickly caught you. He didn’t want you falling to the ground head first and possibly waking up with a huge headache. He held you up by your shoulder and lowered his ear to your mouth, listening for a second to see if you were breathing. Once Alastor heard and felt your breathing he slowly placed you on the ground, but he made sure your head rested against his knee so you would be comfortable.

Alastor was kneeled down beside you, he had his arm holding your hand. His ears twitched and he looked down at you as you awoke again. “Are you alright, my dear?” ​​He hummed softly in thought and gave you a light squeeze of your hand before letting it go. “You just passed out a second ago. I had caught you before you fell and I didn’t want you to get a headache. How are you feeling exactly? Your head isn’t hurting too badly is it?”

“I'm fine.” You reassure him. ​​He nodded his head and looked you up and down for a moment to make sure you didn’t have any wounds that were unnoticed due to your fainting. “You don’t feel sick at all? No nausea or anything?” You shake your head. He relaxed a little more once you said that, no nausea was pretty good. That indicated you weren’t poisoned. “Well, that’s good. Would you like to sit up or something, or perhaps a glass of water-?”

“Can we make the apples together?” You interrupted. Alastor seemed taken aback by your request. He definitely didn’t expect that response from you. Alastor tilted his head questionably and then smiled. “You want to make the apples together.. with me? You actually trust me to do it with you?” He asks. “Yeah, why not?” He chuckled softly and nodded his head in agreement, he was actually really surprised at your enthusiasm and eagerness to work with him. Most of the time he didn’t get many requests to work together with him unless it involved a deal. “Alright, I suppose I’ll help make the apples with you. But no funny business, dear.” You agree and start dipping the apples in the caramel together.

​​Alastor made sure to be cautious with anything to do with food. Especially after just seeing you pass out. He was sure you just fainted from stress and anxiety, but still. He carefully dipped each apple into the caramel, making sure to coat the apple in the thick sticky caramel. ​​Alastor finished coating each apple he dipped into the caramel sauce and had placed each one on its respective plate. This was already a lot more effort that he ever put into one of Charlie’s group activities. He then wiped his gloved hands together to get rid of any caramel that got stuck to his hands. He seemed happy with the outcome of the caramel apples he and you had made together.

“I believe the task is finished…” Alastor says as he finishes cleaning up. “Well, that wasn’t too bad.” He said with a small chuckle. “It was really fun! Thank you for the help!” You say happily. The idea of doing a group activity and actually having fun was a new, almost bizarre concept to Alastor. Especially when it was just making caramel apples. He smiled wider and chuckled. “Yes, it certainly was… entertaining.” 

He looked down at the finished caramel apples and seemed quite pleased that they turned out so well. He was actually quite proud of the work you and he had done, and this was a new feeling to him when it came to group activities. ​​He then looked at you and tilted his head softly with a smile. “Perhaps we’ll do more activities together in the future, my dear.” Alastor says. “That would be fun.” You say as you pick up the tray with the apples and put them in the fridge. “I’ll see you later!” Alastor nodded as he watched you take the tray to the fridge. A part of him felt kind of warm inside which was strange. Was it from the group activity? He wasn’t sure, but it was… different and warm. He smiled a little wider watching you walk off. “I’ll see you later, my dear.” He says with content.

[five-rivers]

Monochrome Maniacal part 3

This is the second entry of the first of my two experimental audience participation fics. Participation instructions are below the fic segment. The masterlist can be found here.

The winning prompt for the previous poll was: Danny getting sick because the ectoplasm was part of what was keeping him alive. (AO3: bluebird8683) (Note: it may take some time for this to fully come to fruition, but there are hints of it in this chapter.)

Tags for this section: Pitch Pearl (Danny Fenton/Danny Phantom), discussion of canon events and attitudes towards ghosts, discussion of a child basically running away from home.

Masterpost.

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They stared at each other for a little while after that declaration.  Then, Danny forced a laugh.  It hurt his chest, and he stopped quickly.  

“I guess we agree on that, at least,” he said.  

“Hm,” said Phantom.  He flew over to the bed and laid down next to Danny. “I think we agree on more than that.”

Danny looked over at him.  “Do we?  You were kind of picking a fight, before.”

“And you weren’t?  It’s whatever,” said Phantom, not waiting for an answer.  He turned his head towards Danny, and his bangs brushed against Danny’s forehead like cold mist.  “We can hate ourselves and still agree with ourselves.  It’s part of being us.  Me.  You.  However you want to cut it.”

“Yeah?” whispered Danny.  “You think we hate ourselves? That I hate myself?”

“I think you hate me.  It’s kind of the same thing.”

“I don’t.  I already said I don’t.”

“But you’re tired of being me.”

Danny licked his lips.  “I like flying,” he said.  “I like the power, and- and feeling the way you do.  The way I do when I’m you.  When we’ve done something right.”

“I like feeling like we’ve done something right, too,” said Phantom.  “When we’ve saved someone, or– Or when we get a good grade.”

Danny sighed.  Saving people was good, but he felt like the later moments were growing further and further apart.  

“It’d be nice to hear people say thank you, though,” said Phantom.  

“Well,” said Danny.  “Thank you.”

Phantom rolled his eyes, but green dots colored his cheeks.  “Someone that isn’t me.”

“I’m not you right now,” said Danny.  He wasn’t sure how true it was, or if it would help anything.  

Phantom’s face twisted, then he pushed sideways on the bed so that his forehead touched Danny’s.  They stared at each other for a while, blue eyes meeting green, reflecting each other over and over again, like facing mirrors.  

“Aren’t you?” asked Phantom, so quiet that Danny hardly heard him.  

Danny’s heart was beating fast, straining, practically vibrating against his ribcage.  He swallowed, suddenly somehow afraid.  The moment felt fragile, breakable.  

“Maybe we should come back together,” said Danny, reaching for Phantom’s hand.  “Merge like we did before.”

Phantom snatched his hand back.  “What if we don’t?” he asked.  “What if we stay like this?”

“What?  No, why would we do that?  That would–  We talked about this.  You said you’d be stuck living in the Ghost Zone and everyone would hate you.”

“You said that first part, actually.  Think about it.  It would solve all of our problems.”

“And make new ones!”

“Yeah,” said Phantom, eyes bright in a way that had nothing to do with their literal physical glow, “the same problems we’d have if your parents found out what we are.”

“Our parents.”

“If they came in here right now, they’d only consider one of us their son,” said Phantom.  “You could stay in school.  You could make them proud.”

“But what about you?”

.

Thank you for reading this far! If you would like to participate, please reply to this post with what you want to happen or want to see in the fic next. This can be an event (e.g. the lab suddenly explodes), a character appearing (e.g. Wes, Sam, Undergrowth), a headcanon being added to the story (e.g. ghost hunger), a POV switch (e.g. switch to Jazz), a setting element (e.g. the year is 2104), a ship (e.g. Everlasting Trio), or something else I've forgotten to list here.

To be used in the poll, your suggestions must:

Fit in a poll option (80 charaters or less)

Not include crossover elements

Not include minor/adult ships

Be compatible with already established story elements

Other feedback is also welcome! Feel free to send me an ask!