#props to Taylor Swift though

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Welp I have some incredibly kind mutuals so I went and finished(?) that Nicky sketch from the other day lol. :] Mostly the same but I gave him some silly little tattoos and bling (and sweatpants- I can't draw clothes for the life of me but he deserves to be cozy lol)

Also bonus repost of an old Taylor doodle lmao ignore the eraser marks pleeease

[twovialsofamortentia]

a woman, not a wife. 💍

a/n: when i’m in a yearning competition and my opponent is james potter. this WRECKED me to write i was giggling kicking my legs screaming.

🎧 midnight rain - taylor swift, haunted- beyonce

warnings: smut, mdni, everyone is 18+, unprotected sex, breeding IM SORRY IT JUST HAPPENED, james is the giver (he gets the job done), mentions of james’ mental health being poor, mentions of not eating (nothing ED related)

You loved spring. Being born in late March would do that to you. You loved your birthday- well, you had done. Your whole life. Now, everyone was always weird to you about it, because it was the day before James’.

You had tried and failed at not thinking about James. Reminding yourself that you had broken up and that he definitely didn’t care anymore was usually enough for you. Sometimes it wasn’t, though, and you found him worming his way back into your head before you could stop it.

You shook your head to physically derail your train of thought, gazing out into the courtyard, perched in one of the sills that separated it from the busy corridor. You could hear people passing behind you, but you were focused on the grass just mere feet away from you. How it was constantly growing, getting better. Moving on from being cut. Even when the wind blew so forcefully that the flowers didn’t survive, the grass remained, secure in itself. You cursed yourself for envying grass.

While you were wishing you were a plant in the courtyard, James had been watching you gaze out of the window for a minute or so. He was meant to be on his way to potions, a lesson you were both supposed to be in, but was taking a short detour.

“You go,” he told the boys, who sighed at him and looked between one another, knowing it was no use.

“Hopeless twat.” Sirius told him sympathetically, but the three boys left anyway.

James was lost in thought about you. His mind was going over every memory he had of you, the sound of your laugh, the way you always had a story to tell, the way you just knew him. And how he now missed it all, which annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

Once you had finished moping about the grass being less of a sappy idiot than you were, you turned around to stand up. Your eyes were on your feet, at first, because it would be just your luck if you tripped and laddered your new tights, and you were clumsy.

When your gaze came up from the ground, they landed on James, who was looking at you. Every so often, since you had gone your separate ways, he would catch your eye and you’d forget, at first. You’d go instinctively to smile at him, or to reach out and push the stray hairs from his face, then remember it wasn’t your place anymore.

You stood still, fingers tightening around your bag so you didn’t drop it and make yourself feel even more stupid, and swallowed deeply.

James felt a pang in his chest every time you caught eyes now. A reminder that you were no longer his- that the two of you weren’t what you had been so sure would last forever. He hated it.

James shoved his hands into his pockets, for fear that if he didn’t he would reach out for you, take you by the hips and pull you flush against him so he could lean down and press a kiss to your forehead.

Instead, he opted to smile at you. It wasn’t a conscious choice to do it, but James told himself that was all he was allowed to do. Not one of his cocky, playful grins, though. A soft one, one like he used to give you when you’d tell him off for kissing you in a room full of people, or when you’d roll onto your front in the morning, prop yourself up on your elbows and stare down at him with tired eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” you replied, stunned. You were unsure of whether it was the sun beating down on your back that was making you clammy, or the fact that James was stood in front of you, like he had a million times, and neither one of you was moving to touch the other. To be closer, never close enough.

He couldn’t tell if the feeling in his gut was desire or frustration, because James wanted nothing more than to touch you, but he couldn’t. He elected it something so, so much worse- unrequited love.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Are you-“ you tried, but the words died in your throat, because they weren’t even close to what you wanted to say. “Are you alright?”

The same question you would ask James every time he’d turned up to your dorm, sat on the edge of your bed, staring at his hands while you rubbed small circles into his back and encouraged him to talk about it. Every time you caught him pushing a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots, an indicator he was stressed. Every time you’d prefaced the words with ‘oh, darling.’ as you pulled him into your embrace, running your hands soothingly up and down his arms.

“Yeah.” he said finally. “You?”

You nodded, because if you had spoken your answer, it would have been a dead giveaway that you were lying.

Your heart hammered as you stared back at James, because you knew that if he didn’t say something mean to you, you’d start getting ahead of yourself again, and convince yourself it was all just a horrible dream- that you wanted the same thing, that nothing had changed, and the three weeks you’d been apart never happened.

A part of James hated himself for making you nod, instead of hearing that you were fine in your voice. Your voice, because if there was one thing of yours that he couldn’t get enough of, it was your voice. Soft and melodic, always laced with a touch of sarcasm, even when you had just woken up and were trying to blink the sleep from your eyes.

But he couldn’t afford himself that luxury anymore. So he stood where he was, watching you carefully, almost as though he was searching for something in your eyes.

“Did you have a good birthday? Last week?” James asked, because he really did want to know. He’d spent the whole day minding his own business, not causing any trouble or drawing any attention to him, so that you could have it the way you wanted it, somewhat normal in the midst of all this mess.

“Yeah.” you smiled faintly, looking at the floor for a second. Your birthday was an odd occasion, because the girls tried to make it extra special for you. As if one day of being back around everyone else would make you forget that you had ruined every a fortnight before. That the next day, you’d wake up at a sensible time, instead of at the crack of dawn to sneak into James’ dorm and vow to make the whole day about him.

“Did you?”

James remembered those days, when you dragged him out of bed before anyone else was awake, with your fingers wrapped gently around his wrists and a sleepy smile on your face as you climbed onto his bed.

‘Get up now if you want to eat your birthday cake for breakfast.’ you would say, taking his face in your hands.

“Yeah, it was alright.” James said dismissively, but he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile at the memory of you. “Didn’t eat my cake at the crack of dawn, though.”

“Why not?” you let a smile spread across your own lips, now, as you let go of your bag, dropping it onto the floor with a quiet thud- a giveaway that you were relaxing, finally.

“Because I didn’t have you waking me up at five o’clock.” James said, and it came out slightly more poignantly than he had intended at first. “I thought about it, though.”

“You should have,” you shrugged, still smiling softly. “I actually thought about waking you up, but- didn’t want it to be… weird.”

“You should have.” James echoed your words. Should have seemed to be the dominant theme, at the moment, and James found himself cursing every should have- every time he walked past you and should have said hello; every time you asked him if he was alright and he should have said no, this is torture, please come back to me.

You giggled shyly, looking away from James for a second, feeling the need to focus your gaze somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn’t a six foot tall reminder of the worst loss you’d ever suffered.

“Okay.” was all you said, smiling. “Are you going to class?”

James caught the quick glance you had spared at the floor, and wanted nothing more than to reach out and lift your chin up with his fingers, to force you into looking at him again.

He just shook his head at your question instead.

“I have to see Poppy.” James replied, suddenly feeling more embarrassed than he ever had to admit something to you. “You know-”

“Yes. I know.” you smiled sympathetically. James frequented the hospital wing almost as much as Remus did. He’d always been candid with you about his mood, because sometimes you worked under Madame Pomfrey at the weekends, since you wanted to pursue a career in healing.

Depressive, she called him, but you thought that made James sound a bit more mopey than he was. Apparently that was the proper term for it.

You were worried about James as of late, not knowing the toll that breaking up would’ve had on him. It was a habit of yours to ask him frequently how things were, because you didn’t quite understand, at first, but you wanted to.

“How are you coping?”

“Like complete shit.” he laughed, but there was no humour in it at all. James ran a hand through his hair again, looking down at you.

“No-” he started, biting the inside of his cheek. “No, it’s been-”

He felt a lump forming in his throat, because James had never struggled to talk to you before, and now he was struggling to get a single sentence out.

“Oh, James.” you replied, trying and failing to drop the sadness from your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” he murmured, because he didn’t want you to blame yourself. “I understand, it’s- we want different things.” James took a deep breath, but it didn’t do much to calm his racing heart, especially not when you were looking at him like that- like you still loved him.

“Yeah.” your gaze drifted to the floor as you said it.

Three weeks ago, when you sat on James’ bed crying your eyes out, you both came to the conclusion that maybe you just wanted to go different ways with your lives. James wanted it all, a massive wedding, a house like his parents’, a football team of kids.

You wanted life: travel; a career; love that grows and strengthens over time, instead of exploding like a firework- pretty at first, but sure to fizzle out eventually.

It had never occurred to either of you when you sat there in the middle of the night- bed curtains closed, window curtains open, wiping each other’s tears away- that maybe you could have had both. Since then, because all you had done was think about James, the thought had crossed your mind a few times, but you pushed it out, because you had missed your chance. The deal was done.

As much as he wanted to spend forever staring into your eyes, James knew that if he did, he might say something he regretted.

So James stayed silent for a couple of moments, his gaze focused on you. He took in the way you chewed lightly on your lip, how you rubbed your palms against your skirt- all things you did when you were nervous.

“There was a party- on my birthday.” he said finally, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You should have been there.”

“I was.”

James looked at you like you’d just stabbed him.

“I spent the whole night miserable in the windowsill.” you laughed dryly. “You looked like you had fun. That was all I wanted, just to make sure- make sure you were okay. And you were.”

James nodded, and it was his turn to shift his gaze to the floor. Okay was the general consensus at the moment, but okay didn’t mean good, or happy, or coping well, it just meant not completely coming apart at the seams.

Even then, okay felt like a bit of a stretch for James. He was good at putting it on, coming off as confident when he didn’t feel it.

“I was pretending.” he admitted, rocking back and forth on his heels, gaze still on the floor.

You nodded, reaching down to grab your bag from where you’d dropped it by your feet.

“I know.”

James just watched you as you picked your bag back up, a mix of irritation and despair rising rapidly in his chest. He didn’t want you to leave, he wanted you to yell at him, to kiss him, to just do something.

“Where are you going?” he ended up asking.

“Common room.” you replied, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I have a free. I’ll see you, James.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and nodded at your response. Then, just as you started to walk away, he suddenly said, “Wait, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” you turned on your heels, hair fanning out around you as you did.

James took a deep, shuddery breath as soon as he saw you standing there, before deciding that the best course of action was to swallow his pride and just say it.

“I still love you.” he admitted, hands shoving into his pockets.

“I still love you.” you answered, the remnants of a smile on your face. You answered casually, as you used to when James would kiss you goodbye, and tell you I love you, my girl. The words were different, sure. They were evidence of change, of the loss you’d both suffered, but they were said in the same way. Time might have passed, but the love stayed. You knew it wasn’t dissipating any time soon.

“Bye.” you told him, smiling, and then you walked away.

You didn’t see James again until after you had skipped dinner that evening. All of the girls were still down in the hall, so you were alone in the dorm.

The intention had been to put some soft music on and get some homework done, but, as it usually panned out lately, you found yourself laying out on the bed, blasting the record, and thinking about how much you missed James.

Before today, it seemed nonsensical to you to go back to James and tell him you still loved him. That you’d been moping for weeks, a ghost of a girl, desperate to wake up in the morning having dreamed it all.

You had broken up, agreed to go your separate ways, so that was that, whether or not it was the worst decision you’d ever made.

Wait, one more thing.

You felt like an idiot. To be frank, you felt exactly the same way you did when you first got together with James, and Sirius and Remus shoved him through the door of your dorm and slammed it behind them, with a chaste, synchronised “James has something to tell you!”

I still love you.

You didn’t know why you expected James to move on. You could never have possibly pictured him, James Potter, still being hung up on someone three weeks after agreeing to split up. You just assumed that he would stay the way he was, sunshine in a bottle, and you would change enough for the both of you.

But fuck, James was hung up on you.

He loved you so dearly, with everything he had because it was all he had, and he still never felt like it was enough. James loved hard. He loved everyone hard. That was just his way. But you, you were his whole world. His Earth; bringing him in and making him feel grounded. You felt like home because you were his home. You were everything. The whole world. An angel. His angel.

Everything James thought, he showed you. He’d whisper it in your ear in the middle of the night, he’d tell you he thought you were beautiful in front of his friends, he’d grab you and kiss you after winning a Quidditch game, he’d grab you and kiss you after losing a Quidditch game.

Now, though, James had no one to tell it to. Before- when it was okay to love you- he’d have no problem shouting it from the rooftops, but now James wasn’t supposed to love you. He was supposed to leave you, to not look at you and feel as if he were going to burst. James was never one for doing as he was told.

His legs brought him up the stairs before his mind had registered it, and he stopped in front of the door. This time, there was no one to pound on it, to wrench it open and shove James through it, then slam it shut behind him and hold it closed in case he tried to escape.

James was younger- shorter, too, and more naïve- the first time he stood, nervous about whether or not you’d want him to be in love with you. He’d never thought it would happen again.

You sighed when you heard the door, closing your eyes. Your peace had finally been disturbed. It was most likely to be one of the girls, knocking so that they didn’t disturb you if you were crying.

They tried to get you to come down for dinner, but you couldn’t be told. It wasn’t that you weren’t wanting to eat like Lily worried about- Lily was always nervous that her friends weren’t eating well- but because you didn’t have the effort in you to go all the way down and back up. Marlene vowed to sneak you up something good, anyway.

“Come in!” you called, and secretly, you had hoped it was Marlene. There was something about her that was just so comforting when you were upset, even though she was far from it on the surface. The other girls were always soothing and condescending, Marlene only did it when she had to.

When he heard your voice, James sighed. He’d never been particularly nervous to see you before, which is the reason he took a few more moments to open the door, pushing it open, and letting it fall closed behind him, the small click making it sound rather final as it shut.

He was met with the sight of you lying on the bed, hair splayed out around your head as a record blared softly in the background. The way you looked up at the door as it opened made you look so innocent that it broke James’ heart when it was quickly replaced by a look of shock.

“James.” you sat up abruptly, reaching out to twist the dial of your record player, turning it down. It was Lily’s really, but you girls shared everything.

You blinked a few times, trying to establish if this was some sick and twisted candlelight hallucination you were having. As you sat up, you realised it wasn’t, and you felt as if you had been in this situation before.

James stood up straight, shoving his hands into his pockets. He felt stupid and embarrassed, because he suddenly felt like he did a few years ago- terrified of saying the wrong thing and losing his chance.

“Um, I just-” he began, but immediately wanted to kick himself for it not being a witty first sentence.

Concern clouded over your face, and you swung your legs off of the bed so you could stand up. You didn’t cross the room, but you took a few steps away from your bed, stopping a few feet away from James.

“Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, fine.” he nodded, swallowing. “Listen..”

James had never struggled quite like this before. He’d been confident in his entire life- in everything he’d done, and everyone he’d met. His mouth had always run away with him, which was often the butt of a joke from the other marauders, but right now, right here, he felt like a small child. Words were failing him, and James never had trouble with words.

“I’m listening.” you told him gently, nodding softly as you caught his eye. “I’m listening.”

As confident and as cocky as James outwardly appeared to everyone else, the people closest to him knew that every now and then, James needed reassuring. He got in his own head when his feelings were too big to squash down; and sometimes he just needed to talk about it. He didn’t even really care if anyone understood, just as long as they listened.

James took a breath, and you noticed the shake in it as he inhaled. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but he couldn’t do it. It was getting increasingly harder to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to love you, not when you were looking at him like you did.

“I know we want different things,” he began suddenly, the words blurting out before he could stop them. “I get that, love, I do. But this is torture.”

You swallowed, dropping your gaze to the floor. It was a while since you’d had the conversation, the I’m not just a wife, I’m a woman, conversation, and it wasn’t one you’d wanted to have again.

“Okay...” you said at first, because James looked like he was gearing up to say a bit more.

James folded his arms, trying to stop himself from fidgeting. He was worried that if he didn’t stop, he’d have to do something more embarrassing than fidgeting, like run and hug you.

“I miss you.” he said, and his voice broke halfway through the simple sentence, the words coming out more desperate than he had planned. “I want a future with you. I- We can make it work. The future I want, and the one you want, we can make them go together.”

“I don’t know.” you sighed, your own voice shaky. “I don’t want to take away your idea of a life because I want something different, that’s not fair. You deserve someone who wants the same thing you do.”

“I know that’s what we said, and I thought it too.” James replied, pushing a hand through his hair and tugging unconsciously at it, a nervous habit of his. “But I’ve gone three weeks without you, love, and it’s been the worst three weeks of my life. You might be absolutely fine, in which case I’ll sound like a complete twat, but I just- you should know. I really love you still.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn’t quite muster up any words yet, because there was nothing you could say to disagree with James.

“If you say no, I’ll drop it,” James rushed to say. “I swear.” he added, knowing that was a very unlikely outcome. “But..”

You sighed, because it really, really, really annoyed you when James was right. When he read you so accurately that you just couldn’t deny him, you wanted to smack him upside the head. Make him as dumb as he pretended to be.

“I mean, I’m not- I’m not fine,” you began. “But I’m serious about my future. I’ve never been a wife, you know that.”

“I know,” James said softly. He’d been fully aware of the fact that you never wanted to be a housewife, and he’d never expected you to. It was something he loved about you; that you always knew what you wanted and didn’t let anyone sway you. “Darling, I don’t want you to be a wife, just my wife, I just- I wanna be with you. Whatever that looks like.”

The massive bang of the butterfly-cannon went boomf in your stomach, and you closed your eyes, sighing at the feeling. After three weeks of nothingness, loneliness, and moping, you had missed the James Potter Effect like you’d never missed anything before.

It was also very difficult for you to hide the smile that was spreading across your face. You thanked the world it was dark, because it meant James couldn’t see you flushing.

“James-” you began, and the smile just kept growing, as hard as you tried not to let it.

There was a certain pride that came with watching you falter, in a way. James couldn’t help the smirk that spread onto his lips, because he knew- there it was, he’d been the reason for your smile, and the blush that was definitely more obvious than you thought. He had you now.

“I love you.” he said quickly, trying to keep the smile on your face for as long as possible.

“You’re good.” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll hand it to you, you’re good.”

“I know that.” he said, the smile on his face widening at the sound of your laugh. It felt like it had been years since he’d even heard it.

James was filled with a new confidence, now that he knew he’d got you listening. “C’mere.”

You had never been given an instruction that was easier to follow. You stepped forward, dropping your head onto James’ shoulder, still smiling like a schoolgirl, and getting a weird sense of deja vu.

You wrapped your arms around James, and you just laughed against him in disbelief. “I love you.”

“I love you.” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head, and bringing his arms up to wrap around your waist.

James was immediately filled with a sense of relief, a feeling like he could finally breathe again, because there you were, in his arms. He had you back.

You didn’t know how he did it. You didn’t know how he did it the first time round, when he stood rooted to the same spot and asked you if he could give you a hug.

You also didn’t know how he did it just then, but there was just something about James that was so impossible to stay away from. You don’t know why you ever tried.

You just grinned as you let James squeeze you, but then he mumbled something you couldn’t quite hear.

“Hm?”

“Promise me we’ll be smart about this.” James said, pulling his head up so he could look you in the eye. “Promise me we’ll talk about everything, and we won’t avoid stuff, just to save the other person’s feelings, alright?”

“Course.” you smiled, gazing up at him.

“I missed your smile,” he told you, bringing a hand up to cup your face. He brushed his finger over your bottom lip, pulling it lightly towards him slightly. That had been another thing he missed about you- he hated going to sleep without you, that was bad enough, but it had been downright torture not being able to kiss those pretty lips goodnight.

How did he keep doing it?! You felt yourself twitch as James stared longingly down at you, and his words made you laugh quietly and shake your head.

“You are too smooth for your own good.”

“Mm, am I?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, and tilting his head to the side. He hadn’t broken eye contact once, drinking in all the pretty details of your face. He was sure he’d die if you didn’t kiss him soon.

And you were sure that your knees were going to buckle if James kept talking to you like that, so to stop yourself from hitting the deck, you leaned up onto your tiptoes, kissing him sweetly.

James made the sweetest sound as he felt your lips on his, and he decided he actually didn’t ever want to move again. He’d have been happy to stay that way forever. He pressed soft kisses on your lips, over and over, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Love you,” you grinned against James’ lips. “Missed you. Love you.”

“Fuck, fuck, I missed you.” James breathed, trying to take in the feeling of having you close to him after the time you spent apart. “Don’t- Don’t ever make me go that long again.”

“No, of course not, never.” you told him, running your fingers through his hair as you leaned in to kiss him again- a little more feverishly this time.

James hummed lovingly against your lips, and he could feel his brain stop functioning. It gradually stopped whirring with thoughts, slowing down more and more, and when he reached out to snake his arms around your waist and tug you closer by splaying his palms out across the small of your back, James felt his brain shut off completely.

You weren't far off of total shutdown, and although you could feel the unspilled tears stinging your eyes, and it still felt like there was a catch in your lungs, you relaxed. Instead of running through his hair, your fingers travelled down to fiddle absently with the collar of James' shirt, just tracing over it.

You supposed that you were making up for three weeks of lost time. That was how it felt for James, anyway, who was holding you as if you were planning on slipping away and darting out of the door at any given moment. He was just relieved that he had you back, given that forcing himself up to your dorm to talk to you was him throwing a final Hail Mary at a life with you. James told himself that if it missed, he'd walk away, and that would be you out of his life forever.

He took a moment to thank the stars that it landed. Especially when your hands slid a little further down and started unclasping his buttons.

“Love,” he began, tilting your chin up. “You sure?”

“I missed you very much.” you replied, looking James in the eye with certainty. “I’m sure if you are.”

James couldn’t argue with that, so a smile spread across his face and he reached down to kiss you again, a little bit deeper this time. He pushed his hands under your shirt and spread them out across your waist, tugging you closer.

You took two steps back, hitting the edge of your bed and collapsing onto the mattress with James on top of you.

Your legs parted so that James’ hips could fall into place between them, and you let out a soft sigh of relief at the feeling, after going without it for what felt like years.

James had a strange relationship with sex. Before you, he’d had enough sex to know what he was doing, and for fuck’s sake, he was a teenaged boy, so it felt good. Any time someone breathed in the general direction of his dick, it felt good.

But even though sex for James felt good, and he understood well enough how to do it, it wasn’t until you that he understood why. Why someone might possibly sacrifice their own pleasure for the sole purpose of giving it to somebody else. Why someone might crave the feeling of being so close, so intimate with someone else, and crave it so deeply that it drives them mad.

You do it for love.

Until you, James wasn’t in the habit of doing it for love. But the way that you gazed up at him when he slotted himself above you, the way you pleaded for him to make you feel good not because you wanted to feel good, but because you needed him to be the one doing it, and no one else? That was doing it for love.

“James,” you called softly, snapping James right out of his thoughts as you sat up slightly, reaching behind you to unhook your bra. You leaned up to kiss him, just a chaste peck to his jaw. “Are you okay?”

James just laughed to himself, nodding down at you as he watched you shrug off your bra and toss it onto the floor. He had never been more okay.

“I was just thinking about you.” he admitted, running his hands up under your skirt to hook into your underwear. “How much I missed you.”

You gasped when James slid your underwear all the way off of your legs, and you gasped even louder when he leaned down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

You tasted every bit as sweet as he remembered, but even then, James swore it was better this time. His hands roamed over your thighs, gripping and digging into your skin as his tongue swirled over your core.

You dropped your head back and shoved a hand into James’ hair, a filthy, almost pornographic moan escaping from your lips.

“Fuck!”

James almost found himself smirking against you as he heard the sound coming out of you, and he tightened his grip on you to keep you still as his tongue worked against your clit, because it had been far, far too long since he’d had you like this.

The first time James ever went down on you was the first time he had ever been down on anyone. When he told you that afterwards, you laughed, because you thought he was joking. That was enough explanation as to how good James was at giving head. He was just naturally a giver.

Your thighs threatened to crush his head as James flattened his tongue against you and began to drag it slowly over your clit, just the way he knew you liked it, almost immediately.

“James- oh, fuck,” you cried, dragging your hips away from his mouth and then bucking them up again, almost fucking yourself against his tongue.

James took this as a challenge, and pressed the palms of his hands to your waist to hold you down stop you from doing it again, and instead, he began sucking on your clit, desperate to hear you whine.

You gasped, hips snapping upwards at the feeling, but you weren’t given ample time to react to it, because you were then ambushed with two fingers sinking into and curling sharply upwards, hitting the right spot inside of you instantly.

“Fucking hell!” you gasped loudly, your back arching off of the bed.

“Yeah?” James smiled against your core, laughing teasingly and sending vibrations rocketing up through you at lightning speed, which made you moan noisily again. With the hand that wasn’t pumping two fingers in and out of you, James reached under your thigh to hook it over his shoulder so that he could press himself even closer up against you.

He elected to sacrifice being able to breathe properly. Really doing it for love.

“Yeah!” You clenched your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling short, sharp breaths through your teeth. Your chest started to heave up and down quicker, and you could feel the need to tense up growing stronger. You sounded like an angel, and James had never heard a sweeter noise in his life.

His free hand pushed its way up your skirt, and you could feel his hand flatten against your stomach, holding you down gently. You knew what was coming, and you babbled incessantly, trying to get yourself ready for it.

As soon as James pressed down on your stomach, it was like he was flicking a switch. Your vision blurred, and you came, hard, hips juddering upwards, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you all-but screamed, clamping a hand over your mouth as you realised there was no silencing charm on the dorm.

“Fuck-” James hummed against your skin, and he slowly worked you through your orgasm with his fingers, until he pulled them out, bringing them up to his mouth.

Your jaw dropped, your eyes widened, and you forgot all about the fact that you had just came. The sight of James, topless, leaning over you, sucking the taste of you from his fingers? That was enough to soak you straight through all over again.

“Fuck me.” you begged, but it was more of a breathy command than a plea.

James smirked wider, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand, still hovering above you on the bed.

“S’that what you want?”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Course not, angel.” James told you, dipping down to run his tongue, his fucking filthy tongue, over your nipple, making you hiss when the cold air hit your wet skin as he pulled back.

James’ dick was straining furiously against his clothes, so while he was leaving a trail of wet, red marks across your chest, he was popping open the button on his trousers and shoving his boxers down off of his legs.

You closed your eyes, dropping your head back and wondering how you could ever have gotten yourself into a situation so dirty.

Then James rested one hand on your face and slid all the way into you, and you remembered.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” James murmured, as he started to drive his hips against yours. Slowly, at first, knowing you’d most likely be sensitive. “I’ve missed you, angel, so much-”

You moaned, nodding gently as you caught James’ lips in another kiss, humming lowly as you felt him start to fuck slightly faster into you.

“So pretty, my girl, so fucking pretty,” he huffed against your skin, one hand holding himself up and the other dragging slowly over one of your tits, palming it gently. “Missed you so much, never letting you go again.”

James pushed your legs up, bending your knees and leaning over you so that he was fucking you even deeper, all to hear the sound of you underneath him, whimpering because it felt so good.

The record scratched in the corner of the room, next to your bed, and you caught a glimpse of it flipping itself, a spell that you had spent ages trying to master. You still couldn’t get the needle to lift without scratching.

In the few seconds before the record set itself back down on the turntable, and the needle lowered, the only noises in the room were James’ laboured breaths and your rapid, whiny moans.

James barely noticed the record. He hadn’t really noticed much of anything but the feeling of you around him, under him, grabbing hold of him. You were everything.

“Fuck, James,” you gasped. “Love you-“

“Love you- fuck-!” James groaned, driving his hips down against yours once more. “Don’t stop, angel, just- nngh, fuck, keep talking like that-”

“I love you, I love you.” you let the words spill from your lips more times than you think they ever had before, mixed in with desperate mutterings of James’ name, until the words felt funny in your mouth.

“Oh, angel- So good, so pretty-” James gasped after a few more moments, dropping his face into your neck and sucking hard on the skin of your collarbone, because he was starting to feel that familiar tug deep in his stomach- the one that meant that he was getting close.

With the hand that wasn’t keeping himself from collapsing on top of you (which was growing weaker by the second), James pressed his fingers back up against your core, his mouth falling open in sync with yours as he grazed the sensitive area, making you cry out.

It didn’t hurt- well, it did, but it hurt in the way that made you want it more- the way that lets you know that just beyond the pain is a whole new wave of pleasure, one that’s worth the sacrifice. You had crossed the line from overstimulated to purely masochistic, and you moaned loud and rough at the sensation.

“You love me?” James asked, his chest heaving as he gazed down at you.

“Yes, yeah, I love you!”

“You ever gonna leave me again?”

“No, James- fuck! Never. I love you!”

James nodded, leaning back on his knees and hooking his now free hand over your thigh to pull you deeper onto him, his hips driving into you harder every time.

“My girl,” he huffed, staring lovingly down at you through his glasses. Those fucking glasses. They were enough to do it for you alone. “My girl, gonna make you mine forever, gonna come in you, angel.”

Your jaw dropped. All you could do was nod, breaths shallowing even more as James’ fingers starting moving more quickly over your clit, and you felt the same feeling as you had moments ago, but amplified- slightly more tense, slightly harder to chase, but so much better.

A string of moans escaped your pretty lips, and James’ eyes locked onto them, his gaze glued to your mouth as he rubbed at your core.

“You want it, angel?”

“Yes- yes! Fuck, James-!” you gasped, barely able to get the words out as you came for the second time, hips stuttering harder than before, feeling the aftershock hit you sooner than it had the first time round.

James couldn’t have held on any longer if he tried. Not when he felt you clenching around his dick, and crying his name as you came for the second time that day because of him.

“Oh- oh, fuck- ah!” James whined, fucking into you a final time and falling forward as he did, shoving his face back into your neck, breath hot on the skin behind your ear.

You felt the rush of warmth shoot up into you, and it only added to your own high, making it burn from the inside out, warm, and strong.

“Fuck,” James groaned, his head dropping onto your chest, still buried inside of you as he caught his breath.

“Yeah.” you sighed, trying to find your own breath. The only problem you had was the fact that everything that James had just fucked into you was now leaking out, which felt fucking good, but you were also conscious of the fact it was making a mess. “Fuck- hang on, it’s- mmph, getting on the bed.”

James nodded, pushing himself up slightly so he could pull out of you with a soft hiss, flopping down onto his back next to you. He pushed his glasses up, rubbing at his face.

You glanced over at James when he wasn’t looking, and you thank whatever celestial beings had sent him your way. Not just because he was so determined to fuck you right, but because he needed you to know how much he loved you, cared for you, and wanted you. Whilst he was fucking you right.

He was panting slightly, still slightly out of breath, but the smirk on his face showed that he was happy, satisfied. He turned his head, locking eyes with you.

James was just thrilled to bits to have you back in his arms. Just for you to be his again. He wanted to be allowed to come near you without things being awkward, to snake a hand around your waist as he came up behind you in the hallway, to run straight to you with news, or a prank idea, or just to tell you he loved you.

“Still got it.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

James laughed at his own stupid joke, nodding. He pushed some of the hair from your face, and you felt the familiar feeling in your stomach that would arise every time James smiled at you. It was like a strange sort of fluttering, an embarrassingly juvenile feeling, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[serafilms]

FIRST DATE, KINDA NERVOUS

part 2 of the golden quartet

art donaldson x reader, slight tashi duncan x reader, slight patrick zweig x reader

summary: the story of your first kiss with art donaldson in a hotel room, and your first date in a diner. cute, fluffy, healthy, a tiny bit suggestive but not really. group polyamory dynamics hinted at. (play: so high school by taylor swift). wc: 3.5k

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “They’re cute, they seem nice, and your backhand is like, a million times stronger than theirs, so I reckon you could take them in a fight.”

“What, you wouldn’t help?”

“Please. I’m too weak for that,” you said, shaking your wrist limply in Tashi’s face.

She rolled her eyes at you and pushed it out of the way. “Whatever, fine. We’re going.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. After showering, the straight hair from the party had disappeared, giving way to her natural waves. You always thought she looked prettier this way. Softer, somehow.

“Yay,” you said simply. “But just remember that my parents placed my safety and care in your hands, so if we get, like, murdered or something—”

“Oh, shut up,” Tashi groaned, a laugh bubbling out of her mouth, “you were just endorsing them.”

“Yeah, well. I’m indecisive.”

The smile that slowly spread across Tashi’s face told you all you needed to know. Ten seconds later you had grabbed and shrugged on your jacket and the two of you were climbing your way out of her bedroom window.

Now, you’re sitting on the floor of a hotel room, Tashi on your left and Art on your right, Patrick laying comfortably across from you, propped up by his elbows.

The beer in your hand is pretty shitty, which is a fact you find odd considering you can only assume it was either stolen from one of their parents, or paid for using a bribe, and in both of those cases, wouldn’t the beer be better?

But maybe that’s not what you should be focusing on right now, you think, as Patrick leans forwards to take it from your hand. His fingers brush yours as the can crosses over. For the last hour or so, the four of you have gone through eleven cans of beer, each consumed one at a time, being passed around like a bong.

Your eyes linger on the way Patrick’s mouth engulfs the opening of the can, right where yours had just been, and the way he passes it right to Tashi, who does the same as she takes a sip. The flush of heat in your face and belly are hard to ignore, and you’re not too sure how much of it can be attributed to the alcohol.

There’s a stutter in your chest as Art nudges you with his elbow. “So what are you planning on majoring in?”

His cheeks and ears also look flushed, but you think that might just be a consequence of the story Patrick told earlier. It was a sweet story; you assured the boy next to you of that when he’d buried his face in his hands, but he still seemed a little perturbed.

It was a sweet story though, you muse. Tashi said that they seemed like brothers, but you thought they seemed like they were an old married couple.

You’re brought back out of your thoughts as Tashi hands you the beer. “Oh, um. I’m not too set on anything yet, but I think maybe journalism.”

Patrick lets out a whistle. “What, not physiotherapy or sports medicine?”

You shrug, and before you can stop yourself, you say, “Just because I was a tennis player doesn’t mean it’s my whole personality.”

Immediately, you wince. Wrong place, wrong time. You steal a quick glance at Tashi, but she seems unaffected. Right. It’s Tashi. The last thing she feels is insecure. She simply looks at you.

But for good measure, you add, “I mean, I can still do sports news, or something.”

Against the better judgement of your burning stomach and your sluggish thoughts, you take another swig and then pass the can to Art.

“Journalism suits you,” he comments quietly as he takes it. You give him a small smile. He takes a small sip of the beer, and you can’t help but watch the way his Adam’s apple shifts when he swallows.

“I need some ice,” announces Tashi. She rises from her position on the floor.

Patrick wastes no time in scrambling up too. “I’ll come with!”

Tashi gives you a look like she’s exasperated, but you know better from the way she waits for Patrick to grab his key and open the door for her. She doesn’t look back as she walks out, but Patrick calls out a teasing, “See you guys later,” before the door closes fully.

When you turn your head towards Art, you see that he’s looking right at you.

“You sure do that a lot,” you mumble.

He smiles in a way that seems endeared and a little confused. “What?”

“Stare.”

“Sorry, I just—”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s nice. I- I, uh.” Your thoughts are racing, everywhere and nowhere all at once, as you struggle to find the words. The way Art looks at you sends a buzz of something in your abdomen, and your mind becomes all the more scrambled. “I need to stand up.”

You stand quickly, maybe too quickly, and immediately stumble.

“Whoa, you okay?” Art’s quick to jump to his feet. His hands find their place on either side of your waist to steady you. Now you really can’t focus.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, “I think I should sit down instead.”

You’re very aware of the fact that his hand stays on your waist as you bumble over to the edge of the bed and take a seat.

There’s a pang of disappointment when his hand leaves your waist, and another when he stands unsurely in front of you. You pat the spot next to you.

“Sit. Please.”

He complies. Perched on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, he’s much closer than when you were sitting on the floor together. You fiddle with your hands and steal glances at him every now and then.

“I wanted to ask you,” Art breaks the silence, “do you ever miss it?”

You don’t need to ask what he means by ‘it.’

There’s a moment where you gaze off, eyes wandering towards the door, before they return to the boy next to you and you shake your head.

“I don’t, not really.” You bite the inside of your cheek in thought. “It was fun for a while, and I liked being good at something, but I think I just fell out of love with it after a while. Like my whole life became just tennis, and thinking about a future in tennis. If I’m being honest, the injury was like a miracle to me.”

Art looks thoughtful at that. “What’s so wrong with a life of tennis?”

“Well. I mean, nothing, I guess. It just took a lot more time and effort than I would’ve liked. And there’s all the things I had to give up for it.”

He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to continue, so you do. “Cheeseburgers, sleeping in. Love.”

The bed dips closer to you as he shuffles a little closer. It prompts you to look back up at him.

The curls on his forehead hang low, just over his eyes. His hand rests just next to your thigh, and he rests his weight on it to lean just a bit closer. “You don’t think you can be in love and play tennis at the same time?”

Art’s presence has a magnetic effect on you. There’s a gravitational pull that has you angling your body towards him and moving ever so slightly closer to him.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

His eyes dart down to your lips. It’s an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you feel the corners of your mouth twitch upwards as you do the same. You can almost feel the warmth of his exhale as your faces draw closer and closer.

“Can I?” Art whispers.

“Please,” you respond.

His hand comes off the bed to rest on your cheek, and then he’s kissing you. It’s soft, gentle, but there’s an urgency in the way his tongue teases the entrance of your lips, and the way he moves even closer towards you, almost as if he’s chasing you.

Your hands find themselves at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His other hand moves to rest on your waist. Then your thigh. You let out a hum as your stomach does a little leap. Then, he pulls away for a fraction of a second to take you in, before his lips are on yours again. It’s electric, when he tilts his head slightly to the other side, when the hand on your cheek slides down to your jaw to bring you closer, when you hear a low groan in the base of his throat as his hand slides to the inner part of your thigh.

Then you hear the key at the door, and you both jump apart.

Tashi has a cup of ice water in her hand when she surveys the scene in front of her.

Your bodies are still angled suspiciously towards each other and your hands both rest awkwardly in your laps. Little is left to the imagination. You can still feel the butterflies in your stomach and the racing of your heart when Patrick raises his eyebrows at the two of you, a grin on his face.

“So,” he begins, “what have you guys been up to?”

Art and you speak at the same time. “Oh, you know, nothing much.” “Just chilling.”

Tashi’s face is thoughtful, as she looks at you and her lips quirk up in a smile. She nods her head to the door behind her. “Well, it’s late. We should go.”

Your eyes dart back and forth between the three people in the room. Slowly, you stand, giving Art an awkward kind of smile as you brush past him.

“Wait,” Patrick exclaims, “can I get your phone number?”

She shrugs back at him, holding the door open. “Play some real tennis tomorrow, and then I’ll give you my number.”

“So like, if I win?”

“You don’t have to win to play well.”

You’re not sure where this leaves you and Art in the mix, but Tashi is looking at you expectantly from the doorway, and you fear you don’t have the time to decide now. With an apologetic look and a wave, you mutter, “See you guys,” and then you’re out the door.

In the end, Patrick does win. He gives a flourishing bow as Tashi shrugs and applauds him. She turns to whisper something in your ear, but the words make no contact with your thoughts. As Art looks dejectedly at his racket, then at his best friend across the court, you stand abruptly. Tashi looks at you, bewildered.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, I was—”

Whatever her next words are, they die in her throat as she sighs and watches you thread your way through the stands and go down the stairs to the side of the court.

“Hey!” you call out. Art’s head perks up and his eyes search for the source of the sound until they land on you. He jogs to meet you.

“Hi.”

“Um,” you say, feeling suddenly like your foot has been shoved into your mouth, “you did really well.”

Art looks at you deadpan, but a smile starts to show in his eyes. “I lost.”

“Still, you were really good.” Your eyes glue themselves to the floor as you start to regret coming over so hastily without planning what to say.

“Well, thanks. Really. It means a lot coming from you.” Looking back up, you see him scratching the back of his head nervously. It’s an odd look, considering he’s also drenched in sweat, and his glistening skin makes him look even more nervous than he is. “Look, uh. I know we didn’t make a deal or anything, but do you think I could get your number?”

Maybe this wasn’t such a mistake. “Yeah, I think I could make that happen.”

SIX WEEKS LATER.

God, you’re stressed right now. The hem of your top has fallen victim to your incessant fiddling as you tug at it, scrunch it up, release it and repeat.

“You’re acting like it’s your first date ever,” Tashi says, rolling her eyes. There’s a smile playing at her lips that tells you she isn’t trying to be as mean as she sounds.

“He’s cute, okay? I’m nervous.”

Tashi comes up behind you and you meet her eyes in the mirror. A shiver runs down your spine as she tugs at the collar of your jacket, knuckles brushing your neck in the process.

“You should take this off.”

“What? Why?” You stare at her reflection. “I know it’s still summer, but it’s nighttime, so­ like…” Her deadpan expression has you trailing off. “What?”

“You can wear his jacket instead.”

There’s a hollow silence as your mouth forms an ‘o’. Your fingers move to tug at the sleeves of the jacket, gaze averted from hers for a moment.

“You think he’ll offer?”

Another eye roll. “The guy’s like, obsessed with you. Of course he’ll offer. Doesn’t hurt to throw in a little shiver either.”

“What if he’s not wearing a jacket?”

“Oh, he’s wearing a jacket.” She waves her cell phone in your face. “Patrick texted me an update.”

You grin and shrug off the jacket as you turn to face her. “Who knew Tashi Duncan was such a sucker for clichés?”

“I’m just trying to make sure your date goes well,” Tashi scoffs as she snatches the jacket from your hands. “You’re the one who swoons every time you watch a romcom.”

She’s right about that one.

Tashi smacks her lips as she hangs your jacket back up in your closet. “I still don’t get why you’re so nervous. I thought we broke all the ice at the hotel.”

“Well, I can still be nervous. Just because you and Patrick had sex two weeks ago doesn’t mean I have to be as confident.”

She sighs because you’re right. Tonight is your first date. With Art. Not your first date ever. But you sure do feel nervous enough to pretend it is.

You and Art have been texting nonstop for the last six weeks, but between the odd part time jobs you’ve picked up over the summer and his tennis training, you haven’t had any time to hang out, unless your best friends who managed to squeeze in their first date, first time and first sleepover together all in one go. But Tashi and Patrick are much more go getter than you.

Tashi didn’t give you shit for your lack of fervour in pursuing whatever relationship you and Art had, but you still felt a little perturbed when she called you the day after her night with Patrick, and told you that he’d asked about you guys.

(“Does he not talk to Art about it?” you asked.

“He said Art’s happy, but he wanted to know how things were going on your end. Since you guys have only been texting.”)

So now you feel pressured. Like somehow your relationship is linked to Patrick and Tashi. Like they’re waiting for you guys to catch up.

But you don’t say any of that. Because you want things to go at your own pace, you keep quiet. Because you don’t want to speak it into existence, even if Tashi will roll her eyes and call you ridiculous for it because she knows your life is yours and hers is hers, despite the way she keeps trying to push you in certain directions.

When the doorbell inevitably rings, you and Tashi exchange looks. She gives you a nod. It’s more firm than comforting, like she’s sending you off to play at Wimbledon and she knows you’re going to win.

Your parents aren’t home for the next few days, which is why you strategically planned your date for tonight, because God forbid they use their last few weeks with you living under their roof to embarrass you in front of a guy. You almost expect Tashi to answer the door for you as if she’s your mother, but instead, she shoves your bag in your chest, says, “I’m using your shampoo and eating all your snacks,” and pushes you out of the bedroom door, then closes it.

One last check in the nearest reflective surface, and you’re ready.

Art is dressed casually, like you, in jeans and a polo. Tashi was right in saying that he would wear a jacket. In the light of your front porch, he looks especially gentle, the warm light threading through his hair like a halo.

The smile that lights up his face when you open the door has the potential to end your whole bloodline, you swear. The way your heart rate picks up feels like some kind of fight or flight response, but you’re willing to ignore it all for him.

“Hey,” he says. His voice has a comforting cadence, you think. It’s been six weeks since you’ve last heard it, since you were always too scared to call him. But it’s a sound like coming home.

“Hi,” you speak softly.

There’s a bouquet in his hands, which he holds out to you, one hand tucked in his jeans. “I brought these for you.”

You take them gingerly, trying to fight the grin that threatens to split your face in half. He’s so cute. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

You put them on the table just inside. Tashi will eventually make her way downstairs and put them in some water for you. Closing the door, you turn back to Art, who holds his hand out to you. It’s such a strangely innocent gesture that you almost catch yourself giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Shall we?”

You take it, grinning like a madman. “We shall.”

“I never got to hear what you want to major in.” The fry in your hand is currently being waved around as though you’re conducting an orchestra.

“Oh. I don’t know,” Art averts his eyes to his plate. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

“I won’t judge,” you prompt gently.

He looks contemplative, and wets his bottom lip with his tongue briefly before looking up at you. “Okay.”

“Okay…” You gesture your fry towards him.

“You promise you won’t judge?” He asks, bobbing his head questioningly at you

You lean towards the table with your hand over your heart. “I swear it.”

“Physics. Or engineering.”

Sitting back in your seat, you survey him.

“That suits you,” you say genuinely. After you’ve said the words, you’re reminded all too well of the night in the hotel room again, and your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” Art says, gazing at you. “Patrick says that too, before he calls me a loser.”

“I’m guessing you’re more studious than he is.”

“You’d be right.”

Another sip of your milkshake. “I think it’s cool. Maybe we’ll even have some classes together.”

Art smiles his eye-crinkling smile across the table. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

You don’t even need to pretend to shiver. The second you’ve stepped out of the restaurant, Art’s jacket is slipped onto your shoulders. It’s warm, and smells faintly like sandalwood mixed with laundry detergent. You resist the urge to inhale the collar. Instead you smile shyly, and take his hand. There’s a knot forming in your chest at the thought of the night being over, but when the two of you reach his car, Art doesn’t take out his keys. He turns and leans against the side of his car, hand still entwined with your own.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says simply.

Your lips quirk up in amusement. “So did I.”

He hums. Your hands are swung from side to side as he looks down at them. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you step closer.

“What are you thinking about?” you whisper. You know what he’s thinking about.

He looks down at you, and does a one shoulder shrug. “I’m thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”

Your heart stops and gets jumpstarted again in the span of about six milliseconds. God. You knew it was coming, but you still couldn’t prepare yourself.

“Not asking anymore, are we?” You grin, chest thumping like crazy.

“Oh, come on.” With a tug on your hand, you’re pulled flush against him, chest to chest.

Art leans in to your ear, and whispers as if divulging a well-kept secret. “May I please kiss you?”

The tickle of his breath over your jaw sends a zap of electricity through every single nerve in your body. Your breath hitches. “You may.”

You’re not sure you’ll ever get sick of Art Donaldson’s smile. The curve of his mouth as he leans in, brushing his nose to yours before your lips meet.

Your computer pings.

Patrick Zweig sent you a friend request.

You raise an eyebrow and hit ‘accept.’

A minute later, there’s another notification.

Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. “Congratulations on a successful first date with @Art Donaldson! 😘”.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Guilty As Sin

Sebastian Sallow x Female Reader (MC)

Rating: Mature 18+ (explicit sex, smut, language), all characters are 18+

Summary: You’re a sinner and tonight, Sebastian Sallow is a saint.

In other words, it’s your (MC) last night at Hogwarts and you can’t help but fantasize over your best friend. Luckily, he’s happy to turn your daydreams into reality.

Notes: Takes place at the end of MC’s seventh year. (You’re MC.) Characters are 18. Obviously this was inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Guilty As Sin.”

I wrote this smutty drabble while I was ovulating. Oops. Consider yourself warned.

Read on AO3 here, or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow was a fucking menace.

He wasn’t even in the same room as you and he was driving you mental. Hadn’t the absolute hell he put you through during your fifth year been enough?

Oh, but this was a different type of hell. This was the kind of hell that made your palms sweat and your knees want to buckle beneath you. This hell was a frustration that simmered up through your body, rising into your head until you could practically feel it pulsing in your hair.

Sebastian Sallow was also your best friend.

You hadn’t meant for that to happen. But the events of your fifth year kind of made it difficult to shake him. You watched the moron murder his own uncle and then you covered for him like an even bigger moron. As a result, the two of you formed some sort of trauma bond that nudged you even closer together, compelling you to lean on one another. He had no one else, given that he’d pushed his sister and his former best friend away. You had no one else because you didn’t want anyone else.

In time, Anne and Ominis came around and forgave him. They settled back into his life with cautious compassion but you — you had proven yourself as the one person who would never turn your back.

And because of that, Sebastian Sallow dug and twisted his way into the center of your soul, planting himself as more than a kindred spirit or a partner in crime. No, the two of you were closer than that, and it made you want to hurl yourself into the Black Lake, sinking until the bottom claimed you.

Sebastian Sallow was the reason you were so dramatic.

You kept that drama to yourself, though you had the feeling Ominis knew. In your mission to bridge the divide between him and Sebastian, you and Ominis had also grown quite close. Ominis seemed to have a quiet understanding of your internal anguish over the boy — no, the man — the two of you had in common, but he kept quiet on the subject, except to say he was glad that if anyone had to replace him as a “best friend,” he was pleased it was you.

Instead of acting on your dramatic fantasies over that 18-year-old freckled friend, you kept them bottled in the back of your mind, the lid corked tight, except on nights like this.

These were the nights you cursed Sebastian Sallow.

No one else was around, your roommates all out celebrating the completion of term. They were saying goodbye to one another, to all the other seventh years who would be departing Hogwarts for good in the morning. You’d said your farewells too, mingling and laughing with your friends at the party, reminiscing on the memories you’d crafted in the three years you spent together.

Then Sebastian Sallow ruined everything.

He found you at that party and snaked his strong, stupid arms around your waist as he stood behind you. He did that all the time but something about it sent shivers straight past your stomach, coursing through your thighs toward your ankles.

He laughed at something Garreth Weasley had said and rested his head on your shoulder, as if your body was some sort of prop meant to bear his weight. And oh, how you wanted that to be the case.

Even as Sebastian removed himself from contact with your body to bounce around the room, commanding the attention that only someone with his level of charisma could manage, your mind fixated on his fingers. They had touched your waist, your shoulders, even your hair as he twirled it around absent-mindedly while he yapped with Amit Thakkar about some book he read.

You seized that opportunity to slip away from the party, retreating down to the dungeons and into the Slytherin Common Room. You ignored the gazes of the underclassmen and slunk into the quiet sanctuary of your deserted dorm room, dark and cool.

But Sebastian Sallow made you hot.

This wasn’t the first time you’d slid into bed, your hands inching up the hem of your skirt as you thought about him. But it would be the last time you’d do it here.

You were leaving Hogwarts tomorrow, set for Hogsmeade so you could spend the summer in your shop with Penny before starting the Ministry of Magic’s Auror Training Academy in the fall. Sebastian had also been accepted to the academy, meaning you’d be enduring another year as a student alongside him.

Another year with Sebastian Sallow. At least. For all you knew, you could end up spending your entire career with him, and while there was no one else you’d rather work with, you were certain it would drive you fucking mad.

That’s why you were hesitant when Sebastian asked you to apply with him.

”C’mon, it’ll be great,” he’d said as he pleaded with you for the fifth time. “We already know we make a great team. We’ll set a high standard for the other trainees. We’ll be unstoppable.”

You knew you wanted to be an Auror. How could you not, given all of the dark wizards and magic you’d witnessed? And you were so damn proud of Sebastian for making the same choice, for wanting to right all of his past wrongdoings. So you agreed, not that you ever intended not to apply for the Auror academy, and Sebastian excitedly vowed the two of you were going to be the best Aurors to ever carry a wand.

You were stuck with Sebastian Sallow.

You groaned at the thought of another agonizing year, sitting next to him, watching him study the prose inside his stacks of books when he should be studying the curves of your body.

After all, Sebastian Sallow could read you better than any old book.

A year of crawling through caves and catacombs, of scanning spellbooks and scrolls, of dueling enemies that wouldn’t have thought twice about your deaths. Then two years of trying to keep low profiles after Sebastian’s stupid decision in the Feldcroft catacomb, trying to live like the teenagers you deserved to be. Three total years in each other’s presence, highlighted by countless nights in the Undercroft as you became each other’s confidants. Of course Sebastian could read you like teenage poetry, tracing every line as he absorbed its meaning.

That’s what you envisioned as you lay in the quiet comfort of your bed. Except he wasn’t tracing words on a page. He was tracing you.

Sebastian Sallow had turned you into a sinner.

You let out a long exhale as your fingers made contact with your core. A few simple touches from Sebastian at that party had you wound so tight, you sprinted into your dormitory so fast, you forgot to lock the door.

And as you moaned his name, visions of his fingers sinking into you, helping you relieve the ache between your legs, you didn’t even notice the visitor in your room.

Sebastian Sallow was a sinner, too.

”Let me help you.”

Your eyes shot open and you let out the most pathetic hybrid of a scream and a gasp, your hand quickly breaking contact from what lay beneath your skirt.

”Sebastian?” you managed, shame creeping across your face in the form of rosy cheeks.

”I came to check on you. You left the party so abruptly. I thought maybe something was wrong,” he said, still lurking just inside the doorway, his hands stuffed inside his pockets.

You were determinedly not looking at him, mortified by the sight you had created for him. The candlelight of the room betrayed you as it flickered across your face, revealing your shame. But it also revealed something about Sebastian.

As the light danced, you caught a glimpse of Sebastian’s form and you swallowed hard as you realized he was hard.

Your gaze fixated on the unmistakable bulge in his pants and you felt weak.

“By all means, don’t stop on my behalf,” Sebastian said, still standing much too far away for your liking. “But if you’d like some help, I’d like to be first for consideration.”

You realized you were still flat on your back, your skirt hem still hiked up above your hips, exposing your soaked panties.

You had a choice. You could spend the rest of your nights like this, victim of your own fatal fantasies, or you could indulge them with one bold move.

”Come here,” you managed, your voice husky amid your labored breaths.

Sebastian Sallow was your savior.

Sebastian moved swiftly toward you, crawling on top of you, his arms supporting his weight as he leaned down to kiss you.

”You have no idea how many times I’ve daydreamed about this,” he said in your ear.

”Oh, but I do,” you whispered back.

Sebastian pulled away slightly to smirk at you. That stupid smirk you loved to hate.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asked.

”Why didn’t you?” you retorted. He grinned. He loved it when you bantered back and forth with him.

”Just didn’t think I ever stood a chance with someone so fucking perfect,” he said, his eyes darting downward to where your blouse was begging to be unbuttoned. “But hearing the way you moaned my name just a few moments ago… I‘d never forgive myself for not taking the chance.”

”Take it,” you said, your tone much more forceful than you’d intended. Sebastian smirked again.

”Anything you say, love. Like I said, I’m here to help.”

”Then help me already,” you said through gritted teeth. You knew he’d find a way to bring this up later, to hold it over your head, but your brain was well beyond the stages of any reasoning.

Sebastian licked his lower lip as he studied your gaze one last time, seeking final confirmation despite your desperate pleas. When he seemed content by the fire in your eyes, he kissed your neck.

”Oh fuck,” you moaned, feeling fearful for your own wellbeing — if a kiss on the neck had you on the edge of insanity, what would happen when Sebastian really touched you?

You couldn’t wait to find out.

”How can I help you?” Sebastian murmured in your ear, his hands roaming from your chest down your sides to your hips.

”Anything. Everything,” you whined pitifully. “I just want you.”

You soon realized that it was not Sebastian’s wand that you felt digging into your upper thigh as his fingers worked to unbutton your blouse. His impatience, that blasted impatience you’d seen so many times, bubbled over as his fingers fumbled against the tiny buttons and he ripped them apart.

”Not like you’ll need a school uniform after today,” he noted. You couldn’t help but laugh, but his eyes roamed your body and you fell quiet. “Can I take this off?” he continued, his fingers lifting the hem of your skirt.

You nodded silently and shifted, lifting your hips slightly as he slid your skirt down past your ankles until it toppled from the edge of the bed to the floor.

Sebastian sat back to admire you. ”You are so fucking beautiful,” he hissed.

That’s when you realized Sebastian was wearing too much clothing.

You reached for his tie, tugging shamelessly on it to pull him into another kiss. He tasted like sugar quills.

You fumbled with the knot on that stupid tie and had half the mind to rip his shirt open as well, but he pulled back to chuckle at your desperation, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his own shirt, sending you into an annoyed frenzy.

”Oh, so you’ll rip my shirt but not your own,” you pointed out. Even now, at your most vulnerable, you liked to challenge him. You knew he liked it more.

”I’m the one doing you a favor here,” he murmured.

Sebastian Sallow was a fucking tease.

Once his shirt had joined your clothing on the floor, he took a moment to plant a trail of kisses from your stomach to your inner thigh. You clenched your jaw in anticipation, unsure what he planned to do next. You knew what you wanted him to do, but you were trying not to beg.

”These are pretty,” Sebastian said as he hooked his thumbs through the sides of your panties. He slid them down with such slow and deliberate intention, you considered kneeing him in the jaw. “That’s even prettier,” he said, his gaze between your legs once you were fully naked.

You stilled yourself as he eyed you, taking in your wetness. You’ve never felt more vulnerable, but he smirked as he returned his gaze to your eyes.

”Is that all because of me?” he asked.

”You know it is,” you huffed, annoyed that you had no choice but to admit it. The man had literally heard you moaning his name earlier.

You were almost certain he could hear the silent screams of desperation inside your skull. And when his tongue made contact with you, you gasped so sharply, you wondered if there was any air remaining in the room.

”Oh my-“ you cut your own statement off with a moan and you could just feel Sebastian smirking against you.

Sebastian Sallow had a tongue like a snake.

”You taste so fucking good,” he hissed and you willed him to shut the fuck up so that you could continue to feel his mouth.

Your moans grew louder until you were grinding your hips against his tongue, desperate to finish what your own fingers had started.

His tongue flattened itself and then rolled against you in patterns, causing you to cry out in ecstasy. How could you have been so fucking stupid to have starved yourself from this for so long?

And when your orgasm started, you tried to will yourself not to moan so loud, but every ounce of logic drained from your head down between your thighs, which were shaking. Sebastian’s tongue didn’t stop until you did, and even then, you could feel him tasting you until he straightened up to admire his work.

Normally, you’d have some smart remark for him. At the very least you’d call him a smug bastard. But now your head was a juxtaposition of hazy and horny you’d never experienced.

”Better?” he asked, looking quite pleased with himself.

Your eyes flickered down to his bulging pants and he immediately got the message. You caught your breath as you watched him undo his belt and kick his remaining garments off. The smooth skin and toned muscles were more than enough to pull you out of your post-orgasm haze, especially as your eyes landed on his erection. Soon, you were licking your lips in anticipation again.

”Fuck, you’re big,” you whispered. Those were probably your famous last words. No way in hell Sebastian was ever going to forget them.

”I’ll be gentle,” he said, but you frowned. You didn’t need him to be gentle. That was the last thing you wanted right now.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk as he understood your expression. “You’re even more alluring when you’re mad,” he said, one hand wrapped around himself. You’d never been so envious of a fucking hand.

A whimper escaped your lips and Sebastian leaned forward to kiss you. You could feel him pressing against your entrance, so close to solving all your problems.

And then, when he finally satiated you and guided himself inside you, you were certain your eyes would roll back into your head.

”You feel so fucking good,” he groaned and you could practically feel him harden even more inside of you.

“Oh god, fuck me,” you hissed.

And Sebastian Sallow obliged.

The delicious friction, the steady pace, the way Sebastian told you how fucking good you were, it all crafted a fitting build-up to the climax you knew you were in for.

Sebastian Sallow was going to make you come.

You arched your back and moaned his name as you inched closer, torn between your desperation for that blissful release and not wanting it to end. And all the while, Sebastian’s eyes bore into you with the hunger and passion you’d dreamt of.

Your cunt swallowed his cock each time it slammed into you, and the way Sebastian was clenching his jaw had you wondering how much longer he had in him. You knew you were a lost cause, your undoing due at any moment.

You bucked your hips one last time as Sebastian’s cock pounded upward, catching just that right spot, eliciting a moan so loud you were sure the Common Room below could hear you.

You came so hard you saw stars as your cunt contracted around Sebastian, who continued to pound into you so hard the bed legs scraped against the hickory wood floorboards.

The ending of your high signaled the start of his and he groaned as he spilled himself inside you, savoring one final thrust before he held himself flush against you.

The quiet inside your room crashed around you as clarity slowly creeped into your head. As Sebastian pulled away from you, you immediately found yourself missing the heat of his body.

He gazed down at you swiftly before nudging you slightly, indicating that you were taking up too much space on the bed. You rolled over onto your stomach while he laid down beside you, reaching for you to rest your head on his chest.

”Can I tell you something?” he asked.

”Mmhmm, of course.”

”I really do love you, you know.”

The warmth you thought had left you instantly returned and you propped yourself up on your elbows to smile at him.

”I really do love you, too.”

You felt sleepy against his chest as you reflected on how the events of the past three years all culminated to this, and you could not have felt more satisfied for your future.

Sebastian Sallow was a fucking saint.

[highway-143]

obsession- nishimura riki

genre: fluff, suggestive, maybe angst (?), university au, s2f2e2l (idk man) answer to this ask

pairing: soccer player!riki x fem!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01 @shyoko @planetmarlowe (open taglist)

word count: 4.5k

now playing: mastermind- taylor swift

a.n- ty anonie ehehe ilysm ur so sweet

tw: fluffy fluff, shirtless riki (HAHAHA) profanity, a lil kissing but idk

(mostly proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to harm any idol in the story

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

you liked riki.

that was an understatement, actually.

you had the biggest crush on him it was possible to have.

and he was completely oblivious. or at least you thought he was.

you've had a crush on him since 11th grade, when he moved into your school. he was smart, funny, and the most beautiful boy you had ever seen. best soccer player too.

too bad you were too scared to talk to him.

so you thought it was the miracle of miracles that you ended up at the same university. he had gotten a full-ride scholarship to play on their soccer team, the marlins, and you somehow got in with your nervously-written application.

in all fairness, it was probably looking like you followed him. but you didn't, it was just fate.

and fate was what found you here, outside the sports field, staring at the coach's assistant ad.

that was your in.

so you texted the number, fingers crossed and heart hopeful.

you: hey, is this coach wilkins? i'm y/n l/n and i'd like to apply for the assistant job you had posted.

and then two hours later, you get a response.

wilkins: you've come to the right place! meet me in my office this afternoon around 3 and we can talk some more!

you giddily walk to her office all the way across campus from the dorms, iced coffee in hand and a sense of 'finally' coursing through your veins.

"hey! y/n, right?" she says as you open her door. her features are very tight and controlled, a slick back ponytail giving her a more youthful look even though she had to be in her late thirties. "come on in!"

you smile and sit across from her at her desk. she points to your drink.

"americano?"

you nod.

"those are my favorite!"

you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "yeah, they're delicious! im actually so addicted to coffee"

"girl, me too." she leans back in her chair, propping her sneaker-clad feet on the desk. "so," she rubs her hands together. "most of the job is just helping out the team, getting waters and moving equipment, you know the drill."

she picks up a soccer ball from where it sat on her desk. "and of course there would be compensation. are you up for the job?"

you grin, liking her more and more. "of course! thank you so much coach!"

"call me sarah. first practice is tomorrow at 5 in the morning. don't be late."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"come on cupcakes, you can run faster!"

needless to say, coach wilkins is a little harsher with her team than she is with you. you watch as the group of 25 boys pant on the field, legs pumping as they run laps from goal to goal. the air is frigid and the sky is dark with the hint of light coming from the east.

you didn't regret being up to see it, even if it meant less sleep than normal.

you turn to sarah. "so how long do they last."

"as long as i tell them they need to." she winks and you laugh. "but it's usually about fifty laps before one of them needs a break."

"damn, that's impressive."

"not when the opposing teams can do sixty. that's what we focus on in morning practice. endurance."

you watch as one of the boys stumbles.

"hey crane! pick up the pace!"

he nods and pushes ahead.

you watch in awe.

"how do you just... get them to listen to you like that?"

she laughs. "i really don't know. but i do know that they know that i care about them and their futures. that might be part of it."

all of the boys push through, the first collapse at lap 57.

"great job, marlins! we're almost there!" she shouts across the field.

you scan through the sea of faces, trying to find the one all of this was for.

riki.

he was in the very back, arms raised above his head and sweat on his forehead. his tank top looked just as wet despite the chilly breeze.

his hair was a tousled mess, wet and on the verge of dripping into his eyes. it was a good look on him.

you pick up the bag of waters and start handing them out, the group of out of breath boys thanking you as soon as their hands touched the cold plastic.

your finger brushes riki's when he reaches for one, and your eyes meet his even in the swarm of sweaty shirts and shouting voices.

he grins, a sweet one that you had come to love, and says "thanks"

you smile, nod, and keep distributing the water.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"wait up!"

you turn around, hearing the voice you knew all too well, and drop the bag of soccer balls in your hands. riki comes to a stop in front of you and smiles.

"you're y/n, right? didn't we go to high school together?"

he sticks out a hand, and you shake it. "yeah, we did. i think we might have been in the same-"

"world economics class, yeah!" he interrupts, but you laugh anyway.

he grabs the bag of balls and walks with you to the storage closet across the field. "so, what did you come here for?"

"i... don't really know. i haven't decided on a major yet, i'm just trying everything."

"that's real. i didn't know you were into soccer though."

you look up at him, giving your carefully thought out excuse.

"yeah, my cousin plays so i know my way around and i saw the ad so... why not make a little extra money, you know?"

he tosses the bag into the shed and looks back at you. he looks tragically beautiful in the sunrise lighting, hair pushed out of his glinting eyes and body shimmering with sweat.

"cool. anyways, i'll see you at practice tonight?"

"yup!"

and you watch him jog off the field and back onto campus, an excitement you hadn't felt since 11th grade filling your body.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

it wasn't long before you were hooked on riki.

it all started on the third day of practice. sarah had you bring the team dinner, just sandwiches from the deli down the street.

riki, instead of sitting with his friends, walked over to the bleachers to talk to you.

you were sitting with sarah, but she gave you a part knowing, part amused, and part curious look, and gets up to berate jack wilson for throwing a tomato at grant james.

"hey," he says, sitting next to you and unwrapping his turkey sandwich. "so i was wondering... do you like parties?"

"depends on the party. why?" you ask, leg bouncing and heart racing.

"there's like... this thing? it's on sunday, and it's like, kind of a party, but more like a banquet for all the sports teams."

"yo, that's cool!" you say, trying to sound oblivious.

"yeah, it is. but there's this thing where all the starters for the teams bring.... like, a date? so i was wondering if you'd maybe wanna go? like i know we don't really know each other but it's better than asking my sister and you're the only other girl i know at this school."

you fight a giggle that was brewing in your chest, along with the massive fist-pump and cheer that would inevitably happen later.

"yeah, sounds fun! mind if i give you my number and you can text me the details?"

"sure," he hands you his phone and cracks his knuckles while you tap on it. "thank you again, you're a lifesaver."

you grin and nod, happier than you could ever have been.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

riki texted you saturday night.

riki: hey y/n, its riki. the banquet thing is gonna be at 7, so i'll come to your dorm and pick you up around 6:40 so we can walk there.

riki: sound good?

riki: its formal dress btw

you jump up and down in your room, and your roomate stares at you like you've lost your mind.

you: okay, that's perfect! see you tmrw

riki: 👍

you throw yourself onto your bed and kick your legs into the mattress. your roomate watches you with curiosity.

"are you okay? what happened?"

"just... something i've been waiting years for."

she nods and goes back to reading her book, shaking her head at you.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

you were on edge all day sunday.

the team had the day off for practice, so you didn't see riki at all.

nope, that's a lie.

you did see him at walmart with his little sister when you were shopping, but you ducked into the next aisle before he noticed you standing by the ice cream.

you didn't want to be awkward around him.

in retrospect, you probably would've been fine if you said hi and started a conversation, but your nerves and the family size bag of goldfish in your cart got the better of you.

you put a lot of work into your appearance that night.

the only times riki had seen you, you were wearing workout shorts or sweats and a ratty hoodie that was comfy but definetly well-loved.

but this time, it was different.

you were in a black silk dress with a low cut and a long slit from ankle to mid thigh. the straps were thin, holding the fabric up just enough so you could show a little cleavage.

a few silver bracelets adorned your wrists, a dainty necklace accentuating your collarbones, and your hair fell in perfect curls around your face.

you pulled on a pair of black heels, making yourself taller.

good, riki was fucking giant.

and when you met him outside your building, purse in hand, you're pretty sure you saw his jaw hit the floor.

he stared at you, and you did a little twirl, blushing when he blatantly looked you up and down.

"holy shit, you look stunning."

you could say the same about him, his black suit crisp over his white shirt that had a few of the buttons undone and a sliver of chest showing that you hadn't seen since senior prom.

"thank you," you say, still standing three feet away.

"we... we should get going."

you follow him through the campus, winding around the many buildings filled with students enjoying their day off.

"you look... really handsome in a suit." you say, half giggling, half embarrassed.

he laughs, a deep sound that has your legs shaking, and smirks at you.

"i haven't worn it in a while, i'm surprised it still fits."

you smile. "is it the same one from prom?"

"yeah, but i'm fairly certian i've grown since then."

"yeah, you definetly gained more muscle."

he grins, hoping you wouldn't see how happy he was that you noticed.

truth be told, riki found you really cute. your personality made him weak in the knees, and your kindness had him wanting to be around you more than he thought he'd want to be.

he was surprised that he'd never met you before.

you walk past a group of little kids playing at a park down the road. one of them, a little girl, was shouting at a boy at the top of the kiddie zipline.

"dont get hurt!" you hear her yell up to him.

you pause, and riki stumbles when he realizes you weren't walking next to him.

"okay, i promise!" he calls down.

she watches in fear as he jumps off the ledge, swinging down to where she waited at the bottom.

"you're so brave!" she said, giving him a hug.

riki recognized the look on the boy's face, it was the same one he had not even two minutes ago.

you coo at the scene.

"aren't they cute? remember being a little kid and being able to show affection like that? god, i miss those days."

you keep walking, and riki follows. "yeah, it was great."

"did you see the way he looked after?" you ask, a sparkle in your eyes when you meet riki's gaze.

"yeah, lovestruck."

you and riki laugh, your heart filled with love and happiness.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

the banquet was nicer than you thought it would be. there were thousands of people, all dressed in formal attire and milling around the room like they owned it.

riki quickly found some of his friends, and introduced you to them.

heeseung, the point gaurd for the basketball team, shook your hand and gave riki a bro hug.

jake, one of his closest friends and defender on the soccer team, gave you an easy smile, and pointed out his date, ashley, who was talking animatedly with a group of girls.

"i don't think she cares about me." he tries to laugh it off, but you see the hurt in his eyes.

riki claps him on the shoulder. "bro, she's not worth it then, you're better than that."

"yeah man," says heeseung, handing him a glass of soda from a waiter. "you're way too good to be chasing any girl that doesn't give a shit about you."

jake chuckles and takes a swig of (what you assumed was) coca cola.

"come on, y/n," heeseung turns to you. "you'd go for a guy like jake, right?"

you stutter, unsure of what to say.

"i mean, yeah! he's handsome and funny, what more could a girl ask for?"

heeseung shakes his head, laughing at riki's face.

"dude, you look like somebody just smacked your mother." says jake.

you turn to find riki composing himself, wiping the jealousy off his face and replacing it with an eye roll.

"okay buddy, time to get you off the caffeine."

jake shakes his head defiantly and takes another sip of his drink. "if you do, there are gonna be two extra balls rolling around on that soccer field."

everyone bursts into laughter, jake's smirk proving his shift in emotions.

the panel of coaches gathers everyone's attention, announcing that dinner would be served soon, and that people should start taking seats.

you, riki, heeseung, and jake all sit together, ashley somewhere across the room with the other girls.

"so riki, are you ready for the first game?" asks heeseung.

"ehh, mostly. kinda nervous but i know i'm gonna play well."

"uh, you definitely are," you say, raising an eyebrow at him. "you're literally the best forward on the team, you're gonna win the game for us."

he smiles at you. "thanks, i hope you're right."

"she's right bro, you're insanely good at soccer." says heeseung, picking at the food on his plate. "like it's scary."

riki laughs, taking a bite of steak.

jake tells you a story about his older brother and a bowl of mac and cheese for the next ten minutes, and you stand up to use the bathroom when he finishes.

jay, one of the players on the football team takes your spot, looking at riki.

"where the fuck did you find her?"

riki laughs, trying his best to not look like a dork in front of one of the most well known kid in the school.

"she's the coach's assistant for our team. i had to ask somebody last minute and she was right there." he lies. "i don't really care about her, she's kind of annoying."

jay smirks. "great, mind if i take a shot at her?"

riki's jaw clenches, furious that jay was treating you like an object to be acquired, but he has a reputation he needs to build.

"nah bro, she's all yours."

jay slides out of your seat, walking back to his table.

heeseung and jake stare at riki like he had gone insane.

"um, what the fuck just happened?"

riki shrugs his shoulders. "i have an impression to make. plus, she would never go for a guy like him. too cocky."

"okay dude, you could do that without insulting her."

riki frowns, eating his asparagus. "okay. but it's not like she's here, she doesn't have to know. and i didn't mean it."

"tell that to the girl that just ran out of the room."

riki's eyes go wide, and he swivels his head to look around, not seeing you anywhere.

"oh fuck," he looks at heeseung. "which way did she go?"

heeseung points to an entrance, and riki immediately stands from his seat.

but his path is blocked by jay.

"just asked her out, and man, you've got a weird one. she started crying when i said you told me i could have her."

riki curses under his breath.

"what was that?" asks jay, raising his eyebrow.

riki fumbles. "uh... nothing, i just... nothing."

"where are you going?"

"uh... bathroom."

riki runs toward the restroom, opening and climbing out the window, racing across the field and sprinting to your dorm in his suit.

good thing he ran for a living.

but it still wasn't enough. by the time he found your building, the doors were just closing behind you.

he stops just in front of the entrance, putting his fist on the glass and panting heavily.

"fuck. ugh."

he pulls out his phone, texting you.

riki: where'd you go?

you: sorry riki, i had an emergency. tell the guys i'm sorry i had to leave early.

riki: oh riki: do you want me to bring anything?

you: no, thanks though.

riki: ok, see you tomorrow morning

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

you thought you'd be fine.

you thought you could just drown yourself with ice cream and tears and end up being happier.

but you were wrong.

practice the next morning was hell.

you ignored riki, tried not to acknowledge him when he stood right behind you, tried to distance yourself.

and he just thought you needed some time.

so he didn't try to talk to you. just played harder than ever during their scrimmage, channeling his anger towards jay.

but mostly his anger towards himself.

he couldn't stop beating himself up about it, internally kicking his nuts for being so fucking stupid.

and you just cried.

you felt like you wasted your time, like he was leading you on, like your heart had broken.

because it had.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

it was thursday night. you hadn't talked to riki for almost two weeks, and you were starting to get over it.

emphasis on the starting to.

you were putting away all the equipment, wheeling the goals away in preperation for the football game that night and collecting balls that had been forgotten near the bleachers.

and then you realize you aren't alone.

riki is kicking a ball around the field, dribbling it between his feet.

and he's not wearing a shirt.

great. whoop dee diddly doo.

you turn around, not wanting to deal with him, but he sees you before you can hide.

"y/n!" he runs over to you, but you pretend not to hear him.

maybe if you stay very silent....

nope.

"hey." he taps you on the shoulder and you spin around.

he stumbles backwards from the glare you're giving him, but keeps talking anyway.

"are you okay? i feel like you're avoiding me. what's wrong?"

he was trying to be careful, but that just made it worse. how dare he act like nothing happened. like he didn't do anything?

"whats wrong?! i'll tell you what's fucking wrong!" you're practically yelling to cover up the tears in your eyes. "it's the fact that you think i'm annoying! the fact that you brought me to that damn banquet and then fucking traded me like a piece of meat."

riki's eyes show his sadness now, his regret.

"and the fact that you called me 'stunning' and talked with me and acted like you liked me and then just..." your voice cracks and you clear your throat. "just acted like i didn't matter."

he tries to speak, but you don't let him.

"and you wanna know something, nishimura? i fucking liked you. i had for a while. but now i'm not so sure."

you walk away, leaving riki alone and at a loss for words on the field.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

you don't talk to riki after that.

and he feels like he lost something important.

it's like how you feel a phantom earbud after listening to music for too long.

or how people who lost limbs sense pain in the appendage they don't have.

he had become so used to your bubbly personality, the way you could smile at anything and see the best in any situation during practice.

but you were gone, and he kept thinking he could just send you a text, fuck, even call you.

but he couldn't.

some people in his situation would be too distraught to keep up on schoolwork and sports. but not riki. his anger at the situation only fueled him during practice.

and when the first game of the season came, he was fucking ready.

coach wilkins was talking in the pre-game huddle.

"okay cupcakes, you've practiced hard and done every damn drill in the book. i know you can win this game today."

the guys nod, but riki is solemn among the nerves.

"ready?" everyone cheers. "go marlins!" she shouts.

the team breaks and runs to the field, riki at the center and facing his equal the opposing team.

you watched from the stands, a speck in the sea of blue, yellow, and silver.

you told yourself you wouldn't go, that you wouldn't think about riki.

but your willpower sucks, so you left your dorm in a marlins tee shirt, shorts, and sunglasses resting on your head even though it was dark and cloudy.

you stared as riki fought the opposing team for the ball, the stands erupting in boos, cheers, and screamed insults when the ref called a foul on him for tripping another player.

the goalie caught the shot, thankfully.

you watched the rest of the game in absolute horror, waiting for someone to finally score a point.

and then, in the last minute of stoppage time-

riki scored.

you were jostled around in the stands, the echo of cheers sounding through the stadium and out into the rest of the world as jake sprinted to riki and pulled him into a huge hug.

the rest of his team crowded around him, slapping him on the back and congratulating him.

the announcer's voice rings through the stadium. "aaaaand riki nishimura scores the final, and winning, point! marlins win the first game and will move up in the championships!"

the cheers are louder now, and you watch as somebody walks up to riki with a mic. his face is projected onto the screen, an elated smile making him look absolutely adorable.

the person with him, a reporter you think, speaks into the mic before pointing it at him. "mr. nishimura, you just won the first game! how does it feel?"

he laughs when jake shakes his shoulder, giving him a dorky grin.

"it feels great, sir!"

"anybody you'd like to thank?"

riki's smile softens, and he starts talking again. his eyes stare into the camera, but it feels like he's looking directly at you.

"yeah, firstly, coach wilkins of course! she was the one who got me here. and then there's somebody else."

the crowd whispers, the noise quieted when riki continues.

"i made a mistake, i hurt somebody that i cared for. and i hope she can forgive me for it. i dedicate my win today to her."

you have to stop the gasp that threatens to rip out of your throat. your heart is beating at a million miles per hour and you feel like all eyes are on you even though nobody could possibly know.

"well... i hope you and the young lady can kiss and make up." the man winks into the camera, making the crowd laugh.

you wait for everyone to leave the stadium until all that's left is you and riki, standing on the field and looking up to where you sat, illuminated by the industrial lights.

"y/n." he calls.

you start walking down to the field, stopping when you get to the wall seperating it from the bleachers.

"i'm so, so sorry for hurting you."

you stand there, just watching him while he walked closer to you.

"i thought that i would look cool in front of jay if i acted like i didn't care, if i let him 'have the girl.' but believe me, i was furious that he was treating you like that, but i thought i wouldn't fit in if i didn't act like them."

he's standing right in front of you now, the barrier the only thing between you.

"but i realized i was wrong. that night, at the banquet, bring around you felt like.... like being in another world. a perfect one. and i want to try again with you, but only if you'll give me a second chance. i know i might not deserve one, but it's up to you."

you watch him carefully, his face a mixture of sadness, guilt, and worry.

"riki, i...." you pause, wiping a tear from your eye. your voice feels like it's about to give out any second, so you whisper.

"i'll give you one."

riki doesn't think he heard you right.

"you're for real?"

you laugh. "for real."

he jumps over the short wall, leaving his ball behind and pulling you into a bug hig.

"can i kiss you?" his words are the quietest you've ever heard as his lips come close to your ear.

you dont respond with words, but with actions.

and when thunder rolled through the sky after a flash of lightning, that's where the rain found you and riki.

lips pressed together, arms thrown around each other, and the rest of his team on the other side of the field recording the whole thing.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

a.n- gang im crying shit.... anyways if you liked this fic, please comment/like/reblog and lmk if you have any ideas for another fic!

masterlist you might also like: kissed- n.rk

[hwangism143]

battleground

synopsis: you hated your co-president, kim seungmin. but, it's your last year of high school and prom planning is up to the two of you. you just expect getting work done and leaving school. what you don't expect however, is kim seungmin looking after you (considering you never do) and you coaxing him into being your prom date.

pairing: non-idol!seungmin x fem!reader

genre: academic rival to lovers, crack, fluff, high school au, angst if you squint

warnings: swearing, mentions of eating, mentions of fatigue and fainting, sickness and overworking, slight themes of stalking, panic attack but not mentioned as such, mentions of alcohol, overconsumption of alcohol, a shit ton of pop culture references (i'm sorry)

word count: 21k words (?!)

requested by: @starlostseungmin (hi kaisey ily)

playlist: gorgeous - taylor swift, true love - p!nk, CHILL - stray kids, make you mine - madison beer, teenage dream - katy perry

a/n: real life men are better of as just enemies. my fictional rendition of seungmin, however, is not. (also i hope it isn't obvious that i have never been to prom.)

"you ruined my life, by not being mine"

"Was that an attempt of trying to flirt with me? Cause, wow, you need to step your game up," Seungmin told you with a smirk.

Sunlight streamed through the library windows, illuminating the dust that covered the bookshelves. They were proof of the lack of visits to the old haven of knowledge. Settled in an armchair was Kim Seungmin, book in one hand, glasses slightly crooked and one legged propped upon the other.

You let out a puff of breath in an attempt to calm yourself down because, who did he even think he was? "No, Kim, it wasn't. I am literally a teenage girl and yet, you are the most delusional person I have ever meet," you spit out, "The principal's calling us. Let's go."

"Alright, fine," Seungmin responded lazily. He stretched his long limbs and got up from the armchair he was cozily tucked up in.

He joined you on your walk towards the principal's office while you told off whatever force was above that caused you to be walking to impeding doom with Kim Seungmin on a Friday morning.

You both had a bitter rivalry that began your first year in high school. Coinciding with the fact that the said high school was also a boarding school, there was no escaping Seungmin. You couldn't even pinpoint when your feelings towards him changed from indifference to animosity; but having been pitted against each other for all your academic life at Park Academy, it certainly did make sense.

It wasn't that you didn't respect Seungmin. He was good at everything he did and a worthy opponent in all your endeavors. But he just made it so difficult for you to like him.

Your already dysfunctional relationship with him only took a turn for the worse this high school senior year. Both of you had decided to run for student council president. Despite all the campaigning and emotional blackmailing, you both had tied for the position.

Your incredible school, instead of holding a tie-breaker, deciding to make you both student council presidents. The idea of writing 'student council co-president' on your college applications physically made you wince.

But the worst part? Seungmin and you actually worked really well together. Deciding to keep your rivalry out of anything student council related on your first session (the banter continued though, nothing could take that away), you both had built up one of the best councils the school had seen under your shared leadership.

You didn't know just how well you both would get along when it came to matters as such, but that didn't lead to either of you warming up to each other. Conversation between you both strictly consisted of official matters and jabs at each other.

In fact, you hated each other's presence so much that you both almost instantly decided on splitting responsibilities to avoid running into each other. Oddly enough, you both seemed to agree on a lot of things. You always just brushed it off with a, great minds think alike.

Not that you would ever confess to Seungmin that you considered him to be someone with a 'great mind'.

The both of you walked towards the principal's office in silence. When you eventually got there, the receptionist quickly ushered you both inside. You smoothed down your skirt and sat down with your hands in you lap. Beside you, you noticed Seungmin drape his blazer over the back of his chair and take a seat.

Your principal was on a call and winked at the both of you, pointing towards the phone and turning her finger around in a circle near her temple. Seungmin flashed her a strained smile while you hoped that the expression of judgment on your face wasn't obvious.

For some reason, Principal Kim thought that she was your friend. When she finally put the phone down, she snorted, "Superintendents, am I right?"

Seungmin and you laughed weakly in response. Principals, am I right? was the phrase you were currently trying very hard to bite back.

Coming closer, Principal Kim laced her fingers together and leaned onto the table. "As you both know," she began, "We have around five months till prom."

A buzzing grew in your stomach, excitement engulfing your senses. Prom. Your sole respite, the event that you had looked forward to your entire high school life. From watching Disney movies romanticizing prom at a young age, to subsequently moving onto books that did the same, you felt like prom would be the pinnacle of your time in school.

"Now," continued Principal Kim, "While I do know that you both have a tendency to work separately, I would like you both to chair the prom committee together this year. We are thinking of making this year's prom one of Park Academy's finest. Take your time and compile the best Prom committee you can and get started on everything."

She clapped her hand and leaned back, beaming at her best students. "That is all," she smiled softly, nudging a tray of toffees towards you both.

Seungmin looked mortified at the thought of eating something from the principal's office like he was six. In any other circumstance you would have too, but the giddiness of both prom planning and not having had anything for over twenty four hours compelled you to take one.

"Aren't you excited?" you asked Seungmin as you both walked out of the door.

You were opening the toffee wrapper when he responded with a curt, "No. I personally believe that prom is a waste of time. I'll help in the committee planning and be present if I need to, but you can rightfully assume that I will not be enjoying any of it."

You were slightly shocked at his response but responded with a scathing, "I didn't know that the Kim Seungmin was too high and haughty for prom."

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to make eye contact with you. "Prom is like a playground for bullies and confused teenagers. It's a battleground for snarky comments and raging hormones and, might I add, brings out the worst in people."

He quickly turned on his heel and walked away before you could utter a word. You slowly let out a deep breath to control you anger and headed in the same direction as him, towards the cafeteria. You can hear the chatter of students and the sudden influx of sound momentarily causes your world to spin.

You're leaning against one of the lockers trying to steady yourself when feel an arm around your waist hoisting you up.

Hyunjin clicked beside you in disappointment. "Don't make me start feeding you now."

You just sighed in response and leaned your head against his shoulders. He was right, of course. You had the horrible habit of putting your health second (to last) with regards to anything that had to do with university and getting in. One of those things was skipping meals in favor of studying.

"I don't understand how people who sleep eight hours a day get shit done," you whined against Hyunjin.

"Well, has it ever occurred to you that people usually don't have as much shit to do as you do?" your best friend responded wisely. You lightly tapped the side of your sneaker against his.

Hwang Hyunjin was practically your brother in every aspect possible. He was lovable, caring, annoying and wanted to make you rip your hair out. All of this was what you assumed having a sibling was like, being an only child yourself. Ironically, he was one too.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You first met Hyunjin during an art class that you had to take for your first week of school. You struggled with drawing a straight line, while embarrassingly using a ruler. He was sitting beside you and calmly sketched one of the most incredible monochromatic landscapes you had ever seen.

When fourteen-year old Hyunjin gave your drawing a practically dangerous side eye and when you looked at him with eyes pleading to help you, the foundation of your friendship was laid. Later, when you handed him half a Snickers bar as a means of saying 'thank you', your friendship was cemented in chocolate and pencil shavings.

You both were joined at the hip ever since.

Your other best friend, Jeongin, had a habit of seemingly materializing out of nowhere and startling you in the process.

"Hi," he said, his face spawning in front of yours.

His wild hair and crazed smile caused you to yelp in surprise and hit your arm against the water fountain. Hyunjin laughed at your misfortune while Jeongin apologized with an extremely unapologetic smile. You resorted to glaring at both of them.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The story of how Jeongin turned your duo into your trio was a tale in itself. Jeongin was a year younger than you and Hyunjin, currently a junior. You had first spotted him on his first day of school, him waddling around like a lost duckling and you unwittingly (and unwillingly) taking on the role of a mother hen.

Hyunjin had seen young Jeongin standing in the crowd, desperately trying to act cool. Jeongin's shoes were a painful pattern of key lime and hot pink that most definitely did not match together. He wore an oversized jacket and sent a small nod towards everyone who looked his way, hands jammed in his jeans pocket.

"That one," Hyunjin declared while dragging you along with him, "We're adopting that one."

And so two became three.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Presently, you scoffed at Jeongin. "How did you even become student council vice president?"

Jeongin beamed at you, counting off his fingers as he listed of his campaigning winning qualities. "I'm hot, rich, smart and funny."

Hyunjin snorted in response, him on one side of you and Jeongin on the other. "Innie, you are several things but smart is not one of them."

You were compelled to nod in response as Jeongin responded with a gasp, "You too? How could you betray me as well."

You would have issued a sarcastic reply to what he said, but you were too distracted by Hyunjin being distracted. He had suddenly stood still at the entryway of cafeteria, staring at something in the distance.

When you followed his line of sight, you suppressed the urge to burst out into laughter. Jeongin, however, did not.

"Gosh Hyunjin," he wheezed between laughs, "Just ask Riya out. Watching you suffer in this down bad, unspoken friend zoned phase is pitiful."

Hyunjin had been in love with Riya Rai for well over two years. You could obviously tell why; she was gorgeous, smart and a part of Hyunjin's dance class. You were truly rooting for them to start dating, Riya being one of your roommates.

You still remembered the way Hyunjin gushed over her classical dance audition. ('I couldn't understand the words but it was like she was flying!') Jeongin too, was subject to Hyunjin's hopeless love for her. Being the kind of person Hyunjin was, he fell for her hard and deep.

You were happy for Hyunjin, you truly were. But a part of you longed to feel a love like that for somebody. Not even a relationship, just feel love dripping into your heart until it rushed in like a torrent.

You were always so busy with proving yourself to others, that you never really took the time to introspect your own desires.

"Hyunjin," you asked impatiently once you remembered what exactly you wanted to talk about.

"Hm?" he responded as you both grabbed your food and sat at a table with your regular friend group.

Riya slid in beside Hyunjin and you could feel him visibly tense. You couldn't understand why he was so nervous to profess his feelings for her. Any girl (apart from you, because ew) would be willing to date Hyunjin.

Riya brightly made her pleasantries after which you asked solemnly, "Guys. Would you do me the honor of being part of the prom planning committee?"

Riya and Hyunjin were the few people who shared the enthusiasm for prom which you did. Riya mouth slowly hung open while Hyunjin sharply took in a breath.

"Really?" he whispered in awe.

You nodded happily as Hyunjin hugged you from one side and Riya clambered over to where you were sitting to wrap her arms around you. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou," she repeated like a chant while Hyunjin excitedly began plotting décor ideas.

Maybe you wouldn't need romantic love while you had them.

You were busy people watching and tuning out Riya and Hyunjin's enthusiastic chatter when you caught site of Seungmin. He was sitting with his best friend, Lee Felix. You found their friendship quite odd. How could the embodiment of happiness be so close with the devils spawn?

I guess opposites attract platonically too.

You lamented at the thought of co-heading a prom committee with a partner who hated prom until an idea struck you. If Kim Seungmin hated prom, you could teach him how to love it. That lunch break, you made an executive decision that, unbeknown to you, would inevitably change you life.

You decided to open Kim Seungmin's eyes to the brilliance of prom.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - five months.

Seungmin stood next to you as you both waited for the rest of the student council members to make their way for your impromptu Saturday meeting. The two of you stared up at one of the most monstrous things you had ever seen in your lives.

A large banner with a blue background and the words "T-5 MONTHS TILL PROM!!!" in an ugly orange text stared back at you.

You gaped at the banner, seething with anger. "Let me find the person whose amazing idea this was and rearrange their body proportions for them."

Seungmin just responded calmly, "Maybe this is a sign from the universe to get our act together, delegate responsibilities to the committee and actually get started on prom."

"Not all of us are as optimistic as you, Kim," you told him dryly.

"Not all of us have an insatiable bloodlust, candy cane," he retorted monotonously.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line as you turned to see Seungmin's eyebrow cocked in a persumed sense of superiority.

You despised the nickname, a knowing jab at your short stature. Seungmin first called you candy cane when he noted how your height was nearly equivalent to the candy canes lining your school halls in your junior year.

It had stuck when you both were privately conversing with each other ever since.

His indifference slightly bristled you, but then again you were known for having a slightly short temper.

Chatter flowed in through the library's door, accompanied by the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor. People who you and Seungmin had individually contacted, along with most student council members, began entering the room.

You noticed Hyunjin making his way to sit next to Riya, who was busy in conversation with Felix. The three of them were known for being close due to dance club. You shot Hyunjin an encouraging smile and he gave you a slightly crooked one.

Jeongin bounded up to the front to assume his rightful place as vice president. You ruffled his hair and he pinched your arm in retaliation. Your little squeal and his irritated grunt earning an annoyed look from Seungmin.

He cleared his throat loudly, instantly commanding the attention of the entire room. Faces turned to look at him when his voice called out, "I hope you all know why we have gathered here today."

He turned to look at you, your cue to begin talking. "As you may be aware, you all have been selected as this year's Park Academy Prom Committee!"

The room burst into applause as Seungmin continued, a routine familiar to you both. You didn't know how the two of you did it. Without even prior conversation, you two fell into sync when it came to addressing the crowd in front of you for your co-lead student council meetings.

Once again you chalked it up to, great minds think alike. There was no way you and Seungmin had anything else in common, apart from the occasional train of thought.

Right?

When your long sermon was finally finished, the room was buzzing with excitement. Teenage hormones and the onset of prom brewed a recipe for eager anticipation. This is it, you thought, this is the last piece of my childhood I have left.

On the advice of Principal Kim, you and Seungmin split the overall committee into three groups: one for decorations, one for publicity and one to arrange entertainment.

Jeongin had proclaimed himself the 'god of social media' and sauntered off to the group in charge of publicity. Hyunjin, Riya and Felix automatically were presumed to be part of décor, with Hyunjin elected head of their group. ('I will not let my team down. Over my dead fucking body,' he told you in complete seriousness later that day.)

Finally, you and Seungmin were left handling booking and anything else payment and transaction related. Principal Kim's vehement repetition of how she only trusted the two of you with cash was seared into your brain.

As you both took rounds of the large library hall, something kept nagging at you, itching the back of your brain. It disheartened you to see how warmly everyone interacted with Seungmin in comparison with you.

What bothered you even more, however, was how warmly Seungmin, interacted with others when compared to you.

Being likable was one of, if not the biggest goal in your life. Knowing that a single person disliked you sent you into a frenzy. Call it your upbringing or society, either way you felt like everybody you knew had to find you to be a good person, or else you weren't.

Other people's opinions were like medicine to you. Gaining external validation became such a large part of your life that sometimes, you forgot that what you thought, what you wanted, mattered as well.

And in this draining people-pleasing process, you weren't quite 'friends' with everyone. You were friendly and appreciated among your students, yes. But you didn't have a large friend group full of people who cherished your very existence, like Seungmin.

That was probably why you called Hyunjin and Jeongin were your best friends. It took away from the fact that they were your only friends. Seeing them with their own, other friends hurt, but it was too late now.

There was no point making more friends when you would be gone anyways. And despite how much you wanted to, you knew that creating deeper connections only to break them away would prove pointless.

You and Seungmin settled into the small bean bag pods which were propped up against the empty library walls. He scrolled through his phone with utmost concentration as you did the same, tapping away at your laptop keys.

"We'll have to sit with Lily for planning the budget," Seungmin broke the silence while referring to the committee treasurer, "But she has texted me the overall amount we have in the trust."

Seungmin opened the message and angled his phone towards you, eliciting a gasp from your mouth.

"That is an insane amount. Do you know what this means? We truly can make this Park Academy's best prom yet!" you excitedly began listing off the non-existent limits to which the money could spent.

"You forgot something," Seungmin added, stunning you to silence. What could have you forgotten about prom which Seungmin could have remembered?

The stoic expression on his face, however, told you it was nothing good.

"We need to show extreme constraint while using the money and be strict on the group," Seungmin huffed.

You blew in anger, "The entire point of having an extensive budget is to let loose! God, you're like the Grinch of prom or something."

"Please sweetheart," he snorted, "I'm far better looking than him. Even you can't deny that."

And as infuriating Seungmin seemed to you, he was correct. Seungmin was drop dead gorgeous. Even in a plain school uniform, he had the power to turn several heads. In fact, you would be lying if you said that you didn't find him a teensy bit attractive.

Not that he would ever obtain that information.

Seungmin went back to work, looking for banquet halls and hotels open to being the venue for prom. You observed him carefully, trying to figure the psychology behind why he hated prom. Then, you realized that to to succeed in your mission, you didn't have too.

The Grinch fell in love with Christmas too...

"I have made an executive decision," you announced to no one but Seungmin in particular.

He looked up, an expression of boredom and confusion coating his features.

"How exactly, darling, did you take an executive decision without consulting half of the executive. I thought you were smart enough to know how decision making takes place," a smug smile adorned him.

You rolled your eyes at him, "I will make you like prom."

Seungmin scoffed, "As if. You know what, Y/N? I bet you can't."

You sighed in fake defeat, cheering inside. One thing about having an academic rival was predicting their moves to the point where you knew how to trap them. It was like a game of chess, where Seungmin thought he had the upper hand, but you were one move away from checkmate.

You understood what made Seungmin tick, what ignited passion in him and what triggered him. You knew how to get a rise out of him and get him to calm down. More terrifyingly so, you knew that he knew the same.

You likened it to years of shared dislike, denying the fact that you both maybe were alike.

"I mean, considering our role in the entire organization of prom, we'll be stuck together all night anyways," you lamented in disappointment, "Truthfully speaking, I honestly did expect you to decline my invitation to formally attend prom with me as my de facto date."

"Although I wasn't planning on calling you that," you included for good measure.

You decided to deviate from telling him the real reason why you wanted to take him to prom. Out of everyone in this school, Seungmin was the last person left whose good books you didn't have so much as a footnote in.

You knew that this little social experiment of yours to leave school with everyone singing praises about you was highly selfish, but you needed this to feel worthy of graduating. You needed this to feel worthy of being a part of a social communities.

You could practically see the anger teeming from Seungmin at proving you right. "Fine," he spit out, "I'll be your date."

Checkmate.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - four months and 16 days.

With final assessments right around the corner, physical committee meetings came to a halt. All conversations took place through group chats and the occasional locker meetups. In all the frenzy of studying, you were once again indulging in sleepless nights and nutrition-less days.

Seungmin had gone into hibernation mode and as had you. All your phones were on do not disturb and casual fun was out of the question. Today, you had taken release in the library, headphones on and coffee in hand.

You were (pathetically, to some, advantageously, to you) on a first name basis with the resident librarian. Because of you often staying late nights (correction: all night) in the library, you even had your own spare key to lock up when you were done. It was a little secret you both shared.

Today, however, you felt uneasy. A transfer student by the name of Benji had been unceasingly making romantic advances towards you the past week. Although you reject him multiple times, his feats of grandeur only grew.

He was currently sitting a few tables away from you, the only other person in the library apart from librarian Kang. Even though he attempted to look busy and engrossed in the book in his hand, he kept stealing glances from you.

It was late, very much so. Everybody would be asleep and you didn't want to disturb anyone. You calmed your nerves but reached your breaking point when Kang asked Benji if he planned to leave anytime soon and he refused.

In a state of both fear and fatigue, you dialed the number of the only person who you knew would be awake at this time and waited for the call to ring out.

"Hello?" came Seungmin's bewildered voice. You rarely called him and even then, never at this hour.

"Seungmin, hi. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?" you asked him, hoping to suppress the  anxiety in your voice.

He must have noticed though, because his voice was alert. "Sure, what's up?"

"You know how Benji has been treating me, right?"

He hummed in acknowledgement. Of course he knew. Benji boasted so much that everyone knew.

"Well, I'm in the library and so is he. He's the only one here and it's kinda freaking me out. If it's ok with you, can you please just stay on call with me just in case? You can put me on hold or something, just please be active. I'm really sorry but you're the only other person who I knew would be awake right now."

You heard rustling in the background and his voice finally came back, "Wait. My dorm is loud anyways so I'll meet you there."

"Oh, okay, okay."

To your extreme relief, Seungmin did not hang up the call. Instead, you could hear his footsteps. All the mundane sounds of him locking his dorm, shoes slapping against the concrete and heavy breathing (due to running, but that didn't make sense) oddly calmed you down.

That was, however, until Benji walked over to where you were sitting. He gave you a venomous smile and leaned over to books right above your head. Pulling out a book from the shelf above your head and walked away, something sharp glinting in his hand.

You breathing quickened. "Seungmin, he has a sharp object. I have assessed all possible escape routes. I would suggest that you leave as I will probably as well if the situation escalates."

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" he questioned, almost sounding angry that you had even thought of saying something like that.

"I'm not leaving you alone with him or giving him an opportunity to fuck with the students of this school. He may be here for only two weeks, but I'll make sure he doesn't hurt a single person."

The steel in his voice made you shudder. You did not want to be on Kim Seungmin's death list. The library doors swung open as librarian Kang let out an exasperated sigh.

"Another wannabe Einstein," she muttered under her breath as Seungmin made his way towards you.

He looked like a sight for sore eyes in his plain sweater and gray sweatpants. Seungmin gave you a subtle not and took a seat right beside you, pulling out his books and tablet. Soon you both started studying and, before you knew it you both were engaged in a heated competition to see who could solve as many trigonometry problems as possible correctly, in the least time.

Throughout this duration, you didn't find out much personally about him, but saw a more carefree side of him. In fact, you liked this carefree side of him.

He winced when you pointed out the simple mistake he made that caused him to lose in the end. "I can't believe I've forgotten what the division symbol looks like."

You giggled and poked his arm, legs underneath your feet. "Is this what letters in math is doing to you?"

Seungmin shrugged sheepishly with a tiny smile. "Go ahead, shortcake, gloat."

Instead, you posed him with a question, "Why do you always insult my height? Like, that seems to be your favorite."

Maybe, just maybe, you were imagining it, but you saw a light blush scatter over Seungmin's cheeks. He cleared his throat and, in what must have been a moment of vulnerability said, "You are good at literally everything else. Your height is the only thing I can ask you about."

You stared at him slightly open mouthed at his sudden respect. In an instant, the room felt to hot and Seungmin's face felt to close to yours. The moment was broken, however, by the simultaneous and not at all harmonious chorus of a chair scratching against the floor and you're stomach rumbling.

Benji was gone and but your appetite was back. Seungmin must have heard it too because his right eyebrow was ticked up.

"When, exactly, did you last eat?"

"Today," you admitted sheepishly, "Morning. At 6."

"And what was it?"

Another gulp. "A banana."

Seungmin shook his head in disappointment and rifled through his bag. He pulled out a mushed granola bar and handed it to you.

"Eat," he commanded.

"Okay," you said meekly. "Wait, this is my favorite brand!"

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that before," Seungmin said nonchalantly, but you noted the slight quiver in his voice.

You took a bite and it felt like your body was screaming at you. It felt so good to eat after just having six in the morning bananas for the past few days, that you little out an embarrassing little squeal in content.

"I'm surprised you remembered," you referenced Seungmin earlier statement and folded the wrapper in a neat rectangle. Putting it in your pocket to throw away later, you waited for Seungmin's response.

It never came. His head was bent and he was hard at work, evidently ignoring. Seeing this as an indication that the conversation was over, you got back to your own work. That wasn't, however, without a feeling of something new that wasn't hate - adjacent.

You felt a little blossom of affection in your stomach for the boy flipping through the pages of his notebook beside you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - it's finals!

You slammed your Astrophysics textbook against your desk, yet again unable to get stuff to fit in your brain. It was your last final and while you crammed for your other subjects, Seungmin had told Hyunjin that you were back to your old habits. Hyunjin and Riya had then joined hands and blackmailed you into (yuck) taking care of yourself.

"Seriously," you grumbled, "How do people who get eight hours of sleep get their shit done?"

Finally coming to the conclusion that you were helpless, you reached for your phone to text all your questions to Seeun, the assistant teacher. Seeun was a university student interning at your school, and an alumni as well. Citing how she was very much close in age with the students of your grade (if six years is considered 'close'), she insisted that you all call her Seeun and not Miss Choi.

You were in such a rush that you didn't even check for typos, tackling another chapter while waiting for Seeun's response. You still had one more day to study, considering that your exam was the day after tomorrow, you were going to use all twenty four hours and more to your advantage, not wasting a single bit.

Finding it odd that Seeun still hadn't responded considering how bored she always said she was and her frighteningly quick response times, you decided to check your phone. To your horror, however, you found out that in your rush, instead of sending your questions to Seeun, you had sent them to Seungmin.

His responses were almost instantaneous.

[8:18 AM]

You: [sent attachment]

You: Hi Seeun, I had a few questions regarding these topics. I was wondering if we could meet up tmrw to discuss them? Thx!

[8:20 AM]

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): i'm not seeun, but i could help

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): i tutored a few seniors taking this class last year

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): if you want, how does the coffee shop down the street at eight sound to you?

You were practically smiling at your phone. It obviously had to do about the fact that it was someone offering you help, not that it was Seungmin specifically. (Duh?) After waging a long, internal war, you finally opted to sacrifice what little dignity you had in front of Seungmin's eyes and take him up on his offer.

[2:47 PM]

You: really? omg thx!

You: see you then

[2:48 PM]

kim stuck-up seungmin (sigh): k, ig i'll see you there

Huh. Weird. Seungmin was notorious for being known to reply to people after a minimum of at least two hours, if they were lucky enough not to be left on read.

Not reading to much into it, you went back to work. Work wasn't just work though. It was an influx of nervous butterflies accompanying it. Not that it had anything to do with Seungmin, of course.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you got to the coffee shop that morning, it was technically 7:55. But, as you had always been taught, five minutes early is on time. Seungmin must have abided by that philosophy too, because soon he stumbled through the door.

You hadn't even picked a table to sit at when he tapped you shoulder and said, "Hey."

You turned to find Seungmin with the same green, battered back pack he took everywhere slung over one shoulder. His hair was tousled in an endearing way that made you want to squish him. His eyes were surprisingly warm and his lips were turned up.

"Like what you see sweetheart?" he teased.

You rolled your eyes at him, "No, of course not. It's like looking at something so hideous that you can't peel your eyes off of it."

He gave you a good natured laugh and walked alongside you to the coffee table.

After much deliberation, which mainly consisted of you and Seungmin arguing over the pros and cons of a window seat, you finally settled on a seat close enough to the large glass window for Seungmin's satisfaction and far enough to not prove distracting to you.

When your sugar packet tower fell down in the process of building it, he grinned at you again. It felt nice, having Seungmin's smile directed towards you.

Whoa, slow down there. Are you ok?

Without even realizing what you were saying, you asked Seungmin, "Why do you always cover your face when you laugh?"

Seungmin's smile slightly faded. "When I was in middle school, I used to wear braces. The kids... they found it weird, which meant they found me weird."

You were shocked. How could anyone dislike his smile? Seungmin's smile was one of the prettiest smile's you had ever seen. And mind you, you used to hate Kim Seungmin.

Used to. Now, it was more like you were tolerating him, sometimes even appreciating him. Wow, something really is wrong with you.

You snorted. "If I could travel back in time," you declared, "I would deck those dumbasses in the phase."

Seungmin choked on the coffee that the waitress had dropped off a few minutes ago. He surprisingly remembered your order, despite you only mentioning it to him during his student council coffee runs only once or twice before.

"Y/N, I'm pretty sure that's a crime," Seungmin snickered.

You raised your eyebrows in response. "And if you don't help me with this, I'm about to commit a crime, and you won't be in a position to testify."

With that, the lessons began.

Seungmin was an extremely good teacher. He was well known among the student body for being the kind of tutor that took F grades and turned them into a B+ or A-. Even you wanted to start tutoring, but your patience often wore thin faster than it did for others.

Seungmin though, didn't break a sweat. He revised concepts over and over again until you understood, making sure that at the end, you didn't have a single semblance of a doubt in your mind when it came to the related topic.

Two hours later, you were finally done.

"Now," Seungmin announced, "We will have some fun and let loose."

You were putting your books inside when you clicked a pen in your hand restlessly. "You, prim and proper Kim Seungmin, want to 'let loose' and 'have some fun'?"

Seungmin clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Look tiny, I'm disciplined, but I know my limits. You have already studied everything to the T. Plus, your exam is tomorrow. Get some fresh air and take a break now, then revise once more in the evening."

You wondered how he could be so careless when he probably had an exam tomorrow too. "What about you? Don't you have to study as well?"

Seungmin sent you a devious grin and you felt your knees go weak a little (No. What?)

"I had my last exam yesterday, honey," he happily shared, patting your head in mock pity in the process.

Honey, that was new. You were so used to the reoccurrences of 'darling', 'sweetheart' and terms related to your height that the new nickname caught you slightly off guard.

You hoped the expression on your face clearly conveyed that you found his actions traitorous. "How dare you prey on a vulnerable young woman just to quench your loneliness?"

"Come on," Seungmin coaxed, "We can hit the boardwalk, get lunch and go back to the dorms. You and I both know that we aren't invited to Saturday gatherings due to unfortunately being classified as 'nerds'."

In the end, you relented. After all, who can say no to someone whose beaming smile rivalled the shine of a rainbow and whose honeyed voice washed over you like a soothing balm?

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Boardwalk was the name that the students had given to the all year amusement park reminiscent set up that was just a few minutes away from the dorms. You had come here several times, but rarely with someone else and mostly to clear your head. (And watch toddlers shrieking on the carousel).

The moment you got your pink wristbands, Seungmin dragged you to the stalls where you played to win a plushie. He was so intent on winning something that you found it almost adorable.

"You do know that these are all scams, right? There's no way you'll win," you stated confidently, disregarding the mammoth scowl on the game operators face."

Seungmin lazily picked up a dart and aimed for the balloons hung on the wall. He cocked his head towards you and gave you a wink, "This one's for you, sweetheart."

To your utmost surprise, the dart hit the balloon perfectly. Even Seungmin looked stunned. The operator offered him another dart and you a self-assured smirk. He once again hit the dart again, with a satisfying pop!.

"All right folks," the operator droned, "Pick a stuffed toy."

Seungmin nudged you slightly, "Which one?"

You glanced at him, "You won, so it's only fair that you choose."

Seungmin smirked at you, "Nope. I recall mentioning that that one was for you."

Heat pooled in your stomach, which shouldn't have. Especially when the cause were Kim Seungmin.

"Okay," you jutted out your head to make eye contact with him and turned back to choose the lucky stuffed toy.

You pointed at a medium sized elephant plushie and grabbed it eagerly. Holding it tight to your chest you said, "What should we name our child Seungmin?"

He presented you with no reply and a face contorted with judgement.

Pouting, you mockingly told the elephant, "Look, your father doesn't love you."

Feigning an offended gasp, Seungmin promptly snatched the elephant from you, "Don't listen to your mother, Ello."

"Ello?" You laughed.

"Shh," Seungmin chastised, "Let my inner European be free."

The mild spring breeze whipped your hair around and you took of your jacket, wrapping it around your waist. You spotted a fallen rose and quickly went to pick it up. It was still in pristine condition and in a random bout of girlhood, you tried to tuck it behind your ear.

Silently, Seungmin motioned towards you taking Ello and you handing him the rose. Seungmin somehow managed to break of the thorns without cutting himself.

Delicately lifting up the hair behind your hair, he began to adjust the rose in place. Since he was considerably taller than you, Seungmin leaned in front. You could see every valley and crevice in his face and for some reason, you wanted to hold it in your arms.

A rush thumped through your chest. As silly as it seemed, nobody had ever quite touched you like that. Seungmin's breath smelled like chocolates and cinnamon.

A rebellious part if you wondered if that was what he would taste like.

Lightly clearing his throat, he continued walking and you followed wordlessly. A few random rides later, you both finally found yourself in front of the Disco Pang Pang. A smile tugged at your lips. You were so going on this ride today.

Cheeks flushed from the fun you were having, you said breathlessly, "Let's go."

Seungmin visibly gulped, "I don't know."

"Aw come on, don't tell me you're scared." Seeing the petrified expression on his face however, you quickly retracted your statement. "It's fine, we don't have to,"

"No, it's okay," Seungmin managed weakly, "Just, hold me please."

Handing Ello to one of the fair volunteers, you both clambered up the metal stairs and took a seat on the foam benches. Seungmin was right next to you, his arm around the railing of where you sat.

Your initial excitement of experiencing this wore off, however, when the machine suddenly lurched forward. It threw Seungmin on you and his arms instinctively curved around your waist.

The warmth from his body radiated into you and for a moment stayed frozen, eyes glued on each other. You felt electric shocks where he touched you and trembled slightly.

Catching his breath, Seungmin began to apologize profusely. "I'm sorry I didn't mean too-"

The machine lurched again and again. Seungmin had figured out how to maintain his balance and stayed the distance of an arm's length away from you. When it was finally over, you both stumbled onto solid ground, clutching your stomachs.

"That. Was. Awesome!" You decided, delight etching your face.

"I'm convinced you're a six year old boy stuck in an eighteen year old girl's body," Seungmin groaned.

Agreeing upon this being enough fun for one day you both walked back to the dorms and went your separate ways. Astoundingly, Seungmin's advice of taking a break in between studying did help and you noticed that you were retaining information better.

You wanted to thank him and grabbed your phone.

[7:26 PM]

You: ty maybe.

You: I *kinda* had fun today

[7:30 PM]

Ello's dad: just admit it darling

Ello's dad: im fun

[7:31 PM]

You: in ur dreams Kim, in ur dreams

[7:32 PM]

Ello's dad: well then, ig I'll be dreaming of you tonight

You smiled despite yourself and went to bed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - three months and twenty-five days.

Your relationship with Seungmin was somehow significantly improving. Yes, you still did indulge in your regular banter, but you both now had the ability to have full conversations without actually insulting the other person.

Your exams were finally over and, as presumed, both you and Seungmin had equal grades. What you didn't expect however, was even sharing the title of valedictorian with Seungmin.

The you before your impromptu study session would have been spitting fireballs. The you currently was looking forward to embarrassing Seungmin a little bit (in all good fun), during your moment in the spotlight.

In the fast paced environment of writing finals, wrapping up college applications and facing parents at parent - teacher meetings, the prom committee had forgotten one, extremely crucial component of prom planning: Picking a theme.

It was so stupid, really. None of you even realized until the décor committee was busy trying to decide on decorations and Felix meekly articulated, "Uh, guys. I don't think we ever decided on a set theme."

Seungmin eyes grew wide and you took in a sharp breath. How could you forget something so important? Frantic chatter arose and in a futile-ish attempt, you yelled out to the students, "Guys! Let's just come up with ideas, but in an orderly fashion."

In an instant, the room began quieting down and hands were raised, full of ideas. Seungmin gave you an impressed look and everyone slowly began suggesting various prom themes.

"What if," Noelle screamed from the back of the room, "We had a Paris inspired theme? I know, Paris nights!"

The entire room let out a collective groan. If Korea had koreaboos, then Noelle was some fucked up version of a French-boo. She boasted to whoever would listen that she had French blood, if being named Noelle and visiting Canada for two weeks constituted French heritage.

Riya ears perked up however, and she asked, "How about Aphrodite's Garden?"

You and Seungmin exchanged a look. "Elaborate," asked Seungmin.

Hyunjin gave Riya an encouraging shove and she stood up, "How about a spring theme, but instead of the classic flowers and leaves, it's more sensual and inspired by Greek mythology?"

The room broke into excited conversation, seemingly approving of Riya's idea. Hyunjin stood up next to her, "Riya and I could prepare a mood board and send it to the group chat."

"All in favor," Seungmin asked. A clear majority.

"Perfect," you smiled, "Then it's settled. The theme will be Aphrodite's Garden."

The room went back to it's raucous state as you stepped aside for a moment, head pounding from a headache. You had a cold and staying up all night studying for scholarship tests did not help. You knew you had to pass them though. You weren't willing to give your parents another reason to demean you for being a burden.

You were massaging your temples when Seungmin came up from behind you. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

"Yep," you tried to muster a positive tone, "Just a headache. I'm peachy."

"Peachy?" Seungmin inquired, his eyebrow cocked upwards and tone full of mischief.

"Don't assume that I don't use the word peachy unironically," you huffed.

Still, Seungmin's apprehensive expression and the exponentially increasing pounding in your head made you feel your gut that something bad was brewing.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You, Jeongin and Hyunjin waited patiently in the computer lab the next day. Hyunjin and Riya had made the mood board for Aphrodite's Garden, but wanted the input of you, Seungmin and Jeongin.

All three of you stood near the window, peering out of the glass and observing the ant-like players on the soccer field below. You wondered what was so appealing about kicking a ball on a Saturday morning.

Hyunjin looked troubled, "I want to ask Riya to prom. But I don't know how."

You let out a sneeze in response and Hyunjin wordlessly handed you a tissue, the despair never leaving his face.

You slightly understood the reasoning behind Hyunjin's thinking. It was promposal season, people planning elaborate and innovative ways to ask each other to prom. Considering the high school you were at, this more often than not involved Rube Goldberg machines and periodic table confessions.

Jeongin let out an audibly exasperated huff of breath. "If you like Riya, just ask her out. The worst she could say is no."

Before you could add onto Jeongin's admonishment, a voice cut through the room.

"What?"

Your eyes widened as you clapped your hand to your mouth. Hyunjin felt himself stumble backwards and Jeongin muttered a low "Fuck" under his breath.

Judging by the tone of the voice and familiar sweetness, you knew it could only belong to one person. Time felt like a concept out of grasp as you, Hyunjin and Jeongin turned to face Riya, standing in the doorway with shock painted on her face.

"I- I can't," she tripped over the doorstep, "Look, I'll just send them to you, I-"

Riya steadied herself, holding on the the doorframe, and then fled the room. Hyunjin glanced at you, his eyes full of pleading.

"Go, quickly," you commanded, and he rushed out of the room in Riya's stead.

"See, this is why you're my favorite," Hyunjin told you while ruffling you, scowling at Jeongin. You sniffed in response as Jeongin's jaw clenched.

Just then, Seungmin entered the room, giving both Hyunjin and Riya and irritated glare. "Weren't they supposed to show us something?"

"They'll just send it to one of us," you told Seungmin, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"You know what," Jeongin threw his hands up in the air in rage, "Fuck this. If they are out, I am out."

Seungmin stared at you quizzically, as if trying to unravel the pieces of the puzzle that made you, well, you. His eyes must have taken in your sickness - stricken state because the curiosity on his face morphed into concern.

"Are you okay?" Seungmin asked, stepping closer to you.

"Fine," you choked out, but you knew you weren't.

Your head felt like a thousand drills were screwing into it. You felt hot and cold at the same time, throat parched and dry. Your body felt like lead, being weighed down at ever movement. You knew these were the textbook symptoms of a fever and then some more.

You tried to walk forward, but couldn't hold your balance. Dazed, you felt your consciousness slowly slip away due to the lack of sleep you were forcing yourself to put up with it. Exhaustion didn't come to you in raindrops, it came to you in a torrential shower.

The last thing you felt was Seungmin's arms holding you up as your entire world shrouded in darkness.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you came to, you were still in the classroom, water droplets running down your face. Seungmin looked guilty and the bottle of water in his hand told you everything you needed to know.

"Sorry," Seungmin said sheepishly, "I didn't know what else to do."

You waved him off, still trying to fully gain control of your senses. You blinked slowly and languidly, adjusting slowly to the light. The sudden shift from complete darkness to windows that let in natural light was slightly painful.

You placed your palms flat against the floor, where Seungmin had most likely placed you. The cool sting of the marble tiles was a welcoming sensation, the bite of it rebooting your brain. You straightened your skirt but your head was still fucking hurting.

"What exactly happened?" you asked weakly.

You knew that women were often taken advantage of in such situations. You knew you could trust Seungmin with your life though. He would never hurt you in any sense, and the past few weeks only solidified that fact for you. Still, asking was like second nature for you.

"Oh, uhm, you fell and I caught you and somehow managed to lean you against the wall," Seungmin stuttered.

He let out a weary sigh and rubbed his eyes vigorously. It was almost as if he was the one who had just fainted and was sitting on a cold marble floor. The thought made you laugh, but the way your chest constricted in pain when the laugh travelled up your bones made you push it down.

"Let's-" you managed until you let out a sneeze, "Let's get back to work. Hyunjin or Riya must have sent the designs by now."

Seungmin looked at you, appalled. "No. Are you insane? You probably are. I'm taking you back to your dorms and making you something warm to eat, no questions asked."

"Seungmin, you don't have to," you let out, your voice hoarse. But despite your mental and vocal protests, your body couldn't fight it anymore. It was begging, screaming for help and you had ignored it wrong enough."

Seungmin set you a look that could kill and held out his palm. You grabbed onto it, and with his help stood up. You legs were so weak, however, that you fell forward again. The world was spinning and you were falling and falling until you weren't.

The entire time, only one thought rang over and over again in your head, like a sickly song.

Was success, was making the people around you proud, was your hard work really worth this form of self inflicted torture you were putting yourself through?

Seungmin's arms steadied your waist as you arms flew up to his shoulders. You were in close proximity now, close enough that you could see your reflection in his eyes. God, you looked like shit.

The concern in his eyes and the pain you were both mentally and physically going through finally made you snap.

Without warning, tears filled your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks. You were so, so tired. Seungmin didn't say anything, but he understood. Of course he understood. You couldn't deny it any longer. Being compared and set against each other didn't make you two poles on other sides of your respective worlds; in fact, it did the very opposite.

You were so accustomed to the thought of each other, that you had become a reflection of each other. There was no Y/N L/N without Kim Seungmin and no Kim Seungmin without Y/N L/N.

Your lives had become so intricately intertwined that the thought of a world without Seungmin, without the jabs and maddening nicknames, without the warm smiles that were solely reserved for you when somebody made an out of pocket comment at one of your student council meetings, felt impossible.

You felt your arms effortlessly slip down Seungmin's shoulder and around his waist. Your head automatically found a spot on his chest. You knew that your tears were staining his shirt, you knew that you were helpless and vulnerable, but you didn't care.

Seungmin kept you anchored as your mind swam through every dark tunnel that dug itself throughout your life. This time, you weren't frolicking in them. This time, you weren't finding solace in them because of your self proclaimed incompetence.

This time, you were sealing them shut for good and the only reason you could was because you knew Seungmin was there. He was there, he was there, he was there.

When Seungmin lightly placed his chin over your head, you didn't mind being short. His hands soothingly smoothed your hair over and over again as you noiselessly let out all the pent up emotions and feelings that grew into this black hole that was sucking the life out of you.

You stepped back. "I'm sorry," you sobbed.

"It's fine, you're good," he whispered softly.

Holding you forearm gently, he walked you out of the room you both were in and in the direction of your dorm. You furiously rubbed at your cheeks, attempting to lose any indication of you previously pathetic state, but you stopped when a shot of something you hadn't felt in a long time rushed back to you: indifference.

In this moment, you didn't care that the regality with which you held yourself in front of Seungmin  and the world was soiled under your feet.

All you cared about was that you finally had a person who would hold you while you break and pick up the pieces with you when you were ready, mending you and healing and hell, loving you back to a state of somewhat living.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Your hands were shaking so much and your vision was so blurry when you tried to unlock your dorm room door that Seungmin had to ease the key out of your finger. He slid it in and with a click, the door swung upon.

You pulled out strength from the nooks and crannies of your being to actually change into something comfortable. Seungmin surprisingly also had a change of clothes in his bag, until you later remembered that he had baseball matches every Saturday morning at dawn.

You came out of your room wearing cat faced pajamas that were a little big for you but cozy nonetheless. Seungmin looked you up and down with a smirk on his face.

"Shall I call you kitty cat now?" his tone heavy with fake torment and real intention.

There was no way you were getting out of this one.

"Shut up, puppy," you referenced the small puppy face on his t-shirt as you padded towards the bar stools that stood along your kitchen counter.

"Okay, kitty cat," he grinned while you groaned.

In the fifteen minutes Seungmin had spent inside your dorm room, he had located the medicine cabinet and slid a bottle of Tylenol and a spoon. You withered under his expectant stare and duly obliged.

"Fair warning," Seungmin said casually as he took out some instant ramen and a saucepan, "I'm a horrible cook."

You probably would have flipped him off for his easy-going tone while saying that he could food poison you if he wasn't the reason you were in the comfort of your home right now.

"Just don't give me acidity. I would probably die and if I do, best believe I'll come back to haunt your ass," you muttered.

"Relax," Seungmin's tone was slightly offended, "Have faith in me. I can make at least instant ramen."

"If you insist," you sighed.

Seungmin passed the bowl of steaming hot ramen towards you, vapor still rising from it. You blew on it and took a bite, the heat instantly making you feel better. Seungmin sat beside you and began eating as well. You both lunched in silence, only the sounds of your spoons hitting your bowls and the occasional slurp filling the room.

You let out a yawn and Seungmin was quick to tell you that the instructions on the instructions stated that you had to wait an hour before sleeping if you had eaten anything after administering it.

To kill time, you suggested watching something on television. Seungmin joined you on the couch. You wrapped a warm blanket around you while Seungmin shifted through your Netflix catalogue, evidently pleased with your taste in media.

You started speaking, "You know, I was thinking of watching -"

At the same time Seungmin began, "I was actually planning on starting -"

"Three Body Problem," you both finished at the same time.

Reflections, reflections.

Seungmin played the first episode and you both watched in transfixed awe and silence. Seungmin kept checking on you in between though. It was never something major, but small things, like handing you the only pillow on the couch and passing a bottle of water at regular intervals.

"Wow," you said breathlessly as if you yourself were in that setting, "Any theories?"

Seungmin gritted his teeth, "Multiple, actually, but I have read the books and that would be fair, would it kitty cat?"

You pouted at him and he laughed his devious laugh.

"You can go, if you need to," you told Seungmin, "I'll get some rest. Riya will probably be home soon for a few hours."

"No, I'll stay out of the goodness of my heart," Seungmin smirked.

You snorted, "Out of the goodness of your heart, or out of the goodness of wanting to steal something?"

"Maybe I'll take your bunny slippers. They're the only thing worth committing a crime in this dorm for," Seungmin mocked, the slippers you were currently wearing coming I'm intentionally violent contact with his leg.

"Seriously though, thank you for helping me. I wouldn't have expected it from someone who hates me," you said, not thinking much of it.

"I don't hate you," said Seungmin, and your worlds collided to come to a standstill.

Every perception you had for yourself was destroyed with the utterance of four words. I don't hate you. The walls you had built of rivalry and animosity, of surpassing him and opposing him came crashing down and burying you in rubble underneath.

If all you had worked towards was to dismantle the justification of Seungmin's fabricated hatred, and yet he never hated you in the first place, then what was the point? Does that mean that you were never truly doing any of this for yourself, and only because of him?

If he didn't exist, what would you be?

You realized that you were probably reading too much into it and let out a hollow, "I thought you did."

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. I just considered you a worthy opponent that would help me improve myself. If anything, I respect you. In fact, these last few days have led me to see you as a friend."

You realized that it was time you apologized as well. "I'm really sorry too. I shouldn't have treated you so crossly."

Understanding and amusement flooded Seungmin's features. "No, please don't change. Bickering with you is one of the highlights of my day."

A smile tugged at your lips. "Okay, puppy boy. I'll go get some rest. What will you be doing?"

Seungmin winked at you. "Looking for things useful to steal, of course."

You lightly shoved his shoulder and he shook his head, shaking with laughter. Seungmin's hair bounced up and down as he laughed, pitifully, at his own joke.

You went to bed with a reducing migraine, a lighter heart and a new perception of you relationship with Kim Seungmin.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were completely knocked out. When you woke, you felt weirdly feverish. You sighed bitterly, knowing that it would take you time to recover.

You walked out to the living room the check up on Seungmin. The sight which you found before you made you mentally melt into a puddle.

In front of you was a sleeping Kim Seungmin, legs brought to his chest and cheeks puffed out. His chest heaved rhythmically and small puffs of breath escaped his mouth. His hair covered his eyes and he was in the most compact position you had seen. You suppressed a snort.

You knew the kindest thing you could for him was to let him sleep. You knew the kindest thing you could do for yourself was to take pictures for blackmail material. Slipping your phone out of your back pocket, you quickly snapped a picture.

Foolishly, you forgot to turn off the flash and Seungmin stirred in his sleep. He got up with a start and blinked slowly. His eyes found yours and he blinked once more.

Then, with a slow smile, he said, "Hi."

If you thought you were a puddle before, you were now a stream rushing towards the ocean. "Hello."

Seungmin sprang up, "Feeling better?"

"Hm," you responded.

You watched as Seungmin made his way to the kitchen, shuffling with the cups you had inside your mildly messy cupboards. "I'll make coffee. Two sugars right?" he asked matter of factly.

"Yep," you replied in slight surprise, "It's crazy how you still remember. It's been... what, six weeks since your last student council coffee run?"

Seungmin's back was to you, mixing away the milk and coffee granules. "I remember everything about you."

You heart shouldn't have stuttered the way it did, and for once, you didn't try to stop it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - three months.

"Han Jisung," you yelled into your phone, "I will kill you!"

Static emerged from the other side, but you could still make out Jisung's muffled giggle. "Y/N, bestie, bad bitch, my ride or die, just get cookies."

You hung up the phone call in irritation as Seungmin leaned against the window of the bus stop, observing you with a smile. You shot him a grimace which was poorly disguised as a smile, and he burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Cookies it is I guess," he snickered at your misfortune.

"We're splitting the bill," you announced haughtily, and you both walked side by side to the local grocery store.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The cold air of the grocery store nipped at you, making its under your shirt and through your jeans. You rage towards a particular Han Jisung, however, propelled you towards the baked goods and sweets section. Seungmin tailed behind you, his hand holding on to your jacket sleeve.

The conquest in question was to get one of the people in your grade, Jisung, to help provide entertainment for the school prom. Him and two other seniors who had already passed out, Chan and Changbin, were part of a trio named 3racha. The entire school knew of their laurels; they had been signed to a famous company before even graduating high school.

Jisung told you to meet at their studio after school to discuss prom, assuring you that they would provide music and maybe even dj on the side. Right before you and Seungmin were going to leave however, he had the absolute audacity to tell you that his hyungs needed a lot of convincing.

You scanned all the decorative tin boxes, trying to pick out something cheap that would also suffice for the treacherous endeavor you were about to undertake. Sometime during this process, the familiar tug of Seungmin's hand on your sleeve vanished.

You surveyed the room to find where he was, like a mother looking for her son. When you finally spotted his familiar tuft of hair and tall frame, you let out a slightly fond and extremely exasperated sigh.

While you were actually working, Seungmin was busy waving two cones of ice cream towards you. You grabbed the box of cookies you were eyeing and walked towards him.

"Really, Seungmin?" you dryly questioned.

"I have an unnatural craving for butterscotch. If you don't let me have it, I'll go Edward Cullen on you," he retorted.

You seriously regretted persuading Seungmin into watching Twilight with you. Ever since the little sick spell you had which prompted Seungmin to spend time at your dorm, you both began a mini tradition of watching a movie together once every week.

You would play the movie on your respective laptops and call each other, listening on mute bar the occasional theoretical conversations and joint rants about the main character's absolute stupidity.

It all started when he began pestering you about table colors for the prom banquet ("but I don't see the difference between ivory and off-white!"), but you interrupted by saying that it movie night and that you were rewatching Interstellar. Both your movie preferences and haywire sleep schedules being very similar led to Seungmin asking you if he could watch as well.

The rest, as they say, was history.

You finally relented and you and Seungmin stepped out of the store with a split bill, a box of cookies under your arm and ice creams currently being devoured. You opted for Belgian Chocolate while Seungmin wolfed down butterscotch. You finished your ice creams and tossed your wrappers in the bin outside.

You noticed a spot of ice cream near Seungmin's lip. Without thinking anything of it, you pulled your sleeve and swiped at it, cleaning it in one go. Seungmin glanced at you with a mixture of awe, shock, and something you assumed was adoration.

"It's just ice cream," you mumbled, but the atmosphere of comfort and domesticity hit you just as much as it healed him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The two of you got on the bus and found two empty seats beside each other. After you vehemently listed the cons of sitting in an aisle seat, Seungmin finally conceded into letting you sit near the window. He didn't do so without insulting your height (again), claiming that since he was tall he would need to stretch his legs, but you wouldn't be having such issues at all.

The bus ride to the 3racha studio would take a good forty five minutes. Not because it was far, per se, but because traffic was a little shit.

You both were on your phones, and you scrolled aimlessly through social media. You let out a groan of annoyance.

"What is it?" asked Seungmin.

"Just Riya and Hyunjin being disgustingly adorable. Go ahead, take pleasure in my despair," you offered, full of snark.

"I mean, if you insist," Seungmin grinned.

Ever since Riya and Hyunjin's dramatic love confession and Victorian romance-esque scenario, you had been third wheeling to the point where you were third wheeling without even being near them. Hyunjin and Riya being in a relationship did make you crave one of your own, but you were kind of to not let an innocent victim (see also: Yang Jeongin) fall captive to the perils of being a third wheel.

You were drifting in and out of reality, immersed in a science fiction eBook loaded onto you phone. Or at least, you were, until animated video game noises came from Seungmin's phone. You peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing, and burst into a fit of stifled laughter.

"How can you be so bad at Fruit Ninja of all games," you giggled.

Seungmin glared at you, "As if you're any better."

"I am, in fact," you snorted, your tone full of invitation and open to challenge.

It took just those four words and the smug expression on your face for Seungmin to quickly switch to multiplayer mode. The two of you vigorously tapped at your screens, slicing watermelons and mangos. Seungmin swiping was so arbitrary that he couldn't even cut through a fruit half the time.

You shoulder was pressed against Seungmin's and your chin hovered over it. You thought you both were being soft enough so as to not disturb anyone, but an old woman sitting in front of you coughed in what you assumed was contempt.

Blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment as you and Seungmin both bowed apologetically. You were expecting a lengthy sermon on public discipline, but the old woman broke into a smile instead.

"Always cherish your childhood friendships and childhood loves," she winked at the two of you, "Especially when it seems to be a love as free as the one you both share."

You and Seungmin exchanged confused looks.

"We're not-"

"About that-"

You were tripping over your words, stumbling and falling until Seungmin finally mustered, "We're not dating, or in love or anything."

The woman just laughed in response. She got up from her chair and left with an "If you say so!", leaving both you and Seungmin stunned in her wake. 

���˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You and Seungmin sat cramped in the 3racha studio couch. You couldn't quite call this room a studio. It was more of a musically inclined man cave.

Jisung, Changbin and Chan sat across from you, their legs ridiculously crossed over the other at the exact same angles. Jisung nibbled on the cookies that you brought. He smiled at another one of your death glares.

Chan clapped his hands together, "You know what? We would love to play at your prom. Changbin and I are alumni and Jisung is bitchless anyways."

Jisung swatted at Chan's arm with his cookie while Changbin swooped in to claim a cookie of his own. Amidst the chaos, you and Seungmin let out a sigh of relief.

"You can send us the transaction details at our email," said Changbin, scribbling it on a notepad. His booming voice made you jump in surprise.

"Cool, we'll do that soon. Before we go, can I use the restroom?" Seungmin inquired.

Chan rattled off the directions to the restroom and Seungmin left with a pat on your head and a "Don't miss me too much, darling."

"We'll get back to work now, Y/N," Chan said kindly.

You shot him a smile which remained on your face until Changbin snickered, "Yeah, Jisung can keep you company."

The two of them went inside their studio booth, erupting with giggles that turned into fake coughs which once again morphed into real coughs. You shot Jisung a quizzical look. "Oh, that's because I used to like you," Jisung said through a mouthful of cookie.

You weren't taken aback, unfazed by his sudden admission. Jisung has had a crush on almost the entire student body, regardless of gender. You would be kidding if you said that you didn't have a soft spot for Jisung though. He was your seatmate in chemistry class (a horrible one at that), but also the reason why you ran for student council president in the first place.

"You would be good at it," he encouraged you, even though you knew his ulterior motives.

You were presently reaching for a cookie when Jisung stated casually, "I didn't know you were dating Seungmin."

You choked on your cookie. "What? We aren't. Why would you think that?"

There was no way in hell you and Seungmin could ever be mixed up for a couple. Yes, your feelings of hatred towards him had considerably dampened, but that didn't mean that you liked liked him. Everything you felt towards him was strictly professional and only had to do with prom planning, as you would regularly reassure yourself.

Jisung shrugged. "The nicknames, the looks you were giving each other. I mean, you both are alike. It wouldn't be that out of the blue of you were."

You responded with a huff of indignation, assuming that this was Jisung's way of asking you if you were single.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"We are not watching Twilight," you told Seungmin sternly. He pouted at you but you wouldn't budge, not even an inch.

Seungmin and you were back on the bus, the sky painted in beautiful shades of blue. The bus was quiet, you and Seungmin being the only passengers on there. Deciding to kill time because evening traffic would cause the bus to take even longer, Seungmin suggested watching something on his tablet.

"Let's watch the Vampire Diaries instead!" Seungmin said in excitement.

You stared at him, mouth agape. "What is it with you and vampires?"

"It's either that or Mean Girls," Seungmin offered.

You instantly knew what you would watch. Suffering through Seungmin watching Mean Girls and adopting Regina George's personality would be pure agony. There were many things you could tolerate in life, but Seungmin taking up the persona of his favorite characters after watching something knew was not one of them. Knowing Seungmin, you didn't have a shred of doubt that his favorite would be Regina.

"Vampire Diaries it is," you agreed, "But Damone is mine."

Seungmin offered no objection and handed you one side of his wired earphones. You had to sit in extremely close proximity to Seungmin, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek. Your head subconsciously dropped on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against your hair.

Seungmin smelled like cinnamon and rain. You wondered what perfume he used, but then realized that it would be pointless since any and all perfume would have worn out by then. After that you began to ponder about what Disney movie he had stepped out of to smell so good and look so good despite spending hours either outside or in a cramped studio.

Finally, your train of thought took a sharp, final turn.

You were comfortable, pressed up against Seungmin and making sarcastic comments every so often. It felt normal, natural even. It struck you that your head fit under Seungmin's chin like a missing puzzle piece.

The pieces of your brain and the pieces of his heart joined together to form a beautiful mosaic of shared chaos and resilience that was unique only to the odd relationship you both shared.

Maybe it wasn't so absurd that two people had assumed that you both were in a relationship. Maybe you didn't want it to be so absurd. Maybe you wanted it to be something that wouldn't cause you and Seungmin to dismiss with hurried explanations and laughs full of ridicule.

That was enough thinking for today.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[10:17 PM]

puppy boy: i have come here to tell you that i am willing to risk our friendship

[10:18 PM]

You: /what/ friendship?

[10:18 PM]

puppy boy: fine, i'm willing to risk out not friendship for claiming damone salvatore

puppy boy: talk to hand if you have any arguments

puppy boy: ✋🏻

[10:19 PM]

You: lmao not you acting like damone would choose *you* over *me*

[10:19 PM]

puppy boy: ...

puppy boy: ok well i can't rly argue with that

puppy boy: if i was damone, i would choose you in a heartbeat

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - two months and twenty six days.

The most fascinating thing that you had studied about in your astronomy class were binary stars. They were the most common multi star system, found regularly in pockets of the universe. They were immensely important, aiding in the calculation of things like mass of celestial bodies.

But one could not exist without the other.

A binary star was useless without it's counterpart, just another ball of glowing gas drifting about in the universe. You reckoned that humans also had their version of binary stars, people whose lives were so intertwined with each other that having one without the other stripped both entities of their meaning.

In astronomy, they were called binary stars. On earth, they were called soulmates.

That was what you and Seungmin were, stars that shone brightly in your shared skies but instead of dimming the other, only amplified it. You both were natural satellites, celestial bodies gravitating into each other's pull like a two magnets.

Seungmin drew you in like nobody else did, and you were tired of repelling it. If the earth had reversed it's poles so many times in the past, then in the grand scheme of things, you reversing your perception of Seungmin should have been nothing that would warrant a big deal.

But to you, this was your entire perception of a black and white reality being ripped away and slowly rebuilt in color.

Considering that the person behind all of it was Seungmin, these colors were more often than not so vivid and vibrant that it left you craving more of what life could be like if he would be there mending every crack in your universe.

It left you craving more of what life could be like if the term my universe in your dictionary changed to our universe.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You and Seungmin were sitting together in the library. Well, less sitting together and more having a habit of happening to be there at the same time (which was almost all the time). This caused you both to strike up a habit of unknowingly taking a seat beside the other person.

Seungmin was leafing through a book while you silently observed him. "What is it?" he piped up, his eyes never leaving his book, "What do you want to ask me?"

You placed a finger between the pages of the book you were reading and shrugged. "Nothing much, really. How did you know I was wondering about something anyways?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. "I just know. Now, what is it?"

His impatient gaze and curious eyes tempted you into telling him what was making rounds in your head. You found yourself thinking for the umpteenth time how his hair fell into his face so perfectly, making him a vision that seemed like a painting encased in a Parisian museum.

"Your eyes," you whispered, your tone so imperceptible that a another human being would have barely heard you.

Seungmin always heard your voice, though.

"What about them?" he chuckled.

You titled your head to the side, wondering if you yourself were imagining all of this. "Did you know your eyes change color when you look at me?"

It was true, at least to you. You noticed that whenever Seungmin's gaze caught onto yours, his eyes darkened. Not in the terrifying way often associated with bloodlust, but in the puzzled way that made you feel like he was trying to figure you out, just as you were trying to figure yourself out.

"It's just a telling sign for my animosity towards you," taunted Seungmin, attempting to ignite a fiery response out of you.

It somewhat mildly worked.

"Oh yeah," you gasped, "Ello will be troubled to know that her parents are fighting.

"Hm," contemplated Seungmin, "Who's gonna be the one to tell her that she's a child of divorce?"

Seungmin's comment caught you off guard. Child of divorce? It was so out of pocket that even the tantalizing curve of your lips that had been making you feel unnatural things as of late couldn't distract you.

"We aren't even married, Seungmin," you pointed out.

In response, Seungmin put his book down on the table in front of him. He placed his elbow on the aforementioned table and smoothly removed one of the two rings that he was always wearing: the smaller moon ring to his larger sun ring, you noticed.

He motioned for your hand and in one gesture, slid the moon ring onto your ring finger. "There," he declared proudly, "Now we're married."

He seemed so casual, so unfazed about it, that it enraged you.

Did he not just feel like an entire carton box of fireworks had gone off in an empty parking lot that was his stomach? Did he not get his breath taken away from a gesture that was so simple that a passerby wouldn't even have batted an eye at it? Did he not feel perplexed, terrified and astonished that such a feeling was even possible?

Because you did.

You felt like your world was tilting on it's axis and you couldn't keep letting the lava simmer under the surface anymore.

It felt like the entire universe was in your grasp, like electricity crackled at your fingertips. You felt euphoric, your brain buzzing and mind spinning.

You felt like someone shattered the vase of feelings that contained all you had ever experienced and glued it back together with gold in its cracks. You felt like someone placed rose-tinted sunglasses on your eyes and that you never wanted to go back to normal vision after gaining a taste of what this felt like.

You knew that what you felt was, according to the countless books and movies you had watched, a horrible illness that constituted a crush. But you didn't know that it felt so good? Even more frighteningly so, you didn't know when you stopped seeing Seungmin as a rival and as a friend.

You frighteningly didn't know when you started seeing Seungmin as someone you were capable of loving until you did and it scared you to death concretely only knowing that your brain provided not a single fucking objection to this flurry of feelings.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - two months.

In the time that you had come to the realization that you had feelings for Seungmin, and all the moments post that day, you were in a tumultuous state of mind.

You hadn't told anyone about your feelings, because you weren't sure if they were genuine or if they were a product of you romanticizing the entire atmosphere surrounding you.

You would be so cruel to Seungmin before a few months ago, so neglectful of his feelings that you thought it was foolish to think that he would ever like. It baffled you that he even saw you as a friend; hoping that he would see you as a lover would be akin to grasping for non-existent straws.

You should have told Hyunjin, who viewed love so beautifully that you envied him for it. You should have talked to Jeongin, who didn't see love as poetically as Hyunjin, but had so much of it to spare and never seemed to run out. But you didn't.

Instead, you chose to exist in torturous turmoil, over thinking each and every shared moment you had with Seungmin. If this was what experiencing supposedly unrequited like was going to be for the rest of your life, you sincerely hoped you never went through the pain of it again.

If this was what experiencing supposedly unrequited like was going to be for the rest of your life, you sincerely hoped it didn't become unrequited love.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"And we'll have to meet Felix for his cousin, you know, Lee Minho, who said he'll be open to catering for prom," you finished with an air of finality.

Seungmin bobbed his head in agreement and walked with you towards you locker. He stepped normally, slowing down to keep pace with you. You felt like your legs were lead.

Being near Seungmin made you simultaneously want to combust and make you want to fly.

You reached for you locker and twisted the knob according to your combination, as you did almost everyday. This was like second nature to you, so when you opened you locker, put your books inside and turned around with the intention of facing Seungmin, you certainly weren't expecting what you were met with instead.

Renjun, one of the students of your grade, stood facing you with a bouquet. You had spoken with Renjun a few times at most, striking up conversation very rarely. You had no idea what warranted him looking at you earnestly, hoping that he was waiting for someone else.

Of course you were wrong.

"Hey Y/N, um... I have liked you for a very long time and I wanted to ask if you would go to prom with me," Renjun stuttered.

To say you were in shock was an understatement. Dating was the furthest thing from your mind, regardless of whether or not you had feelings for anyone, Seungmin included. While you did feel a surge of ego at being asked out for prom, you weren't in any way, shape, or form, expecting it.

This also meant that you weren't prepared for what you were going to do if you wanted to accept a promposal, which in turn meant you had even less of an idea of what to do if your intention was to reject a promposal.

You instantly felt pity on him and remorseful for what you were about to do.

"Oh Renjun, I'm really sorry but I barely know you. On top of that, I'll be really busy with student council and just be the reason your night to be ruined," you told him softly.

Renjun looked at you crestfallen. "Oh yeah, no, you're right. I'm sorry for bothering you. Can we grab coffee sometime though?"

Before you could respond, Seungmin interjected. "Yes, yes, that's all nice but we have to go. People to see, places to be. Just text her when and where."

With that, Seungmin dragged you away. You wanted to protest but were internally cartwheeling instead.

It was probably your imagination, probably caffeinated emotions, but you thought you saw a flash of jealousy in Seungmin's charming eyes.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

"What was that about?" you snorted.

"That was me having to be inconvenienced because my partner doesn't know how to respond when a guy asks her out," Seungmin snapped.

Not friend. No colleague or co-president. Not even your name. But partner.

You weren't sure how to feel about that.

"Why do you hate prom so much Seungmin?" you sighed, changing the topic.

Seungmin shrugged in response but you pressed on. "It's okay puppy. No matter how embarrassing, I won't judge."

You crossed your fingers over your heart, but Seungmin just looked at you with melancholy in his eyes. Your teasing smile fell.

"It's a long story," Seungmin said. His hands were in his pocket and he was kicking at a rock on the pavement.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," you told him, your voice full of guilt for asking.

"No, I will," he responded, "You deserve that much."

Seungmin finally began, "You know how I have an older sister, right? She's in college right now, but back when she was in high school, she was really smart. Smarter then me smart. I know right. Crazy? Anyways, she was very much type casted as a nerd and even though she was well liked, nobody wanted to date her. That was, until, prom came around. A guy asked her out and she was over the moon."

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, knowing where this was about to go.

"She wasn't even romantically interested in him, but was so excited that someone had for once, shown some interest towards her that she instantly said yes. I still remember how she wouldn't stop talking about it. She got ready, buying her own dress and everything, using money from her part time job that she was saving for university. She looked ethereal that night. I still remember all of it, even if it was five years ago. But she was stood up. Turns out the entire was a dare, a sick joke. Her final straw was when she saw the guy who asked her out walk into the prom venue with another girl on his arm."

Your heart broke for Seungmin's sister. You couldn't even imagine how it must have felt. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, however, Seungmin opened his mouth once again.

He continues bitterly, "She was so heartbroken that she went to one of those afterparties, that's basically a rave. She drank so much alcohol that it got to the point where she was passed out on someone's hospital. We had to rush her to the hospital and get all of it pumped out. It felt so painful, being thirteen and watching my sister just suffer in pure agony."

Seungmin's voice broke, "She almost died last night, physically. But mentally, she was wrecked. It was on her hospital records, this incident. None of the Ivies, or any university even remotely good accepted her. She finally got into Stanford, but that was after writing several scholarship tests and paying a hefty fee. She's never really been the same since."

When Seungmin's sermon came to an end, you felt his hurt ten times over. Tears glistened in his eyes and without warning, you pulled him in for a hug. You felt Seungmin let out a shaky breath and held him close.

"Your hair smells like strawberries. It's highly concerning. Fruit based shampoos are dumb," he mumbled into your hair.

"Shut up and stop ruining the moment or else I'll let go," you warned.

In response, Seungmin just held you tighter. When he let go, he swiped at his eyes and gave you a grateful smile. "Sorry. And thank you," he told you with a tight smile.

You just nodded in response. "Hey, I understand why you hate prom. I can take over for you on the actual night," you offered with a squeeze of his hand."

Seungmin shook his head in response, "No, I'll be there. It wouldn't be fair to all of you if I wasn't. But you should go with Renjun. Being tethered to someone who has an outlook like me would just make the night boring as hell for you."

The possibility of going to prom with Renjun when Seungmin was right there was something you found utterly ridiculous. It made no sense, no sense at all to go with someone you had no feelings for. Going to prom with Renjun would hurt both him and you.

Seungmin's glazed expression sent an arrow straight into your heart, piercing and deafening. You refused to let him drown in sorrow. "Absolutely not, Kim Seungmin. If I said you're coming to prom with me, you're coming to prom with me."

You didn't allow any room for further argument, shutting Seungmin up with a defiant stare. You wanted Seungmin to enjoy prom, you truly did. But you knew that this wasn't the complete truth. You had a much more selfish, concealed motive.

You were going to make Kim Seungmin fall in love with prom, while falling in love with you as well.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - one month and three days.

[9:06 PM]

You: oi seungmin

You: we still meeting up at the library to wrap up all the finally details?

[9:07 PM]

seungmine (hopefully someday): Yep.

You could somehow tell that something was bothering Seungmin, just by reading that last text. You caught your lip between your teeth as you got ready to go to the library, his dry tone throwing you off. Seungmin was pretty much a dry texter, but always followed it up with something absurd. Today however, he didn't. Hell, he even used proper punctuation.

The entirety of the mini 'meeting' that you had consisted of only you talking and Seungmin responding with one or two words. If you were lucky, he would look your way, but your luck mostly fell short.

You snapped your binder shut and asked, "Everything good?"

Seungmin just blinked in response, the boredom and sense of being done evident in his eyes. He didn't reply and instead proceeded to swing his bag around his shoulder and stand up.

You tried once again. "I was going to go shopping for prom dresses. Do you want to match colors? Let me know what you plan on wearing."

Seungmin spared you a half glance. "Yeah sure, wear whatever. I don't really care."

You felt tears prick in his eyes. How could he just not care? You were willing to give up fun and sacrifice romance so that Seungmin could have someone to spend time with. You were doing all this and for what? Being told that he didn't care?

You felt so heavy that you spit out, "You know what? Fine. I wanted to go to prom with you so that you would have someone to be with. I knew, I knew that we would have to be stuck together all night, socializing and making sure nobody burns the school down or spikes the punch bowl. But that doesn't mean that I don't want prom to feel authentic, to go as a normal teenager."

You continued, "I'm not even asking you for the grand promposal that I have been dreaming about since I was nine. I'm just asking you to do the bare minimum, if not as my prom date, which you agreed to might I add, but at least as the person who I share the title of co-president with. You cannot keep disregarding my feelings Seungmin. I'm sick and tired of it. I understand that you hate prom but it's you who keeps insisting on coming, it's you who keeps saying that it won't be fair if you aren't there which is ironic, because you most definitely aren't being fair right now."

Seungmin stared at you, jaw slightly hung open, but the fire inside you kept raging.

"I know you don't see me as a date and that's fine but at least show me some modicum of respect. You didn't even let me complete my question; it wasn't me asking about matching prom attire. It was Principal Kim who suggested asking you about it. And you know that a suggestion from her is nothing short of law."

The tears in your eyes were threatening to spill out now as you mentally cursed yourself for ever even thinking that you could have feelings for someone like him.

"So, Kim Seungmin, if you don't want to go prom, or if you want to be a whiny little bitch about it, it's fine with me. Text me if you're going. If you won't, I'll just assume you aren't. You can do whatever the fuck you want because I'm sick for pitying you when you clearly aren't deserving of it. Go ahead and fucking ruin prom for yourself, but don't you dare tarnish the experience for me."

Before Seungmin could even anything, you grabbed your backpack and walked away, blinking back tears as you thought about how cold and lonely prom would be without anybody by your side to spend the night with. Hyunjin had Riya. Jeongin had a roster of senior girls willing to go out with him.

But you? At the end of the day, every single day, you were all alone. You let your intrusive thoughts in, swirling in your head and nearly paralyzing your capacity to think.

What if the reason why you were alone was all your fault? What if you were too pushy, too rude for your own good? None of that mattered, though, because thinking about the situation never changed the situation.

You would be alone, no matter how hard you tried otherwise, and that was the bitter truth you had to learn to live with.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[5:28 PM]

Kim Seungmin: i am so sorry y/n

Kim Seungmin: please answer my calls

[6:36 PM]

You: I have sent the details regarding the electronic equipment.

You: Make sure to contact them.

[6:36 PM]

Kim Seungmin: please let me make it up to you.

Kim Seungmin: please.

[7:05 PM]

You: Let me know once you contact them.

You: Don't bother texting me otherwise.

You: My phone will be on dnd since I'm going out.

You: Call me only if it's urgent. I think you should be more than capable of handling the situation now, but just in case. Don't expect me to respond to you about anything else.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You were avoiding Seungmin as if he carried a deadly virus. You dodged him in hallways and expertly deflected any and all of his attempts to talk to you. The one place you couldn't avoid where you knew he would be, however, was the library.

You needed to return one of your library books. Today was the last day and not doing so would led to you paying a fine. You couldn't afford a payable fees right now, since most of the savings from your part time job and the money your parents would regularly send you would be going towards buying your prom gown.

Okay, fine. Maybe you wanted to give Seungmin a chance to properly apologize. But that's absurd and not important right now.

Your headphones were jammed in your ears, music pounding through them while you walked in its direction. People thought that you had an affinity for listening to classical music since you came under the categorization of an 'over-achieving nerd.'

You knew that society also known as your school, would break out into scandal if they ever found out that Kendrick Lamar was your top artist on Spotify.

That thought brought you back to Seungmin, as you giggled at the memory of his confusion while you were explaining the entire Drake and Kendrick beef to him. His nose was scrunched up and his eyes were squinted, listening to you as if you were preaching about the secrets of life and the universe, not ranting about rap music.

Oh wait. You were supposed to hate Seungmin. Not giggle at the memories of the time you spent together like a middle aged woman recounting her college days.

When you got to the library, you placed your bag on Mrs. Kang's table and took out the book you were supposed to return.

You handed it to her with a strained smile. "Hey, I am on time though, aren't I Mrs. Kang? Plus, this is just a first time offence. I'm sure you can let it slide."

Mrs. Kang raised her eyebrow. "Fine, just this once," she slid the book underneath the scanner and mentioned, "Oh, you should go check out the Romantic Literature section; we finally got sent The Vicar of Wakefield."

You looked at her, puzzled. You were never really interested in works that emerged during the age of early eighteenth century Romanticism. She must have mixed you up with somebody else, but you began to walk towards the shelves anyways. If anything would help lighten your spirits, it would be re-reading Pride and Prejudice.

When you got there however, the most unexpected sight awaited you.

Your eyes drank in the sight of Seungmin, standing wearing a varsity jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. Dried rose petals littered the length of the aisle. Seungmin was holding up an open book with it's pages folded to form the word 'Prom?'

As much as you hated to admit it, the sight took your breath away.

Seungmin cocked his head to the side. "I had to bribe her with my limited edition copy of Frankenstein."

"What- what is this?" you asked, your brain still numb from shock.

Seungmin bit his lip and looked at you. "This is me apologizing. You were right. I completely sidelined you when I shouldn't have. I truly respect and admire you and feel horrible that I made you feel like this. And I figured, that I should ask you to prom the way you deserve: with all the grandeur in the world."

His apology was one that you could have never imagined being the recipient of. Even fiction didn't predict something as thoughtful as this. Seungmin preparing an entire promposal for you, over just a hissy fit, was enough to thaw your temporarily frozen heart.

You looked at him open-mouthed. "But I thought you didn't even like me that way."

Despite how hard he tried to contain it, tones of mischief slipped through Seungmin's voice. "Would it be so bad if I did?"

What? This couldn't be real. This was most definitely not happening. You pinched yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming, because never in your wildest dreams would such a scene have ever taken place.

Seungmin must have somehow read your mind because he quickly stuttered, "Not that I do. I mean I like you. But not in that way. Like, I asked you since we have to spend the entire night together anyways. I'm sorry for making this weird."

You let out an exhale, chiding yourself for being so gullible. It was just Seungmin being Seungmin. You spared a glance at his eyes, full of anticipation. You wanted to say no. If you didn't, you knew you would be in too deep.

You took a step forward to refuse his request when your eyes fell on his hand. The sight awaiting you knocked the wind out of your body.

You already noticed Seungmin's baggy eyes, attributing it to lack of sleep because he was busy doing whatever guys do. But his hands told the other half of the story.

They were adorned with paper cuts. Small scars like moons were imprinted on him in various stages of healing. One even had a bit of blood on it.

"Uh, yeah," said Seungmin, noticing your eyes drift down, "I spent all night making it. Let's just say that I'm really bad with paper and folding in any context and leave it at that."

"Seungmin," you whispered, your eyes tearing up. He offered you a tight smile.

"I should go. This was weird. I'm sorry."

"Wait!" you said in a tone that startled him, "I'll go. I'll go to prom with you. Officially."

Seungmin's eyes reflected a question of whether you were doing this genuinely. You hoped that your eyes reflected that you were. Seungmin may not ever come to like you romantically, in any sense. But you were happy with what you were being offered.

You were happy that Seungmin was the first person you thought yourself to have the potential to love.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - shit, it's prom!

You couldn't sleep all night.

The frenzied prolepsis that clouded your mind refused to escape. 'What if's?' and 'Should have's?' regarding the event clouded your head. You thought that you would feel more nervous about your experience at prom, but it was all the planning that got to your head.

If you were a wreck, however, then Seungmin was a fucking natural disaster.

He texted you without pause, your phone blowing up so much that even Riya had to ask you if everything was okay. His chats varied, from long rants about how Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, despite Felix's apparent protests, and immense worry about how prom would turn out.

You didn't blame him. You were just as anxious as him, even if you weren't as vocal about it. This mammoth event was like yours's and Seungmin's baby. You were so concentrated on making sure that everything went according to plan, that the idea of you going to prom with Seungmin was pushed to the dark and dusty corner of your brain.

"You have been texting Seungmin a lot lately," teased Riya as she curled her hair.

"Shut up," you told her smoothly, already armed with blackmail material, "Or else I will smack you and tell Hyunjin about your Shah Rukh Khan shrine."

She effortlessly shut up.

You ran from one room to the other, your dorm house common room and back, pacing and placing calls and confirming and reminding people of what had to be done. You were in such a rush that you hadn't even started to get ready.

In your panicked chaos, you slammed into an already ready Felix. His white suit was immaculate, small roses embroidered on the sides. His blond hair was tousled and his easy smile gave you a bit of reassurance amidst the hectic situations you were constantly throwing yourself in.

"Felix! What are you doing here? You look amazing, by the way." You pulled him in for a quick hug, distracted by a call you had to make.

"I'm here to pick up my date, Jeongin," Felix smirked.

You let out a cough. "What?"

Felix laughed. "I didn't have a date and thought that he deserves to come since he has helped so much. So, I offered him my plus one ticket."

Ah, that made sense. You wondered why Jeongin didn't go with one of the senior girls on his roster of ladies in waiting. Then you remembered that he thought of himself as some sort of a chivalrous gentleman.

"Why haven't you gotten ready yet?" Felix questioned.

"Oh, I was just-," you began, before Felix sternly interrupted you.

"Don't you dare say you were wrapping things up. You and I both know that your definition of wrapping things up is frantically quadruple checking everything," Felix scolded, "You will stop worrying and get ready."

You just sighed in response, "I wish I could but-"

"No buts," he said, his eyes softening. "This night is yours as much as everybody else's. If anything, it's mostly yours."

Before you could sweetly respond to Felix with a resounding refusal, Jisung, per usual, appeared out of thin hair. His suit coat looked a little small and you vaguely remembered yearbook pictures of Chan during his prom, wearing almost the exact same suit coat, minus the little hand stitched lightening bolt on the side pocket.

"This," Jisung motioned towards you with a flourish of his right hand, "Is unacceptable."

Felix promptly agreed. You flashed him a withering glare and he slightly wavered, but it was of no use. You had lost the battle before it had even begun.

Twenty minutes later, you, Jisung and Felix were in your dorm room. No matter your protests, they insisted on helping you get ready for prom night. The two of them did your hair and makeup while you pondered on how you couldn't do it yourself half as good as they did.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When they were done, you gasped in surprise. They made you look a beautiful you thought you weren't capable of outwardly being.

Your dress in itself was majestic, at least in your eyes. It didn't exactly fit the theme, but the moment you saw it, you knew you needed to have it. It marveled you to no end about how someone could leave something that looked so incredible in a small thrift store next to the coffee shop you frequented.

The dress was silver, shimmering in a shade of what you only knew to be 'almost white' when light struck it. The bodice was in the shape of fairy wings, the sides laced crisscrossed and showing the smallest bit of skin. The back was covered, and the dress flowed down to reach your feet like a cascading waterfall. It was sleeveless, and so you wore long, winding silver bracelets on each hand.

Your make was done almost professionally by Felix. He used a colour pallet of silvery white, not exaggerating your make up. He brushed your hair calmly and tied two strands of it in a braid, pull them back to make a sort of halo. Felix clipped butterflies into your hair and made you feel like a mythical creature stepping out from a fantasy novel. Narnia, maybe.

Jisung on the other hand, provided food, gossip and entertainment. You would never reveal this to him, but you found that very vital to the process of getting ready as well.

"You are so good at this," you gushed at Felix.

He looked at you calmly. "I have two sisters, and I'm the middle kid. As a consequence, I was often my older sister's model for all things fashion and my younger sister's personal stylist."

Jisung munched on a piece of cake which you had no idea was even there in your kitchen. He sat on a barstool and clapped when you came out and gave him a spin. His feet rocked back and forth while he cheered you on.

"See," he said to Felix pointedly. "I am a better wingman than you."

Felix looked immeasurably hurt. "Not as good as me though. You didn't even help me!"

"I did, didn't I?" Jisung looked at you with those boba eyes that you found extremely hard to resist.

In response, you ushered them both out of the house in order to not get pulled into conflict and be the cause of an unsatisfactory prom night. Plus, you wanted to get there early and check on the venue.

Well, that and also to (mostly), see Seungmin.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You spotted him before he could see you.

Seungmin looked ethereal in his silver suit, his hair swept to the side and hands in his pockets as he engaged in easy conversation with one of the teachers.

He looked like a song you could listen to for the rest of your life until you were maddened by it but never turn it off. He looked like a painting that you could stare at as it dried, like a work of art you spend countless hours and dollars just to catch a glimpse.

And, he matched with you.

When you mentioned to him in passing that your prom dress was silver in colour, you hadn't actually expected him to wear something of a similar, much less the same colour. And yet he did, and you went down a spiral of feelings once again.

Seungmin's eyes must have found you because he sauntered over to you like a man with a purpose.

"You look beautiful," he whispered in awe, "But then again, you do everyday."

You blushed, hoping that the shitty lighting would hide it. "You look incredible yourself Seungmin," you said lightly, "And you somehow look good everyday, despite only running off of caffeine and spite.

Seungmin threw his head back an infectious laughter that had caused you to laugh as well. Someone called his name from the background in the middle of your laughter. Another louder, more insistent call of his name floated towards your general direction. Seungmin dipped his head in apology and walked away.

He had told you that you look beautiful. Not your dress, not your make up, not your hair. Not the meaningless, material attire that clung onto you like tinsel on a Christmas. But he said that you, you, look beautiful.

Seungmin wasn't looking you up and down when he said so, like men in the movies did. He didn't look like he was trying to memorize your body, memorize the dips and curves where he could place his hand and mold his being into yours.

No, he looked you in the eye when he said at, as if he didn't believe that it was the clothes that made you look beautiful. He looked you in the eye as if everything that made you, well, you was what made you so beautiful in his sight.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You stood in a moment of peace, finally standing still since reaching the venue.

The moment you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, however, a guttural screech and the sound of howling teenage boys flooded your ears. Sighing in irritation, you opened one eye to asses the situation. Deciding that it warranted you opening the other eye as well, you walked over to the culprits and sternly told them off.

You probably jinxed any peace that would possibly be coming your way by stealing away those five minutes for yourself.

Bad karma, bad decisions.

Seungmin was watching the entire altercation with a faint smirk. He walked over to you and tapped you on the shoulder. You didn't know it was him, and were about to tell him off as well until his familiar scent reached you.

You glared at the gaggle of seniors who has no right to be called seniors and turned to Seungmin.

"May I please have this dance?" he asked with a smirk.

You raised an eyebrow at him and placed your hand in his. "The theme is Aphrodite's Garden, not 18th century Regency era Bridgerton," you quipped.

Seungmin was subject to torture at your hands, also known as, watching Bridgerton with you. He would never admit it, but you knew he liked it. In fact, he may have even enjoyed it more than you. Either that, or you were hallucinating him being on his Simone Ashley Twitter fan account.

Your arms went around his neck as Seungmin guided you to the dancefloor. "I can't really dance," you murmured, the close contact between you both making your head go haywire.

"Neither do I," he winked.

Seungmin's eyes bored into yours and you licked your lips self-consciously. Considering you incredible luck, the song was slow and sensual. Considering your incredible luck, less than twenty seconds into the song playing, a loud crashing sound was heard in the background.

You prayed to God to help salvage prom, and no, that god was not Taylor Swift.

"I'll handle it," Seungmin reassured you.

"I'm a big girl," you bristled, "I can handle it as well."

"I know you are," Seungmin mused, "But I also know you well enough to know that those heels are absolutely killing you right now."

You pressed your lips in a thin line. No matter your feelings for Kim Seungmin, you still hated when he was right. You flashed him the tiniest smile in a way of saying 'thank you', since you were too proud to actually do it. He took it in stride and went away to handle whatever it was that needed handling at the moment.

He left you alone with your thoughts if such situations weren't confined so momentarily and were instead something you could enjoy for eternity.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You decided to step out of the venue for a bit, to finally clear you head. The atmosphere of prom buzzed with electricity and it wasn't the good, energetic kind; it was more of the kind that made your hair frizz.

You were standing, staring at the stars when you felt the air shift beside you. You knew who it was even without sparing a glance at them.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," you whispered to him.

"They are, but I have seen sights today that even rival them," Seungmin said. His voice was missing his trademark sass.

Your heart thumped incessantly as you asked, "Trying out cheesy pick up lines on me now, are we?"

Seungmin laughed, "Now would that be so bad?"

You both stood in silence. You bent down, opened your heels and set them to the side. You felt Seungmin looking at you, but you kept looking at the sky.

The sky, which was ever changing, yet reflected the same shades everyday. The sky, that served as a medium of rain and thunder, sunlight and rainbows. The sky, that was always there in you life, unwavering and never faltering.

Sky, which was coincidentally Seungmin's English name. It suited him.

"I really like the constellation of Orion," you told him with a sideways glance.

"I know. I remember."

"How? I mean, how do you remember all this?"

"I remember everything you tell me," Seungmin repeated, like he did all those months ago.

"Why?" you asked. You asked because you wanted to know, needed to know and repent your mistake of not asking earlier.

Seungmin turned to face you. His eyes held no glint of mischief, no edge accompanied by teasing. Instead, you felt locked in his gaze. It was the kind of intense stare that made you think that he was about to spill all his sins at your feet, right here, right now.

"I remember everything because it's you who says it. I used to remember because I wanted to beat you, be better than you. Then I started to remember as a habit, noticing the smallest quirks about you. Now I remember because I want to be there for you, to help you."

This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. But how much longer would you say that to yourself until you were imbibed with it?

"There is an ugly mix of feelings inside me regarding you, Y/N. They went initially from animosity, to something akin to friendship, to now, the desire for something with you that's more than just platonic."

He gulped. You swallowed. Silence.

"I am drawn to you, Y/N L/N. From the moment I have met you, it has felt like my life is irreversibly tangled with yours. I am propelled towards like it's pre-destined, and I always have. There are times where I feel like I cannot exist if you do not exist. And I'm tired of brushing these feelings aside, acting like they're non-existent."

"I like you, and not telling you has quite nearly driven me to the brink of insanity. It's alright, if you don't feel the same, but please don't walk away without an answer for me."

His gaze averted yours when he finally finished. You looked at him in awe, unable to express how you felt his brilliance radiate off him when he perfectly articulated all the feelings that restlessly capsized land in the empty spaces of your mind.

"For someone really smart, Kim," you breathed, "You are extremely stupid."

"You mean..." Seungmin's voice trailed off. Now it was his turn to look at you in awe.

"I have the feeling that you're trying not to kiss me, and I give you permission to just do it," you announced.

Seungmin gave you a wild smile before his lips swooped in to meet yours. They tasted like fruit punch and chocolate cake, like promises and forever.

You might have been imagining it, but for one cosmic moment, it felt like the stars were shining brighter than the usually did. Two binary stars had finally found each other, finally made their way into each other's orbits, never to stray again.

His lips left yours with a small gasp. "That was my first kiss," you mumbled sheepishly.

Seungmin fiddled with the flaps of his suit coat nervously. He started babbling, "Really? This was, I think, my third. Once at camp and once last year but that was just spin the bottle-"

You cut him off with a smirk. "Let's make it a fourth time, shall we?" and you promptly shut him up by placing your lips on his.

You weren't jealous of the other people Seungmin had kissed. God knows how awful this entire experience would have been if you both were going into it as novices. If anything, you were glad you were the third person he was kissing, because in that celestial moment, you made a vow.

You may not be the first person Seungmin had kissed, but you would make damn well sure to be the last.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

t - girl, it's the epilogue!

Seungmin yawned and wrapped his arm around your waist, practically caging you to the bed. He let out whine when you tried to get out of his grasp and just pulled you closer. You poked him in the side until he yelped.

"Kim Seungmin, you are not skipping work today. I know this display of affections is just so that I concede and let you stay home for cuddles," you told him sternly.

"But it worked last time. And the time before that. And the time before-"

"Well, it won't work this time," you announced with an air of finality.

If anything, being in a relationship with Seungmin only increased the penchant for banter you both had. You both rarely disagreed on things, but went back and forth for fun anyways. You knew your boundaries and never crossed them, but argued like cats and dogs nonetheless.

Well, you called it arguing. Seungmin called it flirting.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You both finally pulled up at Seungmin's workplace and you snorted when you saw the building gates. Seungmin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked at you with a smile that you gave back. It was his first day on the job as Principal.

It had been ten years since you stepped foot on the campus of Park Academy.

"The legacy of Principal Kims continues," you giggled, proud of yourself for making that joke.

"That's because Kims are superior," Seungmin declared.

"That is literally so offensive," you flicked him arm lightly.

Seungmin's eyes met yours and a familiar look in it made you outwardly dread and inwardly prepare to rebut whatever he was going to tell you.

"You shouldn't say that," he snickered, "Considering that you'll be an honorary Kim yourself soon."

Oh. Oh.

It would be a week until students started coming to campus, there classes yet to start. When Seungmin mentioned this to you, you asked if you could come along to see the campus once. The campus where you fell in love with him.

"You might be a hot shot CEO," Seungmin relentlessly teased, "But it's good to go back to your roots sometimes."

It was ironic how you called his mother more than he did.

Your feet subconsciously guided you to the library. You loved this library. It was the place where you spent some of the best moments of your life. This was where you slowly fell in love with Seungmin, uncovering him layer by layer until you could call him yours.

You felt a laugh bubble up your throat when you made your way to the Romantic Literature section. Seungmin gave you a poor attempt at a smile as he observed you. In fact, he looked extremely nervous, a sharp juxtaposition to the flirty demeanor of his just a few minutes ago.

You could count on one hand the amount of times you had seen Seungmin being nervous.

It must have been anxiety surrounding the promotion. You reached over to squeeze his hand and give him a reassuring pat. Once you were sure that he would be fine, you turned back to prodding at the books shelved on the wall as if they were part of some lab experiment.

Once you were satisfied, you turned to give Seungmin the signal to go, when you stumbled backwards at what was in front of you.

Seungmin stood down on one knee, a box in his hand, with the most beautiful ring you had ever seen inside it.

"What?" you asked, your voice shaky. Tears instantly began to spring up in your eyes.

This wasn't real. This wasn't happening. But it was. The man you had loved for a decade was here, in front of you, wordlessly asking to turn those ten years into the rest of a shared forever.

"I had a really dramatic speech planned," he rambled, "But I forgot since I'm kind of terrified and you do always tell me to speak from my heart so here goes nothing."

"I have probably mentioned this thousands of times, but I have felt a magnetic pull towards you since the moment I first interacted with you. I didn't know what it would turn into then, but I knew it was going to be something, and I have been eternally grateful that it was love."

"To put it simply: every single infinitesimal particle that makes me in hopelessly in love with every infinitesimal particle that makes you. I love you, so, so much. I have been yearning for a forever with you before I even knew it so; will you marry me?"

He stopped with a sniff and swiped the sleeve of his sweater across his eyes. "Shit, I wasn't supposed to cry."

It all came full circle, didn't it? Ten years ago, he asked you to prom. Ten years later, he offered you eternity.

You let out a laugh and threw yourself at him, peppering him with kisses. "And you said you didn't want to come to work today," you laughed in between your cuddle attack.

"So, this means yes?"

You face palmed. "This means yes, Seungmin. Yes, I will marry you. In every universe, I know that I will spend the rest of my life with you."

Seungmin gathered you in his arms and kissed you like he was burning and you were oxygen. Binary stars, burning and burning, bleeding into each other in every reality because, there could never be you without him, one without the other.

Ten years ago, you swore that you would be the last person Seungmin would ever kiss.

Ten years later, nobody could say that you weren't a woman of your word.

please reblog and comment if you liked this fic! it means everything to me and I love reading your thoughts <3

: ̗̀➛ current permanent taglist (reply to be added):

@linoalwaysknows @moon0fthenight @hyulino @palindrome969

@squishybinnieee @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @stayinlimbo @farfromsugafanfic

@hongshuaknow @cookiesandcreammy @kayleefriedchicken @toomanybiasz

@seooj444 @soaplickerrr

: ̗̀➛ battleground taglist:

@starseungs @starlostseungmin @moon0fthenight @brainrotahahaha

@booksndpoetry @yoontaethings @vnamps @renjuneoo @queen-in-the-shadows

@reignessance @lilifiedeans @vegetablesarefuntables

[xxgoldie]

went to karaoke and someone sang crush by david archuleta so now im thinking abt lighter romance enthusiast lorenz also listening to the most pining songs just the sappiest playlist known to man

as usual, i am Obsessed with lighter being down bad. he's such a fucking dork, i need him. have been listening to a variety of love song playlists for the last few days as i write this and its not helped the brainrot. cw: none, pure fluff, gn!reader wc: 444 (or 618 with the bonus)

when he's out and about, he tends to listen to metal and rock, the same kind of stuff that's in his demo trailer. it gets him in the right headspace for his champion duties. when he's alone, though? his headphones are playing exclusively sappy glitter-gel-pen love songs. he would rather die than let anyone know, he has an image to upkeep - wouldn't even put it past him to have a second spotify account, bc u know the girls will bug him to see his wrapped every year.

within the love song genre, his favourite songs are ones that remind him of you.

his listening history is an amalgamation of different musical styles, but what he really pays attention to is the lyrics; if there's a song that really captures the way he feels about you, or one where the singer describes their lover and they're similar to you, he can't help but put it on repeat. he also loves duets - just like with romance movies, he loves imagining its the two of you in that situation. when he's deep in crush territory, he'll even make a playlist of those songs (it's long - can't help that every other song reminds him of you).

when you're finally together, he's more open about his love of love songs. it may take a bit into your relationship, during some late-night conversation about your respective silly behaviours when you were pining over each other, for him to show you the playlist, titled with just your initial and a heart emoji. but even before that, if you happen to play any of the songs he secretly listens to, you might catch him singing along under his breath (lowkey this post every five seconds). you might chalk it up to him picking up the words of songs the girls listen to, but that's because you don't catch the way he looks at you with the lyrics on his lips.

there are other times where he'll slide up behind you in your kitchen, arms around your waist and head propped on your shoulder, the domesticity and the fact you're wearing his tshirt getting to him. he's not much of a singer, but he'll hum one of those songs in that moment (his voice has a lovely smooth n deep timbre, so his humming sounds Heavenly in your ear). he might get a little embarrassed if you recognise the song and start humming along with him, or god forbid singing, but he'll still sway the both of you along to the music. he's not much of a dancer either, but he can figure out a midnight slow dance in the kitchen for you.

bonus!! a few songs i think he'd listen to, tho kinda influenced by my own music taste (+ spotify links): kiss her you fool - kids that fly (he has it on loop when he's psyching himself up to ask you out) meteor shower - cavetown davy crochet - the backseat lovers (perhaps i'm biased on this one bc i crochet) stitch me up - set it off can't help falling in love - elvis presley cloud 9 - beach bunny ("even when we fade eventually to nothing / you will always be my favourite form of loving" really hits with his whole 'dying for love' thing) love grows (where my rosemary goes) - edison lighthouse paper rings - taylor swift jackie and wilson - hozier (there's a lot of hozier in his playlists, but he really likes the thought of a family with you, even if that's only a couple lines of the song) valentine - atlas sweet tooth - cavetown ("guess i must be satisfactory / you said you love me exactly the way i am" takes him Out i can just feel it) would you be so kind - dodie

[lovebugism]

u said 2 do ur worst for shy!r so…. steve and reader go to the hawkins snowball dance and a slow song comes on and its a uber romantic song (i’m talking taylor swift type romance) and steve ofc asks r to dance… she’s super shy so she keeps looking at the floor but then steve does the thing where you lift the other persons chin up so they’re looking into ur eyes… if u wanna elaborate on this :)

i changed this up a wee bit, but i hope u like it! — when steve is finally crowned prom king, all he can think about is getting a dance with his (sorta) secret girlfriend (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, 1.2k)

Steve abandons his crown and scepter somewhere between the bleachers and the snack table. The thought of finding you is far more important than the chunks of plastic they give him. 

The cold breeze of the early evening cools his warm cheeks, flushed red from the adrenaline and the alcohol. He finds you sitting on the wooden bench outside the gymnasium, pretty and all alone. The skirt of your fairy-tale dress billows around your calves. Elbows digging into your thighs, you prop your chin on your fists and pout softly beneath the pale moonlight. 

You’re the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen. The saddest, too, maybe.

“Been looking for you,” he says to announce his presence. The lopsided smile on his face is audible. You know it’s dancing on his pink mouth before you ever turn around to face him. 

He’s a pretty thing in a sleek tux. Boyishly handsome. Sort of like he’s playing dress-up. The thought almost makes you smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize in a mousy voice, blinking up at him with sparkly, made-up eyes when he looms over you. “It got… really loud in there…”

“Well, Tommy spiked the punch, so… It was kinda inevitable,” Steve jokes with a lazy shrug, even though he isn’t really joking. 

He watched the idiot steal his dad’s best liquor from the high-up cabinet two hours ago. The Hawkins High class of ’85 got drunk on it in record time. The school pulses with life accordingly. The brick behind you threatens to shake with it.

Your nose scrunches. “Is that why it tasted like gasoline?”

“Probably,” Steve grins.

He huffs and sits at the spare spot next to you. The old bench creaks in protest. He takes his first good breath all night when he’s finally alone with you. The fresh air and your perfume fill his lungs, smoother than silk. There’s a subtle euphoria and a distant nostalgia between it all. 

He’s spent years chasing this feeling. He thought maybe being crowned prom king would solve all his problems. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. ‘Cause you did.

“You coming back inside?”

Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you ponder the question. “I don’t know… Probably not.”

Steve’s freshly shaven face swirls with visible confusion. He loves a party — especially when he’s the life of it — so it’s hard for him to comprehend how other people don’t. Even though he knows, more than anyone else, that you’re made of something much more delicate than that.

“Why not?”

“Prom’s not really my scene, Steve,” you answer with a scoffed-out laugh.

He flashes you a crooked smile in return, painted silver in the moonlight. His cologne swaddles you in its musk when he leans over to nudge your shoulder. “You promised me a dance, remember?”

Your soft features harden into a frown. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon! You know you wanna dance with me,” he protests through a poorly bitten-back laugh.

“Why?” you press, meeting his beam with a lighthearted scowl. “So all your friends can laugh at me?”

“Screw ‘em! They’re assholes— who cares?”

“I care. ‘Cause you’re not the one they’re laughing at, King Steve.”

You spit the stupid nickname with playful venom in your tone, but Steve can’t help but smile at it, anyway. He’s a week away from graduating, halfway employed, and Hawkins High’s reigning prom king. It’s all slightly maddening — especially now that he’s got you.

He wonders if you applauded when he won that stupid crown. If you laughed at him about it, or if you were strangely proud. He’ll ask you about it later. After he gets that dance.

“Let ‘em laugh,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, averting your gaze with a sad smile. You wish it were that easy. 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you tell him as the heavy bass inside the school starts to slow. Through the high-up frosted windows, you hear Girls on Film fade into Never Tear Us Apart. 

“Sorry for wanting to dance with my girlfriend,” he teases to ease the tension. It comes out more serious than he intended, though, ‘cause he is sort of sorry. Nothing about your two worlds exactly meshes — yet here he is, still hopelessly trying to tangle them together.

You know this, so you sigh. “Sorry for not being prom queen,” you joke back, only partly serious. You blink at him with a pair of twinkling eyes — slightly smudged with mascara. The sparkles of your eyeshadow glint when they catch the moonlight. 

“Don’t want you to be prom queen,” Steve confesses softly, smiling at you somehow softer. “I like you the way you are right now.”

You get a warm, tingly feeling in your stomach. It wells up your chest and into your throat until you feel like you might cry. 

You roll your eyes at him when they start to burn, laughing softly to distract from the overwhelming feeling. Your gaze flits to the velvet night sky, speckled with twinkling stars, until you get the courage to look back at the boy beside you. His face glitters with something hopeful. 

You swallow hard and ask, “You still want that dance or what?”

Steve glows with a boyish excitement. “Yeah! Are you kidding? Of course, I do.”

“Out here, though,” you tell him when he rises from the bench.

He smiles at the stern look in your delicate eyes. “Why? You ashamed of me or somthin’?” he jokes, as if he wasn’t named just prom king.

You stand before him with your arms crossed over the pretty corset of your dress. You bite back a smile. “I just wanna spend time with my boyfriend without it being on the cover of The Weekly Streak tomorrow,” you confess.

“Fair enough,” Steve nods, smoothing his wide hands over your sides. 

Yours are much less confident. They tremble with a misplaced worry as they spread over his shoulders. Your fingers fidget on the satin lapels of his expensive suit. His longer ones guide you back and forth, swaying you gently to the slow beat of the muffled song.

—Don’t ask me, what you know is true…

Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart—

You get lost in it all before you mean to. The warmth of having him so close, swaddled in his big hands and deep cologne. 

His honeyed gaze hasn’t yet wavered from you, but you don’t have the heart to meet it. He’s looking at you like he loves you. Like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re the fucking prom queen. 

You don’t feel particularly deserving of any of it.

“Are you still having fun?” you ask with a scrunched nose, visibly riddled with feelings of inadequacy. You still haven’t quite figured out why he’d rather be out here with you than inside with everyone else — with Vicki Carmichael, the actual prom queen.

“Loads,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His hands squeeze reassuringly at your hips as he flashes you a crooked grin. “It’s not even a question, honestly. I’d choose you over those schmucks in there any day of the week.”

He nods his slicked-back hair to the pulsing brick a few feet away. A few gelled chestnut strands drape over his forehead. You fight the urge to push them back.

“Really?” you squeak with your pretty face, all dolled up, twisted with an innocent look of confusion.

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Steve thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning wide and wearing all his adoration on his chiseled, golden face. He could hide it if he tried. “Tommy Hagan isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.”

[planet-mabel]

book thief - niall horan

an: hellooo!!!! i was reading at the beach and could not get this idea out of my head so HERE WE ARE!! i hope you enjoy :) I'm cooking up part two right now

summary: a trip to bora bora leads to bumping into niall horan by the pool and accidentally swapping books!

wc: 1.8k

what i was listening to:

As I disembark from the plane, weary from the long flight and craving a good meal, I step into the Bora Bora airport. I've treated myself to a solo stay at a delightful resort here for the week, and the anticipation of this moment has been a beacon of joy during my busy days back in NYC. I yearn for some well-deserved relaxation, as the incessant bustle of New York's streets and blaring car horns can be overwhelming at times. As I make my way towards the baggage claim area, I take a moment to savor the view from the airport windows. Though it's just a glimpse, I can see fragments of swaying palm trees, and a sense of tranquility washes over me. Leaning against the baggage trolley, I pause, eagerly awaiting the familiar "beep" that signals the arrival of our luggage.

I catch sight of my obnoxious purple suitcase as it comes around the conveyor belt and quickly snatch it before heading over to the shuttle bus waiting to take me to the resort. After stowing my suitcase in the overhead compartment, I sink into the luxurious seat on the bus. While waiting for the other passengers to board, I take a moment to text my friends and family to let them know I've arrived. The bus engine roars to life as we set off down the road. I glance up from my phone and out of the window, cranking up the music in my headphones. I take in the beautiful scenery as we wind our way toward the resort. Looking around at my fellow passengers, I notice that they are all families and couples. A faint feeling of loneliness creeps in as I realize I'm traveling alone.

I let out a deep sigh, gazing out of the window at the serene, azure skies and the gentle, rhythmic dance of the palm trees swaying in the breeze, attempting to distract myself from the overwhelming sense of isolation.

As the shuttle comes to a stop at the resort, the passengers begin to disembark, and I patiently wait for my turn. Once off the shuttle, I make my way to the front desk with my bags, eagerly anticipating some rest and relaxation in my room. I provide my name and reservation to the woman at the front desk, and the concierge swiftly arranges for my bags to be taken up to my room. The humidity of the Polynesian air causes my t-shirt to cling to my skin as I wait. 

While the woman prepares my room key, I glance at a man nearby who is also checking in. His accent intrigues me, and I find myself admiring his appearance. I'm momentarily lost in thought until the woman's clearing of her throat brings me back to the present. After receiving the room key, I exchange a tight smile with the woman and mutter a quiet 'thank you.' As I head towards the elevator, I briefly meet the man's gaze before pressing the button and entering the elevator. I select the third floor, my hand tightening around the room key as the elevator ascends.

I stumble into my room, weary from the day's travel, and collapse onto the plush duvet covering the bed. Propping myself up on my elbows, I take in the surroundings. The TV faces the foot of the bed, and a familiar mini fridge rests beneath it. To the side, a closet is built into the wall, and opposite that, a sleek desk catches my eye. Across from the entrance, a sliding glass door beckons me to venture out onto the petite balcony. I rise to my feet and make my way to the small mezzanine, stepping outside to be embraced by a balmy breeze and a mesmerizing vista. I pause, closing my eyes, letting the scenery wash over me.

After re-entering the room, I gently closed the door and made my way to the luxurious en suite bathroom. I marveled at the elegant plumbing and the spacious, extravagant shower. I couldn't help but let out a whistle of admiration, feeling impressed by the lavish amenities, almost forgetting that I had only booked this place for a week but paid the equivalent of a month's rent.

I let out a contented sigh and realized that I deserved to unwind by the pool for the rest of the day. Without bothering to unpack, I quickly slip into the first bikini I lay my eyes on - a vibrant, eye-catching pink one. After ensuring that I'm thoroughly coated in sunscreen and throwing on a comfortable t-shirt for extra coverage, I grab my purse and the book I've been meaning to read. As I make my way out, I return to the elevator and descend back down to the lobby.

I hurry downstairs and make a beeline for the pool, scanning for an unoccupied, plush reclining chair. As soon as I find one, I eagerly lay down my belongings beside it, exhaling contentedly. After slipping on my sunglasses and discarding my t-shirt, I settle back, flipping through the pages of my book to pick up where I left off during the plane ride. The book in my hands is 'Violet Bent Backwards over the Grass' by Lana Del Rey. It may seem a bit unexpected for a beach trip, but I have a fondness for poetry and adore Lana Del Rey, so I thought it was worth a chance. Immersing myself back into the pages, I lose track of time, captured by the words on the pages.

I slowly rise from my lounge chair, feeling the stickiness on my back from the sun's rays. Deciding it's time to take a break from tanning, I toss my book onto my chair and head towards the glistening pool to cool off. As I settle by the water's edge, I take in the mesmerizing sight of the swirling pool while dipping my toes into the refreshing water. Surprisingly, the area is deserted, giving me the perfect opportunity to submerge myself in the pool. I resurface, gently wiping my eyes before reclining on my back and savoring a tranquil moment, finding relief from the intense heat of the island air.

I emerge from the water, climbing the steps in the shallow end. The droplets slide off my glistening skin as I make my way to my chair. As I approach, I notice a man sitting in the chair next to mine. I recognize him as the guy I saw in the lobby, engrossed in a book. I glance around at the empty seats on the pool deck, wondering why he chose the one next to me, and furrow my brow in mild irritation. Despite my annoyance, I take a moment to study his appearance. His unkempt brown hair and pointed nose catch my attention, as does the way his scruffy stubble complements his deep blue eyes. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I finally reach for my towel. I clear my throat to catch his attention and he looks up from his book, smiling softly. He gestures to the book in his hand and I immediately clock it as ‘Violet Bent Backwards over the Grass', the same one I’m reading. I glance down at my chair in search of my copy, not completely sure he didn’t swipe mine. I clear my throat to capture his attention before speaking.

"Excuse me?" I managed to pipe up, my voice a blend of nervousness and amusement. "I think that might be my book." With my towel wrapped tightly around me, I glanced down at him. He met my gaze and then looked down at the book in his hands before responding.

"Oops, my mistake," he chuckled and handed the book back to me. "I noticed it here and thought someone must have left it behind. The title seemed intriguing." I reclaimed the book and settled back into my chair. "I didn't even realize you were here, geez. If I had known, I wouldn't have sat so close." His over-apologetic tone made me chuckle softly.

"No, it's okay. I'm traveling alone, so I appreciate the company," I assured him, readjusting in my seat. "Have you read it? It's a good book, isn't it?" I say enthusiastically as I glance back at him, thumbing through the pages again. He nods before replying.

"Absolutely! I can't resist a well-crafted poem," he responds with a nod, gesturing toward the book of poems resting on the arm of his lounge chair. I let out a soft chuckle in response. 

"Ah, cool. Nice to meet another poetry enthusiast," I say with a smile before returning my attention to my book. I sense his persistent gaze on me before he speaks again.

"You mentioned you're traveling alone?" he inquires. "So am I." I look up from my book, slightly puzzled. 

"You? Why's that?" I ask, marking my place in the book and placing it on my lap. 

"You first," he counter-challenges. 

I shrug before responding, "Just needed a break. New York can be overwhelming at times, and none of my friends were up for splurging on a vacation," I explain, gesturing dramatically. "So, here I am, flying solo." I give a somewhat forced grin, and he chuckles. 

"Same here," he remarks, leaning back in his beach chair. "You mentioned New York City? Sounds exciting," he comments. I nod slightly.

"Yeah, mostly. How about you?" I inquired, curious to confirm my suspicion about his distinct accent. 

"Dublin," he declares proudly. "Dublin, Ireland." I raise an eyebrow. 

"So that's where the accent comes from," I remark slowly, raising an eyebrow. 

"I don't have an accent; you have an accent," he retorts playfully, feigning a scowl, which elicits a soft giggle from me. He grins at me, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

"Well, I should head back to my room. The chlorine always does weird things to my hair," I say with a soft chuckle as I pick up my bag and wrap my towel around my waist. He sits up in his beach chair to look at me.

"Hey, let me buy you a drink later," he suggests, gazing up at me. I take in his shirtless form reclining on the chair in front of me and for a moment, I struggle to find my words.

"Um, well, okay," I say hesitantly before regaining my composure. "Yes, that sounds good." I offer a soft smile, trying to conceal my unease. 

He nods and continues, "I'll see you at eight at the hotel bar." He stands up and I nod in response. 

an"I'll see you, book thief," before giving a small chuckle and walking from the pool deck back into the lobby. As I leisurely make my way back to the door, I hear his quiet laughter echoing behind me. A grin spreads across my face, and in that moment, I feel as lighthearted and carefree as I did in my teenage years.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 30

word count: 4.0k

The following Monday, Harry opened shop.

His hand, still bandaged, flipped through the scheduling book. His finger traced down the page until he found today's date, skimming along who would come in and at what time. Harry took a mental note and sighed, grateful that his dominant hand wasn't the one that was injured. But work was work, he didn't have a choice. Niall and Zayn wouldn't have been able to take over, not with these endless listings.

Louis and Liam had reached out to him Saturday night, sending their condolences and offering to come in to help the other boys if Harry didn't feel ready. He appreciated it, though he brushed them off with the same ease he would have used months ago. Months before he met Aspen. 

The thought of her name made him shudder and his shoulders drop. His ears peaked at the muffled song in the break room, a scowl forming on his face. Fucking Niall and his stupid Taylor Swift.

"I wish I could unrecall it all, how we almost had it all."

Harry swung the door open, the handle hitting the wall behind it. Niall had been sitting with gloves on, etching ink into a slab of fake silicone skin they used to practice in while his head bobbed and mouth moved with the words.

"Turn that shit off," Harry grunted, tossing a package of sterile needles at his head before slamming the door shut. He huffed, clenching his fingers into fists momentarily before the song was turned off and quiet flooded the shop once more.

The chime of the door sounded after, Zayn scruffing his boots on the mat before he shrugged off his coat and hung it up.

Zayn was the only one who knew what happened between Aspen and Harry, besides Isobel. At least, he figured as such if Aspen had returned back to the car in that same shattered state he saw her leave in.

Although Harry kept his eyes forward as he tossed supplies onto his tray, too focused on what he was doing to greet Zayn, the brown eyed man kept his gaze on his friend for a while as he made his way to the schedule.

It was best not to mention anything, at least for now. Harry was a ticking time bomb when he was upset, and Zayn had never been there for heartbreak for Harry. He didn't even know if the lad had ever had a phase of that.

"So," Zayn spoke first as he cleared his throat, flipping through the book, "got a back piece today?"

"Yep," Harry responded blandly, pulling out a fresh box of ink and sliced a blade through the tape to prop it open.

The room fell quiet after that, just the sounds of the faint hum from the gun Niall used in the other room and the ruffling on Harry's end. 

Zayn sighed. "Look, man—."

"No." 

Harry cut him off, setting the ink bottles down with a hard thud. This was not the time nor place for that conversation, and Harry was sure he didn't want to have it ever.

Niall exited the room, holding the slab of fake flesh in his hands.

"Well, it's not too shabby, ri—. Oh." Niall caught glimpse of Harry's angered furrow between his brows as he set up the supply cabinet, and Zayn who was eyeing him with a piercing gaze. Harry was the one to glance over at Niall, falling to the work in his hands.

"Looks good." He said as his gaze went back to what he was doing, breaking down the box before tucking it into the recycle. 

"Thanks, Harold!" Niall grinned, tossing it down onto the table with a gentle thud before stripping his hands clean of the gloves. 

Niall didn't know what was going on, frankly. All he knew what that Harry got his ass beat and police had gotten involved, that's what he heard from Louis, anyways. But it wasn't like he needed to know. Whatever it was, Harry was his friend, damn near a brother. If he wanted to talk, he would. But for now, Niall could only offer no sense of change. Harry hated change. Hated being noticed, hated things being pointed out, hated when his chair had been lifted or lowered. 

So, he beamed a big smile and walked towards Harry to nudge him on the shoulder before leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. 

"How's it feel to be booked and busy, lads? Gosh, do you guys remembered when we first opened? Louis was here, we all were. And we had, what, three clients a week? Only if we were lucky."

Zayn puffed out a small laugh, fingers digging into the keyboard as he clocked in. Harry only hummed, though the memory flashed through his mind.

"There," Louis grinned, slapping the sign and they all watched as it swung on its metal hinges outside of the shop. He stepped down from the latter, tossing the hammer into the toolbox beside his feet with a satisfied sigh.

Harry looked up with a proud look, though his lips remained pursed. "Can't believe we did that," he breathed out, shifting on his feet to look at the white lettering on the glass window, his eyes scanning over the different tables and trays and cabinets. 

They all had finished setting up, the sign being their final hook on the wall before everything came together. Everything inside was pristine and neat, untouched and eager to be used by clients. 

"You did this, H. We work for you, Mr. Styles," Niall joked, though he set his hands on his hips as he followed Harry's gaze. 

"No," Harry said after a beat, shaking his head. He turned to look at the boys, lips finally cracking a smile. "We all did this, we're all gonna do this."

Things didn't change much. They were all proud of their work, Harry most of all. He built this place to be his second home. Over the span of months and years, they all chipped in to bring the shop to life. The white walls were replaced with black ones, big framed paintings from Zayn bringing them to life.

Sketchbooks scattered on display with different sketches and ideas and stencils for clients to flip through. That was a main selling point for their shop. Clients buzzed online about how raw their talent was, and how they were so open and vulnerable with their mistakes in their art just as they were with their successful pieces.

The low hum of the tattoo machine in the back room was soon joined by the chime of the front door opening. Harry instinctively glanced up from his tray, his hand already brushing over the tops of the ink bottles he’d just organized. The movement was automatic, his routine muscle memory, but his thoughts were miles away.

A pair of clients walked in, chatting softly and pointing to the designs in the display book near the waiting area. Harry adjusted the black bandana around his wrist, straightened his shoulders, and forced himself to push aside the storm brewing in his chest. He couldn’t afford to slip up—not here, not now.

Niall greeted the newcomers with his usual upbeat energy, leading one of them toward the consultation counter. Zayn, now settled at his station, leaned back in his chair and gestured for the other client to join him. Harry, staying quiet, stepped forward as the third figure walked through the door. It was his client for the day—a tall man with a shaved head and a sleeve already in progress.

“You Styles?” the man asked, his voice gruff but polite.

“Yeah. That’s me,” Harry replied, his tone steady despite the lump forming in his throat. He motioned for the guy to follow him to his station. “Come on back.”

As they walked, Harry’s eyes flickered to the appointment book on the counter, confirming the name and design he’d sketched for this particular session. It was a continuation of the man’s sleeve—a roaring lion’s head that would stretch across his forearm. Normally, Harry would feel a spark of excitement at tackling a piece like this. But today, there was only a quiet numbness, a fog that refused to lift.

He pulled out the sketch he’d prepared the night before, laying it flat on the worktable as his client nodded in approval. “Looks good, man. Real good,” the man said.

Harry offered a tight-lipped smile and a small nod. “Let’s get started, then.”

He handed the client a clipboard with the standard paperwork and went to wash his hands. As the warm water flowed over his skin, his gaze dropped to his reflection in the stainless steel sink. The bandages on his knuckles had started to fray, and his stitches still itched beneath his temple and cheekbone. He used to look at his injuries and feel a sense of resilience, pride even, at how he pushed through whatever life threw at him. Now, the sight of them only reminded him of Aspen—her tear-filled eyes, her trembling voice as she told him she needed space.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really looked at himself in the mirror. Every glance felt like punishment, the bruises and cuts on his face no longer symbols of strength but of failure. Failure to protect the people he cared about, failure to be the man Aspen believed in.

Harry dried his hands and slipped on a fresh pair of gloves. Back at his station, he sanitized the area, pulled out the stencil, and prepped his tray with the precision of someone who’d done this a thousand times. His client sat patiently, scrolling through his phone as Harry positioned the stencil on his arm.

“This placement good for you?” Harry asked, holding the man’s arm steady as he checked the angles.

“Yeah, perfect,” the man said with a nod.

Harry peeled the stencil away and moved to set up his tattoo machine. The hum of the needle filled the air as he adjusted the voltage and tested the grip. The sound usually calmed him, grounding him in the art he loved. But today, it only seemed to amplify the noise in his head.

He leaned forward, beginning the outline of the lion’s mane. His hand was steady, his movements precise, but his thoughts were anything but.

Aspen’s face lingered in his mind like a photograph burned into his memory. The way her lips trembled as she said space might be for the better. The way her voice cracked when she admitted how much it hurt to see him like this. He’d replayed her words over and over in his mind, dissecting every syllable, every pause.

He missed her. God, he missed her. It was a physical ache, one that tightened his chest and twisted his stomach every time he closed his eyes. She’d been his light in the darkness, his anchor when everything else felt like it was slipping away. And now she was gone—because of him. Because of his lies, his mistakes, his inability to keep the promises he’d made to her.

Harry shook his head subtly, trying to clear the image of her tear-streaked cheeks. His client glanced at him briefly, but Harry kept his focus on the tattoo, shading in the intricate details of the lion’s fur.

“Everything good?” the man asked, noticing Harry’s brief moment of distraction.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, his voice low. “Just concentrating.”

The client nodded and relaxed again, but Harry’s mind was far from settled. He thought about the nights he’d spent tossing and turning since Aspen walked out. How he’d stared at his ceiling for hours, haunted by the look in her eyes when she said she didn’t regret being with him but wished he’d been honest. The weight of her words crushed him every time they replayed in his head.

He thought about the little things he missed—her shy smile, the way she’d twist the ends of her hair when she was nervous, the way her laugh sounded like music on a quiet afternoon. She was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and it was driving him mad.

As Harry switched needles and began shading the lion’s jawline, he felt the familiar sting of guilt creeping in. He’d hurt her in ways he never thought possible, and the pain of knowing he’d let her down was unbearable. He wanted to call her, to show up at her door and beg for another chance. But how could he, when he couldn’t even face himself in the mirror?

The hum of the tattoo machine continued, blending with the faint sounds of chatter from the other stations. Harry focused on his work, pouring every ounce of his energy into the design. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the ghost of Aspen’s sadness or the hollow ache in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt truly lost—and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find his way back.

The rest of the week dragged by in the same, mind-numbing blur of routine.

Harry would wake up in the dim light filtering through his blinds, the weight of his exhaustion pressing him deeper into the mattress. He’d force himself to throw the blanket over his wrinkled sheets in a half-hearted attempt at normalcy, a futile effort to convince himself he still had some semblance of order in his life. His shower was quick, more out of obligation than need, the steam fogging up the mirror he avoided looking into. He didn’t need to see the man staring back at him. He already knew what he’d find—the bruises, the guilt, the weakness.

After dressing, Harry would shuffle to the kitchen, Jasper padding after him with hopeful eyes. The little cat’s energy was a stark contrast to Harry’s lifeless demeanor. He’d crouch down, scratch Jasper’s head, and let the faint purring soothe him for a moment before the guilt crept back in.

You’re a shit boyfriend, don’t be a shit pet owner too, he’d think, guilt pooling in his chest as he filled Jasper’s bowl. He lingered there, watching the cat eat, trying to muster up the energy to play. But most days, it felt forced. Jasper would swat at his hand or chase a toy Harry half-heartedly tossed, and the moment would pass too quickly, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

Work wasn’t much better. The buzzing of the tattoo machine no longer held the comfort it once did. It used to ground him, the vibration in his hand a constant reminder of the art he loved, the skill he’d honed for years. Now, it felt hollow. Every client he worked on, every intricate line and carefully shaded detail, felt like going through the motions. The usual satisfaction he found in seeing a piece come together was missing, replaced by a numbness that lingered no matter how hard he tried to shake it.

And when the day finally ended, Harry would trudge back home, dropping his keys onto the counter with a clatter that echoed in the silence. He’d grab a joint or crack open a beer—or three—anything to dull the ache gnawing at him. But no matter how much he smoked or drank, the guilt was always there, lurking in the back of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t escape. When he finally passed out, it was never restful. His dreams were fragmented, flashes of Aspen’s tear-streaked face and the words she’d said before leaving.

By Friday, Harry felt like he was hanging on by a thread. The shop had cleared out, and the silence left him alone with his thoughts once more. He slid on a fresh pair of gloves, the snap of the latex punctuating the quiet as he stared down at the metal surface of his workstation. His fingers tapped absently against the table, his eyes fixed on the reflection of his tools.

“Just a stupid fucking mirror,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Just look up, Harry.”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he braced himself. With a sharp exhale, he snapped his head up, his green eyes locking onto his reflection in the mirror. His stomach churned. He hadn’t looked at himself properly all week, and now that he did, the sight made his chest tighten.

The swelling under his eye was gone, replaced by fading yellows and greens that stained his skin like a cruel reminder of everything that had happened. His stitches were healing, the angry red lines still visible against his pale complexion. But it wasn’t just the bruises and cuts that unsettled him— it was his eyes. They looked hollow, the vibrant green dulled by sleepless nights and a guilt that weighed heavier than any physical wound.

He glanced down at his lip, where his piercing was conspicuously absent. The small, empty dot felt like a metaphor for how he’d been feeling— hollow, incomplete. Harry’s hand moved on instinct, grabbing the sterile needle from its packaging. He flipped the tab, removed the plastic covering, and swirled it in the sterilizing liquid, his movements precise and methodical.

Sliding the black ring into place, he swabbed the area with antiseptic, the cool liquid soothing the irritated skin. He stared at his reflection again, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied the new piercing. It didn’t make him feel better, not really. But it was something— a distraction, a fleeting sense of control in a life that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

Before he could think too much about it, his hands were already reaching for another needle. He tore the package open, grabbed the clamps, and tapped the rim to dry off the excess sterilizing liquid. The motions were automatic, his hands steady as he lined up the needle above his brow.

When the needle hovered over the area of his brow, he hesitated. His jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, he thought about Aspen. Would she hate this? Would she think he was reckless, stupid, weak? The thought tightened his chest, but before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the needle forward. A sharp sting followed, a brief moment of pain that was almost comforting in its simplicity. At least this pain made sense.

The pinch of the needle was sharp but brief, followed by the familiar satisfaction of threading the jewelry through. He twisted the spiked ends of the black barbell into place, his reflection staring back at him with an almost defiant edge. He didn’t bother marking the spot beforehand; his precision didn’t need it. If nothing else, Harry knew he was damn good at his job.

As he swabbed the fresh piercing and cleaned up the mess he’d made, he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. “Damn shame I’m better at this than keeping my life together.”

The truth of his own words stung more than the needle ever could.

That night, Harry found himself trudging to the bar just around the corner, his steps heavy against the cracked sidewalk. He didn’t drive anymore. His car had sat untouched outside the shop since last Thursday, the keys abandoned in his jacket pocket. Walking had become his escape. The howling wind bit at his exposed skin, the rustle of the trees filling the otherwise empty streets, but he welcomed it. Out here, there was nothing to distract him—no blaring horns, no stoplights, no bustling crowds. Just his footsteps against the pavement and the dark thoughts swirling in his mind.

He pulled open the bar's heavy wooden door, the warm air inside hitting his face as he stepped into the dimly lit room. The familiar scent of spilled whiskey and stale cigarettes wrapped around him like a blanket, almost comforting in its unpleasantness. Harry slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter without a word, his bloodshot eyes meeting the bartender’s for a brief moment.

Two shot glasses clinked against the polished wood as the bartender slid them toward him. Harry didn’t hesitate. One after the other, the shots burned their way down his throat, the familiar fire momentarily dulling the ache in his chest. He slammed the second glass down with a hollow satisfaction, the sharp clink punctuating the dull roar of chatter and clinking glasses around him.

But it wasn’t enough.

Pulling out his wallet again, Harry tossed thirty more onto the counter, his movements jerky and impatient.

The bartender eyed him warily. “I can’t serve you for another five—”

“Am I paying you to lecture me,” Harry cut in, his voice sharp and low, “or am I paying you to do your damn job?” He shoved the stack of cash closer, his jaw tightening as he stared the man down.

With a disgruntled mutter, the bartender complied, sliding three more shots in front of him. Harry didn’t wait. He downed them in rapid succession, each one hitting his stomach like a punch, but he welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the guilt gnawing at him.

The whiskey neat he ordered afterward went untouched for a while, the amber liquid sitting untouched in its glass as Harry stirred his soda absently. The black straw circled the ice cubes in a rhythmic motion, the faint clinking sound blending into the background noise. His mind drifted, the alcohol dulling the edges of his thoughts but not erasing them.

Aspen’s face kept flashing behind his closed eyelids, how upset she’d looked the last time he saw her. Her voice, her tears, the way she had walked away without looking back. His chest tightened. What the hell was wrong with him? How had he let it get this bad?

The sound of heels clicking against the floor snapped him out of his thoughts. Two light taps on his shoulder followed, and Harry glanced over, his brow furrowed. His vision had started to blur around the edges, but he could still make out the blonde woman standing beside him, her expression dripping with fake confidence and practiced charm.

“Can I help you?” he muttered, his voice low and laced with irritation.

She giggled, the sound grating against his nerves. “Uh-huh,” she chirped, her gum snapping as she leaned closer. “Can I get your number?”

Harry exhaled a sharp breath, shaking his head. “No, I’ll pass. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

The word felt foreign on his tongue, like he didn’t deserve to say it anymore. Was Aspen even still his girlfriend? He didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. The girl didn’t know Aspen, didn’t know the mess Harry had made of things. She wouldn’t call him out on the lie.

Her manicured nail dragged down the inked lines of his arm as she ignored his rejection, her voice turning syrupy. “Well, I don’t see her sooo...” She let the word linger, her gum snapping again as she gave him a coy smile. “I really like your tattoos.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, and he shrugged her hand off, standing abruptly and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. The room swayed slightly as he moved, the alcohol making his steps unsteady.

“I said hard pass,” he gritted out, his voice sharp. “I’m not into air bags.”

It wasn't like he had to analyze her chest to know how exaggerated her work had been. No one's boobs sit that high with that much definition.

Her jaw dropped slightly, her expression shifting from flirtatious to offended, but Harry didn’t stick around to see her reaction. He pushed past her, the leather of his jacket creaking as he pulled it on and shoved the door open. The cold night air hit him like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to clear his head.

The alcohol coursing through his veins fueled his frustration as he walked aimlessly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His steps slowed as he found himself outside Zayn’s apartment building, the familiar red bricks staring back at him. He didn’t know why he was here. Maybe he just needed to talk to someone, someone who might actually understand, even if Harry wasn’t sure he could say the words out loud.

Before he could second-guess himself, his fist was knocking against Zayn’s door. Three sharp raps that echoed down the quiet hallway. His head hung low as he waited, his breath fogging in the cold air. When the door opened, Harry didn’t even lift his gaze.

“Can I come in?” he muttered, his voice slurred and broken, the weight of the week finally catching up to him.

[foreverromanticising]

for a long time - ln4

five: delicate - taylor swift

lando norris x fem!oc | 3.4k words | lmk ur thoughts as perrrr | prev chapter.

One set of the fairy lights from Phoebe’s bedroom in Lando’s flat had made their way into his living room, decorating his television stand and illuminating the room alongside the glittering lights of the city. She had switched on the big light as she spoke with Charles, figuring it made more sense for such a serious conversation but as soon as he had stepped out the front door and a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders had she swapped for the fairy lights. She needed the comfort of the warm, dim lighting alongside one of Lando’s blankets she had opted to wrap around herself - though she was really craving a hug from Lando instead, but the blanket would do for now.

Though, Charles had been understanding, it was still a conversation that nobody wanted to have. He was hurt, but she had expected as much for if she had been in his shoes she would’ve felt the exact same. But, he listened to what she had to say and understood her feelings. Charles had known from the very beginning Phoebe was destined for greatness and he wouldn’t dare dream of holding her back, even if selfishly he wanted her back in his arms.

She stayed put, under a soft blanket that smelled ever so faintly of Lando’s favourite cologne, and opened up her laptop to skim back over an email she had received a few days ago. Entirely unexpectedly had the company from Phoebe’s summer internship emailed her with a job offer, claiming they wanted her to come back and work for them in a more permanent manner. 

She wondered if she would have felt differently towards Charles, if she would have stayed with him longer, if she hadn’t received such an offer. But her heart ached to return back to New York City, to finally have the job she had worked so hard for, to finally put her skills to use and break into the world of journalism.

An hour passed by, and then another, as Phoebe scrolled endlessly through different apartment listings in the city, not far from the office. Whilst the Monegasque skyline wasn’t quite the same as the New York City one, she allowed herself to look out and daydream about what her life could be in only a short few weeks. If she accepted the job offer, that was, for she hadn’t quite decided hence why she had been looking at apartments.

She needed Lando’s input, an opinion of some sort, so she scrolled until he came home. Sweaty and sticky, his hair plastered to his forehead, but he was home and that was enough for her. Despite the fact his shirt was drenched and Lando should’ve made a beeline for his shower, instead he headed straight for Phoebe and plopped down beside her.

“Ew, Lan, you stink,” She sat sideways on his sofa, back propped against the arm of the sofa with her laptop on her legs. She pushed her foot into his thigh, scrunching her nose once he sat down. “Get away from me.”

“What? C’mon, I’ve not seen you in like two hours,” He smirked as he grabbed her ankle, holding her in place so she could’t squirm away as he leaned over her body and entered into her space without apology. “I know you missed me.”

“Yeah, no, after two hours my heart was really aching.” She shoved at his chest so he would sit back down properly though closer this time, close enough that he could pull her legs over his lap to sit comfortably.

“So, how’d it go with Charles?” Lando tried to act like the question hadn’t been burning on the tip of his tongue his entire drive home, like he hadn’t skipped a few stop signs and maybe driven a gentle ten miles above the speed limit as he was far too impatient to waste any more time. “Is the poor guy walking about heartbroken now? Dunno how he’ll ever recover, honestly, what a loss.”

“Hey, don’t be mean. I think he took it well enough,” She shrugged as there wasn’t much she could quite say. “He’s a good guy, and really understanding, thankfully.”

“No, he’s definitely back in his apartment with his ego bruised for life now,” He tutted and ran his hands from her ankles to her calves, up and down methodically. “He’s probably crying his eyes out, wondering what he could’ve done differently to keep you.”

“You’re making it sound like I’ve just divorced my husband of ten years, I’m sure he’s fine- it was a few dates and a few nights together, he’ll survive.” Phoebe rolled her eyes at Lando’s dramatics, knowing that Charles was no more than a little hurt.

Lando continued his practiced movements along her skin whilst Phoebe continued scrolling on her laptop as their conversation died around them comfortably. His shirt was stuck uncomfortably to his skin with his sweat from padel but Lando had no intentions of moving, not when he was able to look to his left and finally see her under his blankets and entirely comfortable in his home. This was her place as much as it was his, he had decided. 

He was glad he could finally match her levels of peace, now knowing Charles wouldn’t randomly be appearing at his front door anymore. That definitely helped him relax, knowing he could keep Phoebe all for himself whilst she was in Monaco.

“So, I’ve got something I need to tell you.” Phoebe dragged out her words, pulling her legs out of Lando’s lap so she could cross them under as she sat up. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” He turned to face her, wondering where this could ever go for she had already ended things with Charles so he couldn’t pin what else had happened in the short time he was gone.

“You remember my internship and that it went really well, y’know, better than I could’ve expected,” Her hands fidgeted with the cutoff of his basketball shorts absentmindedly, not thinking twice as she spoke and simply needed something to distract her mind only slightly - she was so distracted her hardly noticed the way Lando’s breath hitched in his throat at her movements, though he forced himself to keep his eyes on hers. “Well, they want me back, apparently? I don’t know why but they’ve offered me a full time job, which is just fucking crazy to think about.” 

“I know why, you were made for that job, Pheebs,” Lando scoffed at her attempt to downplay such an achievement. “Of course they want you to come back, I mean, that’s brilliant.”

“I guess, but I dunno if I want to take it yet- I wanted to wait to see what you had to say. I’ve known for a few days now so I’ve thought it over, I just wanted to see what you thought first.” She had mulled this over for days now, keeping it quiet until she had her own ideas of what she wanted to do but in line with her true spirit, she always needed a second opinion from Lando.

“It’s New York and it’s journalism, these things don’t just fall into anyone’s lap,” He took her hand to stop her fidgeting, to draw her attention back onto him. “I think you should take it, really.”

“It’s so far, though, and there’s no knowing when I’ll come back y’know there’s not exactly an end date like last time,” She let Lando play with her fingers, lacing them through his own as she spoke. She sat quietly for a moment, thinking of what to say before she opened her mouth. “It’s a nine to five, and there’s three weeks of holidays across the year, and health insurance, and-”

“And it’s where you want to be, Phoebe. You and I both know it.” Lando had no idea why Phoebe was trying to back herself out of such an incredible offer for he knew it was made for her. 

“I wouldn’t be able to come to any races ‘till the end of the year, even less than what I could manage to get to at uni.” She knew there was more to her life than how many races she could attend; she wanted a fulfilling job, she had ended things with Charles for this reason, but Lando was different. She wouldn’t totally erase any prospects of a job for the racing season but she definitely would’ve preferred a job that allowed her to at least attend one or two of his races.

“There’s gonna be more races, I’m with the team for at least a few years- don’t make any decisions based on races right now. The car’s shite anyway this year, you’ll be able to make more work next season so don’t worry about it.”

“I hate missing you, though, I feel like I’m literally just back.” Her voice dipped quieter, almost embarrassed of her confession. She wouldn’t throw away the opportunities in her own life simply because she knew she would miss Lando. She hated feeling alone without him, and she knew that she would be alone in New York: lonely. 

“I won’t let you not take this job ‘cause you miss me- fuck, I miss you whenever I’m away but I don’t just hand in my contract. Y’know, we’re not seventeen anymore, Pheebs, we’ve got real lives and jobs and commitments.”

“You really think I should go for it? I mean, I won’t be able to go home ‘till Christmas.” She had imagined her first job out of university to at least be slightly closer to home, maybe somewhere European with a short flight between her and home, but New York was far - she couldn’t help but contemplate the benefits and drawbacks.

“So? You’ll make it work, and you know I’ll be over every chance I can get.” Lando was no stranger to charting a private jet and he would make no exceptions when it came to his Phoebe.

Phoebe never responded, instead she pulled her laptop back onto her legs and moved closer to Lando, their thighs pressed against each other, to let him see her screen: “Wanna help me look at apartments then?” The minuscule space between them grew shorter with every hour that passed; Lando had eventually tore his drenched shirt from padel and swapped it for a hoodie instead, returning back into the living room with two cups of tea for himself and Phoebe. 

One of her legs found its way back over his lap as her laptop sat between them, quiet murmurs of opinions about each apartment were whispered between them. Lando made it his mission to find the exact apartment she had described; a fire escape that she could crawl out onto, she wanted enough natural light that she would never have to rely on the big light, and a decent pizza place within a block away from her.

However, her three small asks were apparently near impossible to have all together whilst remaining within her budget, but Phoebe had quickly realised this. She had realised that this was too much to ask for in New York City so she was looking for the bare minimum, whatever she could get within her budget but even that seemed to be aiming too high.

There had been one apartment that had fit the criteria almost perfectly. A quaint studio flat only a short subway ride away from her soon to be work office, it sprawled outwards onto a fire escape with ivy crawling up the red brick walls. There were two gaping, casement windows on either side of the fire escape which perfectly illuminated the small kitchen that merged into the side of the apartment that would be her bedroom. With a quick look at the address, Phoebe recognised the location and took note of the small pizzeria around the corner from the apartment.

Lando noticed how her eyes lit up when they looked closer, the excitement in her voice when she pointed out every detail that she admired. But he also didn’t fail to notice the deflation that took over her when they caught the price of rent every month, knowing that was far out of the set budget Phoebe could afford with her new salary.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting anything besides a spare room in someone else’s flat,” Phoebe sighed and let her eyes flutter closed against Lando’s shoulder as they had been apartment hunting into the early hours of the next morning, determined to find somewhere for her to live but her hope was quickly running thin. “Maybe it’s a sign that I should just stay.”

“It’s not a sign, I think they’re just in a housing crisis.” He mumbled as he fought the same tiredness as the girl curled into his side but his finger kept moving across the keypad, continuing to scroll down the listings of available apartments. 

“I wish I could go over and look at flats, I think this website’s useless.” She stopped his movements, her hand over his, so that she could close her laptop over as their attempts were truly futile.

“Why didn’t you just say?” Lando sat up to look at, confused as to why she hadn’t spoken up yet. He’d figured she had a timeline in her head already, but he had wanted to suggest actually heading to the city to apartment hunt.

“What?” She looked back at him, equally as confused but for entirely different reasons.

“I don’t have a race ‘till next weekend, Pheebs, if you wanted to go over, all you had to do was let me know.” It made sense in his head to fly over as soon as they could, his phone already in his hand as he was prepared to make as many calls as he had to in order for them both to be on the next flight to New York.

“Lando, don’t be stupid.” She scoffed, figuring this was just another one of Lando’s irresponsible choices, something quick and witty and stupid.

“I’m not, I’ll get us a jet. Just pack your bag and we can go as soon as your ready.” He spoke to her quickly before he put his phone to his ear, immediately listing off details and requirements to whoever was on the other side - someone in charge of a jet, Phoebe presumed. 

Phoebe stood at gaped back at how quickly Lando was able to jump into action, over something as small as a quick suggestion. He caught her eye, a smirk on his face as he moved closer towards his whilst his hand caught her waist, bringing her back to the ground as he could tell that she was miles away in her own head. They stood there for a moment before he ushered her away into her bedroom with a quiet ‘go’ and off she went to pack a bag to search for an apartment in New York City.                                                                           

All of twelve hours ago, she had hardly any idea if she would even take the job and all of a sudden she was being whisked off to New York within a matter of moments.

New York City - 2022. 

Almost as though it was second nature to do so, Lando took Phoebe’s hand as they wandered throughout the streets of New York. He led the way as they walked between blocks, wandering into different apartment listings. It was all too domestic; the way they spoke about different sinks, different windows, the size of bathrooms. Like that would ever be his reality with the girl on his arm.

He let himself imagine for the few hours that they were able to play house, that this could be his life. Someday, somehow. He was sure of it. He would get the chance to properly look at homes with Phoebe, to actually care about the kitchen cupboards and the floorboards because it would be their home. But for now, he was content with helping her move onto this stage of her life. Sure, it would be a spanner in the works for his own plans but he knew when the time was right for them then everything would fall into place.

They stepped out of yet another apartment, braving the sharp brisk that edged its way into the New York air as summer made its way into autumn. Lando’s hand found Phoebe’s once again, dragging her down another street which left her feeling confused as she knew he had no idea where he was going. He’d never stepped foot in New York before, and all of a sudden he was able to direct the pair in the direction of yet another apartment.

“How’d you manage this?” Phoebe laughed as she followed Lando up yet another flight of stairs, trailing behind him to the next flat. “I didn’t know you knew your way around New York.”

“Yeah, I’ve got my ways.” He hummed and kept walking up a few more stairs, stopping before a door with a landlord’s number taped to it with it being cracked open ever so slightly.

At first, Phoebe simply walked inside without a second thought, just analysing yet another flat that seemed to have no positive outcomes. But after a moment, she noticed the panes of glass opposite either side of the fire escape. The bed in the far corner. The light blue kitchen cabinets. It was a small studio apartment, but it had been her favourite one. The flat that seemed too far out of her reach. Though, she wasn’t as happy as she had been when she saw it online.

Not because there were any flaws within the flat, rather the opposite. It was perfect, being able to see it with her own eyes and able to imagine herself making it a home. But she couldn’t find that same original happiness she had for she knew this was out of reach for her, if she wanted to be able to afford groceries and bills throughout the year alongside the flat. Though, she had already mentioned to Lando she hadn’t wanted to see what was pretty much her dream flat in person for she knew she couldn’t have it. 

“Lando, I told you I didn’t want to see this one.” The smile on her face faded once she had fully taken in the flat, spinning back around to face him. Her face had fallen flat but he kept his smile, saying everything that he wouldn’t.

“Why not?” Lando cocked his head to the side, smile bright as ever, whilst he dug into his back pocket before holding his hand out for her to see. “It’s yours.”

Phoebe could’ve sworn her head felt so slightly become lighter, feeling dizzy as she looked at the key he presented her with. Her eyes flitted from the key, hanging from a small peach plushie keyring, to Lando’s knowing smile, and back to the key for she couldn’t believe it.

“You’re joking, please, you have to tell me you’re joking.” She shook her head which matched her shaking voice as she spoke, her eyes beginning to brim with tears.

“I’m not, Pheebs. It’s yours, forever.” He held the key closer to her, directing it into her trembling hands.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Phoebe swarmed into Lando’s space, her body colliding with his as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She buried her head into his chest, tears leaking onto his sweatshirt but he couldn’t have cared less, he simply tugged her closer into him. He cradled her head, raking his fingertips through her hair. 

“Mm, I’m your idiot.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, his voice mumbled against her.

They stood like that for a minute, or maybe five, because Phoebe couldn’t dare step back in fear of bursting into a bigger flood of tears. Her words failed her for now but she knew that she would repay him, somehow, someday. For now, she just needed him close to her. To appreciate what was hers, in some ways more than one.

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Love ur cillian fics!! Especially the singer ones!! Could you do cillian x younger singer reader inspired by Barry appearing in Sabrina’s please please music video!! Or just Barry and Sabrina in general…

Or

Cillian x younger singer reader inspired by how Taylor changes the lyric to “the guy on the chiefs…” when travis is watching

🌸🌸🌸

Lights, Camera, Cillian

(41)Cillian Murphy x (25)F! Singer Reader

Summary: Cillian gets to be apart of a music video.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: you're 4'11

soft! Cillian, cocky! Cillian, lovey dovey Cillian, kissing, lap sitting, age gap by 16 years.

Inspiration: Please Please Please - Sabrina Carpenter

The set was alive with the hum of activity, a symphony of controlled chaos, a hive of activity as crew members darted about, adjusting lights and setting up equipment. A controlled chaos that always came with the territory of shooting a music video.

The lights cast a warm glow, creating an ambiance that matched the mood of the song they were filming for: 'Please Please Please.' Crew members moved with purpose, adjusting cameras, perfecting lighting, and setting up props. The director's voice cut through the noise, orchestrating the myriad tasks with the precision of a maestro conducting an orchestra. The air was filled with a mixture of anticipation and the faint scent of coffee, the lifeblood of early morning shoots.

She stood inside the makeup trailer next to the love of her life; Cillian sat in the makeup chair, his posture relaxed yet his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He had always thrived in front of the camera, but this was different. A music video required a different kind of performance, one that was more abstract and emotive. The makeup artist's brush moved expertly across his skin, adding subtle touches to enhance his natural features. The bright, overhead lights cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the deep blue of his eyes.

He glanced her way, who was standing a few feet away, talking animatedly with one of the crew members. She was a vision of grace and beauty, her petite yet chubby frame exuding an aura of confidence and poise. Her chubby cheeks, which he found irresistibly cute, were flushed with excitement, and her eyes sparkled with creative fervor. She turned to look at him and her eyes met his, and she smiled, a gesture that always had a calming effect on him. He returned the smile, though it was tinged with a hint of nervousness.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched her, the corners of his lips twitching upward. Turning his attention back to the mirror in front of him, he quipped, "Haven't been in handcuffs in a while..." His witty remark was accompanied by a playful glint in his eye. Her response was immediate, her expression shifting to one of mock annoyance mixed with embarrassment. "Cill-...hush ..before I duck-tape your mouth shut." Cillian chuckled softly, the sound a deep, rich timbre that resonated in his chest. He met her gaze in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe...I'll hush if you give me a kiss, eh'?"

Her reaction was swift, the playful banter eliciting a smile that lit up her face. She crossed the short distance between them, her movements graceful and assured. The makeup artist, sensing the intimate moment, finished her work and discreetly moved to the other side of the room, leaving them in a bubble of privacy amidst the chaos. She reached out, her fingers gently lifting his chin, forcing him to look at her. The touch was soft, yet it held a firmness that brooked no argument. As she leaned in, her lips parting slightly, Cillian felt his heartbeat quicken, the anticipation building between them. He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek in a tender caress.

When their lips met, the world around them seemed to blur, fading into insignificance. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a melding of mouths that spoke volumes in its simplicity. Her lips were soft and warm, moving against his with a sweetness that belied the fiery passion lurking just beneath the surface. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, seeking hers in a dance as old as time. Their tongues met, tentatively at first, then with increasing boldness. The kiss grew more intense, more fervent, as they lost themselves in the moment. Cillian's hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her close, while her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the embrace. The connection between them was palpable, a living, breathing thing that seemed to pulse with its own rhythm.

As they kissed, Cillian's mind wandered to the many moments they'd shared, the highs and lows of their relationship. This was just one more layer to their ever-evolving story, a testament to the love and trust that bound them together. The sound of the director's voice calling out that it's time barely registered with the both of them, their focus entirely on each other. Finally, they pulled away, breathless and flushed, their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Cillian smiled, a soft, affectionate curve of his lips that spoke volumes. "That was some kiss," he murmured, his Irish lilt adding a melodic quality to his words.

She laughed, a light, musical sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Well, I had to shut you up somehow," she teased, her eyes dancing with mirth.

He grinned, his heart swelling with love for the woman before him. "I'm not complaining, love. Not one bit."

The whole crew and everyone else involved were taking a lunch break. She sat comfortably in his lap, her petite frame fitting perfectly against him, her presence a soothing balm to the frenzy of the day. Cillian's phone was resting on her lap, allowing her to read along as he typed. It was a simple gesture of inclusion, a silent communication that spoke volumes about their closeness. Its screen lighting up occasionally with messages. He was responding to texts, but his attention was divided, his focus constantly drifting back to her. Her hand moved gracefully, picking up a plump, red strawberry from a bowl that was on a table next to them and brought it to her lips. She took a delicate bite, the juice staining her lips a deep crimson. The sight was mesmerizing, a small, intimate moment that felt like it was just for them.

She shifted slightly, her gaze catching his. A playful smile curved her lips as she picked up a strawberry from the bowl beside them. "Strawberry?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur as she held the ripe fruit up, turning her head to look at him fully.

Cillian's eyes crinkled at the corners as he returned her smile, a subtle warmth in his expression. He reached up, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the strawberry. The contact was brief but intimate, a silent acknowledgment of their bond. He brought the fruit to his lips, taking a delicate bite. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, a delightful contrast to the faint tang of the earlier scene still lingering in his mind.

"Delicious," he murmured, his accent giving the word a soft, lilting quality. His fingertips lingered against her hand for a moment longer, tracing the delicate lines of her skin. There was something profoundly grounding about these small touches, a reminder of the simple pleasures that made life meaningful.

She giggled, a sound that seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders. "I'm glad you like it," she replied, her tone light and teasing. She leaned back against him, her head resting comfortably against his chest. He could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, a soothing counterpoint to the frenetic energy around them. He continued to text, his thumb moving deftly over the screen, but his focus was divided. The warmth of her body pressed against his, the scent of her hair mingling with the strawberries, created a cocoon of intimacy that made it hard to concentrate fully. He didn't mind; these moments were precious, a respite from the relentless demands of his career.

"Who are you texting?" she asked, her curiosity evident as she glanced down at the screen.

"Just checking in with my agent," he replied, his voice a low murmur against her ear. "Making sure everything's set for next week's shoot."

She nodded, her fingers idly playing with the hem of his shirt. "You work so hard, Cill." He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "And you don't? Look at you, running this whole show," he gestured around the set with a tilt of his head, his admiration clear in his voice. She blushed, her cheeks tinged with a delicate pink. "It's different. This is just one video. You do this all the time." He turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against her temple in a tender kiss. "Doesn't make it any less impressive. I'm proud of you."

Her eyes softened, and she shifted to look at him more directly. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the background noise. There was a vulnerability in her gaze that tugged at his heartstrings, a reminder of how much she valued his support. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds their breathing and the distant clatter of dishes as the crew finished their lunch. Cillian continued to text, his free hand resting on her thigh, the simple contact grounding him in the moment.

"_______! _______! Over here!" A voice suddenly called out, breaking their serene bubble. Both of them turned toward the source of the voice, their expressions curious. It was one of the directors of her music video, a broad grin on his face as he waved enthusiastically. He held up his phone, capturing a quick photo before turning back to his work.

She wasn't upset by the intrusion; she merely shrugged, a resigned smile on her lips. Their relationship hadn't been officially confirmed to the public yet, and moments like these, while slightly invasive, were to be expected. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Guess our secret is gonna be out," he murmured, his Irish accent adding a musical lilt to his words.

She giggled, popping another strawberry into her mouth. "Oh well, it's not like we were hiding it very well," she replied, her voice light and teasing. "After all you are in this music video..."

Cillian sat in a cold, metal chair, his body tense with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He was clad in dark jeans and a simple white tank top; that contrasted sharply with the white dress she wore. She lay languidly on the worn couch, the white dress clinging to her curves, the slit in the stomach teasing a glimpse of her soft skin. Her eyes, full of intent and unspoken emotions, locked onto Cillian's. He mirrored her gaze, his hands resting on his head, fingers threading through his hair. His blue eyes held a mix of intensity and seduction, and as he bit his bottom lip, he projected an air of smoldering confidence.

The director called for silence, and the set fell into a hushed anticipation. The music began to play, its melancholic melody filling the air. She started to sing, her voice a sultry, captivating whisper. "If you wanna go and be stupid," she sang, her eyes never leaving Cillian's. The words dripped with a mix of challenge and allure, drawing him in. As she stood up and began to walk toward him, her movements were deliberate, each step echoing with purpose. She held up a pair of handcuffs, the metal glinting in the light, and dangled them in front of his face as she sang, "Don't do it in front of me." There was a playful defiance in her tone, a daring edge that sent a shiver down his spine.

Cillian’s mind raced, thoughts intertwining with the rhythm of the music. He knew his role, every action and reaction meticulously rehearsed, yet the raw energy of the moment made it feel new, almost dangerous. He kept his eyes on her, his breath shallow as she moved behind him, continuing her song. "If you don't wanna cry to my music," she sang, her voice wrapping around him like a silk rope. He dropped his arms as rehearsed, feeling the cold steel of the handcuffs snap around his wrists. Her touch was both gentle and firm, and he exhaled sharply, memories of more intimate settings flashing through his mind. There was a vulnerability in his position, a surrender that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

She picked up a roll of duct tape, and began to walk back to the front of him; her eyes flicking up to meet his as she bent down to meet his eye level. The air between them was electric, charged with the tension of the scene. She tore off a piece of tape; the proximity making his heart race. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the intensity of her gaze, the sound of her voice, the feel of her hands. As she placed the tape over his mouth, he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. She cupped his face gently, pressing a kiss to the tape, a gesture that was both tender and taunting. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the sensation, the softness of her touch contrasting sharply with the roughness of the scene. She pulled away from his face leaving a big red kiss mark in the center of the tape.

She walked off camera, her figure disappearing into the shadows, leaving him alone in the frame. The director’s voice broke the silence, "...AND THAT'S A WRAP!" The declaration echoed through the garage, and the crew erupted into applause, the tension of the shoot dissolving into relief and satisfaction. Cillian remained seated, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The handcuffs were quickly removed, and he rubbed his wrists, feeling the slight indentations left by the metal. She rushed back to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement and pride. The both of them went to hug each other. The crew bustled around, dismantling equipment and discussing the day's shoot, but for Cillian everything else seemed to blur into insignificance. All he could focus on was the woman in his arms, her petite frame fitting perfectly against him, her warmth and presence a soothing balm to his earlier nerves. He cupped her face gently, his fingers grazing the soft, delicate skin of her cheeks. His thumbs traced the gentle curve of her jaw, his touch tender and reverent. Her eyes, wide and filled with emotion, locked onto his, a mixture of relief, pride, and love shining within their depths. She was beautiful, radiating a glow that seemed to light up the entire room.

"Baby, I'm so proud of you," he murmured, his Irish accent giving his words a lyrical, intimate quality. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, each word imbued with the depth of his feelings. His eyes, a striking blue, bore into hers, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her breathe catch in her throat.

As he leaned in, time seemed to slow. The noise and movement around them faded into a distant hum, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. His lips met hers with a slow, deliberate tenderness that quickly blossomed into something more powerful, more urgent. The kiss was intense, a mingling of breath and emotion that spoke of their deep connection, their shared passion. In that moment, it was as if nothing else existed. The warmth of her body against his, the taste of her lips, the soft sigh that escaped her as they kissed—all of it combined to create a cocoon of intimacy that shut out the rest of the world. He could feel her heartbeat, quick and steady, mirroring his own, a rhythmic reminder of their bond. When he finally broke the kiss, they remained close, their foreheads touching, breathing in sync. Silence enveloped them, a comfortable, shared silence that spoke volumes. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. His eyes never left hers, filled with a mixture of admiration and adoration.

"You were incredible out there," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have no idea how proud I am of you."

She smiled, a shy, almost bashful smile that made his heart swell with affection. "I couldn't have done it without you, Cillian. You being here means everything to me."

Author's Notes:

I think I’m getting burnt out guys..ahhh; please forgive me if this is ass.

The other asks are being worked on, I just need to recoup.

I hope I did this right, either I'm dumb which is a really good option; which...yeah that's probably it. But yeah its like a behind the scenes of the music video lolz, I'd had to watch; but I do like the song; 100% helps is she has a behind the scenes video for it so yeahhhh.

[theoppositequeens]

Fandom: The Empyrean (Fourth Wing) Rated: G Relationships: Bodhi & Xaden, Bodhi & Violet, Violet/Xaden Tags on Ao3, no archive warnings apply.

Written for @empyreanevents Bodhi Week Day 6: Soft. Ridoc said Bodhi is like the soft version of Xaden. Give us some soft Bodhi! 7 Taylor Swift songs for 7 days of Bodhi Week - Song: Never Grow Up.

Read here on Ao3.

it's so quiet in the world tonight

---

Your little hand's wrapped around my finger And it's so quiet in the world tonight

---

It’s a privilege, and a tradition, for the current heir to be the first one after the parents to hold the child of a Duke of Tyrrendor.

But mostly, it’s an honor.

An honor to be trusted with any small, beginning life, let alone the one that’s been carried by his cousin-in-law. Bodhi can’t quite comprehend the sight in the bed when he steps into the room, turning around to shut the door, feeling like he absolutely should not interrupt this scene. But Brennan and Mira wait impatiently for their turn, the mender having been on hand if needed all through Violet’s labours, and Mira supporting her sister in the early stages until Violet kicked her out.

So Bodhi closes the door behind him, and faces them.

Violet is propped up against the pillows, tired and looking like she’s been through another war – which he supposes she has, childbirth is a bloody and painful affair – but she’s beaming. Xaden is at her side, tall body gracefully folded to sit next to her, his arm around her shoulders and their bodies pressed close, like they can’t bear to be apart. That’s not new.

But the small bundle in Violet’s arms is.

“Are you alright, Vi?” It’s the first question that tumbles out of his mouth, because he’s heard her screams, he’s waited outside for many long hours, anxiously pacing. It’s not just that her life is tied to Xaden’s – it’s that Bodhi has come to love her in her own right, this fierce slip of a woman he now freely calls cousin in his head. Still, he winces, shaking his head and restarting. “I– of course you aren’t alright, you just had a baby, you’re obviously in pain–”

Xaden holds up a hand to stop his nervous rambling, and Violet laughs quietly, her eyes warm as they lock on his.

“I’m as alright as I can be,” she promises, and Bodhi sighs in relief, his shoulders loosening.

Fuck, that’s a burden off his shoulders. He knows she was attended to by the best midwives Xaden could find, but childbirth isn’t safe, and he still could have lost them all in one fell swoop today: Violet, Xaden, the baby. All of his family.

Xaden glances up as that thought crosses Bodhi’s mind, his eyes dark but understanding, like he’s been battling the same terrible visions. Bodhi doesn’t care to raise his shields, too damn exhausted. Let Xaden look, if he wants to. His cousin has become nigh on full inntinnsic now, though it’s still a well kept secret outside of present company, and Bodhi doesn’t let it bother him.

He doesn’t need to keep secrets from Xaden. The only time he did, was the terrible two hours across a meeting table when Xaden returned from a morning patrol straight into an Assembly meeting. Bodhi held his shields locked all through that, twisting nervously under his cousin’s watchful gaze. Bodhi had found Violet throwing up into the bushes while Xaden was on patrol. He’d panicked and demanded she go to Brennan, only for her to tell him in no uncertain terms she knew exactly what was wrong with her.

She didn’t say the words, but she smiled, and Bodhi knew keeping that secret until she could tell Xaden himself would make his cousin the happiest man in the world, so he did.

He was right. They probably heard Xaden's shout of joy on fucking Deverelli.

Now, Xaden only gives him a steady nod, and Bodhi finally lets his gaze slip down to the child, bundled up in a white blanket crocheted by Sloane, surprisingly. Bodhi would have never pegged her for a person who likes to sit still and do crafts, but she painstakingly stitched woven patterns into Tyrrish runes for health and prosperity and happiness and all other things she wishes for the little one.

“Come here, Bodhi,” Violet says, and Xaden beckons him over. Bodhi goes on stiff legs, so nervous he might actually faint, and sits on the edge of the bed as he’s bid to.

“She’s not going to bite you,” Violet teases kindly, and looks down at the girl in her arms. Xaden bends closer, dark head leaning against Violet’s brown and silver braid, and his finger strokes infinitely softly over the baby’s cheek.

Bodhi’s never seen Xaden look so soft and enamoured for anyone but Violet, but clearly his heart has doubled in size to contain the same amount of love for his child.

“I’m not scared,” Bodhi claims, and he isn’t. Just nervous. Honored. Touched. Scared he might cry the second he holds the baby. He sends Violet a smile. “You did so well, Violet.”

She half-rolls her eyes, dismissing his praise, and Xaden hums in agreement with Bodhi.

“He’s right, love. Look what a precious little one you’ve brought into the world.” There’s so much love in Xaden’s voice Bodhi can barely handle it. He doesn’t know how his cousin does.

“Look what we made,” Violet counters impishly.

Xaden chuckles. “You deserve the credit, Violence.”

“Oh, stop it. Bodhi, would you like to hold her?”

“Do I have a choice?” Bodhi jokes warmly. He doesn’t, not really. It’s his duty as Xaden’s heir to be the first to greet his child – in this case, the first in order to pass on responsibility of being heir onto her tiny shoulders. It makes him sick to think of, but tradition is tradition. “Yes, I really want to.”

It’s scary and exciting in equal measure as Xaden lifts his child from Violet’s arms, pecking her mother on the cheek as he does. There’s not a peep from the bundle of blankets, and Xaden’s movements are at the same time oddly formal and incredibly gentle as he transfers her into Bodhi’s waiting arm.

“Here’s your uncle Bodhi, Asha,” Xaden murmurs and Bodhi blinks back tears both at the tiny weight in his arms and the name uncle. “You’re going to wrap him completely around your little fingers, but it doesn’t matter, because he’d do anything for you anyway. He’s just that type of loyal and kind person.”

And Bodhi would.

He stares down at her little face – Asha, perhaps after Asher Sorrengail – and knows in that moment that while he may never have children of his own, he would lay down his life for Xaden’s.

Her little rosebud mouth is slightly open as she breathes evenly, her face still a bit scrunchy and blotchy, but she’s the most beautiful child Bodhi’s ever seen. She’ll likely look like her parents, but she also looks like hope. Hope for a better future, one where there’s peace after this war. Time for family and raising children who’ll never have to see their parents sacrifice themselves for bigger causes.

“Hi, Asha,” he breathes, cradling her gently in one arm, his finger coming up to brush her closed fist, marveling at the tiny fingernails and soft skin. “Your dad is right. Anything you need, I’ll always help you with.”

A tear slips out, tracking down his cheek when he looks up at her parents. “She’s absolutely beautiful.”

Violet nods, and Xaden’s eyes are suspiciously wet. Bodhi’s never seen his cousin cry since they were children, and he won’t now, turning his gaze away to give them some privacy.

But Xaden reaches out, his hand gripping Bodhi’s upper arm in a strong grip, and then Xaden is hugging him, in a fierce embrace that is still careful of the baby between them.

“I’ll protect her with my life, I swear,” Bodhi murmurs, and feels Xaden nod.

“I know,” he answers. “Thank you, Bodhi.”

There’s a moment before Xaden lets go where Bodhi breathes in his cousin, and feels, not for the first time, infinitely thankful that they all survived the war.

Then he focuses down on the little girl in his arms as Xaden draws back, studying her features, the miracle she is. Precious and tiny and sleeping trustingly in his arms. He hopes she'll always trust him, never learn to be wary. He will endevour to never give her any reason to be.

Xaden and Violet are quiet, their gazes gentle on him and their child before Xaden bends to murmur something to Violet, clearly a conversation to give Bodhi some time and privacy for his next responsibility.

He rises infinitely gently, careful to keep his movements even, and heads to the window overlooking Aretia, slightly cracked open. The summer breeze is warm, and Bodhi chuckles as a wisp of shadow still tucks the blankets tighter around the infant in his arms, Xaden and Violet clearly not as invested in their quiet conversation as they would like him to believe.

He can’t blame them – he’s holding their newborn daughter and he has to force himself not to tremble under the emotional weight, the depth of their trust in him.

Aretia isn’t dark, not even at night, flames and magelights dotting the city. Little Asha’s eyes are closed in peaceful sleep, but Bodhi lifts her slightly either way, so the moonlight bathing the city can hit her face.

“This is Tyrrendor,” Bodhi tells her. “Our birthright. It was my duty, and now it’s yours.”

He strokes over her tiny fist again, and it opens reflexively, grabbing onto his finger. Bodhi draws in a sharp breath, hating the idea of handing over this heavy responsibility into hands that barely wrap around his forefinger.

“It’s a heavy duty, but you’ll have help, I promise. You won’t be alone.”

Then he breathes in deeply and says the words he wishes he didn’t have to say to an infant only hours old, but that the Assembly will demand to know have been said with Violet and Xaden as witnesses, so no-one can ever doubt the line of succession.

“I, Bodhi Durran, have carried the title of heir to my cousin, Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor. This duty I now bequeath to you, Asha Riorson, firstborn of my cousin and his wife, Violet Sorrengail Riorson, Duchess of Tyrrendor.”

Asha’s titles and names will be announced in full, later. For now, Bodhi only needs to hand over the heirship and make it clear he’s not contesting it. No one will ever pitch him against Asha or any other children Xaden may have if their parents perish and succession is called into question. No, Bodhi will protect their rights ferociously.

“I, Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor, hereby witness the transfer of heirship from my cousin, Bodhi Durran, to my firstborn daughter, Asha Riorson,” Xaden announces, calmly and quietly, behind him. Violet echoes her own statement right after.

Bodhi continues staring out the window for a second, and then glances at Asha’s face, peaceful in sleep, making a choice. He lifts her a bit higher, bends his head down to kiss her soft downy hair in a tradition as old as Aretia, a tradition she may one day perform for any sibling she has, welcoming her into the family.

“But just between you and me, little one,” Bodhi whispers against the crown of her head, barely even a breath, pulling up his shields tight so that Xaden can’t pluck the words from his mind. “I’ll carry the weight of being heir until you want it. Forever, if need be. They can call you that, but I’ll shoulder all the burdens, sort out all the fights in your stead. You should just grow up happy, not with responsibility weighing you down.”

It’s his oath, this quiet summer night with crickets playing outside the window, Asha’s little hand clutched tight around his finger.

And Bodhi keeps it.

[thedilfdiaries]

Wip Wednesday!

Tysm for the tags @sawymredfox @thundermartini & @almostfoxglove 💖

I have three snippets this week! And Howdy Honey is on its way veryyyy soon!

-> first is for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge

The screen lit up, and there it was—a new message.

Every morning, like clockwork, one of you would send a song with a time stamp—each track chosen so deliberately. Some days, it was your favorite love songs, sappy and sweet, reminding the other how much you cared. Other times, it was to lift each other up, a little nudge of hope when the world felt too heavy. And then there were the ones that said all the things neither of you could say out loud.

You: I’ll send you one tomorrow.

———

You: 3:01 - Exile by Taylor Swift.

His heart kicked up as he clicked the link and let the song play, skipping to the time stamp. The haunting melody filled the room, and when the lyrics hit, he froze.

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, staring at the phone in his hand. The words hit harder than he’d expected—bitterness woven into a truth he couldn’t deny. But beneath the sting, there was something else.

You’d sent him a song. After all this time, after everything that had passed between you, you’d listened, and you’d answered. It wasn’t an olive branch, not exactly, but it was a thread. A connection. A chance.

-> next is for @almostfoxglove 's let's get angsty challenge

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Protect me? You can’t even protect yourself, Acacius.”

His grip loosened, and his hands fell to his sides. The silence that followed was deafening, and you felt the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the words so soft you almost didn’t hear them.

Your breath hitched, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Then fight for me,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t let this be all we are.”

For a moment, you thought he might say yes. His eyes searched yours, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to find the strength to give you what you wanted. But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked away.

“I can’t,” he said, the words barely audible. “I can’t.”

-> last is for a mini 3 part series called hold the line. A long weekend family vacation with dbf!joel

Joel leaned closer, his elbow propped casually on the tile, his intent was anything but. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and steady, the kind of look that made your breath catch. It was as if the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you caught in the glow of the moment, the tension between you taut and undeniable.

"You’re trouble, y’know that?” Joel murmured, like a quiet confession.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, though your pulse betrayed you. “And you’re staring.”

“Maybe I am,” he said, his tone unapologetic, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Your breath caught as his gaze flickered downward, lingering on your lips with an intensity that made your skin hum. The music shifted to a slower, softer tune that was spilling from the speakers, wrapping around the two of you.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but the space between you shrank until you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, warm and laced with whiskey, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Your eyes fluttered closed, your heart pounding in your chest as you leaned closer.

“Hey! There y’all are!” Tommy’s voice rang out, cutting through the moment like a knife.

Npt: @evolnoomym @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @arcanefox207 @gothcsz

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @ace-turned-confused @slimybeth69

@toxicanonymity @probablyreadinsmut @morallyinept

[bird-likes-to-fandom]

Wow. sounds like a big few days

about the you're losing me thing,,, wheres that post about how fans make it out to be that musical artists can't make art anymore and everything they write has to reflect their own lives... like GUYS. chill oh my god

takes a drag of my nonexistent cigarette... what are the swifties up to now?

*stares at nothing like that Ben Affleck meme* so much bestie, so much...

SO for starters the Eras Tour finished until February 2024 a couple days ago and a whole bunch of people thought she was going to announce reputation (Taylor's Version) on that last night (she didn't).

THEN yesterday Spotify announced her as artist of the year, and in response, as a thank you, she released the song 'You're Losing Me' onto streaming platforms, which had only been available via cd before.

That same day, Jack Antonoff (her friend and collaborator) revealed that YLM had been written in 2021, leading a whole bunch of people to start tearing down her ex, Joe Alwyn, for not being a good enough boyfriend (because people have literally no chill).

Taylor also liked a tweet implying that "Sweet Nothing", a song off Midnights, might be inspired by the romance of Paul McCartney and his wife, and I don't know why that's a big deal?? But apparently it is.

AND LASTLY just now Tree Paine (Taylor's publicist) absolutely snapped at Deuxmoi (a gossip blog, I think...?) for the "fabricated lies" they've posted about TS, including rumors of a marriage a few years back.

And I think that's everything?? I'm probably missing something or messing it up, but I essentially am just watching everything via my tumblr dash tbh.

edit: OH and also she was at the Renaissance movie premiere tonight, which isn't really a big deal, but she looked very pretty and also just Beyonce <33

[riordanness]

enchanté — [n.sheff]

wordcount: 1.2K

warnings: none

requested: no

tags: @honey-ambrosia my wife <33 (send her love or else)

a/n: idk?? i just had a random idea while watching this movie for the first time so enjoy i guess. nic is defo ooc, doesn’t do drugs in this fic either, and i know basically none of the movie plot yet. feel free to request nic sheff fics tho! <3

“Nice to meet you.” I smile; and shake my new roommate's hand. He seems nice enough, with pretty green eyes and curly brown hair.

He smiles back, then heads into our dorm room. I turn back to my conversation with the other girls in our hallway. Turns out there wasn’t an even number of girls or boys this year, so I got shoved into a dorm room with a guy. Not that that’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to me; he’s kinda cute.

One of the other new girls, I think she said her name was Alexa, nudges me. “Damn, I wish I was the not-so-unlucky girl stuck with a boy. He is hot.”

I shrug. “He’s not bad. He’s probably got a girlfriend though. Or he’s gay.” I nudge her back. “Doesn’t matter that much; he’s probably the kind of guy who spends all his time not in his dorm room. More time alone for me.”

I say goodbye and turn towards my bedroom door. I stop just before it, though, when I hear voices.

“Yeah, she seems nice, she’s just in the hall,” I hear my roommate say. I’m not entirely sure who he’s talking to, but then another person speaks, a much older man, and I remember his father is here.

“I feel for you though…” His father laughs, and I hear the sound of cds clacking together, and I realise that they’re my cds.

I internally cringe. Why did I decide to set up my cds? My roommate definitely thinks I’m a total loser freak now. I visualise my collection. Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Chase Atlantic, Melanie Martinez, Joshua Bassett, and the Chainsmokers. Pretty much screams ‘basic white girl’ doesn’t it?

I knock on the doorframe, stepping into view. “Hey,” I say, waving a little at his father. “Nice to meet you.”

My roommate’s father hastily shoves my cds back onto my desk. “You too. I’m Nic’s father.” He stands and offers me his hand. I shake it, offering a smile.

“Well…” Nic’s father pats his pockets. “I’d best be going.” He gives his son a hug, who stands and grips his father tightly.

I feel awkward, like I’m interrupting something.

“Everything,” Nic whispers.

“Everything.”

Though I have no idea what that means, I think it’s adorable.

His father leaves, and the two of us stand for a moment. Then I drop my bag on the floor next to my bed and flop myself onto it.

“What’s your name?” Nic asks quietly. “I’m Nic.”

I prop myself up on one elbow. “I know. I’m y/n.”

He nods. “Cool.”

There’s silence for a couple more seconds, more than feels comfortable.

I blow out my breath. “My friend thinks you’re cute.”

He laughs in surprise. “Is that a pick-up line?”

“No.” I glance at him. “She literally does think that.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “My dad thinks your music taste sucks.”

I glance over at my cd collection, which is now in an unorganised pile on my desk, compliments to Nic’s father. “Mm.”

“It’s not bad, though,” he offers. “I love Chase Atlantic.”

I raise an eyebrow, and meet his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmmm. Vibes, Into It, Friends, Meddle About, CALL ME BACK, Church, some of my favourite songs ever.”

I make an impressed face. “Okay, okay. I’ll accept that.”

“The other stuff though?” He makes a face. “Taylor Swift? Really?”

I sit up. “Yes. Taylor Swift really.” I grab my notebook out of my bag and relax onto my pillows. “Now shh while I write this idea down.”

He suddenly looks interested. “You write?”

“Duh.”

“No, no,” he tries to backtrack. “I mean, I write too. That’s why I’m here. To study writing.”

I look at him over the top of my notebook. “You? A writer?” i don’t mean to sound incredulous, but I probably do.

He nods sincerely. “I love to write. What kind of things do you write?”

“Umm…” I stare up at the ceiling. “All kinds. Poetry, fiction, lyrics, fanfiction, essays, critiques, anything really. I just love anything to do with words and writing.” I swing my legs over the side of my bed, facing him. “What about you?”

“Me too. Anything.”

I nod. “Can I read something of yours sometime?”

He shoots me a crooked smile. “Only if I can read yours.”

“Deal.”

We shake hands, and I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter a little.

It’s been six weeks of sharing a dorm with Nic Sheff, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love every second.

Turns out, he’s amazing. At like, everything. His writing is incredible, at least the little I’ve seen so far. He can skateboard like nobody’s business. He can sing, speak French, and apparently, braid hair. (I know from experience, trust me on this).

“Hey, tresses,” Nic says, throwing his backpack on the floor, and himself on my bed.

I was at my desk, trying to study. “Hey,” I reply absentmindedly.

“You got class this afternoon?” he asks.

“Mhm.”

“Same one as me?”

“Probably.”

“Y/n…” he whines, picking up my Spider-Man squishmallow and throwing it at me. “Pay attention to me.”

I glance up. “What?”

“Do you have the poetry class in twenty minutes? The one we both take?” He asks the question slowly.

I read my timetable quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Let’s go then, it’s a bit of a walk and we do not want to be late.”

I shut my laptop. “Fine. Let’s go then.”

He jokingly offers me his arm, and instead of taking it like a lady, I hit him. “Ow, y/n!” he complains.

I giggle. “Come on, Nic. We don’t wanna be late.” I mimic his earlier words.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re awful, tresses.”

“You love me.”

He doesn’t reply to that.

“Alright, Mr Steff, would you like to read your poem aloud now?” Mr Day asks the boy.

Nic glances nervously at me, for some reason, then stands as he nods at our teacher. “Yes, sir.”

He unfolds a crumpled piece of paper, clears his throat, and licks his lips in the cute way he always does when he’s worried or nervous.

“Mon amour,

Oh, how I adore you.

The way you make me feel, my love,

it’s like I’d give anything for one of your smiles.

The fact that I can’t say ‘je vous aime’,

well, ça me tue à l’intérieur.

j’ai été enchanté de te rencontrer,

mon amour.

je pense que tu es á ma place.

Mon amour,

Oh, how I adore you.

Je vous aime.”

A brief silence follows Nic’s poem, then a round of applause, louder than any I’d heard here before.

He looks at me, and for a split second I don’t know why. Then it clicks.

“Me?” I ask weakly. “You wrote that… for me?”

He smiles shyly. “I love you.”

The whole class cheers, and we get another round of applause.

My mouth is open, and my heart is racing, but I know I want to say it too. But for some reason, when I open my mouth, the words won’t come out. So I do the only other thing I can think of.

I stand up, grab Nic by the collar, and pull him into a kiss.

The cheering gets a whole lot louder after that.

translation:

“My love,

Oh, how I adore you.

The way you make me feel, my love,

it’s like I’d give anything for one of your smiles.

The fact that I can’t say ‘I love you’,

Well, it kills me inside.

I was enchanted to meet you,

my love.

I think you belong with me.

My love,

Oh, how I adore you.

I love you.”