damnprecious · 1 year ago
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I love how some of my most used recipes are super vague and then every time I try to bake them I despair over simple things such as 'why hasn't anyone written down a baking time'
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isawken · 2 years ago
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disco elysium and transmasculinity:
i don't want to be this kind of animal anymore
there is no such thing as an inherently masculine trait, only those which we have culturally prescribed to be masculine. muscular, tall, strong, stoic. self-destructive. repressive. angry. unhinged. violent. addictive.
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Disco Elysium markets itself with the tagline “what kind of cop are you?”. to put it bluntly: you get to choose what man you want to be. the actual gameplay mechanic is the game keeps track of your dialogue choices and, among other RPG things, neatly divvies them up into 4 main Cop Categories: Sorry Cop, Apocalypse Cop, Superstar Cop, Boring Cop. after some time establishing your identity you can branch off into 3 other copotypes: honor cop, art cop, and hobocop. These are all exactly what you think they would be.
a supremacist stands tall, immovable, shirtless, tattooed, in the way of one of your objectives, and if you let him he will tell you all the ways your body betrays your degeneracy. all the indulgences you make, with drugs and alcohol and sex, are allegedly clear as day written across your reddened swollen face. you are not a man. you are pathetic. a pair of women reassure his divine masculinity even when he admits his impotence. there’s no denying it: that’s one man of a man right there.
your former detective partner is an eternally scowling pockmark faced asshole. he approaches every interaction with you with a nice solid baseline of aggression. if you choose to put your points into something called “espirit de corps”, you get small vignettes of his previous actions. in one of them, it’s joked that you two are near-marital in your relationship. in some of them, he worries about you. muttering under his breath, mostly to himself, not unkindly. but he certainly never shows that to you face to face. 
two old men play pétanque outside every day by the sea. they have done this for years. they have known each other since they were kids. one is a fascist, the other a democratic socialst. if you’re nosy, you can go to the watchman’s post and find a picture of him, his socialist buddy, and a young woman whose attentions they supposedly both vied for. if you decide to become a fascist, the game gives you something more. your abilities Pain Threshold, Composure, Endurance, Volition, Conceptualization, and Inland Empire take turns showing you tiny slices of a truth viciously stamped beneath the heel of his brilliant boot. a love for his dear hated socialist. and when he dies, that socialist tells you the same. but they never told each other. never even came close. because how could you?
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harry dubois wakes up face down ass up covered in piss and vomit and full of foggy confusion after drinking himself into amnesia. he's tall, he's got giant arms, a proud beer gut, and he's self-destructed himself into literal oblivion. this pitiful bastard doesn't even remember his own name. the first person he encounters outside of the hotel room in which he fucked himself up beyond his limbic system’s reach tells him at some point during his bingeful weekend she heard him scream, "i dont want to be this kind of animal anymore". you don’t know why you said this. but after a while you have some pretty good guesses.
i could talk forever about the unique circumstances of growing up as a girl in modern western society. but i have nothing interesting to say that hasn't already been said much more eloquently. learning to hate my body, learning to be afraid, learning that you need to want to be consumed. the eternal unpacking of all the issues a patriarchal society burdens you with. it never ends. but i've at least reached a point where i've done my base legwork. i know the oppression i've fought. it is nameable. i have labeled each and every patriarchal burden like a so many papers in a filing cabinet. few are going in the shredder, but at least they're known. next to that filing cabinet, i have a big pile of loose papers slowly sliding off a desk with the word "masculinity" in neon lights flickering above them. i want to dive into those papers. but the thought of it fills me with such apprehension. i've always wanted masculinity. i've purposefully adopted affectations to make myself more stereotypically masculine. most are hilariously shallow, and not exactly innovative. i smoked camels for 8 years. i drink my coffee black. i picked up a nice little alcohol habit. i've shoved down more feelings than i would ever willingly admit in the hopes to appear unbothered. I’ve told myself to “man the fuck up” my fair share of times. none of it got rid of my hips or my tits or my anxiety or my painfully high pitched voice. i’ve quit smoking. i sometimes think i should start again for many reasons, but one is in the hope that my voice will drop. just one octave. at least. it’s silly, i know. believe me. i know.
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when harry drags his sorry ass out of that hotel room, he isn't free of his past. he has shadows in his mind reminding him of the things he's forgotten. shadows that still influence his views of masculinity. there is no way to truly escape the bitter leaden paint stuck to the inside of your mind so violently applied by our beloved patriarchal society. there is a hilarious dialogue option where, if you so choose, you can proclaim that you would never let anyone androgynous touch your hair. because the “others” (unnamed) would laugh at you. here we have a man who cant remember his own name, but he is certain that he absolutely cannot under any circumstances have a non-manly haircut for fear of mockery and rejection by his peers. how many coats of that leadened paint must have adhered to his poor, poor limbic system that even when he’s forgotten the concept of money, he still knows about the boundaries of masculinity.
 as harry tries to be a good person (or a fascist or a doom prophet or a disco superstar) he cannot really shake the pieces of himself that make him him. and he meets another bastion of masculinity, kim kitsuragi immeasurably measured, willful, and kind (for a cop), he helps you rediscover the world around you as you try to rewrite your tabula rasa'd self. he is firm, but nice. he lets you make your choices and mistakes. and he only stops supporting you when you start fucking up like, literally everything, and indulging in racism. naturally, there is a lot of fanart of them kissing, and yearning. both are beacons of masculinity, different sides of the same coin. where harry is physically imposing, kim is slight. where kim is calm cool and collected, harry will break down crying after a brief conversation with his necktie. but both are undeniably masculine. i mean, they’re cops after all. what more masculine profession is there?
as kind as kim is to you in your lowest possible state, it can be easy to overlook the ways in which he is not kind. when you tell him you think you really, seriously, need to go to the hospital, seriously kim i can't even remember my name i think i could have brain damage, kim responds with the equivalent of "walk it off" by encouraging you to start working on the case and see if that makes you feel better instead. it is in this light that you recognize which affectations of his are conscious posturing. his fitted jacket and trousers, matching the uniforms worn by air brigades in a past war. his careful collection of tools he keeps in his beloved kineema. his vast knowledge and care for the car itself. looked at in a certain different light- you know the one- you could see these traits being the result of a very careful construction. he found pieces of overt masculinity and decided to subsume them as a defense. a bolstering, a reinforcement of chosen masculinity.
there are so many different flavors of masculinity that the game offers you to experience and explore yourself. you decide whether to value them. you can follow in mister phenology’s footsteps and try to build yourself into a supremacist ideal. maybe that will make you happy. you can also chase after a barely-coded homosexual man, who makes you stutter in most available dialogue options. even if that may make you happy, you don’t get to pursue it. you can think for 20 hours about the "homosexual underground", but you can't join it yourself. you can however join fascism. interesting how harry is more susceptible to fascism than homosexuality. interesting to prod and poke at his masculine limits.
“what kind of cop are you” is a loaded question. harry is rebuilding himself from the ground up as a man. and how funny is it to learn that is inextricable from his profession.
what do you find inextricable from your gender? what of those traits make you happy? what of those traits make you want to throw your fucking shoe through a god damn window and punch the bathroom mirror and scream and scream and scream and scream?
i want to emerge from a hotel room, at my lowest point, and have the power to rebuild myself from scratch. i want a cool man who i maybe want to kiss guide me with a gentle yet firm hand. i want to have large arms, and a proud beer gut, and a stupid beard, and i want to destroy a hotel room and drink myself into a beautifully tragic state. i want to have non-political body hair. i want to get stared at for my gaudy tie and green snakeskin shoes instead of my tits. i want become a different kind of animal.
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scandalouslamb · 2 months ago
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re: last one
hi abyssal! i'm back like a lying liar because that was not the last of me yapping about allegory of the cave. anyway, about this bit-
It will not remember that often times he was the man standing beside me at parties, unsure and searching for the right opening, or the slight nod he gave me as he left, having found an in to a conversation. I have never written down how much that nod means to me. I could never write it down properly. 
-do you have any more felix & florus thoughts? what their dynamic was like (since they don't seem to be friends exactly but also seem to be more than acquaintances)?
Yay! No, I love answering questions! You're always welcome! I guess this goes without saying, but this is obviously all my headcanon. Thanks for the ask! Also this got longer than I expected!
All the mentors (for the most part) are at the minimum some form of school friends or at least friendly acquaintances (Felix-Livia and Coriolanus-Livia being the notable exceptions I can think of off the top of my head. Urban Canville is probably disliked by many of the others as well). I think that there's some affection between all of them from just growing up in the same circles and as these are top performing Academy students, likely seeing each other in the same honors classes and functions.
Working off that baseline, I don't think the Friend family is quite on the same level in terms of influence and wealth as the Ravinstills, Heavensbees, or the more prestigious families of the Academy.
Felix is more comfortable interacting with people whose families are closer to his in status or with people who seem more honest with their intentions/emotions. Florus doesn't really fall into either category in my mind (Florus trying to fit in would not put him in the latter). (I think lowkey a thing I have going on with Felix is that before he comes into his own the idea of who he should be as a Ravinstill gets in the way of him making personal connections, so this continues to be an extension of that in a way.)
When Felix and Florus could have become closer (during the Academy), I think they were preoccupied with their own internal issues which are both kind of similar. They both felt kind of overlooked in their families (in Felix's case, this is a result of miscommunication while in Florus' case, this is more actually the case). They aren't really thinking too hard about that other guy who has similar interests to them. Felix enjoyed history, although I think he fell into the traps of getting swept up into narratives rather than peeling back the curtain of how these historical narratives are formed like Florus would. To be fair, I think Florus fell into that trap when he was younger too. Unfortunately, at worst, they might have felt that their interests were too similar. There might have tried to avoid each other because of that (self-conscious about being replaced).
Still, I think that they probably would have gotten on well if they had interacted more/gave themselves a chance to become closer, and I think Florus would recognize that in the later years. In hindsight, he says that they could have been friends, maybe even good friends, and I think it compounds the guilt he has due to his indirect involvement with Felix's death.
In the end, their small kind of nod of kinship at parties, to me, was meant to amplify that idea that small things cause ripples, like Florus giving the list that eventually led to Myrtilus Carnes killing Felix but in kind of an opposite way? Like Florus' action has a describable impact. Felix's nod means a lot to Florus (some form of comfort. "you are not alone") but it isn't really something you can explain. (it's a small gesture that means a lot personally but to an outsider is just... nothing). Again, the things that history cannot truly capture in my opinion (the personal).
(if you look closely, my brain getting inexplicably scrambled by Felix Ravinstill makes it's way into my characterization of Felix's relationship with others... Sometimes, a near-stranger impacts you a lot, and you just have to deal with that. The amount of times that Felix is important primarily through a love and importance assigned to him by another person... Haha. Wonder what's up with that?)
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gffa · 1 year ago
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"she's trying to stop more innocent people from being killed by offering a different path. She's taking a harm reduction path as much as she can. Yeah, they're going to make mistakes, but if she can still reduce those mistakes, isn't it worth trying? Or is one mistake enough that she should never try any other path ever again, even though it means they'll immediately go back to killing lots of innocent people?"
chiming in to say i think the problem with this view is that, as Jason points out, she has ZERO actual control over the people she's ostensibly "employing". she can have all the good intentions to reduce harm she wants, but acting like good vibes and promises are enough to keep things from ever getting out of hand is practically on "positive thinking cures bipolar disorder" levels of oversight (note: i'd actually finished this post and was about to hit ask when i realized how on the nose that comparison is considering scarecrow is fucking with this plan. gonna leave it.) there have to be some fire safety measures here, and her repeatedly insisting they aren't necessary and she's totally got everything handled is ultimately going to hurt the people she was trying to save when the building burns.
which, i agree with you that she's absolutely smarter than this, and it drives me up the wall that they keep having her double down on it.
Yeah, I feel like there's a couple of things at war within this storyline execution: 1 - Comic book logic is absolutely a thing and trying to map hyperrealistic complex real world consequences onto a story that is being written by imperfect authors who are not experts in the fields this would be touching on is always going to mean that there are going to be major flaws in the logic of the story. Superhero comics as a whole can have just as many flaws pointed out about their logic, like I don't believe for a single second that someone like Bruce Wayne would be able to be Batman without it being known publicly, between the coincidences piled up or how freely they all use real names in the field. If we can accept that people just don't recognize Clark Kent with his glasses on or don't recognize Bruce Wayne's jawline (while I absolutely can goddamned recognize George Clooney or Val Kilmer's jawlines even when they're in full cowl), I feel okay giving some leeway to Selina being written into a dumbass plan for reducing crime in Gotham. 2 - And the story, while pointing out the flaws in her logic (a person died in the kick off issue even!), it also points out that her way had reduced innocent people getting hurt, so it's reasonable for Selina to think this is a viable plan. No, she doesn't have actual control over these people (well, she has some, in that they respect her and are loyal to her, to at least some degree), but nobody has control over others when offering a different path of any kind. Like, if she was offering college courses or trade school classes for people, she wouldn't have any control over them there, either. Presumably, she's not ignoring that getting innocent people hurt will send them to jail, that they're warned about this ahead of time and know the consequences, she's just trying to offer something, anything that's better than what they had before, even as deeply imperfect as it is. Like, I'm in agreement that I think this is a bad plan, but I'm not sure how much of that is me coming from a real world perspective where this could NEVER happen, but costumed vigilantes at a baseline could NEVER happen in the real world, either, but we've mostly accepted that that's part of the genre, you know? Versus how much am I just trying to meet the narrative where it's at? How much of this is that they're writing Selina badly and how much is it that it's just the same logic of vigilantes being allowed to exist (which are also often criticized within the narrative, just as Selina's plan is being criticized from within the narrative) that applies to Selina's plans as well? There's just as much accountability from Batman as there is from Catwoman--he might have more money, but ultimately nobody actually is able to hold Batman responsible for anything and the only control he has are the training he's given them and the loyalty and love they have for him as a person. Should we say Batman's ideas are bad, because the rogues kill people based around their obsession with him and those he trains? He's not training the rogues directly, but his actions are leading to those deaths of innocent people that he's trying to help, just as Selina training these people, trying to give them non-lethal options, still lead to deaths, even if she doesn't have direct control over them. I don't even really like Selina's plans or that she's being written to propose this idea because I don't think she'd believe in it, but I feel like there's a lot of Comic Book Logic going on that I'm trying to be generous about, you know?
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cottonraincoat · 10 months ago
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making of monday: the stressed student's guide to binge writing a one-shot
(not that I'm a very good writer, but I loved seeing these on the dash, and decided to join. all this is only a little tongue-in-cheek.)
step one: try to work on an irl assignment*
(* not fandom related at all. preferably an intellectually challenging task that is also time-sensitive and reasonably important.)
There's nothing like the looming dread of deadline that stimulates the mind! Combine the perfectionist's fear of beginning, the procrastinator's tendency to distraction, and the pressure on the brain to produce something— for the most bizarre results. Namely, mildly unhinged fic ideas. Just sit down (curl up into a ball in the corner of the room), relax (stress), and wait for inspiration to come!
step two: "just, uh, just to note this down for later"
You never know when the idea would come, but it does. Now, you've got a seed, that your brain has instantly latched onto. It's growing and blooming and taking over every thought. "damn it," you think, "this is a fun idea. I can't write it before I finish the assignment though!" But the idea doesn't let you go, it's like a haunting, which is in all honesty very rude. Well, what can you do.
You open a doc.
Within half an hour, you realize that you should have known better than believing the idea (tm) would leave you alone.
step three: give in. you're writing the fic instead.
Congratulations! Your brain has once again chosen the path of least resistance instead of what you should be doing. But there's no time for guilt when you have to finish the fic (and finish the assignment after that). So you're writing the fic like your life depends on it, and the words come surprisingly easy because given the baseline stress, you aren't overthinking every single word or ridiculously lines of narrative. It's been hours, your mind's afloat, and you (unfortunately) forget approximately every duty to your body. But it's fun and you swear you've never written like this in your life.
From time to time you swap back to the page where your assignment stares helplessly back at you. You blink. You drop it back under the metaphorical rock.
step four: "fuck, the deadline is in [x] hours. I can't do this anymore"
By now, the first draft is probably sitting there in a messy, wonderful glop. And depending on the circumstance, it's either [start editing now, future rain can deal with this shit] or [despite all evidence to the contrary I actually do not want to fail this degree. time to pull myself by the hair into doing the Thing]. Either way, you've maybe slept for 6 of the last 40 hours, and you're contemplating the strange quality of your vision and why you can hear the inside of a conch at the back of your head, etc etc.
step five: sleep, and spare a moment to pause and wonder what the fuck is your life
when the assignment is done, it's like someone's poked a hole in your sand balloon and your entire being sags. it's a nice feeling, kind of. the fic stops you from spending too much time wondering why the hell are you doing the degree at all.
time to turn the glop into coherence! this is the most time consuming part, and could take up to days after the initial burst of [stuff].
step six: edit until your eyeballs fall out
what it says ^
step seven: when you finally cannot stand another minute of re-reading and editing, throw it onto ao3, and hopefully never think about the fic ever again.
that's a lie. you'll be checking the ao3 stats approximately every two hours for the next two days at least.
fics that actually happened like this:
Infinite Joy (the one that started it all)
Designation (in which I forgot Plo Koon had a mask)
on not sleeping with your students
(the first chapter of) the prophecies spoke of you and I
family line
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maskedbeliever · 2 years ago
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Hehe what is smut but an excuse for gratuitous amounts of world building
I fucking love those ideas , renfields as an adaption to certain environments ( I’m guessing it would favour higher human population areas myself but that’s just my take) makes sense to me , humans will attempt to pack bond with a rock we’re certainly risk taking enough to attempt a negotiation with the local apex predator to get it to eat throg in the cave over the other side of the valley, I’d be willing to bet some vampires would play ball if food availability wasn’t the most pressing issue.
Vampires are people despite being horrifying monsters from our perspective ( without watering down the horror) is somthing i really loved from the original books as well it’s one of the things I enjoyed about the Valerie - brüks interactions, you get to watch his reactions as a shit scared prey animal only able to consider her actions from the angle of “all this thing thinks about all day every day is hurting me” but also consider other motives than “ to rustle human jimmies” . Like I think her behavior at the end in the desert was sort of an attempt at affection- obviously to manipulate him into staying where she wanted him and weird even for a vampire because she got raised in a lab but I think it shows that vampires are at least capable of it as their own thing rather than just pure imitation.
Anyway sorry this went all over the place, that outline sounds really great I really hope it works out .
I'm glad you like the idea! I've had such fun playing with it but totally got off the rails in the worldbuilding.
I really feel bad for the vampires in the books because baseline humans look at them and think "how can this person disrupt my life/my community/my society?" instead of "how can I make space in my life/community/society for this person?"
Like in Valerie's case I don't think there would be any reason to think she would be a violent person if she had been given the means to lead a life that let her pursue all kinds of interests and relationships. We never get to see a vampire character who has any kind of family or friends, it totally sucks for them.
I was originally thinking of just writing something quick and dirty but like so many people before me, I got too invested in backstories and characters.
Here's a chunk I've written that I like. The character names--Cyrus for the vampire and Danielle for the woman--are both placeholders unless I end up liking them a lot.
"You begin this attraction when you're still very young," he said. He'd always avoided acknowledging it, but she was grown and he could no longer hide from her affections.
"Well, I was always interested in you."
"I'm interesting," he admitted, a little smug. "But this is attraction. Am I attractive?"
He knew the answer already. "Well I think so," she said. His long fingers touched her cheek and her neck. It didn't bother him when strange humans were tense around him, but it never made him feel good, either. But a calm human? This woman showing him that his presence could be a source of ease or happy excitement? That felt miraculous.
Cyrus' academic curiosity was intense enough that if he left it unchecked, it would derail any ability to flirt. He surrendered to it for just a moment. "When do you first decide that I am attractive? Why?"
"Probably when I was about eleven, some time during the divorce," she said. Danielle brought a hand up to her face to shield her mouth in embarrassment of something she had not yet shared. "I found videos of you giving presentations. I thought you had a sexy accent."
He laughed. Vampires' mouths and throats were shaped just differently enough to make some sounds difficult in many languages. In baseline humans it would have been called a speech impediment. Combined with his refusal to use the past tense unless writing for publication, he sounded like he might have learned English later in life. "You think I'm foreign?"
She covered more of her reddening face. "I know! It's ridiculous. But I thought you were like some kind of European or something!"
All of his teeth showed when he leaned his head back and laughed again. "It's not the first time I hear this. There is a discussion among the vampiro-linguists about how to describe it and some people say vampire accent."
"Well, I don't know about other vampires," she said. Other vampires still had the capacity to unsettle her. "But when you talk, it's hot."
I think this makes a little more sense if you've heard the blindsight and echopraxia audiobooks, where the reader gives Sarasti and Valerie what really does sound like an accent, but even if you just go by the text they do speak strangely enough that they could be mistaken as non-native english speakers.
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silverskye13 · 2 years ago
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I adore all your hels stuff! What other ideas do you have about some of the other helsmits, maybe the ones mentioned in your interview? Like, Hels!Stress was pretty interesting. Plus Joe and alive Cleo.
I'm mostly all vague ideas except for the stuff that finally gets written down and tossed here, but I can give you a list of my many vagueries if you want! Various helsmets and world-building under the cut. It's a very long post.
Some baseline world-building I've got figured out:
First thing's first: we're all going to have to cope with the fact that in my head, hels looks a lot like Bloodborne. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm like this either. Now that that's out of the way--
Hels are a phenomena not exclusive to Hermitcraft. Any SMP could have a hels, or an evil double or mirror image or whatever-you-wanna-call-it split from them and spontaneously spawn one day in hels. Hels is a world with no overworld, it's all nether all the time, and a pretty miserable place to be. It's not impossible to live there, but given just about everyone is made up of the worse/discarded traits of someone better, people tend to be harsh and mean first and make friends later. The Deep Dark exists in hels (because I think it's fun) but its up by the bedrock ceiling. This makes sense because hels is a mirror of the real world, and also the Deep Dark would probably exist as far away from the light lava provides as possible, I figure? So it's by the bedrock ceiling.
All hels denizens are destined to two paths in life. Either you become one with your other half someday, or you set yourself so far apart from your other half you become your own person. I figure because of this, hels has a lot of religious undertones? They're a race of people grappling with the idea that any day, one of them could just stop existing. That's something you've got to cope with actively if you're going to cope with it at all. There are a lot of churches in hels [loosely churches. if it's vaguely philosophical and you can put it in a building, it's called a church. some are actually religious, some are just a little spiritual, some are thinly veiled fronts for criminal activity...]
Some noodling I've done with helsmets:
Evil Xisuma: Xisuma's helsmet, but they've been independent of each other so long there's no way they'd ever become one person again. Evil X has limited access to creative mode and uses it solely for selfish gain. Being the only person with god powers gets boring though, and he's long exhausted his tantrums of raining TNT on various parts of town just to see what'll happen. Now he spends most of his time sulking in his tower, being melodramatic and vaguely evil, and occasionally making formal speeches.
Helsknight: A very active member of the community and a big fan of vigilante justice. He is either the most popular or least popular helsmet, depends on what side of his law you fall on. He is very dedicated to the church that hosts his knightly tenets. When he isn't threatening everyone who looks at him funny and moonlighting in the shadow of his church, he hones his swordcraft in a coliseum, which is my justification for the rap lines "Everyone lives in fiery cells" and "I'm their greatest champion so ring your warning bells" in Diabolical. He's a champion, he fought his way through the coliseum. Any knight worth their metal started in the cells there and worked their way up.
JoeKills: He doesn't live in hels, he was forcibly exiled for disturbing the peace shortly after he first spawned. It's one of the handful of times Evil X has ever had to ban someone from hels. He spends most of his time leaping from world to world, enacting mild-to-extreme terrorism and vigilante justice on anything that doesn't match his world view - mostly to the tune of tearing apart large corporations brick by burning brick. He hates JoeHills with a fiery passion, and heaven help the both of them if they ever meet in person. I'm on the fence if I think they could ever be one person again. They're both so unhinged, their coming together would probably kick off the apocalypse.
Alive!Cleo: She's a mob boss who uses a church as a front. It's a very thin front and most everyone knows what's up, but she's scary so no one does anything about it either. She runs a decent chunk of the east side of the Main Hels City I Haven't Named Yet And Probably Won't. Her and Hels come to blows often. She, like Evil X, has defined herself from Cleo enough they could probably never be the same person. It was mostly unintentional. She needed something to do, she figured out she loves her work, she's building an empire. HumanCleo is the big picture planning to ZombieCleo's impulsiveness. Where Z!Cleo rushed The Red King at Dogwarts and died, H!Cleo would've found a way to join Dogwarts to tear it down from the inside. H!Cleo is also terrified of dying. Doesn't matter that respawn is a thing you can do in hels. As far as she's concerned, this is a hardcore world and she's winning.
Hels!Stress: She says "lovely" instead of "gorgeous". She wears all black instead of pink. She thinks her hermit is adorable but in that patronizing way a villain thinks the hero is adorable when they first meet. That's not to say Hels!Stress is evil. She's just very aware of how competent she is. She gets things done and she does them easily, unflappably. She has a larger-than-life reputation. Did you hear she once wrangled a ghast and used it to break through the bedrock to the ceiling above? Did you hear she growled at the Warden and it ran away? She fought ten warriors in the coliseum with one arm tied behind her back and won. Most of them are probably lies, but people have witnessed enough of them in person to wonder how many are truths - and she definitely starts some of the rumors herself just to see how far they balloon out of proportion. I kinda wanna call her FinesseMonster.
Docm77: His hels doesn't exist. Undecided on if he existed once and doesn't anymore, or if he's just never existed. If he did exist though, I think he would be a Doc who actually follows through. Listen, Doc does a lot of grand standing. He's scary until you dare him to flinch, and then 9 times out of 10, he flinches. If Doc had a hels, he would be quiet, and whenever he spoke, he would always follow through.
Grian: Pesky bird! I kicked around the idea that Grian's hels would be a Watcher, just because I never do Watcher takes seriously. I think it works with Grian as a player, since he's very active and engaged with the world he's in [hermitcraft]. So a helsmet who watches and manipulates would actually be very good for him. Bonus points for the fact that Grian is a bit manipulative himself. He's known for pushing buttons. A hels who observes and only ever quietly points out when you're giving in to your faults would be insidious in how close it is to your personal thoughts, especially when they grow so close to you, their voice is identical to your own. How much of this is intrusive thought and how much of this is just voice? How long has it been since you were able to tell?
FalseSymmetry: [I've read before that her hels would be TrueSymmetry and I think thats amazing, lets keep that]. Anyway, I think her hels would be scary, or would be based on the idea that people think False is scary. False is a lot like Etho in that her reputation precedes her, but compared to her inner voice - her videos - she's actually very nervous and a bit bumbling. It's just that she's quiet in a somewhat stoic way when it comes to competition, that gives her the reputation. So I think TrueSymmetry and FalseSymmetry are a lot alike. Visually they're very similar. Their voices are almost identical. But while False is quiet because she's nervous, True is quiet because she really is stoic and intimidating. I think she takes a lot of pleasure in pointing out to False when people are scared of her. I imagine when Tango released the withers in the nether, and he laughed nervously and said, "Well hey we only need you, right False? You can take on three withers all on your own." True was a little voice in the back of her head saying, "See? He's scared of what you're capable of. You're going to hurt them all someday... or let them down..." False insisted they wait until Grian could come and help as well.
Iskall85: Iskall and his helsmet are also a lot alike, but where Iskall broke away from his "official hitman status" and started pursuing other things like building and redstone, his helsmet never left the life. There's is a mirror that reflects two choices in life, a splitting point where Iskall's life could've gone much differently. They don't dislike each other, but they do regard each other with a lot of sideways glances. Someday they will be so different they'll be unrecognizable. This is the best chance for both of them to survive the fact that they are hels and hermit. It takes a lot of restraint to end a friendship with your reflection. Years of progress will be undone if one of them breaks and looks back too long.
The Red King we've mostly heard of! And what little I have left on him I'm keeping to myself for if I write him more.
Tanguish is also pretty thoroughly revealed.
VintageBeef is a blood god as a hels. Because I love that for him. Very eldritch entity, The Slaughter from TMA. He has a public face he barely holds together. He likes to emulate his hermit in order to scare people.
Noodling I've done with hels denizens that aren't hermits:
Vaugely I think Dream and DreamXD are probably hels doubles. No idea which is which. I don't follow DSMP enough.
Pixlriffs: The King of Pixandria has a hels! He thrives in a place with such an affinity for spirituality and death. I fell like while Pixandria Pix had a healthy respect for death and honored it, shepherdly almost, hels!Pix views death as a cruel inevitability.
The Mad King of Mazelea: He has a hels as well. I haven't gotten much farther than a vague Red King-ish figure but with more wildly swinging moods.
LDShadowlady: You cannot tell me in every incarnation of Lizzie in her many SMPs that she's not her hels' best friend. That seems like her kind of chaos she's be very on-brand for. They drive each other deeper and deeper into shenanigans, constantly egging each other on. It's like playing chicken but instead of driving two cars towards each other you're both driving for a cliff and you're both definitely not stopping until you've driven off it.
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andtheydontstopwriting · 3 years ago
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Heey, can you write something with Rodrick and a Tomboy Girl??? I've never seen someone doing an imagine/one shot with "Tomboy"
— (sorry about my English, its not my first language) 💕💕
sorry about the delay! work has got me drained! but i hope you enjoy, never written for a tomboy so yeah!
Fixer Upper - 【Rodrick Heffley x GN!Reader】- One-Shot
word count: 1061
rating: pg-13 [strong language used like once]
“Hey, Heffley, you’re in fuckin’ my seat.”
“Didn’t know a lunch table had names on them.”
“Well now they do, so move before I push you off it.”
This was often how the two of you greeted each other, no matter the time of day or what was happening around you two. There was little to no formality or politeness to the content of the words uttered, but there were no tones of harshness or aggression in your voices. It was just the banter that kept you two going with whatever you would call your relationship. It was, at its baseline, a friendship. But to the eyes of others, something was not entirely right about your relationship because it seemed you two were also a little more than just friends. It was just something you or Rodrick ever brought up.
You two were close, sure, but the moment too long staring at the other when they turned away, the slight tingle whenever your hands touched when passing a drumstick or something along, or the times either of you just fell asleep on the other was just how you two operated. And, at least for you, if anyone ever did bring it up, you would shoot them down instantly. Telling them that they were stupid or telling them to mind their own buisness, that it did not concern them in the slightest.
You had met during shop class--a class that you had excelled at simply because you had fallen in love with woodworking at a young age, watching your father work away in his workshop. And wanting to be like him, that led you to sports and cars, too. Music was something your mother had wished for you to be interested in, but she did not expect the heavy metal and punk rock music that came later on. While you did not play an instrument, that simply just meant Rodrick could teach you if he so desired.
“I heard the van makin’ weird noises when it came in this morning.” You had pointed out as you idly picked at whatever the public school district decided to constitute as food to feed the students on the tray in front of you, “Which isn’t out of place, sure, but it was a different weird noise so want me to check it out after school?”
“Why?” Rodrick questioned, mouth full of whatever it was Susan managed to sneak into his backpack before he left for school, “Care about my safety?”
“More so I care about others safety, and considering how you drive, Heffley,” You began with a matter-of-fact tone, “I should already be concerned for others safety. But if something breaks down on that van, it’s over for more than just you and the guys.”
“Fine, I guess you can look it over.”
“Awesome,” You said standing up with the tray of questionable food, “Bring it by my house later.”
“Will do, chief.”
:~+~:
It was around four in the afternoon when Rodrick pulled the barely there van Rodrick owned into the drive-way of your home. You had already done what homework you could breeze through without much thought simply because you knew your mother would want it done before you did anything else, especially if that thing was basically hanging out with Rodrick. Besides, you also had to wait for a time closer to when your father got home in case you needed a second opinion and as one of the many local mechanics, it was valuable insight.
“You're early, Heffley.”
“My brothers were already getting on my nerves after I woke up from my after school nap and had to escape.”
“Right…” You trailed off briefly before popping the hood of the van up, already met with a puff of smoke that came from somewhere inside, “Was that from your driving or…”
“Let’s just say driving.”
And once the engine was cooled enough where you could touch near it and the engine itself without hurting yourself, you got to work. There was some idle chatter with Rodrick as he started to pace about the driveway, kicking rocks and the like as you worked through checking over his van. While he knew you often demanded silence whenever you worked on any of your hobbies and interests, he wasn’t one to keep quiet for long, especially around people he liked.
“I think one of the pipes or something must be loose,” You finally concluded, “But my dad’s an expert at those, so we might have to wait for him to double check.”
“How much is that gonna cost to fix?”
“I’ll see if I can get a friends and family discount for ya, Heffley.”
“You sure you can’t do it?”
“Not confidently.”
“Wanna put a bet on it?”
“You wanna bet your van’s already lacking quality on a theoretical thing I may or may not fix correctly?”
“What’s life without a little danger.”
You looked at Rodrick with a very confused expression plastered over your face before you went to open the garage, “What's the wager?”
“...a free drum lesson from yours truly if you fix it and it works.”
You tried to not focus on the first part, and tried to counter it with, “And if I don’t?”
“I believe you can do it.”
“...Deal.”
And with that, you got to work after getting everything you needed. The repair did not take too long and you wondered if that was telling or not. But you tried to not think about it, because you were trying to be confident in the amount of times you had watched your dad do it before. Which was not many times, but still.
“Okay, go for a bit of a drive--the long way home, whatever and if that noise is happening tomorrow morning, I didn’t fix it right.”
“And if there are no not-common noises from her, remember the drum lesson.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
:~+~:
The next morning, you stood in the parking lot beside your own car, waiting for the tell-tale noises of Rodrick’s van to echo over the quiet parking lot. And as soon as you heard it, you tried to pick out the noise you had heard yesterday morning but couldn’t hear it.
And luckily Rodrick did not let you forget as he pulled right next to your car, window already down.
“You free tonight for that lesson?”
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venivivividi · 3 years ago
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headcAnon ✨ here! How great were the Rosa and Michael moments?! And Jones is Michael’s dad! He and Alex should start a support group. I wanted to ask if you have any headcanons about Michael and Alex and fatherhood. If you think they ever thought about it and what. What kind of parents they would be. If you think they will have kids in the future. Adoption or using a surrogate or some other alien option. Maybe dog or cat children also or instead.
I know, right?? They definitely speak the same language even when they disagree with each other. Also, I have a feeling that Michael has taken to send Rosa every picture of a dolphin he finds online with the same commentary: "look. it's you ahaha" I love them.
Oooh, fatherhood, you say? What a wonderful topic to tackle after the latest episodes...
I have to say, I tend to separate what I think realistically would happen, informed by canon, vs what I'd like for them to be in my headcanons, and to this day we canonically know:
Michael has thought about fatherhood: this is something he wants in his future and has dreamed about in the past; we learn this in two separate occasions, in 2x10 when he offers to father Isobel's child and in 2x11 when he tells Flint he wanted to start a dad band.
We have zero insight on Alex's thoughts on matter: we know his childhood was not a happy one, his relationship with his father is extremely negative and his entire family's dynamic is skewed, unhealty. That could reasonably push him towards two completely opposite directions: either he wants nothing to do with kids and a "traditional" family, deemes himself unsuited for fatherhood or he wants to somehow "avenge" his lost childhood and create the happiest family in the world, proving to himself that he can and will be a good father. Either could be and anything in between, honestly. (I'm not gonna delve into that but let's also remember that Alex grew up in a reality where gay marriage was not legal until he was like 23 and adoption was a pipe dream even after that, so that has clearly influenced his mindset even without considering the military of it all)
But for the sake of the HCs, I choose to believe that Alex is at least open to the idea of having children:
I dont think this is something they would go for very early in their relationship. They've had such a turmoiled past, they overcame every possible obstacle so that once everything settles down, they just enjoy each other's company for a while. They still can't believe they just get to be together without jumping through hoops.
As far as pets are concerned, you heard it from Mimi first: a beagle is written in Alex's future. But first, he tries to convince Michael to get a reptile. You remember Willow, his pet lizard? She was so cuute, Micheal, it's basically zero maintenance (completely false, but hes' trying) and it's so cool to have a lizard, c'mon.
Michael, as we know, is incapable of looking Alex in the eyes and deny him something. But it takes one google search for him to veto Project Lizard. There is no way he's allowing a lizard in his house after learning what they need to be fed. Also, lizards escape their enclosure. No thank you, the same night he learned too much about it he had a nightmare about waking up to a lizard stuck to his curls. Always protect the curls. No lizard.
Alex pouts. A lot.
Once the beagle settles in the truck ready to go to his forever home, Alex stops pouting. (and Michael starts because Alex is now cuddling the beagle at night. woe is Michael.)
As this thing usually go, Michael is instead adopted by a kitten, one of those impossibly small black balls of fur. Their first encounter at the junkyard went disturbingly High Noon, but after they claimed each other, the kitten is now stealing Michael's body heat and Michael is stealing all the cuddles Alex is so rudely denying him in favor of *scoffs* The Beagle.
Speaking of Sanders' Auto, once Rosa(...linda) starts picking up stray kids and unexplicably bringing them to Michael, it comes to be a place where kids who need to escape orbit around: with Sander's blessing, Michael always finds some easy work for them to do and earn some money, and when a couple of them seem truly interested, a question here and a question there quickly turns into a Michael Guerin lesson on mechanics. Those of them who are not interested, are free to just hang around as long as they dont wreak havoc or make a mess out of the place.
The thing is, Michael is completely unaware of the irony in all of that. Sanders is not, and he just hangs around smirking to himself about how much of a grumpy old man Michael is shaping up to be and laughing at history repeating itself and things like that.
It takes Isobel talking about them as Michael's junkyard children for Alex to bring the topic up. I mean, Michael is basically already doing it, and if they start fostering teens they could give some of them the happy childhood Michael never got. After that, not every kid who passes through the junkyard stays with them but some of them do, and some of them keep hanging around even after aging out of the system.
There is a panicked moment after their first foster kid gives him the silent treatment, where Alex runs to Greg for guidance; Greg has to politely remind him that he's an elementary school teacher, and his 16 years old kid might not react with the same energy to glitter glue and a happy song, so he has to figure out a different way.
Eventually they start to foster smaller kids too, and of course sometimes it's sad when they have to go and the house feels empty, but they always try and remember: it's not for them, it's for the kids. And during those nights The Beagle™ needs to find cuddles in the now domesticated ball of fur, because Michael is in very big need of a snuggle that Alex is more than happy to provide. It's how he recharges too, after all.
As far as their parenting style, Michael's a lost cause: he is incapable of not spoiling the kids because, why deny them the little joys if there's no harm in it, right? They deserve them. But he also realize the kids need structure, and he is pretty no-nonsense about it, also because, on the other hand, Alex is very much afraid of being the strict parent. It's a new chapter with every new kid, as every instance of parenting is, but the baseline of a good home is always there: love and safety.
I also can't seem to decide whether Michael would be the kind of hip parent who knows all about the youngsters culture, uses the correct terms and shares the right memes or the most embarassing dad who watches instagram reels about tiktoks and is always six months behind the last big thing. But I feel there's no in between.
Alex, sadly, despite being a cyber intelligence specialist, still mourns last.fm and that tells you everything you need to know.
Somewhere down the line, once they've collectively bought enough land to build a communeplace for all of them to live together while still maintaining a semblance of privacy (Isobel's broad interpretation of boundaries has not changed, sadly), the possibility of a full Oasian becomes a reality. The thing is, this is not just Isobel's baby, this is the podsquad baby, the triad's baby. Isobel and Michael might be the biological donors, but this is their baby.
As you can easily imagine, this is the most spoiled baby ever, because each one of them expect the others to be stern, when in reality, the baby has them all wrapped around their little fingers, and this is without powers, yet.
The first time Alex holds the baby he is completely overwhelmed: they seem so tiny, so fragile, but when he gently strokes his thumb on their forehead, they open their big, staring eyes, and everything else disappears.
Michael, you ask? Ooh, Michael is gloating. He never thought he could have half a thing in his life and now he has everything. He also self-appoints himself as the defender of the baby's curls: that entails slapping the hand of everyone that tries to play with a lock of hair to make it bounce. Do you know how annoying that can be? Leave the baby alone.
Of course, Michael is also a little shit and as soon as the baby starts talking and figuring out a way of calling them all, he tries to make them refer to Max as grandpa, to the utter hilarity of Liz and the total indignation of Max. He has yet to succeed, but the baby's still young, so Only time will tell.
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traincat · 3 years ago
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Hi traincat — how are you doing?
So I have a couple of questions (forgot the third) for you and both revolve around your fics/writing.
First one: would you ever write some angst with no happy ending? What I love about your fics (those I read, at least — didn't read them all but most) is that they all end happily or in a positive tone, and your characters stay optimistic, so I was wondering if you would ever approach that territory. And if you would, for what fandom? Or maybe for some original characters?
Second one is (and I really hope this will be a fun one to answer for you to answer): if you could have three of your Peter x Johnny meet other versions of themselves but always from your fics (maybe just to interact or maybe also to have an adventure/solve their canon-typical problems), which ones would you pick? So for example my top three would be the ones from The Spider King and the Morning Star (because Peter is royalty and there is a very peculiar darkness to him, so to say), Work Song (because that fic was a rollercoaster of emotions) and I guess Educational Purposes (mostly because they're married - iirc - and have kids) OR from Out of the Thousand invitations (since Johnny was a civilian when they got together). Could you imagine yourself finding it interesting or somewhat entertaining to write the three (or more, you pick) couples' interactions?
And that'd be all but may I add something else? Your writing is so good it inspired ME to write again — it had been so long since I last enjoyed writing. But your passion (it definitely shows from your fics) just helped me pick up my notes FOR REAL again and go back to writing FOR REAL — my enthusiasm was back and you were the one to bring it back to life. So thank you. Your work is special <3
First off, thank you for your kind words about my writing! It's really nice to hear, especially right now when I haven't been feeling at my most inspired, so I'm really glad my writing could bring back your enthusiasm for you. ❤ That's really lovely to hear.
So for your first question, the timing is actually pretty ironic, because I have a fic right now where -- I think the ending is either going to be considered a little bittersweet or very bittersweet, depending on which way I lean into it. (It's about 30k currently and needs probably another 10kish to fill in all the blanks. But it's pretty much entirely outlined so I just need to commit and finish it.) I haven't decided quite which way I'm going to take the ending yet, but I have two options. I think the very bittersweet one is actually a stronger ending, but I'm kind of feeling a grudge at the moment that's making me lean towards a slightly less angsty ending, so I think it's going to be a case of seeing which way I feel when I'm ready to post it. (The ending is already written but would require just a few edits for the slightly less angsty version.) Either way, it definitely isn't my usual happy ending! I've been kind of on the fence about whether or not I should tag for that outright lol. I guess another decision I'll make when it's time to post it, unless people feel strongly one way or the other.
For your second question, I've never really thought about it. I do have a few scenes written down somewhere of a fic where Johnny and Peter (not dating) fall into a universe where they meet Johnny and Peter (Incredibly Married) and Johnny has to deal with his feelings about that while Peter tries to repress his own so hard he develops another ulcer. I think out of my fics, I would definitely agree with you and go with King Peter and Prince Consort Johnny from The Spider Prince and the Morning Star, just because as a fantasy AU it's so different from my other fics, and spider monster!Peter is always fun. I think I would probably also go with Work Song, too, because it's one of my "canon" fics and I think if I was doing something like that I would want a Johnny and Peter who are as close to 616 as I could get just as kind of a baseline for characterization -- everyone else can be a little out there, or a product of their environment, because they're being measured up against a 616 Johnny and Peter. For the third set, I might guy with the Johnny and Peter from my soulmate AU, Tales from the Back Pages and It Came From Tarnax IV, because I think it would be interesting to contrast that more canon Johnny and Peter with a Johnny and Peter who have been together since they were teenagers, and it might be interesting to have that kind of soulmate bond with a Johnny and Peter who don't necessarily consider themselves soulmates and have to kind of view themselves in a different light or struggle with what that means for them. But I'm not as sold on that as I am on the other two. I think if I was to seriously write a fic about it, I would kind of stick to my original idea of Not Dating Johnny and Peter meeting Just So Married Johnny and Peter and having to deal with those emotions, just because three different sets is a lot to juggle, especially when you have to distinguish each individual character from their alternate universe selves. It was fun to think about, though, thank you!
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ushidoux · 4 years ago
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Someone Else’s - Sakusa x Reader x Ennoshita
Summary: Ennoshita hasn’t completely moved on, but the love of his life has. NSFW. (~3148 words +/- due to editing)
A/N: I’m so sorry to Ennoshita stans. Also special thanks to @bokutosmommy for helping me bounce off ideas.
---
“Thank you so much, Ennoshita-san!”
Ennoshita smiled warmly as he helped the elderly woman he was treating off the examination table. She wobbled ever so slightly as she got onto her feet, and gripped tensely onto his arm but Ennoshita held her steady, reassuring her that she had him. 
“Oh, you truly are such a kind young man. And my, it is truly a shame that you haven’t yet been snatched up!”
He let out a small pacifying laugh - this topic was frequent during their sessions, and as sweet as she was, the old lady had offered up everyone from her grandchildren to her nieces around his age, and he truly wasn’t in the mood to politely look at another stranger’s picture off her flip phone on this particular afternoon. 
Especially not when the first thing that had come to mind when awakening this morning was the woman who had broken his heart, someone he had actually planned to propose to just days before she broke up with him before disappearing without a trace.
“I’m too busy working hard in order to take care of patients like you to think about dating!” He joked as he helped lead her out to the exit. As he walked her down, he snuck a glance at the clock in the hallway, noting that he was a couple minutes late for his next patient. 
He let out a sigh internally. The young man to be seen next on his list was particularly impatient and wouldn’t be happy to wait even for a second. He hoped that by the time he made it back to the room, the technicians had at least turned the room over and taken his vitals.
By the time Ennoshita made it back to the room, he could see that the professional volleyball player he had been working with for the past month had already arrived, and was sitting in the corner of the room with legs crossed and fingertips pressed together.
“Good afternoon, Sakusa-san,” Ennoshita greeted formally.
Sakusa Kiyoomi did not answer immediately, peering up at him with dark eyes over a white surgical mask. He then gave a brief nod and stood up, pulling off his jacket and draping it neatly over the back of the chair, before sitting on the examination table.
He now looked at Ennoshita expectantly. Ennoshita kept his face kind as usual - even though Sakusa did grate on his nerves just a little, doing his best to sympathize with his cold behavior. Patellar tendon injuries were common in volleyball players but they were also incredibly frustrating, and Ennoshita, having played volleyball himself back in high school, knew something or another about frustration. Plus Sakusa was known for being more than a little abrasive at baseline, at least based on what his old high school teammates had told him.
“Did you do the exercises?”
“Mm.” At least Sakusa was willing to follow instructions. 
The session went smoothly as usual, and because Sakusa made little effort to engage in conversation, Ennoshita found his mind wandering briefly intermittently.
It’s hard to believe that you were once part of the team that beat Shiratorizawa that year, Sakusa had told him flippantly the first day they’d met. Of course, he thought that; aside from the old ladies he worked with, Ennoshita wasn’t particularly outstanding and he was painfully aware of that fact. 
Even she had told him this right before he and his last girlfriend had broken up. She had been so harsh then, but even he recognized it was true. He was a safe choice, someone you don’t hesitate to present to mom and dad but don’t also brag about to your friends, someone who was dependable but you could never be desperate to be with. He had worked on that over the past year, attempting to be more outgoing, picking up a few hobbies that would make him “interesting” like mixed martial arts and salsa dancing. 
Maybe he’d impress her if they ever met again.
But for now, his life was pretty routine, unlike guys like even Sakusa before him who commanded attention (whether unwillingly or not) whenever they entered a room and were still entrenched in the fast-pace and exciting world of volleyball. 
“We’re done here, right?” Sakusa said, abruptly. 
Ennoshita looked at the time, and noted that the thirty minutes were almost up. “Yeah, let me go get the sheet for your next set of exercises,” he said, turning around to go through a set of folders on a shelf. 
While he rummaged, behind him, there was a brief knock on the door right before the door swung open and soft, light footsteps ran in.
“Omi, we’re going to be late!”
“I told you to wait outside, stop being so clingy,” he snapped back.
And Ennoshita turned around so fast he almost got whiplash - he could recognize that voice, your voice anywhere - and stared right at you, your arms affectionately wrapped around Sakusa’s shoulders while he was trying to shake you off with irritation.
You froze, the smile on your face fading, replaced with your mouth opening just slightly in shock. Ennoshita froze, the packet of exercises he was prepared to hand Sakusa slipping out of his fingers as he stood still, falling to the ground in a loud flutter.
“Chi-kun,” you whispered under your breath, your eyes wide and your heart thumping in your chest.
“___...”
You inhaled sharply, and reflexively your arms withdrew from where they rested around Sakusa’s neck, and while Sakusa had made a big deal of resisting your affection, the fact that you stopped so quickly at the sight of another man awakened a different type of discontentment in him.
“Why…” Ennoshita started, but the rest of his sentence died in his throat. Why were you here? Why were you with him? Why did you leave?
Why now?
“I… um… fuck,” you started, then stopped, shame now washing over you as you remembered how cruel you were before and how cruel you were being this very moment. You had no explanation for the fact that you had refused to answer his calls or texts, and barely offered him any type of closure aside from You’re frankly kind of boring, and I’m not sure I want to be with you anymore. 
And to see each other again, right in front of your boyfriend who was quite... particular? This wouldn’t end well. 
You found yourself rushing to leave the room, but suddenly Sakusa’s hand clamped around your wrist as you turned and he pulled hard, almost yanking you back to his side.
“Where are you going, babe?” He asked with a smirk, not looking at you but instead directly at Ennoshita who had in mere moments turned from unwitting ally to absolute enemy. He seemed to shake like paper, and Sakusa could almost read the unwritten history between you all written all over his face, and it made him angry. Maybe even furious.
Had his precious little girl also fucked this guy? Really?
Clearly so, because you never resisted his touch usually, in fact you craved it, and now you were all but worming your way out of his grasp which he kept like iron, obvious panic in your eyes as you pleaded for him to let you leave the room.
“L-let me talk to you in the car,” you half-whispered, half-begged.
“About what?” Sakusa replied coolly, his voice much louder than needed to be. 
The way you looked now to Ennoshita was like a trapped mouse and he could no longer bear it. Why couldn’t Sakusa be gentle with you? Didn’t he know you liked to be treated softly and with care? He had always treated you like you were gold, after all. 
Were you the girlfriend Sakusa complained about every so often? The one who was very sweet but overbearing? The only reason why he showed up to this place session after session after all instead of bearing the discomfort and heading back to the courts as soon as possible?
“P-please let go of her,” Ennoshita eked out in a small voice, keeping his gaze down. “It’s just that s-she and I knew each other from before and… it must be very awkward-”
Sakusa suddenly cut in with a laugh.
“Shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask.”
Ennoshita looked up with shock mirroring your own as you both watched him in surprise. Sakusa let go of your wrist, and you subconsciously rubbed the sting out of the tender skin. He walked across the room, stopping right before Ennoshita who again tensed reflexively, and bent down to pick up the dropped packet.
“This was mine, right?” He confirmed as he rose to his full height, his smile again dark as he looked down towards Ennoshita. Ennoshita nodded slowly, and you could almost hear him swallow hard.
“I’ll just take what’s mine and leave then,” he said, now moving past Ennoshita to grab his jacket. Reaching into his pocket, he replaced his face mask then walking towards you, pulled out a second one to hand to you before gripping your hand firmly again.
“Thanks for all of your help!” His voice stunk of mock cheer. For you, he unwrapped the individually wrapped face mask and dangled it before you by the tips of his fingers.
“I told you to wear these, at least when you’re in the hospital. These people are disgusting.”
And with that, Sakusa walked out hand in hand with you, the love of Ennoshita’s life.
---
“Why did you do that, Kiyoomi?”
You had spent most of the ride back to Kiyoomi’s apartment in silence, but you knew by how tightly Sakusa was gripping the steering wheel and the furrow in his eyebrow that he was probably scowling underneath his face mask the entire time. Any other time you would have reached for his free hand, and maybe he would have scowled about the unnecessary physical contact and asked you if you had sanitized your hands first before begrudgingly accepting your touch, but you would have smiled anyway and gently stroked the palm of your weird, grumpy Omi.
Any other time. But right this very moment, he deserved the opposite of compassion.
Sakusa gave you a very brief, aggravated look, then turned back to the road before him. He scoffed, noticing your pursed lips and the crossed arms over your chest. You were practically as angry as he was, stewing quietly in the passenger seat.
How dare you.
“Oh, did I hurt your ex’s feelings? Is that why you’re upset?”
“Omi…,” you said in a small, yet stern voice.
“Don’t ‘Omi~’ me. He looked at you like you fell out of the sky. Like you were an angel from above. Not like the dirty slut you are-”
“Kiyoomi!” 
He scoffed, gripping the steering wheel even tighter with both hands now.
“Don’t act like you don’t beg me to call you that when you’re bent over and I’m balls deep inside your guts. What’s the difference right now? Aren’t you always my dirty slut? Do you want me to respect you now? Is that what he did? Give you respect? Who the fuck does he think he is?”
The blood was starting to rush to your face and you wanted to scream at him for being an asshole as usual, but you could tell he was only getting more riled up by the second. You bit your lip and held your tongue, ready to unleash the moment he parked. 
But before you could say a single word the second he turned off the ignition, now that you were in the quiet, covered lot outside of his apartment complex, he reached across to your side of the car, all but ripping off the mask on your face (and his). Jerking your chin to his with the tips of his fingers, he smashed your lips to his in a kiss that was so intense, you were sure it contained most if not all the violence he had held back just minutes earlier.
Minutes that felt like seconds passed as his tongue forced itself down your throat and teeth grazed against lips and you lost the ability to breathe and to think and you were mad on whose behalf? 
All that mattered was that you got more from Omi, you wanted more from your Omi, and now you had traversed the car’s console to straddle your Omi in the driver’s seat and you were now grinding against him, and he was now pulling away -
Oh, why was he pulling away?
Breathy pants now parted your swollen, red, wanting lips and your half-lidded eyes took in the lustful eyes staring at your lips and the half-smirk now on his visage, the one that made it obvious that he knew he had already won you over and you were absolutely powerless to him, that you were his.
You paused, your arms draped around his neck, waiting, knowing that if you didn’t stop now to start up again, once you were inside, you’d fuck in the car in this dim garage and who knows who would see you?
“Since I didn’t get to beat his ass, I’m beating your pussy up instead.”
---
You had really moved on.
Now that Ennoshita had seen you in the flesh for the first time in nearly a year, he realized how much he had been holding on to the possibility of ever seeing you again, in a future where he was something other than the boring and safe choice, someone you tolerated but your heart didn’t tremble for.
And to see you with one of Japan’s top aces... Someone who had been better than him for you before you even knew of his existence. It was unbearable to think about.
He continued to stare at the ceiling dejectedly. He’d been crying literally the entire way home from work, and now on top of being sad for the love that never was, he was doubly upset for how freely his tears flowed tonight. The fact that he couldn’t even stand his ground when threatened, that he had even flinched when Sakusa got close (Was he this much of a bitch? Did you see him? No wonder you dropped him.).
He let out a cough as phlegm stuck in his throat and rubbed his eyelids. He had been laying sprawled on his back ever since he came back from work, staring at the ceiling and he was pretty sure his eyes were puffy and red.
Pitiful.
He reached for his phone and considered making a profile on Tinder, his finger hovering over the program in the app store. That would have been the right move. Move on like you had.
Instead he pulled up his photo folders, and settled on his favorite picture of you. One where you were alone and smiling for him, your face tilted just so towards the camera, and happiness crinkling your eyes. He always loved your eyes.
Reaching over his end table for the lone bottle of lotion, he pulled down his underwear with the other hand, freeing his semi-hard cock. Maybe… just maybe if he could think of you as you were when you were his, like in this picture; if he could ignore the fresh memory of you looking at him with regret in your eyes, he could feel you again with him.
---
“O-Omi… Omi! Oh my… fuck, Omi!!”
You reflexively pushed at his face as you squirmed, then trembled then flailed wildly as Sakusa slurped the absolute life out of you, tongue circling and swishing and flicking everywhere from your clit to your vestibule to inside your vagina… In fact, at some point, you were sure he’d bit ever so slightly at your labia and you let out a yelp, only for him to stuff you quiet with two of his fingers, already sopping wet with the juices dripping out of your soaking cunt.
“Suck if you can’t keep your filthy mouth shut,” he scoffed.
You moaned through the taste of his fingers, the taste of yourself. Sakusa had a way of being even meaner in bed that lit a fire inside you; the abrasiveness only seemed to get worse the more horny he got. And yet, you knew right now he was so aggressive because of the mere fact that he loved you and his pride had been shaken just thinking that someone else had once claimed you as theirs. The very fact that, germaphobe as he was, he was so deep in your thighs that parts of his skin shone with your slick was already proof of that.
“You’re moving too much,” he said sternly, his grip tightening around your thighs. You muffled an apology through a full mouth, only to be attacked with a long stroke of the tongue on your core which sent a shockwave through you and had you at a loss for words.
“Is this how you moaned for him?” Sakusa stopped suddenly, his breathy words sending a shiver of cold through your spine as they landed on your moist cunt.
You shook your head frantically.
“Good,” he said as though it were business as usual, rising to drop his pants and let his cock spring free. Even his cock looked angry, tumescent, dusky at the head and at attention, and you could feel your core ache in anticipation already. 
He flipped you like a pancake on the bed, hooking one arm around your midsection (you were already too fucked out just from his fingers and mouth to move yourself unfortunately), and positioned you into a tripod position before lining himself behind your already semi-abused entrance.
“Stay still. I’m going to fuck you like every man you’ve ever had is slamming you all at once, you dirty, dirty girl.”
---
In the dim light of Ennoshita’s bedroom, all that could be heard were soft sobs and the sound of flesh stroking flesh, and soon there were cries of your name and the sobs grew louder and more pained until release which came out as a deep, guttural, desperate groan. He was aching for someone who no longer existed. A you from the past that no longer existed.
The you of the present moaned, sobbed, and convulsed, screaming Kiyoomis, Omis, Oh mys, Oh Gods, I love yous, Don’t stops, Never stops to Sakusa who pounded you relentlessly, slapping every inch of skin on your buttcheek, marking every part of your body with kisses, bites, pulling your hair, closing his fingers around your throat - doing anything and everything that Ennoshita could no longer do. He touched you in ways your ex never could, rough, then eventually soft the moment he finally, eventually, and to your relief, came inside you, coating your clenching walls with hot cum coming out in so many spurts. He unseated himself, and you could feel some volume of him spilling out of you immediately - he had come so much, probably more than he ever had before, and you expected him to immediately disappear to shower, but maybe there was something about his jealousy that made him both harsh and gentle for you today. 
He whispered your name as he lay beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He pulled you closer, and your pleasantly exhausted, sweaty, sticky face found its way into the crook of his neck. Your breathing evened, the room was now quiet, but the very air was loaded with the transient echoes of your sinful dance just moments ago.
“I love you.”
Your heart sped up. It was so hard for Sakusa to say something so frank, so honest and so vulnerable, but before you could say you loved him too - oh you knew, you were sure you did - he kept going, and with this he held you tighter:
“I don’t ever want to look at you like I lost everything. No matter what I say, no matter what I do, promise you’ll always love me, and you’ll always be my side. I will do my best to be good to you.”
And that’s when you realized that Sakusa’s greatest fear was Ennoshita’s reality.
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momentofmemory · 3 years ago
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Rating: T  Word Count: 1,111 Characters: Scott McCall & Danny Mahealani Relevant Tags: Canon-Typical Horror, Surprise Ending Author’s Note: Set post-canon, written for & inspired by @spikeface.
The Devil You (Didn’t) Know
Scott’s the only one in the clinic when the bell over the door rings.
It’s late—far later than the hours posted on the outside window would allow for—and Scott could’ve sworn he’d turned the closed sign around. But then, that’s rarely stopped a worried pet owner before.
He places the last few doses of insulin in the cabinet and raises his voice over the dogs in the backroom, who’ve suddenly decided to start howling. “Just a minute!”
“Take your time, man.”
Despite not having heard it in at least a couple years, Scott instantly recognizes the stranger’s voice. “Danny?” 
He passes through the doorway just in time to see his former classmate break into an ear-to-ear grin, which he finds himself instantly mirroring.
“In the flesh,” Danny says, rain water dripping from the black leather of his jacket.
He hasn’t seen Danny since the last day of junior year. Ethan told him they’d broken up, but hadn’t said much about why, and then Danny transferred out to Devenford over the summer without a glance back.
He looks… good.
Really good.
“Hey,” Scott says, a little dumbly. “You’re—hi?”
“I try not to be when I’m driving, no,” Danny says.
Scott snorts, and some of the tension breaks—on his part, anyway. Danny seems surprisingly laidback for someone coming to the vet on the far side of ten at night, but then, that level of deliberate disinterest tracks with old times, too.
“Right, sorry.” Scott clears his throat, nodding towards the crate in Danny’s hand. “I’m guessing this isn’t just a social visit?”
“Not just,” he says, smiling again. “Mind if I come back?”
“Um—”
The gate’s already open, as Deaton’s always careful to not close it when Scott’s left to lock up, and Danny glides through it before Scott can finish.
“—Sure?”
Danny walks past him to the examination room with a surprising level of confidence, considering Scott’s almost positive Danny’s never come in before.
It’s almost—
Scott shakes his head at the thought.
There’s nothing weird about a client wanting their pet looked at immediately, and it’s not like the clinic’s that hard to navigate.
Besides, it’s Danny.
“I should probably warn you,” Scott says, following Danny over to the table, “Dr. Deaton isn’t in right now, and I’ve still got seven years of schooling left. I may not be able to help.”
Danny just laughs. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be exactly what I need.”
Then he sets the carrier onto the table with a force that startles Scott.
“Meet Loki,” Danny says, swinging the door open and pulling out a small, all-black satin rabbit.
Loki barely twitches, eyes locked straight ahead.
“Hey, little guy,” Scott murmurs, carefully monitoring his own chemosignals to keep from spooking the creature further. He glances at Danny. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Something freaked him out on the drive here.” Danny’s hands massage the fur at the nape of Loki’s neck, though it doesn’t seem to help. “He got his front paw stuck in the sides of the cage and messed it up pretty bad.”
Scott frowns as Danny sets it on the table. The rabbit’s definitely scared, but both paws rest firmly against the metal, instead of raised like he’d have expected.
“Which paw did you say—”
Danny’s hands fall away from its fur and ice-sharp fear instantly explodes in the creature’s scent.
Scott sucks in a breath, gripping the table at the strength of it.
Danny’s eyes flick upwards. “Everything all right?”
He’s still smiling.
Scott doesn’t know how that’s possible. Not when the fear from a rabbit feels intense enough to trap his lungs in vise.
“Yeah,” he grinds out. He forces his fingers to uncurl from around the table’s edge. “Sorry, I don’t—it’s fine.”
“Well, gotta say you don’t look it—I thought I was the one that’s supposed to be freaking out right about now,” Danny jokes.
The best Scott can muster is a half-smile, because it’s not just fear he’s sensing.
It’s terror.
Surely this can’t just be about him?
“Don’t worry about it,” he finally says.”You said, um—something startled it?”
“Yeah, it was weird,” Danny says, casually moving out of the way as Scott starts Loki’s physical examination. “It’s like as soon as we passed into Beacon Hills, he just went insane.”
That didn’t bode well.
“You didn’t see anything… I don’t know. Weird?”
“It’s Beacon Hills. Something’s always weird.”
Scott grimaces at that.
The terror in the rabbit still hasn’t eased up, but Scott’s at least growing accustomed to it as he runs his fingers gently over the trembling animal. He frowns. He can’t seem to get any read on the animal except for the baseline emotion.
“I don’t know how you’ve managed it, honestly,” Danny continues. “Everything was so… intense when I left. All those people that got killed—I don’t know if they ever found out why.”
Scott doesn’t really want to talk about that. “Yeah, it—it was a lot.”
“Oh—oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“No, it’s fine. It—was a while ago.”
“Sure.”
Danny falls silent, which really just gives Scott more room to grow confused by the rabbit’s condition. His front right paw does feel like something might be broken—there’s a slight give—but Loki isn’t guarding it the way he’d expect.
Like there’s no pain at all.
“So what’s going on with you these days?” Danny says, interrupting his thoughts. “I guess you’re in school if you said something about a vet degree, but you dating anyone?”
“Um—I’m not sure that’s—”
“Oh, I bet you’re with that new girl you liked. What was her name… Yukimura?”
Scott flinches. “Yeah. Kira.”
Danny snaps his fingers. “That’s the one.”
More things he really, really doesn’t want to talk about. “She, uh. She actually had to go away. For a bit. She had—some health issues.”
He doesn’t know why he’s telling Danny this.
He doesn’t know why he gets a sudden wave of pleasure from Danny, either.
“That’s too bad,” Danny says. “You guys seemed to make a really good team.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the past.”
The unease Scott’s tried to ignore rushes to the forefront, and he places his hand deep in the rabbit’s fur and pulls.
Not a single tendril comes out.
“I think Loki’s had enough of that.”
Scott’s eyes fly up just as Danny’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, twisting him with an unnatural strength until his back is shoved up against the table.
Pinning him there.
Danny’s other hand clasps around the side of Scott’s neck. “Me, on the other hand? I could never have enough.”
Scott chokes. “You.”
The nogitsune smiles.
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maryellencarter · 3 years ago
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Okay kids, buckle up. I need money again (for the last time, pray god), but at least this time I have a fucking story to go with it.
Short version: My landlord is illegally trying to evict me and I just had to drop $60 on court costs to fight it. That's $60 that was going to pay for either my meds or the electric bill, take your pick. So I really need donations to get by for the next two weeks, after which I should be settling in at a much more mentally healthy job and in good shape. My Paypal is [email protected] and my Ko-fi is here. Thank you so much for anything you can contribute!
Long version:
So the last three months I've been off work due to a mental health breakdown. July and August, I haven't been able to pay my rent. I applied for rent assistance right away in late June, and emailed my landlord's office all the paperwork for both the rent assistance and the CDC Declaration of eligibility for the Eviction Moratorium -- the thing where if you're poor enough you can't get evicted during the pandemic because you would have to go to a shelter or a crowded living situation and be at risk for the Covid.
Middle of July, I received a *backdated* notice that if I didn't provide proof of rent assistance application, I was going to be filed against for eviction. Okay, there's a new property manager, maybe the filing got mixed up, so I go down and re-email all the paperwork and make sure the property manager sees it arrive in the email.
Beginning of August, I get a notice from the rent assistance people that the CDC has extended the moratorium for places in a high surge status, which I am in one, so I fill out and forward the newest eviction protection form which should cover me till October 3, and go down to speak to the property manager about it, when again I am assured that everything is on file.
Middle of August, two months after filing my request for rent assistance, I finally hear from a caseworker who says "send me your paperwork". I jubilantly send all the paperwork, go down to give my property manager the good news, and also -- see, I don't have a lease for September yet. I was offered one back in July, but I didn't want to sign anything until I knew what my situation was going to be with regard to rent assistance and paydays. So I brought down the paper that said "yes I am signing here to officially agree to the new lease you offered, please print the new lease so I can sign it officially", and handed it to the property manager as well.
Now, I have about $700 of late fees for July and August. This is legal under the eviction moratorium and I have understood from the beginning that I would have to pay them. My first paycheck back to work comes in this Friday, and when I went to request the new lease I had planned to discuss a payment arrangement as well, figuring I could pay about $600 on Friday and the rest in two weeks, based on my projected paycheck.
("Taught myself payroll tax law in order to predict my paychecks" should definitely be on my resume somewhere. I just haven't figured out where.)
But, dear readers, when I went down to drop off the form, there was some other client or resident in the office, so I didn't get to discuss a payment arrangement. No big deal, I figured. I'd discuss it when I heard that my lease was ready to sign.
Instead, last Tuesday, I was woken up at nine sharp by a process server with an eviction summons for me. Thank fuck, I've spent the last two weeks having a technical issue at work that's kept me getting paid but off the phones, because I was in no state to talk to people that day. Eventually I pulled myself together, broke out the legalese close-reading skills, and discovered that the summons includes one particular line item which (I hope and pray) indicates They Done Fucked Up.
This summons, ladies and gentlethem, includes the line item "The Plaintiff has not received an executed copy of the Declaration form as of the date of this filing pursuant to the CDC Order dated September 1, 2020."
Well, gentle readers, I was and am *pissed off*. I keep providing documentation to these fuckers and they keep misplacing it, and now they're getting me involved with The Legal System. I *hate* being anywhere near the legal system. I have massive PTSD triggers from being raised by an evil ADA. But by god, I speak legalese as my first language, and I am not going down without a fight.
So, not being able to get in touch with anyone to provide legal aid or assistance, I spent last Thursday trundling around downtown in decaying shoes and 105° heat, getting court paperwork printed and duplicated and filed and mailed. I dropped about $60 I hadn't planned to spend on court filing fees and certified mail costs and the actual baseline printing costs of all the documentation I needed to provide.
I did get two pieces of good luck that day. One, I finally heard back from my case manager saying that the rent assistance money for my landlord only has to go through one more person who will double-check the numbers. It's supposed to get final approval sometime early this week.
Two, I got a job promotion I've been working toward for years. Well, side-motion, it doesn't come with a raise, but I already make $16+ an hour, over twice our federal minimum wage. What it does come with is, except in rare cases I never talk to callers, I just answer them in written messages. This should hopefully be a perfect job for me, and allow me to work a solid 40 hours a week and earn plenty of money.
The catch is... it's work-at-home only. If I get evicted and can't make it to training on Monday week, I'm fucked.
So. My eviction hearing is tomorrow. If and when the judge is like "okay if we let you sign a new 12-month lease and stay in your apartment, what is your repayment plan on your late fees", I plan to be like "Your Honor, I have a payday on Friday and I am prepared to provide the court a money order for the full $700 of late fees on that date which will bring me fully up to date".
I'll do it, too. The catch is, that'll leave me with something like $200 in the bank for the next two weeks, and I calculate I need about $100 for groceries, $80 for meds, $50 for electric, and $80 for the cell phone bill over that time period. These numbers don't add up. :P
Soooo, yeah. I'm having to spend about $160 I can't afford because my damn property manager is an idiot and can't fucking print and file my fucking legal declaration. I really hope the court throws the book at the corporation and nails them with those "up to $200,000 fines" for breaking the CDC moratorium, although I am dubious because courts like corporations much more than they like stout genderqueer individuals without legal representation, however white and erudite.
But mostly, I really hope I can stay in my apartment and also afford my meds for the next two weeks. My Paypal is [email protected] and my Ko-fi is here. If you can spare *anything*, even a dollar or three, it would help so much.
God, I'm so sick of having to beg for help every few weeks. I just really hope nothing else blows up in my face... :-(
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sabraeal · 3 years ago
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Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 3
[Read on AO3]
Written for @fade-touched-obsidian‘s birthday, which was....nearly two months ago. BUT IT IS DONE NOW, and quite frankly two months is better than some of my other late-birthday posts 🤣
The sedan is stifling.
It may be the luxury size, purchased through the deep pockets of the Wisteria’s business accounts, but the real leather interior presses in too tight, crushing her beneath the weight of her choices. This is what Shirayuki’s leaving behind: plush seats and plastic dividers, penthouse views and double ovens, the sort of security only money could buy.
She’d never wanted it; it had all just come part and parcel of being with Zen, the baseline for orbiting in the same stratosphere as his social circle. None of it had ever felt natural; guilt dogged her every time she slipped into the back seat of an empty car instead of the front, every dish left in the sink for the cleaning service smacked of superiority, and having a doorman--
Well, she’d been late to more than a few galas because she got caught up chatting. It was rude to just blow by someone without even a hello, and if Antonio had a new picture of his granddaughter, she couldn’t possibly pass without a coo or two over the sweet Sharpei of a baby his daughter, the light of his life, had given birth to.
Haruka had frowned at that one, digging the corners of his mouth to new depths as he told her, one is not late to a charity gala because they are indulging The Help.
Shirayuki tightened her arms around her diffenbachia, burying her face in its spotted leaves. It’s so clear now, so obvious: she was never going to fit in. There was never going to be room for her in Zen’s life. She was never going to be able to turn off the parts of her that saw other people as people; even if she could, she would never want to. Not even for him.
The radio flicks on, the smooth strains of Clair de Lune tumbling through the air, making the cab lighter, more spacious.
“Debussy?” she hums, the diffenbachia rustling with her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a classical lover.”
Obi huffs, affront entirely feigned. “I’m a man of many depths.”
Shirayuki lifts her head, looking at the console’s digital display. “It was a preset, huh?”
His mouth twitches. “It was a preset. I thought you might like it better than smooth jazz or whatever else comes standard with wood interiors.”
“Probably.” She shifts back, removing her whole head from her leafy escape and settling it on the rest. It’s fine; she’ll be fine. Maybe it took six years to figure out what she should have known in six months, but she knows better now. No compromising, not like...that. Not with how she lives her life.
“So.” Obi’s gloves tighten on the wheel, leather creaking against leather. “You’re single now.”
Shirayuki nearly drops the whole vase. Not that it has far to go from her lap to the floor, but her plants have been shaken up enough the past few days. “E-excuse me?”
“For a whole--” he checks the dash with a grin that can mean nothing but trouble-- “forty-five minutes.”
“It’s been a week,” she reminds him primly, squeezing the diffenbachia for support. “Ever since--”
(”I can explain,” Zen says, fingers spiking runnels through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person--”)
“Sure,” Obi interjects smoothly. “But it’s only been forty-five minutes since you moved out of your sugar daddy’s apartment.”
“Zen was not my-- my--” the sedan is soundproof; Obi informed them all of it the moment he’d driven it off the lot, even if the way he said it had made Mitsuhide snap his name like a whip crack. She lowers her voice anyway. “Daddy.”
Obi’s hum does not fill her with confidence.
“He was only seven months older than me!” she huffs. “It’s biologically impossible for him to be a big brother let alone a-- a father.”
“Daddy is a state of mind, not an age gap. Though I’ll grant you--” his teeth flash, quick as a bear trap-- “boss doesn’t have much of that going for him either.”
It would undermine her point entirely to start arguing this one-- lord knows she doesn’t have a single horse in the race on how daddy Zen is anymore, if she ever did-- but her gut instinct is to hunker down on this hill and die on it. One she stifles successfully.
It’s not her job to staunchly defend Zen Wisteria anymore, and certainly not from Obi. And to be fair, out of any of them, she trusts Obi to have the most sense of...daddy, whatever that may be. Hopefully, he’ll never enlighten her.
“I didn’t take any of his money.” Every word tips stiffly from her tongue. “Nothing...personal. Only what was given to me as an employee.”
Beneath his shades, Obi softens. “I know that, Miss. I wasn’t trying to say...” He sighs, leather gloves flexing on the wheel. “That wasn’t my point.”
Her fingers ease where they splay over the pot. “Then what was?”
It’s the wrong thing to say. His mouth twitches at a corner, and--
“Isn’t it about time to find a new one?”
“You know,” Obi hums, fumbling with the guest house keys. “You can’t ignore the question forever.”
She squints up at the sky-- it’s a pure blue here, not covered with the haze that settles over most of LA, the one way to tell they’re no longer in the city anymore-- and sniff, “I think you’ll find I can.”
“Come on, Miss.” With a bump of his hip, the door swings open, the bags dangling from his shoulder helping it complete its arc instead of clapping back on him. Because it’s not a thin little beach screen, made to shiver open at the slightest touch, but a solid, weighted thing, made to hold up against everything but an LAPD battering ram. And maybe even then.
Shirayuki spares it a concerned glance, nearly missing as Obi adds, “You need to secure your future.”
“I thought that was what I was doing,” she mutters, toeing off her tennis shoes by the door. “Or am I working for Izana for my health now?”
Obi clucks his tongue, unceremoniously dropping their bags in the hall. “Well sure, but you should be doing it the fun way.”
Her eyebrows climb up the short jaunt to her hairline. “Am I to take it that the ‘fun way’ is on my back?”
“Can’t think of many things that are more fun,” he laughs, like she should know, like at her age this is an experience they must be able to share. She pads down the hall after him, shoulder rounding over her cross arms. Clearly she’s had the opportunity. Six years in a relationship; anyone else would have, but--
“At least,” he continues, words scattering her thoughts like crows on a wire, “you should be able to live off being pretty.”
She coughs out a laugh. “I think you have to be a good deal prettier than me to manage that.”
He hesitates at the end of the hall, natural light limning his long limbs, making him seem taller, broader than he is. His head turns, just enough to catch her in one eye, and the look he rakes up her--
“Maybe in this town,” he rasps.
Her hands fall numb against the twill of her trousers, and she begs them to do something, anything but lay there boneless; to reach out the scant space between them--
But the moment’s gone, quick as it starts.
“Ooh, look at this,” Obi says with a whistle. “There’s a kitchen.”
“The apartment had a kitchen too, you know.”
Obi barely looks up from the drawer he’s inspecting, fussing with something that looks both like a corkscrew and a garlic press. “Yeah but this one’s bigger. It’s got double ovens.”
“We already had double ovens,” she deadpans. “There’s only two of us, we don’t need a kitchen the size of--”
“Ooh,” he sighs rapturously, “there’s a gas range and a cook top.”
“What?” She scurries over beside him, playing a hand on the cold metal. Opa would have killed for a set up like this. “Oh, now that can make a lot of pancakes.”
“And bacon,” he adds, giving it a solid tap. “And check out that view.”
His arm snakes around her shoulders, turning her. “Wha--?”
Oh. Oh.
“The beach,” she murmurs, watching the surf crash against the rocks, right at her feet. Or beneath her feet, from how the cliff is shaped. “It’s right down there.”
“I bet it’s private,” Obi murmurs, voice rumbling against her ear. “Except for paparazzi and their telephoto lenses, of course.”
She waves him away, like a horse does with flies. “Beaches are public property, and trying to restrict access is wrong on an ethical level, never mind that--”
“Right, but consider,” he hums, batting away her hands and her protests, “that you don’t have to share it with anyone else.”
Well, he does have a point there. “But public beaches always have the best snack stands.”
“We can just bring our own snacks.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You could have one of your weird little veggie boards down there because you can just carry it.”
“There’s nothing weird about enjoying vegetables.” Her elbow prods at his side; it’s solid beneath the cotton of his button-down, barely flinching even when she nudges him square in the oblique. “You just have the palate of a kindergartner.”
Obi presses a scandalized hand to his chest, silk tie rumpling askew beneath his palm. “Please, Miss, you wound me. I select my snacks with no personal regard for health or authority, which is fourth grade at least.”
She bats away his hands to slip her fingers around the knot, tugging it straight. “You’ll eat hummus.”
“Because it tastes good with pita chips. Now, Miss...” He casts a quick glance toward the second floor, mouth already twitching. “Do you think our rooms are adjoined?”
Shirayuki blinks, trying to imagine a purpose for it. The guest house itself was mystery enough-- after all, any business partner Izana wanted to impress would stay at a property of their own, or failing that a hotel, somewhere they could guarantee no Wisteria would be listening when they went to decompress from the day. And a personal guest of Izana--
Well, all his family lived within driving distance. And his friends were...few and local, if his soirees were any indication. “Why would they be?”
“For old time’s sake.” His smile’s all trouble as he saunters to the stairs. “Just like Tanbarun.”
“Hopefully not just.” Although Shirayuki can firmly say that having the breaks cut at Vitsjo was the worst experience she’s ever had with a millionaire, a double kidnapping ranks somewhere in the top ten. 
She nearly says so; the quip is hanging at the end of her lips, poised to jump. But she glances up first, just in time to see every muscle in Obi’s body gone stiff, his jaw locked tight and his gaze a hundred miles away.
No. Five years. His body might be here with her, standing in a guest house the size of her childhood home, but his mind is back there, in a room that’s empty and a balcony door hanging on its hinges.
“Obi...” she breathes.
His body jerks, like someone’s yanked all his strings, and when he turns his smile hangs wrong from his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes. 
“I hope the beds are those big fuck off kind,” he says, words hurtling from him joylessly. “That seems like His Majesty’s style. The kind that can fit five people and all their emotional baggage.”
His knuckles are white where they wrap around the wrought-iron banister, clenched so hard she’s sure black will flake off when he moves it. She takes a single, painful step toward him. “Obi...”
“Oh dear,” a voice hum, pleasant and smooth like suede. “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”
Haki Arleon-- no, Haki Wisteria now, leans in the doorway, smile just as radiant as when all her billboards. “But they’re only kings.”
(“So when are we going to meet the lady of the hour?” Obi asks, tie already loose around his neck. His waistcoat’s still neat, pressed so it clings to the narrow curve of his torso, but his jacket’s well on the way out the door. It hardly makes sense; that’s what he wears usually, easy as breathing, but with two drinks in him it hangs limp on his shoulder, just asking to slide off them. “This mystery Mrs Wisteria.”
“Future Mrs Wisteria,” Mitsuhide corrects, tugging at his cuffs. “And you’re not strictly supposed to know that. This is just Ms Haruto’s retirement party.”
“Right, and her retirement plan is grandkids,” Obi huffs, scanning the ballroom. “So where is she? I want Miss to start murmuring to me about Punnett.”
“I would never.” Shirayuki wobbles on her heels-- too tall, but Kiki said that anything less than three inches would be informal in this crowd-- relaxing when Obi’s hand grips her elbow. “Besides, Punnett squares only work for Mendelian traits. Once you get into eye color there’s at least eight known alleles involved--”
Obi’s hand slides to her back, hot even through the silk of her dress. His eyes are the same, that molten honey they melts to when he’s been frequenting the open bar and-- and maybe it’s about time she quits her cosmopolitans too, if she only feels steady holding onto the hem of his waistcoat. “Save the pillow talk for the bedroom, Miss.” 
Her teeth snick shut. She can’t remember what she was about to say anyway.
“If you’re so interested in seeing her--” Zen jerks his chin over to the head table where Izana sits, Haruto radiant beside him, wearing an inoffensive smile-- “she’s already over there.”
Obi cranes his neck-- well, they all do, but he’s the least subtle about it, not even trying to cover his gawking. “It’s all just some old fogies your family does business with and-- no way.” His head swings back, eyes round as saucers. “Are you kidding me?”
Shirayuki squints, and the blonde head to his other side resolves into a pretty woman, her smile twice as bright and a hundred times more genuine. It’s her the men are flocking around tonight, but she hovers at Izana’s side, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “Oh, isn’t that the woman who was running the funding drives at Lilias? Ah, what was her name...?”
Gold eyes fix on her, no longer molten honey but hard flashes of coin. “Haki Arleon?”
Silly of her to forget; she shook her hand and everything. “Oh! Yes, that sounds right.”
Kiki shakes her head. “Only you, Shirayuki...”
“Wha--?”
“That’s Haki Arleon,” Zen tells her, as if Obi hadn’t said it already. “She’s--”
“The top of Maxim’s Hot 100,” Obi offers, followed by Mitsuhide’s stern, “Obi!”
Zen sighs. “She’s Hollywood royalty.”
“One of the most famous actresses of the last decade,” Kiki continues at her blank look. “She won an Oscar at sixteen...?”
“Oh.” She certainly looks magazine perfect now, every fold of her dress laying just right along the curves of her body, not a pinch of mascara out of place. “I don’t really watch movies.”)
That Haki Arleon is not the one that stands before her now. Though to be fair, she’s not the same Shirayuki Lyon she was then, either.
“You’re here.” America’s Sweetheart slumps across their spotless hardwood floor, flopping onto the sectional. “Finally. Save me.”
(”Is this where you ask me to sign an NDA?” The limo’s hardly pulled away from the curb, but Shirayuki’s temper is already boiling, rattling the top of the pot. “Do I need to sign an affidavit to say nothing happened between us? Should I send the Inquirer a note about how I no longer exist?”
Izana hums, his annoyance a dangerous buzz beneath his tongue. “There’s no need to be quite so melodramatic, doctor.”
“Isn’t there?” She rattles the tabloid in her hand, every word from her mouth so waspish it could sting. “This is your work, isn’t it? You’re the reason--”
He leans, one long-fingered hand plucking the paper out of her grasp. “There are reasons more innumerable than I can mention as to why the future folded out into this particular pattern, but if you are accusing me of holding the scissors to my brother’s apron strings in order to gt my way, I must gladly disappoint you.”
Her whole body aches from the rictus she holds it in. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that I did not ask you into this car to talk about my brother’s inability to properly navigate his love life,” Izana replies, sour, one leg crossing sulkily over the other. “I asked you here to offer you a proposition.”
She takes in one deep, steeling breath, then another. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in any of your--”
“It is a professional proposition,” he informs her swiftly, nipping her complains in the bud. “I would like to hire you. For...in-house care.”
“Are you ill?” For how much rage had been rattling in her bones for the last half hour, it’s strange how quickly it evaporates in the face of her concern. “Does Zen know? No, is it your mother--?”
He raises a hand, quieting her. “No, not me, nor my mother, though I appreciate your concern. It’s...” Izana may have his reputation as a man who mountains find impassive, but for a moment she sees it, true fear flashing across his eyes. “...My wife.”)
There is no photoshop perfection as Shirayuki kneels in front of her, fingers pressed to the racing pace of her pulse. “Are you sleeping?”
“A little.” Haki squirms under her touch, her body angled as much away from her as she can manage. “Some. Barely.”
“But you’re tired?” She’s wan underneath her natural tan, the sort of stark white that says anemia. Already Shirayuki’s riffling through panels in her head, wishing she had a phlebotomy department at her fingertips. Then again, maybe she does; she’ll have to ask Izana just how much medical care will be magically available to her. “Have you been keeping anything down?”
“Hm...” She coughs, delicate. “Yes?”
Haki might win awards for her acting, but it will take a better liar than that to fool her by omission. “Have you been eating?”
America’s Sweetheart gives a very unphotogenic grimace.
“I had a yogurt.” Shirayuki sits back, waiting for the list, but it doesn’t come. Instead Haki just slips from her grip, palms pressing into the cushions as she strives for a casual lean. “And some of that tea you sent me. That stuff’s been great.”
“Oh, that’s just-- it’s ginger tea.” She sits back on the cassock, waving off her praise. “With some lemon and a few other things. Nothing special.”
“Miss is being too humble,” Obi rumbles from his corner, slinking out to perch on the sofa’s arm. “She stayed up all night making that stuff.”
“It’s important to get the proportions right,” Shirayuki informs him, prim. “Both for effectiveness, and preg-- er....”
Haki’s brows raise, and for a moment, she looks just like her cover on Vogue, arch and pleased. “Well, I see that cat’s out of the bag.”
“Ah...” She sheepishly rubbed at her cheek. “Izana did mention it...”
(”You understand nothing I tell you can leave this car, correct?” Even in his vulnerability, Izana is implacable; an unmovable edifice between her and his loved ones, as unnecessary as it is. “We had only just heard the heartbeat before this all started, and if word were to get out and we...she...”
For once, Izana Wisteria flounders, at a loss. “It’s rare for a fetus to fail after seven weeks,” she offers, biting back the actual number. Five percent only seems low to people already in the other percentile. “A miscarriage--”
“Can’t ever get out.” He huffs, agitated. “I am aware that you do not follow celebrity gossip avidly, but my wife...”
Shirayuki had always been under the impression this had been an arrangement, something forged from good business sense and perhaps a hint of mutual trust. They’d grown up together, after all-- at least that’s what Zen whispered in her ear at the wedding, watching them sweep across the floor. But now--
Now he falters again. “Every moment of her life has been for public consumption, even her grief. I won’t give them this.”
If it were anyone else, Shirayuki would lean forward. She’d put her hand over theirs, giving a comforting squeeze as she told them just what they needed to hear, the way they needed to hear it. It was her gift, after all, knowing how to tell both the best and worst of news.
But instead she looks at him, steel in her spine, and tells him, “You won’t have to.”)
“I take it the vomiting is still frequent, then?” Shirayuki takes in the dark circles around her eyes, the dull sheen of her skin. “Even though you’re not eating.”
She at least has the grace to look abashed, caught out like she is. “I am...it’s just better when I don’t.”
Her palms tap absently on her knees, fingers wishing they had a keyboard to key entries into while she thought. “We’ll have to go over your full medical history before I make any recommendations, but you need fluids-- plenty of them.”
“I drink--”
“No, I mean IVs,” Shirayuki clarifies with a shake of head. “We’ll have to call the hospital, see if--”
“No hospitals.” Haki stares back at her firmly, unmoving. “That’s how the tabloids find you.”
“Izana mentioned that too.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “We don’t really like doing IVs out of the hospital without some support staff, but I might be able to get someone to come out...”
Haki waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Just ask for what you need, and Izana can get the hospital to make it happen.”
Oh, how she’d love to be a fly on Garrack’s wall for that conversation. “We’ll see. Until then, let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”
Twelve hours later, Obi closes the sedan door after Haki, making sure the bucket is appropriately situated in her lap. “Comfortable, huh?”
She sighs. “It was a nice thought. You can get her to the hospital--?”
“Well.” His teeth flash white under the lamps. “I certainly know the way.”
19 notes · View notes
astralaffairs · 4 years ago
Text
voltaire to versace 03 | thomas jefferson
title: voltaire to versace 03
pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader
words: 16.4k whups
warnings: sex jokes n references again, dolley simping for james again, but probably more this time, implied sex except dolley’s having it instead of mc, maria and angelica are girlfriends, lafayette is basically everyone’s plug for weed so like,, drug references and alcohol references??, very much sexual tension
desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.
tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!
"Wait, so you're going to do it, right?"
It wasn't until Friday morning that Y/N told Dolley about Thomas's offer, both of them seated at a corner table in the coffee shop in the middle of campus. Y/N shrugged, taking a sip of her latte.
"I dunno, Doll. It seems like it could be... risky."
"How so?" Dolley set down her cup, squinting at her skeptically, and she pursed her lips.
"Listen, he's a good professor, and he and I have a good relationship or whatever, but I'm not sure what a great idea it is for me to be with him too much more often."
"Is your self-control already waning?" Dolley gave Y/N a look of disbelief, and she answered it with a sigh.
"I'm not gonna make a move on him; I swear," she said, expression dead serious, but when she continued, her voice dropped just a few decibels. "But... if I had the chance to sleep with him again, I wouldn't hesitate to take it. And I really can't have that happen."
"How the hell do you think becoming his TA is going to turn into sex?" Dolley asked incredulously. "You know I adore you, but I do not adore when you're self-sabotaging."
"I'm not self-sabotaging," Y/N insisted, and though she'd hoped the statement would sound reasonable, she just came off as defensive. "I'm being careful. I know myself, and I know that early January was some of the best sex I've had in a while."
"Sounds to me like you're pent up." Dolley raised her eyebrows, giving Y/N a pointed look, at which she scowled. "Just fuck someone from Alpha Phi Omega and then take the TA position."
"You don't get it," Y/N groaned. "Half the time, his office hours are just like some mildly awkward run-in with a one-night stand. It's casual enough that there's no real issue, but there's always just a little bit of... discomfort."
"That's called sexual tension, dear." The look in her eyes was knowing. "And it doesn't go away when you turn down positions that will look good on grad school applications."
A beat passed in silence, and finally, Y/N sighed.
"You're right. That's kinda my point, though." She pursed her lips; the nod she gave looked resigned, both disappointed and on edge. "It also doesn't go away when I do take those positions. And I don't wanna fuck up and make everything even more awkward."
"Y/N. I believe in you." Dolley took one of Y/N's hands in hers, picking it up from where she'd rested it on the table as she slumped over in her fit of angst. "You're strong. You can work with a man without fucking him."
Y/N scowled. "Well, when you put it like that, you're making it sound like I'm some kind of sex fiend."
"That's what you're acting like!"
"Fuck off, Dolley; no, I'm not." She folded her arms, pushing her mug and saucer to the side of the table. "My most recent one-night stand turned out to be my professor, and now he's asking me to be his TA. I'm allowed to be a little hesitant."
Dolley pursed her lips. "You might have a point."
"Thanks, I'm thrilled to hear it," Y/N responded dryly. "But... I'll figure it out. I doubt it could really turn out all that badly. I can handle myself."
"That's the spirit." Dolley did not sound enthusiastic. "But you really need to..."
Dolley trailed off with wide eyes, her gaze apparently having caught something across the café. Y/N eyed her skeptically, raised an eyebrow. "... Dolley? You still with me?"
She waited a moment, watching to see if her attention would recover, but when it didn't she waved a hand in front of her, trying to break her stare, but it was apparently locked elsewhere. "Hello? Anybody home?" Another moment of quiet, and eventually, Y/N snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Dolley!"
"Hm?" Her eyes snapped back to Y/N's almost too quickly, and Y/N raised an eyebrow.
"What are you looking at?"
"Oh... um, nothing. I just spaced out." The smile that had begun to split her expression said otherwise, though.
"Oh, really?" Y/N's eyes narrowed, shifting in her chair to glance back over her shoulder. "What's back there? Did you see someone? Are you— Oh!" She stopped speaking abruptly, her eyes widening, and when she whipped back around to face Dolley, her grin was sheepish. "That's James, isn't it?"
"Shh, not so loud!" Dolley said, shoving her arm. The giddiness written across her face didn't help her case as she attempted to scold Y/N. "Yes, that's him. Yellow sweater, grey coat."
"He's cute," Y/N commented, taking another less-than-sneaky glance over her shoulder at him, before she turned back to Dolley with an expectant look. "So? Are you going to go talk to him?"
"Right now?" At the question, Dolley's smile dropped. It seemed as if she'd been blindsided, as though upon seeing the man she'd been sleeping with for weeks on end, Y/N was going to encourage her to ignore him.
"Yes, right now!" Y/N was just watching her with disbelief. "What's the issue?"
"I... I don't know," Dolley said softly. Her tiny, dopey grin had been restored, but it was now tainted with anxiety. "I really like him, but..."
"... But?"
Her sigh was heavy. "I'm worried he and I don't have much in common. He's, like, the strong and silent type, y'know?"
Y/N pursed her lips, biting back a wince. "That's so clichéd, Doll."
"I know, I know," she groaned, plastering on a pleading pout. "Just bear with me. Please."
There was a skip, and Y/N was eyeing Dolley warily. "You know I'm always here to listen. But if you get too self-destructive, I don't wanna hear it."
"I won't!" she defended, and a grin was stretching across her face at the whole situation, making Y/N's contempt soften to skepticism. "I just don't know what I want, okay? And worse yet, I don't know what he wants."
"I promise, no one's expecting you to turn into a mind reader. Least of all James."
"I know," she sighed, drawing out the words in the midst of her apparent (or perhaps dramatized) emotional exhaustion. "But he's quiet. He doesn't say much, and you know that always freaks me out a little."
"So I hear."
"But... we get along well. He's nice to be around. He puts me at ease."
"Aww, Dolley, are you falling for him?" That time, it was Y/N's turn to pull on a contrived pout, squeezing Dolley's forearm lightly, and though she rolled her eyes, Dolley still looked as though she was the least bit absent, her head still coming back down from the clouds. "That's sweet."
"I know, I know," she said, biting her lip in a weak effort to hide her smile. "But... you know me. I'm not the quiet type. Quite the opposite."
"That might even be an understatement," Y/N muttered, breaking her gaze briefly, and Dolley scoffed.
"Oh, shut up! I already know that, and I don't wanna hear it." She gave Y/N a pointed look. "But he and I are so different, and I'm worried that I'll end up being too much for him. I don't wanna be overbearing."
Her final sentence was quiet, and Y/N could hear her insecurities weakening her conviction. "You're not overbearing, or overwhelming, or 'too much,'" she assured her, and Dolley covered her hand with her own, squeezing it lightly, affection in her eyes. "And if he's right for you, I'm sure he agrees. You're excellent; don't try to change for him. It won't make you happy."
"You're right, as usual," she sighed, "And... I do want to talk to him, something you know very well. But who knows if he wants to talk to me?"
"Well, he keeps glancing over in our direction," Y/N said matter-of-factly, and Dolley's eyes went wide.
"He is? Wait, where is he?" Her gaze began to dart back and forth, and Y/N couldn't help her light laugh.
"He just got back from picking up his drink, and now he's at the table a few behind you," she said, dropping her voice before adding, "And I've already made awkward eye contact with him too many times, so now if you don't talk to him, I'm gonna look like a total creep."
"Y/N!" she scolded her, but the laugh in her voice betrayed her indignance. She glanced back over her shoulder, and Y/N saw James nod to her when he caught her gaze, the corners of his lips quirking up into a shadow of a smile. She offered him a shy wave.
Quite frankly, Y/N had never seen her like that before, not in all her years of knowing her. Dolley's baseline tended to be everyone else's two-ecstasy-pills-deep, and usually, other people in the mix just fueled the fire of her perpetual enthusiasm — Y/N had never seen a man make her timid, though, of all things.
She couldn't help but think it was kind of cute.
Dolley held his stare another moment, before he finally decided to stand, beginning to make his way over to where they were sitting, and Dolley spun around in her seat, her wide eyes meeting Y/N's. "He's headed over!" she whispered, but the panic in her voice wasn't quite authentic; more of it than Y/N would've expected was simply excitement.
"So I see," Y/N said, wry amusement coloring her tone. She glanced up to her right a moment later, taking a sip of her coffee, before saying, "It's James, right?"
Dolley let out a surprised squeak when he walked up on her left, almost flinching in her seat, and his smile was subtle.
"That would be me. And you are?" He raised his eyebrows at Y/N, taking a sip from his to-go cup.
"I'm Y/N. Dolley's roommate," she nodded to her with a grin. "I'm glad to officially meet you, after hearing about you for weeks on end."
"Y/N!" Dolley murmured, urgency thick in her voice, her accusatory stare what she seemed to think to be covert. As though James couldn't hear her from a foot away.
"I've been mentioned?" James looked pleasantly surprised, but there was no ego in his smile. Y/N nodded.
"Oh, yeah. More than a couple times," she assured him. "I can't seem to stop hearing about you, really."
He chuckled, and Dolley's gaze softened. "I should hope that's a good thing."
"I can corroborate," Y/N said. "So you're a PhD candidate?"
"That I am. Studying economics."
"So, what, you want to go into business? Accounting?"
"Public policy, actually."
"Oh, really?" Her eyebrows shot up, and her smile widened into a grin. "I like you already."
That time, his laugh was still quiet, but it was warmer, more robust. "Consider me flattered. Dolley speaks very highly of you, as well."
"Aww, Doll!" Y/N plastered on a pout, reaching across the table. "I knew you'd been secretly in love with me this whole time."
"You shut it," Dolley replied, and though she gave Y/N a pointed look, she was biting back a laugh.
"Really? You still don't wanna go public with our relationship?" Dramatized dismay permeated Y/N's voice, and anyone would've had to hand it to her - the hurt look she wore almost seemed authentic.
"Oh my God, Y/N," Dolley huffed. "That's about enough, thank you."
When she glanced back up, Dolley bit her lip once more; thankfully, James didn't look put-off by the interaction, only amused. A beat passed in silence, and Y/N shifted awkwardly in her seat, not sure what to do with the heavy, prolonged eye-contact taking place across from her. It wasn't until she picked up her mug and saucer, the ceramics clinking together, that they seemed to regain a sense of awareness.
James's eyes were wide as he glanced back at Y/N. "I... won't intrude on your coffee date any longer, but truly, it's been a pleasure, Y/N."
"Oh, no, no, don't go." She waved off his farewell, scrambling to pull her backpack onto her shoulder, picking up her dishes as she did so. "I have a meeting to be at that, really, I'm almost running late for, so please, stay. Keep Dolley company."
She gave him a bright smile as she stood, pushing her wooden chair out behind her as she collected her used napkin and mixing spoon, but Dolley looked hesitant. "Oh, that's not necessary, really. I'll be just fine—"
"Relax, Dolley. I know you deal with crippling loneliness in my absence; it's really nothing to be ashamed of," Y/N reassured her, her voice mockingly gentle. Dolley rolled her eyes; the sound that escaped her was all but a snort of laughter.
"Oh, of course, dear. Because what more could I want than to spend every minute of my day with you?" she replied sarcastically, and Y/N grinned.
"I know. It's a blessing and a curse." She took a few steps back, though, nodding to her abandoned seat as she started on her path toward the counter. "Seriously, though, James. Please, sit."
She saw him raise an eyebrow at Dolley before she turned to discard her dishes into the basin by the end of the counter.
"May I?" he asked. When Y/N glanced back over her shoulder, she caught just a glimpse of Dolley's sheepish smile.
"I'd like that."
Y/N took the back exit out.
___________________
"Are you sure I was included in that invite?" Y/N's voice was skeptical as she crossed the green toward Thomas's office, hours later. Apparently, hours that Dolley and James had ultimately spent together, taking a walk through the city for much of their afternoon. (When Dolley told Y/N that the two-mile loop near the Lincoln Memorial had taken them two hours to walk through, she had a sneaking suspicion walking wasn't all they were doing. Hopefully, they'd at least escaped the watchful eye of our oversized 16th president.)
"Yes, I'm certain you were," Dolley insisted from the other end of the phone's line. "He said it'd be great if I brought you."
"... This sounds suspiciously like a pity invite."
"It isn't a pity invite!" Y/N could hear the indignance in her voice.
"Dolley, why, exactly, would he want me there if it wasn't a pity invite?"
"... Because you're my best friend, and he's decided to make an effort to get to know you better?"
She laughed. "As much as I appreciate this idealized James Madison, I have a feeling it was more to the effect of 'I just saw your roommate and feel obligated to invite her'," Y/N corrected her. "But go to the party without me! Don't let me hold you back from having your fun, alright?"
"Please come? It wouldn't be the same without you." Dolley's voice was high, containing traces of what almost smelled like desperation. "It'll make me much more comfortable to have you along."
Y/N groaned. "So when you and James go make out in the bathroom, I'm supposed to, what, play truth or dare with all the other PhD candidates?"
"Why not?" Dolley's tone was mild, which made Y/N roll her eyes.
"No offense to James's friends, but I'm not sure I want to spend an evening making stunted small talk with them."
"You're such a warm person, though! You'd be quite alright."
"It'd be awkward!"
"Please, Y/N? I'll beg you if that's what it'll take."
She scowled at how soft, forlorn Dolley's voice had become. As far as she was concerned, this was akin to emotional manipulation. "Does it really mean that much to you?"
"Yes. I like him so much."
She sighed. "I'm gonna say yes solely because I have somewhere to be and can't deal with this argument anymore. But you owe me."
Y/N could almost picture Dolley's sappy smile. "Thank you so much, dear. You're too good to me."
"Yeah, yeah, what else is new?" Her words elicited a laugh from Dolley, and Y/N continued, "But you know I'd do pretty much whatever you asked if you asked it in that I'm-about-to-cry voice, so I'm not sure this relationship is healthy for me anymore."
"Oh, of course; I'm truly a parasite," Dolley sighed. "Taking you into my house and home, paying for your meals — how evil of me."
"I pay half the rent, and we literally only eat ramen," Y/N defended, but the words were lighthearted nonetheless. "Next time you give up five perfectly good hours of a Friday night so that I can get laid, we'll call it even."
"Don't make any calls about Friday just yet. You haven't even seen James's friends." Dolley's voice was just teasing enough to placate Y/N. "I may not be the only one having some fun."
"Have you even seen James's friends?" Y/N asked dubiously, and Dolley's silence told her all there was to know. "That's what I thought. He's an econ student, so it's probably gonna be about eighty percent entitled rich men attending school on family money."
"Or they could all be just your type," Dolley reasoned, but by then, any efforts to talk Y/N out of her convictions were futile. "Tall, hot, and older."
"First off, I don't have a type, and second, just because you're dating an 'older man'," — The final two words were said mockingly — "doesn't mean that his older friends aren't still douches."
"I hate to have to be the one to break it to you, but that is absolutely your type."
"Based on what?"
"That professor of yours?"
"Dolley!" Y/N scowled, turning down the volume on her call just in case some passing pedestrians were notorious gossips with super-hearing. It was certainly possible. "Can you please stop talking about him like that? Don't make it a thing," she murmured, jaw tense.
"Oh, we're well past that, dear," Dolley said matter-of-factly, and Y/N could only roll her eyes. "But if you've agreed to the party, I won't push my luck."
"Smart choice," she muttered bitterly. "Anyway, I've gotta go. Talk to you later tonight?"
"Of course."
With that, she hung up the phone before Dolley could take advantage of her giving mood and start making further outlandish demands, tucking it into her coat pocket as she pushed open the door to Melos Hall. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was broken, and Thomas's office was several flights of stairs above her.
After at least eight long pauses for her to catch her breath, heaving as she leaned against the railing in the stairwell, and three stomach cramps, Y/N knocked on his door. "Anybody home?"
"C'mon in." His voice was soft, muffled through the door, and she opened it to find him all but slumped on his desk, resting his head on his hand as he graded papers he appeared to be rather cross with, and with more of said papers covering the entirety of the desk's surface (and much of the floor). He glanced up when she entered, and a soft grin split his expression. "Hey, I thought that was you."
"I'm in absolute awe of your pattern-recognition skills, really," she replied, tone dry as she let the door fall shut behind her, and despite the playful smile she wore, Thomas rolled his eyes.
"You actually here for anything, or am I gonna have to kick you out?"
She laughed. "I'm not here to derail your work, I swear." He raised a dubious eyebrow. "I was just stopping by to let you know that, assuming it's still on the table, I'd love the TA position."
"Oh, yeah?" His smile widened almost imperceptibly at her words, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "'M glad to hear it. Could've just shot me an email, though."
She shrugged. "I was headed this way anyway. Figured I may as well stop by."
"I'm not complainin'." She let out a soft huff of laughter at the words, but she could feel heat beginning to creep up the back of her neck. "'S good timing, anyway. Intro to IR just turned in an essay on Kant."
The soft groan she let out only served to amuse him further as she surveyed the wreckage of his office. "That's what all this paper is?" He nodded in confirmation, and she scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure if I feel worse for the freshmen who had to write them or for you having to read them."
"Well, I should hope it's the freshmen," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back in his chair. The smile he wore was concerningly self-righteous. "'Cause, now, readin' these is your job, too."
Her eyebrows shot up; the dread in her gaze was the furthest thing from contrived. "... Is it too late to rescind my application as a TA?"
He shook his head. "Mm-mm. You're welcome to abandon ship."
She didn't like the satisfaction which grew in his gaze as she weighed her options; they both knew she wasn't considering turning down the position in earnest — that simple fact left Thomas unnecessarily smug. Another beat passed, and she sighed. "You're lucky this is going to look good on my grad school applications."
He laughed. "Sure am. I could use all the help I can get, right now."
"I can see that," she replied, voice laden with amusement at the state of his office.
However, Thomas said nothing more, and she shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the drawn-out silence. He raised an expectant eyebrow, and it took her a moment to grasp his intention. "Wait... d'you mean, like, right now?"
"Unless you're busy." He shrugged. His gaze was hopeful as she eyed warily the small stack of papers she'd spent the past few minutes trying not to crush under her boot. She sighed.
He grinned when she bent over to pick up the papers that'd floated to her side of the desk. "As depressing as it feels to say, I've got nowhere else to be on this fine Friday night."
"That's the spirit." He winked, and though she rolled her eyes, her amused smile was deep-set. "So, you're gradin' for accuracy and watchin' out for grammar, of course, but the points are really earned for analysis. The paper's on changes in the international system. They've gotta connect 'em back to Kant's maxims."
She let out a low whistle as she took a seat across from him, plucking a red pen from his cup and dropping her bag onto the floor. "That certainly sounds pretentious."
He laughed lightly. "You really tellin' me you didn't have to do anything like this as a freshman?"
"Oh, I wish I could say that, but unfortunately, my professor was apparently every bit the pseudointellectual you are." She nodded sadly, and Thomas rolled his eyes.
"Hilarious, sweetheart, really." In the dry sarcasm of his tone, the casual pet name didn't seem to register with him, but Y/N couldn't help but notice, and her breath caught. "Here, lemme get you a copy of the rubric. 'S nothin' too complicated; go easy on 'em. Got some STEM majors in the class who're just takin' it for the graduation requirement, so I'm not expectin' much."
She pursed her lips. "Are the essays that bad?"
He deadpanned as he turned back to her, sliding the rubric across the desk. "At least as bad as I'm makin' 'em sound."
Y/N let out a long, dramatic huff, rubbing her temples, and Thomas looked thoroughly entertained at her reaction.
"I'm in for a long few months, aren't I?"
______________________
Thomas texted her the next day, too — she'd been the one to ask for his number, its utility obvious considering she was now going to be working with him, but he didn't give it up without teasing her just a bit for asking. When she opened it, she found that his request was just for her to drop by and pick up as many more essays as she was willing to grade by Monday, but when she arrived at his office, it quickly became clear to both of them that she was in no hurry to leave.
She showed up around eight, a decision that had everything to do with her having been out all afternoon running errands and nothing to do with the unfortunately appealing idea of being in his office late into the night — or so she told herself. It was hesitant both when she offered to stay and work on them with him and when he accepted. As she'd cautiously anticipated, her new role felt like walking an impossibly fragile line, and it'd hardly been twenty-four hours.
Subliminal tension remained in the air, hanging heavier than either of them would've claimed, but the hours flowed by easily. The hills upon mountains of student work they had to dig through didn't feel like the burden they were, either, not with the light atmosphere they'd managed to create, cracking jokes and swapping input.
She couldn't place when it'd become so comfortable for her to be around him.
"Hey, can I get your take on this?" Y/N held up what must've been her twentieth paper of the night, red pen between her teeth, and Thomas glanced down from where he was standing beside the desk, sorting the finished papers for his classes.
"Mhm, what's up?"
"Personally, I kind of hate this kid's analysis, but I'm struggling to determine whether there's anything actually wrong with it or if I'm just biased." She pursed her lips. "Here, come look at this third paragraph."
He set down the essay he was leafing through and walked around to join her, resting one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the desk beside her. He wasn't looking in her direction, his lips pursed as he scanned the page. However, her heart rate had begun to pick up in the immediate proximity, and she was on edge, able to feel his body heat radiating off of him from just inches to her left. Her breath hitched when he spoke. "This essay's a mess."
Despite the tension in her body, she let out a surprised laugh. "My thoughts exactly."
"Which part are you strugglin' with?"
"Right here." She turned the paper slightly, its words now directly facing him, and tapped on the sentence that'd given her pause. "It's not a great interpretation of the quote he used, in my opinion, but it's one I've heard in academic circles time and time again. It's defensible, but since his organization is fundamentally nonexistent, I'm not sure how well he's defended it."
Thomas raised an amused eyebrow. "How much of your free time are you dedicatin' to discussin' Kant?"
Y/N only rolled her eyes, ignoring the thrum of her heart against her ribcage as he turned his head to face her. He was only inches away. "Oh, shut up; I'm not dedicating any." He eyed her with disbelief, and she could tell he was still stuck on her first sentence. "I took a class focused on this book in high school, alright?"
"What kinda high school did you go to?"
"The class was through a local university." She shrugged, and he looked rather impressed. The small smile he wore wasn't helping her spiking pulse. "What? I was hoping to graduate from college early. I would've, too, if I hadn't spent a year traveling to figure out my life."
"And your plan for gettin' college credit was to take a philosophy class, of all things? Does that even fulfill a credit requirement?" Despite the disbelief in his voice, he seemed somewhat fascinated with the idea, was watching her like she was some sort of a puzzle.
"Anywhere I went would've made me retake core classes," she said mildly, and he cocked his head to one side. It wasn't lost on her how he hadn't withdrawn even a centimeter; she could feel traces of his breath on her skin. "It was just another credit toward graduation."
He gave an obliging nod, a half-shrug at her words. "Guess so. You surprise me sometimes, though."
"It's also made your class a breeze, but that's just an added bonus," she added, and he laughed, breaking his deliberative demeanor.
"You really think my class is easy?"
She shrugged, wearing a self-contented smile. "My grades speak for themselves, don't they?"
"I seem to remember a couple nights of office hours that'd contradict that." He raised an amused eyebrow, giving her a pointed look, but her grin broadened.
"Listen, if you gave clearer instructions, I wouldn't need to show up here twice a week to ask you what the fuck you were talking about, alright?"
He gave a skeptical hum. "Now, why aren't you askin' your questions in class, then? 'S awfully selfish; I'm sure your classmates would benefit from hearin' the answers, too."
"I think they'd benefit more from you actually doing your job."
"If you aren't askin', how am I supposed to know what isn't makin' sense?" He shrugged, and the playful glint in his eyes had her gaze locked onto his. He didn't think a single second further before he continued; over the past few minutes, his mind had reverted to its setting from one fateful January night spent in the speakeasy on 4th Street. "Or, maybe, you've just been comin' here at night lookin' to get me alone."
She inhaled sharply; her stomach turned, and at first, neither of them broke the eye contact. When Y/N finally did, it was because her stare had trailed down to rest at his lips, and she swallowed roughly at the smug smile he wore. Her gaze jumped back to his — he raised an eyebrow. Apparently, her wandering eyes hadn't gone unnoticed.
Something about it was intoxicating, whether due to the musky scent of his cologne or to the wild, forbidden temptation of it all. Y/N was certain that, were this the Garden of Eden, she'd fare no better than Eve.
It was her nerves that saved her, ultimately. She was terrified to push that boundary, and despite his usually-lighthearted teasing, Thomas had resolutely decided where lay the line he couldn't cross. Thus, neither of them moved for another moment, but Y/N drew in a shaky breath, turning her head back to the paper before them.
"So, what's your conclusion on the essay?" Her voice was small, and it was only then that Thomas seemed to have remembered where they were. A shudder ran through his spine; it almost looked to be shaking him back to the present, metaphysically knocking some sense into him.
The silence was heavy as his eyes ran over the paper, muttering the words under his breath as he read and re-read the paragraph. He'd shifted further from Y/N, his adamant decision being that the more space there was between them, the less likely he was to forget himself, and his brow was knit as he stared down at the words. "This interpretation's full of shit," he huffed. "Think this kid plagiarized it; doesn't seem like he understands it. From what I can tell, he pulled half the language from other authors."
He picked it up with him when he drew back from Y/N, returning to his side of the desk. It was then that her breathing once again leveled out.
"So should I assume he's not getting the complexity point?" The expression she contrived was intended to be lighthearted, but it was laden with tension.
"'S doubtful. 'M gonna have to meet with him sometime this week. Just hopin' I won't have to report it as some kinda case of academic dishonesty." He folded it in half, pulling his briefcase onto the desk and tucking it in among his many other loose papers. "But for now, 's gettin' late; I need to head out. My roommate'll be wonderin' where I am pretty soon."
He didn't meet her eyes for another moment, instead focused on getting his office in order as much as it could be for the evening, and Y/N plunked his red pen back into its metal cup. She stretched as she stood from her chair wordlessly, letting out a light yawn. "Yeah, that's a good call. I think we're both a little out of it; probably not the best for grading essays right now." She offered Thomas a conciliatory smile when he glanced over at her. He nodded.
"I think you're right." A moment passed in silence as he dug through one of his folders, dropped something into one of the drawers of his desk. It almost seemed offhanded when he asked, "Any chance I can offer you a ride home? Your place is on my way."
"Oh, um..." She blinked as she trailed off, looking back at him in surprise as she picked up her bag. When she didn't continue, only eyeing him warily, he sighed.
"Don't look at me like that." He shrugged on his jacket. "I don't have some ulterior motive, alright? If you don't wanna accept, don't worry about it; I won't be offended. Just wanna make sure you're gettin' home safe."
"I dunno..." She paused, seeming to have corrected herself midsentence when she finished with, "... Professor Jefferson. I'm not sure it's the best idea."
"Your call," he said, and he hesitated for a long moment before continuing. "For the future, can I ask you to just tell me straight out if I'm ever makin' you uncomfortable? Wish I could pretend this was just any other circumstance—" He gestured between the two of them. "—but it's my first time spendin' a semester teachin' a student who I slept with before, and I'm really tryin' not to overstep."
How matter-of-factly he spoke made Y/N laugh, a genuine, albeit surprised, laugh. "Don't worry. I'm not uncomfortable; I just don't know if it's smart for me to keep testing my self-control."
He watched her skeptically as she spoke, pulling her own coat back on. "... Alright, but I'm serious. Don't hesitate to bring it up if I'm toein' a line."
She looked back at him, amusement thick in her gaze. "Thanks, but I'm not sure your untarnished intentions are going to stop this from being weird once in a while. It's also my first time having a professor who I've screwed, for the record."
He smiled. "I figured."
"But if I really minded," she continued, buttoning up her jacket. "I wouldn't spend so much time in your office hours, and I certainly wouldn't have agreed to be your TA. Seriously, relax."
He sighed. "That's... reassurin', actually."
"I'm glad."
"But what was that about you testin' your self-control?" He raised a teasing eyebrow, and she laughed outright.
"See, you say you're trying to respect my boundaries, but when you go down that path, I have to wonder exactly where you think those boundaries are."
"I'm drawin' the line where it stops just bein' talk, Y/N," he said, and she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, though. 'S why I need to know your boundaries. You've gotta talk to me; I don't wanna push it 'n make you feel unsafe."
"You're a good guy for even asking this, Thomas," she said, and he didn't even react before she corrected herself, "Sorry; Professor Jefferson. But I mean it, you've never once made me feel unsafe. Please don't stress over it."
"Alright. Lemme know if that changes." He eyed her with a certain degree of worry. "As long as we're talkin' about you bein' unsafe, though, 'm still waitin' to hear exactly how you're plannin' to get home tonight."
She gave him a soft smile. "Is the offer for a ride still on the table?"
____________________
James's house party was exactly a week from that night. It'd been all Dolley wanted to talk about ever since they were invited, and Y/N couldn't help her consistent, underlying, low-level dread as she anticipated the event. She wasn't intimidated by the prospect of an apartment full of graduate students; that much was genuinely the truth. The real issue she had was with being in an apartment full of strangers while her only friend present was off being wooed by the grad student she'd now had her eye on for months.
She kept repeating to herself that it was only a few hours, and then she'd be able to hold it over Dolley's head until the day they were both six feet under.
"That's what you're wearing?" Y/N raised an eyebrow at Dolley's cable-knit sweater and black jeans, and she furrowed her brow.
"What's wrong with it? We're dressed practically the same."
"But I'm not going there tonight looking to getting laid," she pointed out, and Dolley huffed.
"If I change, you have to change. I can't look like I made more of an effort than you did; it'll make me seem out of place."
"Come on; this sweater's comfortable," Y/N groaned. "I've already agreed to go with you; I feel like my contribution is finished. I'm not trying to look hot; I'm trying to blend in."
"What if one of his econ-student friends is hot?"
"Then I'll wait until the night's over and never see him again." The look she gave Dolley very clearly read 'duh,' and Dolley scowled.
"Come on, you don't even have to wear anything flashy," she pleaded. "If I change, can't you just put on a tank top? Or something tighter? Or a skirt? Something?"
Y/N eyed Dolley's expression dubiously; she'd figured the emotional manipulation would've ended the week before when she agreed to come to the party with her, but apparently not. Ultimately, she sighed — even these past few weeks had been the longest amount of time she'd seen Dolley attached to the same guy. She could make an exception. "Fine."
Dolley squealed, pulling her into a hug. "Alright; go change quickly. Grab the nice vodka and meet me in the car."
"Wait, we're bringing the nice vodka?" Y/N called after her, incredulous. "Hang on, we spent almost twenty bucks on that! We can't bring it to share!"
Dolley didn't respond, and Y/N let out a sigh of defeat.
___________________
"James, hey!" When they arrived at his apartment, Dolley didn't waste a moment before pulling him into a hug. They hadn't even passed the doorway. While it seemed to have caught him by surprise, it only took him a second to process her sudden action before his arm fell to the small of her back.
"Hey, I'm glad that both of you could make it," he said, nodding to Y/N with a smile as she stood awkwardly behind them. Dolley finally pulled away. "Can I get you two something to drink?"
"That would be excellent." Dolley flashed him a wide smile as they walked in, Y/N pulling the door shut behind her.
"Actually, where are the drinks?" Y/N asked, hands tucked into her pockets as she surveyed the space. The apartment was cute, bigger than Y/N would've expected that James could afford on the budget of a student, and it was, as expected, littered with James's other friends, slumped on his couch, laying on each other, seated on the floor — wherever they could fit, really. The three who'd all slotted themselves into the same armchair were passing a blunt back and forth, and Y/N wondered how difficult it'd be for her to get in on that. "We brought a bottle."
James raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Mhm. Doll, it's in your purse, right?"
"Yeah, hang on a minute." Dolley's words were all but absentminded as she pulled her purse from her shoulder, unzipping it and beginning to dig through her mountains of knickknacks.
"Well, that's nice of you, but it was awfully unnecessary." James gave her a warm smile. "Let me show you both to the kitchen."
"Thanks, James," Y/N responded; Dolley seemed preoccupied with her purse, though, her brows knitting more and more tightly by the second as she overturned her empty lipstick tubes and discarded keychains. Y/N nudged her with her elbow. "Everything alright?"
She let out a heavy sigh. "We left the vodka in the car."
"You're kidding," Y/N groaned. "I was looking forward to breaking that open."
"I'm sorry, dear," Dolley said, lightly squeezing Y/N's forearm. "Let me just run out and get it. I'll be back in a moment."
"No, you're fine. I'll grab it," Y/N said quickly, plastering on a smile before Dolley could move. "I'd rather leave you two to your own devices. Can I borrow your keys?"
Dolley rolled her eyes at how Y/N wiggled her eyebrows; she even coaxed a laugh out of James. "Of course. Remember to lock the car, and be back soon."
"You've got it." Y/N sent her a wink as she caught the keys Dolley tossed her, turning swiftly on her heel toward their door.
_______________________
The walk back to the building's parking garage was cold; Y/N was grateful the concrete walls were there to stifle the chill of the wind, but she regretted letting Dolley talk her into that tank top.
She'd left the bottle in the glove compartment, apparently, something Y/N only found after digging through the trunk and the backseat. She didn't mind how long the expedition ended up taking her; the longer she could stall returning to the party, the better. The night would inevitably be painful, as she saw it; she had no desire to third-wheel James and Dolley for hours, so her best hope was to find someone to get drunk or high with.
Almost a half-hour had passed before she once again found herself at James's apartment door, still shivering from the cold spring night and, that time, armed with 750 milliliters of Absolut Citron Vodka. She was almost grateful for how long the walk up had been. By then, she could hear the bass booming from whatever music they'd set up; the sound of heavily overlapping chatter was muffled through the door yet still notably prominent. She rang the doorbell with hesitant fingers, wondering for a moment whether or not Dolley would even notice if she spent the remainder of the night getting drunk and playing Angry Birds in her locked car.
The click of the door unlocking broke her musings.
"Hey, so I got the vodka; do you know where Dolley—?" She cut herself off midsentence when it was swung entirely open. It'd taken her a moment too long to process who was standing before her, no longer in the slacks and button-down she'd gotten used to, but instead wearing a tight, v-neck t-shirt and jeans. She held Thomas's wide-eyed stare with one of her own. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here, last I checked," he said. Her eyes widened. "What are you doin' here?"
She eyed him dubiously for another moment, unsure whether she could've just been losing her mind. He just watched her tentatively, and ultimately, she let out a halfhearted, breathy laugh. "James invited me. Do you know his friend Dolley?"
"I've heard of her," he responded mildly, and Y/N nodded, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Well, I'm her roommate." He didn't respond at first, still seeming hesitant to respond one way or another, and her shadow of a smile broadened to a cheeky grin; she extended her hand for him to shake. "Y/N. It's nice to meet you."
Another beat passed without him knowing quite how to react, glancing down to her outstretched hand. "... Are you serious, right now?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" She raised an eyebrow. "...and you are?"
His skepticism didn't subside for another moment; the next ten seconds were akin to a standoff, and Y/N didn't let up with her cheery front. Finally, he let out a breathy laugh, raking a hand through his hair. "Thomas. 'M James's roommate." He shook her hand obligingly, and she looked beyond self-contented at the entertained glint in his eye. "C'mon in."
She followed him inside, self-satisfaction building in her chest, and he glanced back over his shoulder to her. "So, almost everyone's in the livin' room, and drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever."
"Thanks. You've got a nice place," she replied, perusing the rooms as they crossed through them. "D'you know where James is, by chance?"
"Not sure; why?" His voice was raised over the racket flooding in from all sides.
"Because wherever he is, I'm sure Dolley isn't far behind," she said, voice low and bordering on sour, and Thomas grinned.
"I saw them goin' to his room a little while back, so you might not have a lotta luck." She groaned at his words, and he laughed quietly, looking to her with tentative eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he nudged her arm. "Here, c'mon. Let's get you a drink, and I'll introduce you to my friends."
Her eyebrows shot up. Quite frankly, she'd expected to be on her own for the evening, spending the next couple hours sniffing out the stoners who could help her make the time pass a little bit more quickly. Thomas's expression was wary at her reaction. "That okay? You're welcome to go it alone."
His gentle tone eased her livewire nerves. She offered him a small smile. "No, no, a drink sounds excellent. Thanks."
He grinned. "Alright, sweetheart. C'mon." Her skin jumped under his touch when his hand came to rest at the small of her back, leading her through the tightly packed crowd alongside him, but he didn't seem to notice. Though she could feel heat rushing to her cheeks, she followed without hesitation.
The pair emerged just a few short minutes later with two red Solo cups. Y/N appeared to be substantially less bitter than she had been, whether the smile she wore was because Thomas had managed to placate her with his advanced mixology skills (he'd never give away his elusive vodka Sprite recipe) or because of, for once, how relaxed he seemed with her, his arm having fallen to her waist as he gave her the 411 on everyone she'd soon find scattered on the couches.
Part of her couldn't help but be surprised, though she didn't let that ruin her relaxation. She supposed it must have just been the change in environment, but the difference in attitude between this Thomas and her Professor Jefferson seemed to be night and day. Gone was the cautious air of professionalism, the guarded front he carried when he discussed with her their most recent unit.
It may have just been because he was already two beers deep into the evening, but no matter.
Upon reaching his living room, Thomas was greeted enthusiastically by a few different (incredibly attractive) people, including the three she'd seen sharing a joint earlier on.
"Thomas!" one of the women shouted. "Come sit with us! Where have you been all night?"
"Oh, hey, Maria; 's nice to see you, too. I'm great, thanks for askin'," he said sarcastically, offering her a contrived smile, and she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, whatever. I just don't like being avoided, Jefferson," she replied, giving him an unamused look. "So are you joining us or not, hm? Time-sensitive offer."
He cracked a grin. "Yeah, yeah, alright." He glanced down to Y/N and raised an eyebrow, a silent ask as to whether or not she wanted to stay, and she gave him a small smile, a short nod.
They both took seats on the couch opposite Maria, Thomas nonchalantly greeting the man on at its furthest end who he called 'Monroe.' Y/N didn't bother to question it — quite frankly, she never expected to be in any sort of situation meeting Thomas's friends, and she certainly hadn't seen it coming when she was leaving home that night. She shifted in her seat, feeling rather self-conscious and out of her league on this.
"And who is your pretty friend, hm?" The man sitting beside Maria turned to Y/N with a bright, curious smile. "Where 'ave you been hiding 'er from us?"
At that, she laughed — his buoyant manner eased her nerves, if only in the least. "I'm Y/N."
Before she could determine exactly how to explain her knowing Thomas, Lafayette cut in, eyes shining. "Ah, you are ze TA, non?"
"Oh, um..." Her eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, that's me. You've heard about me?"
"We cannot seem to stop 'earing about you, chérie," he drawled, wearing a wry smile. "Although, I do not believe zat someone told us you would be 'ere tonight." Though he gave Thomas a pointed look, taking another hit of the lit blunt he held lazily between his fingers, and Thomas only rolled his eyes.
"James invited her, actually," he said. "Y'know his girl Dolley? Y/N's her roommate."
Y/N mentally archived his words; she was sure Dolley would enjoy hearing she'd been referred to as 'James's girl.' Lafayette raised his eyebrows. "What a twist of fate," he mused. "If not for James, we may 'ave only ever been able to 'ear your stories about 'er. It is lovely to meet you, Y/N."
"Yeah, you too." She offered him a timid smile, adjusting the straps of her shirt. "So what's Thomas told you about me, then?"
The woman sitting beside Maria on the end of the other couch, legs draped over her lap, interjected, "Just about everything, honey. I mean, first, all the gossip about him accidentally having slept with a student, of course."
While Y/N was thoroughly entertained, Thomas rolled his eyes, but how he was shifting in his seat betrayed his air of nonchalance. The woman continued, "And since then, you've been an ever-growing saga. My favorite story is still you going to his office just to yell at him." The look in her eyes was amused as they flickered between Y/N and Thomas. "Personally, I find it more entertaining than the grumbling about not knowing how to teach a student he's fucked, especially when the sex was so—"
"Alright, that's about enough, Ang," Thomas cut her off, looking more exasperated than annoyed as he shot her a warning look, and she wore a wide grin.
"Oh, come on, I was just getting started," she complained. "Not my fault you can't keep things to yourself. I just don't think it's fair to keep poor Y/N here in the dark."
"Yeah, really, Jefferson," Maria piped back up. "Don't you think she should get a say?"
She raised her eyebrows at Y/N with a playful smile, and she couldn't help the grin she wore that threatened to broaden. However, Thomas scowled.
"Remind me to get friends who aren't gonna rat me out, next time." He took a sip of his drink, eyeing Maria and Angelica dubiously, but neither of them wavered. Y/N raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, so you're owning up to it?"
He looked over at her with an irked gaze, but the corners of his lips were quirked up. "You stay outta this."
"Hey, that isn't fair!" she protested, knocking her elbow into his, and he pursed his lips. "This is all absolutely my business. I feel like my privacy as a student's been violated, professor."
"Oh, so now you'll call me 'professor'?"
Despite how skeptically he was eyeing her, his smile grew, and she shrugged innocently. "I've been doing my best."
"'M sure you have."
"You don't sound too sure," she countered, taking a sip of her drink. "I don't like having my integrity questioned. Shouldn't you be able to trust your TA?"
"Maybe I will once you prove yourself worth trusting." He shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. She rolled her eyes.
"Oh, please. If anything, you're the one who's proved you can't keep a secret." The side of her thigh rested against his as she cast a pointed glance back at his friends. "I guess, next time, I'll have to be sure not to sleep with such a gossip, won't I?"
He grinned. "Good luck finding someone better."
He looked beyond self-satisfied as her eyes widened; her heart jumped to her throat. Despite everything, the air between them was charged, and Lafayette raised an eyebrow.
It took Y/N a moment to break his heavy gaze, not having noticed the silence stretching on throughout the group. Angelica and Maria exchanged a glance. It wasn't until he met Lafayette's skeptical stare that Thomas cleared his throat, cracking the atmosphere.
"I'm gonna go get myself another drink," he said, pushing himself up off of the couch. He glanced down at Y/N, and then turned to the rest of his friends. "Try not to traumatize Y/N while I'm gone."
"Oh, no need to worry," Lafayette said, his gaze alight, and Thomas narrowed his eyes skeptically. "We will take very good care of 'er."
________________________
Thomas returned later than he'd planned to — the couple broken bottles and failed keg stand he found in his kitchen were an unfortunate detour — but when he did, Lafayette had taken his seat, and Monroe had split. Y/N sat all but leaning into his side, giggling at whatever it was he was saying as they passed his joint back and forth, and in turn, Thomas took the now-empty seat on Y/N's other side.
She'd just finished shouting something over at Maria when Thomas spoke, breaking her focus.
"So I see you two got awful close while I was gone," he said, tone dry as he glanced between her and Lafayette, and Y/N only seemed to notice just then that he was even there. She turned to him with a mellow grin.
"Hey, Thomas, Lafayette was just telling me all about how you went to undergrad together." A hardly-contained giggle was concealed in her voice. He raised an eyebrow.
"That so?"
Y/N nodded, absentmindedly taking the blunt back from where Lafayette held it out to her. "I hear you were just as uptight then as you are now."
"Oh, I'm uptight, now?" When she shrugged unapologetically, he didn't meet her gaze, instead leaning around to look at Lafayette, who looked beyond pleased with himself. "So by 'take care of her' you meant you were gonna get Y/N high?"
Lafayette shrugged, wearing a lazy smile. "You did not ask me to elaborate on it, mon cher."
Thomas's deadpanned expression didn't change, but Y/N snickered at Lafayette's words before taking another hit. She leaned back onto his shoulder as she turned in her seat to face Thomas, scrutinizing the whole of his stature, and he winced when she inadvertently blew smoke into his face.
"What, are you jealous?" she drawled, her tone taunting, and Thomas raised an unamused eyebrow.
"'Jealous'?" he repeated, almost in disbelief, and she shrugged.
"Mmhmm." Her hum of agreement was drawn out dramatically. "Why do you feel the need to judge me for it? Y'know, if you wanted a hit, you could've just asked." When she extended Lafayette's joint to him as if it were an olive branch, watching him expectantly all the while, he hesitated, unsure if that was the candid conclusion she'd drawn. Her conviction didn't waver; he could only laugh.
"Alright, sweetheart." He leaned forward, and she looked pleased when he plucked it from between her fingers. "I think you've had about enough of that."
However, moments later, he put it out on a coaster, and she whined. "Hey. Don't be an ass." She plastered on a pout, kicking his calf halfheartedly, and she slumped back onto Lafayette, looking up at him with disappointment. "Looks like you were right about 'uptight.'"
Lafayette matched her frown, shifting so his arm was resting at her waist as they both faced Thomas. "And to think zat I paid good money just for zat to go to waste."
"Stop being a spoilsport, Thomas," Maria shouted, eyeing him with contempt. "You're not Y/N's mother; let her live."
"I'm not actin' like anybody's mother," he scowled, throwing a pillow in her direction, and missing by about a foot.
"Could've fooled me," Angelica muttered into her drink, and while Thomas glared at her, Y/N laughed.
"Oh, loosen up." Thomas's eyebrows shot up when she pulled her legs up into his lap, now fully laying on Lafayette's torso. "We aren't in class, professor."
He eyed her skeptically. "Y'know, if my friends didn't seem to like you more than they like me, I'd have started tryin' to kick you outta here by now." Despite his dry tone, the words held no bite, and she laughed.
"Well, I'm James's guest, not yours, so I don't think that's quite within your jurisdiction," she replied frankly, wearing a wide, sly smile. "Besides, you're just bitter I'm stealing your friends."
"She makes an excellent point," Lafayette interjected, wearing a playful smile, and Y/N giggled as she leaned back to look at him. However, Thomas only rolled his eyes.
Though no retort sat on the tip of his tongue, his focus instead on how his stomach turned as Lafayette's arm looped around Y/N's waist, pulling her close, any chance he had to respond died the moment the brief rapport between Lafayette and Y/N was interrupted, both their voices light.
"I'm glad to see that you've all made yourselves comfortable." Everyone turned, though at different rates, toward the voice at the other side of the couch. There stood one James Madison, looking as cool and collected as ever, Dolley at his side. However, she didn't so much hold up the composed air; her hair was mussed, though she'd obviously tried to push it back into place, if only hastily, and her cheeks were still flushed pink with James's arm around her.
"Hey, haven't seen you two in a while," Y/N said, wearing a sly, lazy smile. "What have you been up to back in James's room, huh?"
"We were just talking," Dolley defended timidly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, but her wide grin betrayed her bashfulness.
"Oh, I'm sure," Y/N replied, voice saturated with sarcasm. "And a prerequisite for that is obviously locking yourselves in his bedroom."
Dolley didn't respond, just pursed her lips, only meeting Y/N's gaze, but James laughed good-naturedly. "In any case, we've returned. I trust everyone's made you feel welcome, Y/N?"
She shrugged, glancing to the group around her. "More or less. Would've been better if someone hadn't decided to play bad cop and restrict any 'illegal or dangerous activity,'" she said, tying together all the haughtiness she could manage into her voice as she gave Thomas a pointed look. However, he only shrugged unapologetically.
Lafayette took that moment to pipe up, though. "And, now, why did you not bother to tell anyone zat Y/N would be joining us after we 'ad all 'eard so much about 'er?" His tone was accusatory, but James didn't quite seem to follow, his brow furrowed.
"What do you mean 'after we had all heard so much about her'?" he echoed, but his gaze drew back to Y/N and then to Thomas, and he raised his eyebrows, seeming to have connected the dots. "Hang on, is this your Y/N?"
Y/N couldn't have explained why she felt her skin begin to heat at the words, but she certainly wasn't about to protest them. Thomas scowled. "She's my TA, assumin' that's what you mean."
"That was not what I meant, but it answers my question regardless," James said, but as he spoke, Dolley's face split into a grin.
"So I take it you're 'Professor Jefferson,' then?"
"Thomas," he corrected her with an easy smile, extending a hand for her to shake. "And where've you heard about me?" He glanced to Y/N with his words, a teasing eyebrow raised, and she huffed.
"I see that IR degree you like to flaunt must not have tested your inductive reasoning skills." Her scowl didn't hide her unease, and he grinned, lightly squeezing her calf where her legs were draped over his.
"No need to be so hostile, sweetheart."
Dolley's smile was knowing as she glanced between the two of them. "In any case, I've been told quite a bit about you. Though, you're much bigger in person."
That one genuinely had him confused. "Bigger than what?"
"That faculty profile picture on the university website that a certain someone keeps showing me?" she explained, and he laughed outright. In the meantime, Y/N had managed to weasel Lafayette's drink from his hand and drain the cup in one fell swoop, claiming that 'she needed it far more than he did.' He didn't put up much of a fight.
However, Thomas was far from done. "Oh, really, now?" he said, lips pursed to stifle his entertainment as he looked over to Y/N, meeting her wavering glare. "Wonder who that could be."
Y/N didn't respond, didn't trust her voice enough to try to when Thomas's hand rested on her knee, and she could feel her cheeks flare. "I don't know how I'm expected to make it through tonight without weed," she grumbled, shifting where she sat against Lafayette, not meeting Thomas's eyes. Dolley's grin mirrored Thomas's, then.
"Aw, is everything okay, dear? Did I say something wrong?" she asked mildly, and Y/N's withering gaze turned to her.
"Oh, don't you start," she said, accusation heavy in her voice as she jabbed a wavering finger at Dolley. "You're really gonna throw me under the bus like this after I came here just so you could fuck James?"
To Y/N's dismay, Dolley looked far from ashamed at her words, her playful expression holding firm. "I think that perhaps you're just jealous."
Y/N hummed noncommittally. "Mmh, don't give yourself too much credit, babe. You're not that good in bed."
While Dolley could only gape at her for another moment as she passed Lafayette back his empty plastic cup, something he didn't seem to mind, James looked thoroughly entertained. "Is there something happening between the two of you that I should be worried about?"
"Nah, don't worry." Y/N shifted in her seat to turn, looking back at him now. "You're more than welcome to my sloppy seconds."
"Y/N!" Dolley all but recoiled, seemingly incredulous at the claim. When Y/N only shrugged in response, she turned to James with wide, pleading eyes. "Believe me, she and I were never together."
"Oh?" he asked, turning to Y/N, who sighed.
"Alright, alright. I don't wanna push it, so I'll confess: I broke it off with Dolley before it could ever get that far," she drawled, having contrived a forlorn facade. "Her loss, really."
"Oh, I'm sure it is," Dolley said, rolling her eyes, and when a grin split her friend's expression, Dolley turned to Thomas, meeting his amused gaze. "Would you care to corroborate?"
Then, it was Dolley's turn to be entertained. Thomas was only glad they couldn't see the blood drain from his face at the point-blank question, though his surprised unease was obvious in his wide-eyed stare. He tensed, and Y/N could feel it as the fingertips of his hand resting on her lower thigh tightened around her leg. "Excuse me?"
Y/N bit back a smile. She glanced between the two of them, and Dolley's expression was a duplicate of her own hardly-suppressed laugh, but seeing Thomas's obvious discomfort, she could only sigh.
"My buzz from Lafayette's weed is wearing off," she said, the words directed at no one in particular, withdrawing her legs from their place on Thomas's lap and pushing herself up from where she sat against Lafayette. She turned to Dolley when she stood. "I'm gonna grab myself something to drink. You wanna come with me?"
She swallowed her grin. "I'd love to."
Y/N looped her arm through Dolley's as she began to pull away from the group, dealing out a fleeting apology to James for stealing his girl. Once they were out of earshot, had reached a quiet lull with the crowd in the kitchen, Dolley turned to Y/N with an arched brow.
"You and Professor Fuck-Me were getting pretty friendly back there, weren't you?"
"'Professor Fuck-Me'?" Y/N repeated with a snort. "Creative."
"I'm entirely serious, dear," Dolley said, wearing a teasing smile as she nudged Y/N with her elbow. "I faintly recall saying something about James's friends being just your type. Was I wrong?"
"Oh, come on, don't do this," Y/N groaned. "We've long since agreed that nothing's going to happen. Him being James's roommate doesn't suddenly change the fact I'm an undergrad, for fuck's sake."
"Well, if he and James are around the same age, he isn't much older than you and I. So if I can get with James, why would you and Thomas be so illicit?"
"Because James doesn't work here, Dolley," she said, looking at her seriously as she reached for the vodka they'd brought (and she'd tucked out of sight behind the toaster next to the fridge). "Thomas, a professor, getting with me, a student, could end his career. You do realize that, don't you?"
Dolley sighed as she dug through the cooler in front of the counter, ultimately withdrawing a Fanta, and Y/N quirked a brow. Dolley was either preparing to be their designated driver, or she was trying not to get so buzzed that James wouldn't fuck her, and Y/N could only hope it was the former. After a moment, Dolley responded, "Yes, I know it's futile, but isn't it a nice thought?"
"...Sure." Y/N looked skeptical.
"Oh, please, you know it, too," Dolley reasoned, dismissing Y/N's hesitation with a wave of her hand. "You're clearly attracted to one another, and I'm dating his roommate. It would be—"
"Can we stop talking in impossible hypotheticals?" Y/N cut her off. "I get that you think it'd be fun, but I'm both his student and his TA. It's not like that. He and I are friends." The added emphasis on her final word did little to dissuade Dolley, but Y/N had something of a point. Why hope for what you can't have?
Before Dolley could respond, Y/N went on, "But, hey, can we go back to the fact that you and James are dating now? Since when? Why didn't you tell me?"
She bit her lip to keep back her smile. "Oh. Well, it's not... official, really, but he asked me on our first actual date just a couple of hours ago. We're doing dinner and a movie next week."
"Dolley!" Y/N exclaimed, swatting her arm. Her jaw was slack, her awestruck expression mildly contrived, but her excitement was entirely genuine. "That's so exciting. I'm really glad for you. Seriously."
"Thank you, but we've yet to see how the date actually goes," Dolley said. Y/N didn't appreciate her dismal tone.
"You already know him pretty well. And you already know you like him," Y/N pointed out. "I think you'll have a good time, but you can always text me if you need me to call you with a horror story about how my spleen gave out and I desperately need you to drive me to the emergency room."
"I appreciate the offer, dear, but shouldn't you call an ambulance instead?"
"Under this healthcare system?" Y/N eyed Dolley as though she was losing her mind. "I'd sooner Uber."
"How lovely to hear that you'd die if I weren't around to take care of you," Dolley said dryly, finally cracking open her soda. "I can only imagine what you'll do after graduation."
"Get health insurance, ideally," Y/N huffed, the sound akin to a wry laugh, but her heart wasn't in it — even with all the hot-for-teacher jokes she'd been making for the past few weeks, that was her least believable quip. She took a long sip from the fresh, new, shiny Solo cup she'd poured herself and nudged Dolley. "Hey, when we go back, you've gotta stop making jokes about me screwing Thomas. They're cute behind closed doors, but you're just making him uncomfortable."
Dolley didn't meet Y/N's eyes as she started back toward their living room. "Alright, but only because I love you. I wouldn't want Thomas to take my place in your heart."
"Aw, Doll, he could never!" Y/N called after her, "You know I've only got eyes for you."
"You'd better." Dolley sent her a wink as they reached James and company.
When they finally turned, breaking the playful eye contact, they found Lafayette and Maria crouched on the floor beside their coffee table, laying out a hoard of plastic cups. Y/N assumed they weren't looking to try their hand at speed stacking. "Are we playing beer pong?" Dolley asked, glancing between the pair.
"Yeah, you in?" Maria asked, raising an eyebrow as she held up a ping-pong ball between two fingers. Dolley grinned.
"Absolutely." When she turned to James, though, Y/N was mildly offended; she folded her arms as Dolley offered him a hand. "Care to join me?"
He joined her wordlessly, giving a shrug, but he wore a wide smile, and Y/N scoffed loudly. "Excuse me?" James looked taken aback at her combative tone, turning swiftly on his heel to face her. Nevertheless, Dolley wasn't taking her too seriously, and for good reason. "You sleep with one grad student, and suddenly, years of winning beer pong together mean nothing to you?"
Dolley rolled her eyes, glancing between her and Thomas with a sly, growing smile. "No need to be jealous, dear. I'm sure you can find a perfectly suitable graduate of your own."
When Dolley met his gaze, watching him expectantly, he looked her up and down, a dubious eyebrow raised. "What're you lookin' at?"
"Oh, sure, act as if you don't know," she said, stare turning skeptical. "Y/N, you may want to find yourself a more perceptive professor in the future. I'm not so sure about this one."
Y/N laughed when she turned back away from the table to see Thomas's bewildered expression. "Oh, c'mon, lay off of him." Y/N tugged Dolley back over to her by the arm, and as she finally joined her, giggling, Y/N stole a fleeting, amused glance back at Thomas before looking to Lafayette with a smile. "You need a partner?"
The man in question folded his arms, eyes shining and his brow raised. "Are you offering?"
"Only if you're willing to accept." She shrugged. "After all, I just got dumped by my old partner," —she gave Dolley a pointed look to which she responded with a wide, unapologetic grin— "so it looks like I'm back on the market."
Neither noticed Thomas eyeing them dubiously from the couch just off to one side.
"Alright zen, Y/N," Lafayette responded, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. "Welcome to ze winning team. You 'ad better not tarnish my perfect record." He threw an arm around her shoulders, and obligingly, she went alongside him to the far side of the table. Thomas knocked back the rest of his drink in one heavy sip.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Y/N said, her gaze dragging over the elaborate (and precarious) setup on the low-set coffee table — she pitied the rug beneath it; it almost certainly didn't know what it had coming. When she looked up, Dolley and James had taken their positions across from them. However, while Dolley looked like she meant business, eyeing the scene before her, brow knit as she rolled a ping pong ball between her fingers, James looked slightly perturbed.
Y/N glanced back to Lafayette with a teasing look. "But you'd better be able to keep up."
"Mm, I make no promises, yet with zat attitude, you may 'ave just met your match." He looked her up and down appraisingly, and when she caught sight of the mischievous glint in his eyes as they stalled toward her hips, she swallowed hard.
"We'll see about that," she replied, and despite the confidence she tried to inject into her voice, the words came out meek under his heavy gaze. He grinned at the sudden timidity of her smile; when his arm came to rest at her waist, pulling her back around to look at the table before them as he promptly began talking strategy, heat rose in her cheeks. Her mouth was dry.
And Thomas was nowhere to be found.
_______________
The night didn't come to a close for hours, which was saying something considering how late it'd begun, and several (entirely successful) games of beer pong later, the crowd was just beginning to dwindle. James and Dolley seemed to be attached at the hip, something which had Y/N feeling more conflicted than she'd have liked to — she was glad to see them happy, certainly, but her own Dolley deficiency meant that, for the most part, she was on her own in navigating her novel state of limbo with Thomas, as confusing as it was exhilarating. She could only pretend to mind it, though.
She'd latched onto Lafayette at some point among their continued victories; she'd liked to have chalked it up to his friendly, outgoing nature, making her feel easily welcome, but she couldn't pretend that it wasn't in large part due to the tight tank top he wore and the circumference of his arms. And she made sure to tell him so, too, as the night went on and she sank deeper into the setup of what was sure to manifest an impressive hangover come morning. Lafayette's breezy laugh at her proclamation put her at ease. Neither took the interaction too seriously.
At the end of the day, her easy willingness to fall into the mellow atmosphere he dragged alongside him had less to do with him and more to do with her desperation to stop focusing on how Thomas had hardly said five words to her since Dolley had earlier been sure to tell him how utterly enamored Y/N was with him. That was also her motivation to throw back whatever liqueur came her way, and while those two impacts may not pay off long-term, for the time being, they only meant getting drunk with an unreasonably attractive Frenchman. Y/N sleeping with her professor may have been off-limits, but no one said anything about the touchy-feely exchange student with the blinding smile and the sharp tongue. She couldn't help but briefly wonder what else his tongue was good for.
As the party finally came to a close, and as people began to say their goodbyes, the remaining attendees were scattered around their apartment, far more sparse than they had been.
Y/N stumbled out of their bathroom bleary-eyed and with her phone's flashlight on. Dolley had long since withdrawn back into James's bedroom, and Y/N couldn't even complain — she was just relieved that she couldn't hear whatever they were up to from where she stood.
She kept a hand on the wall to her right as she unsteadily navigated the straight hallway, much more of a challenge than it should've been, all the while her thoughts oscillating between her internal turmoil over Thomas's sudden aloofness and how in the world she was supposed to get home five drinks closer to the end of the night than she'd begun. With her mind elsewhere, she didn't process her flashlight catching the silhouette of the lumbering figure who'd suddenly emerged from the doorway just before her until it was a second too late.
He noticed the moment he entered the hallway, however; he didn't have enough time to stop it short.
Y/N yelped as she stumbled forward, tripping over his shoe and grasping desperately at his clothing in her desperate bid not to end up on the floor with a carpet burn all the way down her chin and an ache in her chest.
"Woah, woah, woah." He turned to her frantically, the panic in his eyes fueling his actions to be just quick enough. It didn't stop her from falling — he was no miracle worker — but she fell instead into an unsurprisingly strong chest, large hands finding her waist. She dropped her phone somewhere in the havoc, and he winced as the flashlight shone directly up into his face; despite this, his expression eased when he saw the smile she wore upon catching sight of his face. "You alright, there?"
"Thomas, hey." Her eyelids drooped in her tired enthusiasm. "Where have you been all night? Missed you. We all missed you." The heavy pout she wore with the claim just made him chuckle, and she took in a deep breath, stifling a yawn, as she tried to pull herself up from her hands on his shoulders. "And when were you this tall?"
He laughed, helping her back up to a standing position, but back on her feet, she was still relying heavily on him for a crutch. "I've been around, sweetheart. Guess you just didn't notice me."
"Or you've been avoiding me," she accused as he helped her back toward the living room. Her staggering steps were far from steady, and her voice was reduced to a weary drawl as she stumbled over her own feet.
Thomas raised an eyebrow, though. "Not my fault you've been so focused on Lafayette all night."
"Not my fault he was the one being nice to me," she grumbled, but almost the moment the words left her mouth, she looked up at him with apology in her gaze. He didn't even have time to react. "Not that you haven't been nice. I didn't mean that you're not nice. You're so nice, too. You're too nice. I don't—"
"Relax," he cut her off, his voice soft and eyes glinting with amusement. "No offense taken."
"This is what I mean by too nice," she said, words slurred. She jabbed a finger into his shoulder even as they walked. "Too forgiving. Learn to be meaner."
"So you'd rather I did take offense."
"That's not what I said," she protested with a huff, the sentence sounding as childish as her intentions felt. She sniffled. "Stop twisting my words. I was so happy to see you before; can we go back to that? Meanie."
He quirked a brow. "I'm mean again, now?"
She scowled. "No. I wish you were mean, 'cause then I wouldn't just have to blame myself for being bitter, and it's not fair, either, and I'm just moping 'cause you haven't been around all night. When I walked in and saw you, I thought my night might be okay, asshole. Didn't know I'd hardly see you."
"You've seen plenty of me," he countered, and she grinned.
"Oh, yeah? In more ways than one, right?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and his deadpanned stare only made her burst into a fit of giggles. He couldn't help his small smile. Despite her protests of his not having been around all night, this was the most attention she'd paid him since being introduced to Lafayette, and he couldn't say he minded the paradigm shift.
"Somethin' like that. How much have you had to drink?" he asked, and her shrug with her shoulder pressed into his side was halfhearted.
"Lost count. I'm gonna regret it in the morning, but not so much I'm gonna spend four hours throwing up." She grinned, trying to nudge him, but her elbow just brushed against the front of his shirt in a feat of hand-eye coordination. "So I obviously did perfect."
"'Obviously'," he echoed, looking down at her dubiously. Her footsteps stalled as she reached down to pick up her phone, struggling to find the button to turn the flashlight off. She struggled to stifle a yawn as she reached around to put it in her back pocket.
"Too bad you didn't have tequila. Then I might've gotten less conscious. If you weren't so fucking nice, I might be pissed," she said matter-of-factly. He just hummed passively. "Where's Lafayette?"
"How would I know? You're the one who's been hangin' onto him all night." There was a certain gruffness in his voice that hadn't been there before, but Y/N was too addled to pick up on it. She frowned, slumping against his chest. "You shouldn't be tryin' to go home with him after this many drinks, anyway."
"I wasn't trying to go home with him," she pouted, but when her steps stuttered, when she struggled not to trip over her own feet, Thomas wrapped an arm tighter around her waist, and she didn't stop him. "I was just gonna ask him for a ride home, 'cause who knows what Dolley's up to with James by now. You don't have to be so protective, y'know. I'm an adult."
"Hey, I know," he said softly, and although she wouldn't have readily admitted it, his gentle tone went far to placate her. "'M sorry."
"You should be," she huffed. "Saying I'm just here to fuck your friends. Can't believe it's what you think of me."
"It's not; that's not what I was sayin'," he defended, but when he looked down at her with a frown, she refused to meet his eyes, gaze fixed firmly on her own feet. "C'mon, sweetheart. You can't really think that."
"You promise?" He couldn't help his pang of guilt when she looked up at him with a wide-eyed, trusting stare, on the brink of tears. He offered her a soft smile, squeezing her side lightly.
"Promise," he confirmed. "Now let's get you out of here; you're wasted. I'll call a cab."
She groaned. "No, don't. I don't wanna get in a car alone with a stranger when I'm this smashed. That's not safe."
Thomas chuckled lightly at her words, raising a surprised eyebrow. "How's your judgment better when you've had a little too much to drink?"
"Shut up," she grumbled, and though she tried to shove him by the shoulder, he wasn't all too dissuaded. "Are Maria and Angelica still here? Think they'd wanna carpool? They seem nice. I could probably convince them."
"I'm sure you could, but they're both long gone."
"So who's still here?" she whined, "I'm too tired to walk home. I don't wanna."
"Y'know, I do have a car," he pointed out. She scowled.
"Yeah, congrats."
"And I can drive you," he added, looking down at her expectantly. She shifted in his grasp, letting out a noise of reluctance.
"No, Thomas, you can't," she said, her voice watery. "You're really, really sweet for offering, and I really appreciate it, but no, I can't ask you to do that when you aren't already leaving anyway. But that's thoughtful. Thank you."
"Seriously? I'm offerin'." Worry was clear in his eyes as she dragged herself forward, clinging to his shoulders. "You don't have too many options, now."
"No, no, it's fine." Her words were slow, the syllables dragging on as she buried herself further in his embrace. "I'm gonna find someone. What about your friend Monroe? Isn't he gonna have to drive himself outta here?"
"'S there somethin' wrong?" She could hear his frown in his voice. "Or d'you just really not want me to drive you that badly?"
"Everything's okay, I'm fine." She let out a short huff as he slowed to a halt, still propping her up. "I do want you to drive me, but I also don't wanna ask you to drive me after you've been avoiding me all night, but I wanna hang out with you. And I know the feeling isn't mutual, and I don't want you to feel like you've gotta drive me. 'M sorry."
"Hey, what're you sorry for?" He nudged her softly. "I haven't been avoidin' you. I dunno what makes you think so."
"It's okay; don't worry. I get it," she assured him, and her smile looked slightly dazed as she rested a hand on his chest. "It's weird that your roommate invited your TA who you fucked to the house party you threw. I know you're just trying to respect my boundaries. And you're such a nice person for it. Honestly. Seriously."
"I'm bein' serious, Y/N," he defended, despite her sappy tone. "'M not avoidin' you."
"You don't gotta defend yourself! It's okay." She gave him an understanding smile, but as her bottom lip pushed out, it was closer to a pout. "I'm lucky you're so careful and sweet about everything that's happened. With us sleeping together, and all."
"I got the implication," he said, a trace of a laugh in his voice.
"Okay, well, I wasn't sure," she defended. He chuckled. "I'm just saying, I'm lucky it was you. It coulda been someone who wanted to exploit this weird dynamic. I'm not sure if you've realized, but you've got a lotta power here."
He furrowed his brow. "I'd never do somethin' like that."
"I know," she agreed softly, and the look in her watering eyes was doting.
She inhaled shakily when she broke his gaze, trying to continue to his living room, but again, when she proved to be a little less steady than she'd thought, her center of balance not quite where she expected, she let out a surprised squeak.
"Woah, there," Thomas laughed, catching her before she could fall any further. She hung desperately onto his arms. "Alright, let's go. Let me drive you home."
She hummed reluctantly. "This is exploitation. You know I'm too tired to be pretending I don't want you to since it'd be so much more trouble for you, and I know you're too nice to insist after I tell you not to. How am I supposed to say no?"
"You ever consider that you aren't?"
Her huff was halfhearted, and she still wore a wide smile. "Alright, alright. You win. Bully."
He grinned. "Mmh, I'm really the worst."
___________________________
Getting her out of his apartment and down the stairwell to the garage was quite a process, but twenty minutes later, they were pulling out in his Bentley because of course he couldn't just drive a Subaru like the rest of us. They drove the first few minutes in a warm silence, Y/N still mildly addled with fatigue and vodka.
Thomas stole a glance at her to see her leaning her head back against the chair, her eyes shut, and her soft smile elicited his own. "You have an okay time tonight?"
She hummed, not opening her eyes. "Yeah. I really, really liked your friends. They were all so sweet. It was so nice of Lafayette looking out for me all night. He's nice."
She didn't see Thomas's lips quirk down. "Yeah. Lafayette's really somethin'."
She cracked a eye open to look at him; the tension was clear enough in his voice that even she couldn't miss it. "You okay?"
"Fine."
She frowned. "I know I didn't see you much tonight, but... you know I wasn't actually mad when you took Lafayette's weed, right?"
The question caught him off guard, less for the question itself than for what she was reading into the sudden hostility in his demeanor. "Seriously?"
"It was no big deal," she said softly, tapping her fingers on his car's central console. He laughed. "I know how good your intentions were. You're just... such a caring person." Her huff was quiet, and she put on a small pout. "You're too sweet sometimes, and I dunno what to do with it. Sorry if I made you feel like you weren't. You're such a good person, Thomas. I'm sorry."
Her voice broke with her final sentence, and she took a deep breath, sniffling and pursing her lips, and Thomas looked over, a concerned eyebrow raised. "Are you... tearin' up?" She didn't respond, only nodded, trying to hold down the tears building in her throat, and his gaze melted. "Aw, sweetheart. Hey, relax. It's ok."
His hand covered hers where it sat on the central console, squeezing it lightly, and she looked over at him with a sentimental smile. "'M not—" She inhaled shakily. "I'm not sad. I just really appreciate you. You're so nice. You're always worrying about making sure I'm safe. If you weren't around, I probably would've been abducted, like, probably twice by now."
"I'm not sure tryin' to make sure no one kills you is the height of altruism."
"Yes, it is," she insisted, threading her fingers into his. She didn't see his small smile. "You've called me definitely at least four Ubers by now, and this is the second time you've driven me home. And this gas isn't cheap."
He shook his head, amusement shining in his gaze. "Well I'm not gonna let you pay for your own Ubers. I know how tight money is when you're an undergrad."
She groaned. "Stop being so thoughtful. It's insufferable. You're just reminding me how obnoxious everyone else is 'cause you're always so fucking kind."
He stole another glance in her direction, noting how tired her smile looked, but her gaze was soft despite her facade of exasperation. "I dunno about that. You did think I was avoidin' you all night."
"Yeah, but you didn't wanna make things weird because of our weird history, and I get it! It's probably right. But..." She turned her head, still resting against the back of her seat, to watch him. "Thanks for not making it weird or just acting like I'm some kid who you don't wanna be around. I really liked meeting your friends. Thanks for introducing me." Her thumb brushed across the back of his hand, and her thoughtful gaze fell to where their fingers were interlinked. "I was dreading tonight."
"Oh, yeah?" He gave her a concerned look, and the corners of her lips twitched up. Her warm gaze was a comfort.
"Mhm. I didn't wanna come and I wouldn't if Dolley wasn't so into James, but she really likes him so much," Y/N said, her lazy words running together. "I even put on my good jeans for her 'cause she was worried about being overdressed. Love her so much. But I thought this night was gonna be such a big sacrifice and, like, hours of misery."
"I'm glad it wasn't," Thomas said, and her smile broadened as she met his soft eyes.
"Yeah. Me too. Thanks for treating me like we're friends."
"Aren't we friends?" He raised a hesitant eyebrow at that, at the quiet notice he took of the bittersweet trace in her voice. Her eyes widened.
"I... are we?" She blinked hard, turning toward her door as he took a left turn, as she was afraid her eyes were again beginning to water. "I didn't think you thought we were. I didn't think you wanted to be friends, since you're always keeping me at arm's length, I guess."
"I'm drivin' you home from my apartment at one in the morning," he said matter-of-factly. "I dunno if there's still any degree of removal, there."
"You didn't want me at your apartment in the first place, and you don't have to defend yourself." Her gaze caught on a passing streetlight. "I just didn't think you wanted to be friends."
"I'd like to think we're friends," he said quietly, and she squeezed his hand lightly. He didn't comment on how absurd it was that she thought this was how he treated all of his acquaintances.
"Me too." She sniffed again, reaching up to rub at the corner of her left eye.
"And I'm sorry if I've been holdin' you at arm's length," he added. "I'm just tryin' to keep the fact that we slept together the first night we met from havin' some kinda outsized importance. Don't wanna make you uncomfortable."
"You're so respectful. Fuck. Thanks, Thomas," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut to hold any tears at bay. "Thanks for everything."
He smiled. "'S been my pleasure."
___________________________
When they arrived at her building, he offered to walk her up to her apartment, and she didn't put up even a moment of resistance. She knew just as well as he did that trying to make it all the way up to her floor alone would be a losing battle.
They'd been waiting for the elevator for about a minute when she began monologuing an overly-emotional apology about when she went to his office to yell at him, which turned into one about how she wasn't even halfway through the papers he needed to be graded by Monday, which turned into one about how she was exploiting him as a Google Translate substitute for her French class. (She swore she wasn't using him as a means to an end.)
Her eyes were teary when they reached her floor, and he led her down the hall with an arm around her waist as she continued to gripe about how unreasonably kind he was.
"But I'm serious, Thomas, if you weren't so fucking nice all the time, you wouldn't be so easy to exploit, and I wouldn't feel so guilty," she whined, "I can't believe it sometimes."
"Sorry?" he said hesitantly, fighting back a smile at her indignance. She scoffed.
"Why're you apologizing?" she asked, plastering on a pout. "I'm calling you nice, asshole."
He had to laugh, then. "Sure you are, sweetheart."
"I am!" she huffed, folding her arms and looking up at him with wide, watering eyes. "I swear."
"Alright, alright, I believe you," he assured her, and as she sighed, he could feel her shoulders relax against him. He looked back up, then, gaze scanning the walls of the apartment building. "Now, remind me which one of these rooms is yours?"
"566." She sniffled, still watching him as he walked her down the hall.
"Okay. Only a little further."
"Thanks for walking me up, Thomas," Y/N said, the ghost of a yawn stifled in her voice. She reached up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "You're so sweet."
"Y'know, I think you might've mentioned," he replied, tone playful, and she groaned, dropping her head against his side.
"Shut up," she grumbled. "I'm being serious. Don't appreciate your sarcasm."
"I'm only playin', alright?" He squeezed her side as he tugged her along, and she wore a soft, reluctant smile. "Now, are you gonna be okay tonight? There anything you need before I go? Are you gonna need anything for your hangover? I can pick up some ibuprofen."
"No, no, that's okay," she said, her eyes drifting shut. She was too sleepy to do anything but trust that he wasn't about to lead her astray. "Just wanna sleep. That's all."
"Okay." She nearly tripped when his footsteps stopped rather abruptly, her grip tightening around his arm to hold herself up. "Looks like we're here."
"Shit. Right. Gimme a minute to get the door." She withdrew her apartment key from her purse with little trouble, but unlocking the door was a different story. She put a hand out against the wall as she stepped out of Thomas's embrace, fumbling with the lock above the doorknob, and she'd scratched three different parts of the wood finish when Thomas's hand ghosted down her forearm.
"Wanna let me help you with that?"
She smiled when she turned to see him watching her with a brow raised. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."
She passed off the key, and his other hand fell to the small of her back as he gently pulled her aside. "There you go." He turned the knob about a minute later, handing her back the key, his gaze soft. "G'night, sweetheart."
Though she dropped her key into her purse without protesting, before she went in, she looped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. "Night. I'll see you," she murmured, but when she pulled away, she still hung off of his shoulders, wearing a demure smile. "Unless you wanna come in?"
His eyebrows shot up. "Y/N, you’d better not be serious." When no sign surfaced that she may have been joking, he sighed, but his hands didn't leave where they'd dropped to on her waist. "You know I can't. Even if I weren't your professor, you're well past drunk. Go to bed."
"Well, I won't tell," she sang, blinking innocently. "Who's it hurting?"
"You're not lucid right now, sweetheart. You don't know what you're saying."
"Uh-uh. I know exactly what I'm saying." She dragged a finger down his chest, biting her lip. "You know it'd be fun. We had a nice night last time."
"Y/N," he sighed, and with how hopeful she sounded, guilt was building in his chest. She frowned.
"Fine. I'll just call Lafayette," she scowled, and vindication flashed in her eyes at the way Thomas tensed at the words. "I'm sure he'd be down for a good time."
"Stop. Don't talk to me like this," he warned, voice hard, and she raised her eyebrows.
"What's the problem, professor? I thought you liked Lafayette. Aren't you two friends?" she asked, drawing out the syllables of her words. She wore a small, egoistic smile. "Maybe it isn't too late for me to give him a call."
"No. Don’t you dare." He raised his eyebrows at her and nodded toward the interior of her apartment. “Get some sleep.”
"I dunno about that," she drawled, reaching up to brush her hand across his stubble. He grabbed her wrist before she could, eyes ablaze. "I think I might go get some sleep with someone else. Thanks for the ride, though."
"Y/N," he scowled, taking a step forward, backing her through her doorway. Her eyes flashed with vindication. "Stop talking about fucking Lafayette. You know what a bad idea this is."
"Aw, why? Is someone getting a little jealous?" she mocked him, pulling him toward her. He gritted his teeth. "It was obvious earlier; you weren't fooling anyone. Did you think I wasn't gonna notice?"
“Let's not do this. This isn’t a game you wanna play." His stare was conflicted as she grinned, flipping on her living room light and taking a step further back into her apartment. He took a reluctant step forward with her with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I'm not jealous."
"Then what's your problem with me calling up Lafayette? You don't own me," she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“That’s about enough,” he said, his voice low as he fixed her with a warning look. She shrugged.
"I can make my own decisions, Thomas. I can do whatever I want."
"Not right now, you can't.” His grip tightened on her waist, and the look in his eyes was sharp, frustrated. She grinned, pressing up against him.
"Then what are you gonna do about it, hm?" she teased, weaving a hand into his hair. He sucked in a deep breath, self-control waning. Her gaze shone with satisfaction. "How do you plan to stop me?"
A moment passed in anticipatory silence, tension heavy in the charged atmosphere, and Y/N firmly believed she'd won. When he pulled her closer, her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned in toward him; there was a skip, but she only wrapped her arms more tightly around the back of his neck, tilted her face up toward his. She didn't quite get what she wanted.
His lips brushed against the crown of her forehead, and she furrowed her brow, re-opening her eyes. Despite her small frown, he reached up, taking her face in one hand, and brushed a hair out of her face as he eyed her with a gentle gaze. He took a small step back, wearing a remorseful, weak smile. "Goodnight, sweetheart. Get some rest for me, now."
Before she could protest, try to pull him back in, he was out the door, swinging it shut behind him.
She was too stunned to move for another minute.
That night, the apartment felt empty.
170 notes · View notes
honsoolie · 4 years ago
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don’t rush | 03
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pairing: Yoongi/reader
genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it
warnings: mentions of alcohol (everyone is sober!!), explicit smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), min yoongi has a dirty mouth 
words: 6k 
rating: +18
summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.
a/n: ahhh i hope you’re as excited for this chapter as i am ;) start from the beginning? 
You never realized how easy it was for your life to fall into a smooth common time rhythm, now that the semester was in full swing. School, music, dodging your friends (usually to go practice), and now, Yoongi. You find yourself slipping into the gentlest of cadences. Spring is coming, the flowers are blooming. There’s a new spring in your step, from the warming weather or the constant daily dose of Yoongi, you’re not sure. 
You go to classes, pay your dues in the library. Write the papers that need to be written. You throw yourself into practice. At times you wake up in that half-awake morning sleep, fingers twitching with whatever phrase you were perfecting the previous night. The same cancelled plans, weekend meetups whenever you can manage. 
You study with Yoongi. Or at least, that’s the pretense that you operate under when you go to his apartment. By now, you’re there more often than not. (To be fair, it’s much a much better place to study than your room, what with the in-and-out bustle of your roommate. And, well, it’s Yoongi. ) 
On the nights that aren’t as busy, and you’re not filled with the swelling dread that the impending Bach Festival brings, you practice that Brahms piece with Yoongi in the dingy practice rooms. Much to Yoongi’s dismay, you had started your meetings (lovingly) calling “weekly jam sessions.” Although they were neither weekly nor really jam sessions. Most of the time that you spent in the practice room with him was either laughing at whatever joke he had just cracked, or thumbing through your score, trying to pick up where you had left off. The time you had left until your performance at the Bach Festival was quickly decreasing and you never really found the time to practice the Brahms to properly do it justice, but that wasn’t the point. 
The point, like Yoongi had said, was to get you to find the joy in the music again. Secondary to that was hopefully finding the bravery and confidence to play in front of other people, and Yoongi’s plan was slowly working. After all, you can’t really worry about your intonation at the same time that you’re groaning at Yoongi’s shitty dad jokes. If you didn’t know better, these jam sessions really serve to be a shoddy excuse for what should really be called a date. 
When Yoongi invites you to meet him in the practice rooms, to practice this romantic piece of music, and offers to get dinner with you afterward, how could you call it anything but a date? 
Especially when he insisted on holding your hands if he deemed it too cold. He would shake his head in mock disdain, chiding you in a way that felt nothing like criticism. 
Where are your gloves, y/n?  
Or God forbid that Yoongi decided that your evening attire wasn’t suitable for the still-frigid weather, and you ended up going through the whole night wearing one of his jackets. Every time you turned your head or moved ever so slightly, you would again be surrounded by the fresh-laundry-cute-piano-major smell of his clothing, and it would take every muscle in your body to not swoon right then and there. 
~
Your first violin teacher had always said to you, “You can’t hide from the metronome. The metronome always tells you the truth.” As a child, it wasn’t bow maneuvers or intonation or memorizing pieces that escaped you. It was keeping the simple rhythm, keeping track of the steady downbeat. You could have been learning the most straightforward pieces, but would get tripped up at simple syncopation patterns or start rushing at the wrong places. And that was something that plagued you into your life as a music student. It was difficult to corral your tempo problem, sometimes derailing orchestra rehearsals or struggling with the same sections over and over during your own practice. All because you would stray away from the gentle tick of the metronome. 
Yoongi, however, kept the time for you. Like the metronome, he didn’t lie to you. He kept you grounded. 
When your thoughts would begin to race and run miles ahead of your heart, Yoongi would look into your eyes with that reverent tenderness and tell you it was going to be okay. Then he would pull that wry smile of his and everything melted away. Sometimes, words weren’t necessary and rather, he would pull you into a tight hug that left both of you breathless.
He wasn’t always easy on you. If he knew you were acting unreasonably fretful, he would tell you the truth. Didn’t feel the need to dress it up in gentle words or beat around the bush. Then he would tell you a sex joke that he probably got from a joke book and then the weight on your shoulders was lifted, albeit briefly. Sometimes the tough love approach works. (Although, at times, it seemed like that this whole stage fright ordeal was the only thing that he could be direct with you about.) 
The pressure was mounting, advancing on all sides. Dr. Kim gave you more-than-firm reminders in the form of tight-lipped smiles every lesson, circling dates and deadlines on the lesson notes marked with your name. Dr. Yang greeted you in the hallways, jesting, “Can’t wait to hear the Bach!” Your university email inbox was flooded with music department newsletter updates, promoting the upcoming festival in every. Single. Email. Staring at the “OPEN TO THE PUBLIC” notice printed at the bottom of the e-flyer probably wasn’t doing anything to help you perfect the Baroque interpretation on Bach’s partita, but there it was, looking back at you. Taunting you. 
There was only so much time until your fated performance, only so many hours left to practice, only so many days left until finals week descended upon your campus. Two weeks, if you wanted to get technical about it. 
And Yoongi somehow made it all bearable. 
Like all things in life, adjusting to Yoongi took time. He set new baselines for you. New thresholds on what was friendly banter, ever toeing the carefully drawn line. 
Ever since that pivotal study date (You know, the one where Yoongi held you down and told you he was going to make you beg? Kind of hard to forget.), the signs inexplicably became more and more mixed. Or you were just living in a constant state of denial. 
Because all of the things that he said and did with you, none of them could be considered flirting. You didn’t want to give into that belief. It felt too self-indulgent, too good to be true. It felt like setting yourself up for failure. 
Because if you did, well, that would warrant action. If you decided what he said with you was flirting or something-more-than-just friends, then you would have to do something about that. 
You would either have to take his carefully extended invitation, or reject him. Neither of which you were willing to do. The space that the two of you had come to exist in became precious to you, even if you remained only as friends. Ever before you ever spoke with him, you had spent a great deal of time admiring from afar. Pining is all you’ve known, at least when it comes to Min Yoongi. Wouldn’t it be easier to take the path of least resistance? 
And of course, what if you were wrong? Reading all the signs wrong, falling again into the trap of wishful thinking. Things in real life are never like reading off a score. There are no dynamic or expression markings telling you how to broach this kind of conversation. 
By now, the unwillingness to speak on the matter is irrefrangible. Like an ancient tradition, some unspoken agreement to ignore the elephant in the room. 
Yoongi wanted you, you wanted Yoongi. At least, that’s what you wanted to think. That’s what all the signs pointed to. But it was too late to mention it now. You and Yoongi let it drag on, well past midterms and trundling on in the slow march toward finals. And the Bach Festival. 
Unless, of course, this was a total non-issue. Maybe this was how he talked to all your friends. Maybe this was just how Yoongi was nice. Maybe he just has a totally dirty sense of humor… that clicked perfectly with yours. 
Here’s the catch. Interpretation isn’t always all that simple, especially with Bach. You have to get historical context, you need to know enough about esoteric Germany to know how to interpret the markings on Bach’s scores. It’s not always so easy, but that makes things all the worse. 
It’s all the maybes and what-ifs that plague you when you’re restless at night and the only thing you can think about is Yoongi. Maybe he’s into you, maybe he’s not. What if he’s actually repulsed by you and he just wants a study partner? What if this whole study buddy thing is just a ploy to get you to spend time with him, because what if he’s actually just as into you as you are into him? Maybe he just wants to be friends, but what if he doesn’t? 
What if Yoongi is actually an alien, and he’s trying to decipher how to act like a human being, and that’s why he acts like that? 
What if. 
You would have better luck divining your future with Yoongi in your coffee dregs rather than lay awake, staring at the mildewing ceiling tiles. 
~
You (8:18pm): want to work on the Brahms tonight 
You (8:19pm): we can get boba if it’ll sweeten the deal 
 Yoongi (8:23pm): sure
Yoongi (8:24pm): I was going to go out later tonight so we can practice for like an hour
 You (8:26pm): oh 
 Yoongi (8:26pm): I’ll make it up to you though, i promise. Boba on me? 
Yoongi (8:27pm): you should come out with me, namjoon will be there 
Yoongi (8:27pm): taehyung too 
Yoongi (8:27pm): we literally all know each other, let’s gooooo pls 
 You (8:28pm): i wish but it’s literally thursday dude 
You (8:29pm): have a drink in my name :) 
 Yoongi (8:30pm): will do 
Yoongi (8:31pm): meet me in 115B in twenty minutes, what boba do you want? 
So Yoongi does have a sense of fashion outside of sweatpants and beanies after all. White button-up, but only a few buttons are actually done up. Sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Dark jeans, and god, that belt . The need to cry or get on your knees right then and there is overwhelming. 
Wow, everything works for him. Every time you think you’ve done the impossible task of not having a visceral reaction in his presence, he does something like this. You never know what specific flavor of Yoongi will appear before you at any given time. 
Yoongi, aloof college student. Yoongi, dark and mysterious man who buys you a drink in a hazy bar. Yoongi, the concert pianist with hands of steel and a heart of gold. Yoongi, the love of your life—no. No, we are not going there. 
It’s a crush, it’s a harmless crush, nobody said anything about love. 
You try to get your head out of the mushy-falling-in-love gutter by doing what you do best. Flirting with him, teasing him, poking fun at him for the littlest things. “You clean up well, don’t you.” You all but sneer, incongruous with the heat spreading across your face. “You’re late.” 
“Well, I was taking care of an important errand. Look,” He shakes your iced drink in front of him. 
You take a sip, refreshing despite the still-frigid weather. “Fuck, we’re so bad. We shouldn’t be eating in here.” 
“We’re not technically eating, are we?” 
“You’re right.” He never, ever fails to make you laugh. Or everything he says is funny. “Let’s get started, I don’t want you to be late,” you say, fiddling with the music stand. 
“You should cooooome out, y/n. Don’t be so boring for once.” 
You gasp. “I’ll pretend like that didn’t hurt. And I won’t know anybody there, and I’m not even dressed to go out, and it’s Thursday .” You gesture to your evening loungewear, your barren face. 
“Okay, but just this once. You’ll have to come out with me next time.” It sounds like a promise, or maybe a demand, when he says it. 
Come out with me next time. Again, you wonder if he knows the implication behind his words, if he really ever means what he says. 
You pull your music out of your backpack, the plastic sleeve of your binder crackling underneath your touch. It’s a familiar sound. You set a pencil on your music stand, like you’ve done thousands of times before. 
“Let’s get started, Yoongi.” He takes a seat at the piano bench, smiling contentedly. You smile back at him, and for a still moment, everything feels just right. 
~
Yoongi isn’t usually late to class. He usually comes in a couple minutes early, headphones on and deaf to the warble of students around him. You know this, because you’ve always made it a point to show up especially early to the classes you share, just so you can watch him scroll through his phone for the few precious minutes before class starts. 
Today, he stumbles in right after Dr. Won, wearing last night’s clothes and a bucket hat undoubtedly covering a messy bedhead. He’s missing his usual coffee, and the bags under his eyes belie the smile he gives you. Yoongi says nothing as he sinks into the seat beside you, cradling his head in his arms. You sense the opportunity to tease him, and pull your phone into your lap. 
You (10:06am): it looks like someone had a rough night 
 Yoongi (10:08am): you should mind your own business and pay attention 
Yoongi (10:09am): i don’t look that bad do i :( 
 You (10:10am): just tired that’s all 
You (10:11am): still drunk or something? 
 Yoongi (10:11am): nope painfully sober 
Yoongi (10:11am): let’s get day drunk after this >:) 
 You (10:13am): no <3 
Maybe his questionable inebriation lowered his inhibitions, which might explain his knee nudging yours underneath the desk. Looks like he didn’t forget your previous conversation. It’s not an accident; accidental knees are nowhere as insistent as Yoongi is being now. You nudge your knee back, as if to say, two can play at that game.  
Yoongi (10:14am): still touch starved? ;)
 You (10:16am): fuck off >:(  
Your theory is confirmed when he inches his hand closer and closer to you, finally resting his hand on your knee. His thumb draws languid circles on the inner part of your thigh, insistent but gentle, playful but...  possessive. It’s a lot to take in at once. 
However, you don’t need alcohol to stoop down to his level. You’ll never let him get the upper hand on you without a fight, no matter how much the butterflies in your stomach would like to contest that. 
You take his hand and place it back in his own lap, trying your best to stay discreet. You keep your eyes trained on Dr. Won, but your gaze still slides back to Yoongi. When you look at him, he’s looking at you in contempt. “Is that a challenge,” his eyes seem to ask.
Slowly, tentatively, you slide your hand from the desk into your lap. It doesn’t get Yoongi’s attention at first, until you gently greet his hand with yours. He’s still looking at you with those same taunting eyes. 
Sometimes you can’t stand how cocky he is. And other times, like these, you love it. You just want to take him down a notch. Your journey underneath the table continues when your hand comes to rest on his thigh, trailing your fingertips along until you find the inner seam of his pants. He’s warm and solid under your touch. It feels overwhelmingly real, and you wonder if you have the guts to finish what you started. 
You try to keep a neutral face, like this isn’t affecting you at all, like you do this all the time with other cute piano performance majors. The smile breaks through your facade anyway. You bite the inside of your cheek red in an attempt to stop it, and you renew your efforts to continue taking notes. 
Your smile turns into a stifled gasp when Yoongi guides your hand higher up his thigh, his hand dwarfing yours. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the half-hardness between his legs, holding your hand in place.
 Blatantly, you realize, your actions have consequences. This is real. This, whatever this is, with Yoongi, is real. Neither of you can fake it anymore. 
The blushing starts up again, creeping down your neck. The heat spreads through the rest of your body, settling in the pit of your stomach, replacing the nervous knots that were there not an hour ago. This was most definitely not what you were expecting. Was fake-drunk Yoongi really going to take the flirty banter this far? You thought that was just part of being friends with Yoongi. Do all his friends get to touch his dick? 
You really should have thought this through more, but you’re going to finish what you started. 
You use the heel of your hand to trace along the length of his cock, dragging it slowly just to tease him for his contempt. You’re suddenly thankful that nobody can see what you’re doing from your angle in the classroom. He shifts into your touch, still not quite looking at you. Yoongi picks his pen up again, scrawling on the blank corner of your notebook. 
“I’m a horny drunk,” it reads. You roll your eyes. Everything is a joke to him, you posit. 
You continue your gentle teasing. Eventually, Yoongi rocking back into your touch. Not once do you tear your eyes off the Powerpoint slides projected across the room. This is the only time in your life you’ve ever cared so much about the beautiful simplicity of Bach’s fugue subjects. 
But in the end, no matter how hard you try, you can only focus on one thing at once. And the task at hand (literally) was to tease Min Yoongi to full hardness. You were fairly successful. 
Yoongi picks his pen up again. “Just so you know,” he writes, “ I’m about to blow a load.” He places your hand back in your lap, patting it for good measure. You don’t miss the way that his hand trembles. 
“I’m a girl with a mission,” You retort, as petulant as you can be with a pen. “Let me finish the job.”  
“Continue your mission after class.”  
Oh. Friends don’t do this with each other. 
You scribble over your correspondence with your pen. 
~
You wish you could take the extra time to explore the inside of Yoongi’s apartment, despite how many times you’ve been here already. Maybe there would be something new to decipher, now that you were here under different pretenses. You catch scant glimpses of the familiar quaint kitchenette and the neatly organized rack of shoes, but you’re now preoccupied with Yoongi’s hands on your waist, tugging your shirt out of where it was tucked into your pants. You see the same guitar on the same wire stand and the same MacBook sitting idle, but your view is obscured after Yoongi presses you up against the door. 
It’s a feat of mental strength to stay upright, and he hasn’t even done anything yet. 
~
After class, Yoongi had shot up from his seat, hand in his pocket, likely readjusting himself. His eyes were glassy. He had looked so, so wrecked. 
“Come with me,” He said, voice strained. To the untrained ear it might have sounded like a voice heavy with sleep, or maybe too many drinks too late at night. 
But to you it sounded like a voice rough with lust, or (a lot of) wanting. All for you. 
 He had grabbed you by the hand and led you back to his apartment, as nonchalant as you can be about this kind of thing. It was an unspoken truth what you two were about to do, like this was the natural order of things. Like you were just fulfilling the inevitable. Like you were always meant to fall into his arms like this. It almost makes sense. 
He had grabbed your hand and led you along the looping hallways out onto the sunny walkway like he had done this hundreds of times before, like the both of you have been touching each other like this for months—rather than just hinting and skirting around the innuendoes, the half-worn glances, the knowing smiles. 
The walk back to his apartment was silent and full of untapped sexual tension coming to a head. Even if the hammering in your chest allowed you to speak, you wouldn’t have. It passed by in a blur, the denial giving you tunnel vision. 
Yoongi is holding your hands in his, like this is a much more intimate moment than it should be. “You still don’t have gloves,” He murmurs against your lips, but he doesn’t close the gap. It sounds more like a promise rather than a statement. 
He’s warming you up from the inside out, erasing the cold from the walk here. Spring was still slowly waking up. The sun takes time to melt the snow. 
He rolls his hips against yours, more insistent than he was in class. When he does, you can feel precisely how wanting he is. All the contemptuousness is gone from his eyes. Whatever replaces it isn’t something you can give a name to.
He can’t—Yoongi can’t hold your hands like that and look solemnly into your eyes like that. Yoongi can’t look at you with that kind of reverence, because that was what made you fall into this deep dark pit of confusing feelings in the first place. But you don’t have time to consider it because he’s rolling his hips against yours again. 
“Look,” he gasps, “Look at what you did to me.” When you look at him again, his pupils are blown wide, all fucked out and desperate and wanting. If it was physically possible, he might be more desperate than you, from the look of it. 
“I thought you said you were a horny drunk.” You tease, and to steer the conversation away from the way he had been looking at you. That’s a conversation that you’re not ready for—neither of you are ready for. 
 After these weeks of back and forth, you’re finally going to make him say what he’s really been thinking all along. You’re done being the cat chasing after the mouse.
The Yoongi in front of you is a far cry from the one before, teasing you for not having been laid in months, showing you just how dirty his mouth could get. 
“No, this is all you…” He breaks off into a breathy moan, muffled by your hair. His hips are still slotted against yours, and your ability to ignore that is diminishing by the second. 
Who knew that the stoic Min Yoongi could ever produce such a whimper? 
“I have to get to class, can’t be late…” You tease, trailing a finger down his chest, but you’ve already made up your mind with what you’re going to do with him. 
You’re going to stay. 
You can worry about the loose ends later. 
“Please stay, just a little longer, please.” He guides you over to the couch, clutching your hand like a damn lifeline. When he straddles your hips, you’re reminded of the last time he held you down, when you were studying together. That memory seems faint now. It’s funny how context can change everything. 
“You won’t be late, I promise,” He says, voice coarse. “And I’m going to fucking show you what this mouth can do.” 
“And you have to promise not to ever drink that much again, what the fuck.” You chastise, your breath hitching at his promise, but you don’t really care. Not if it gets Yoongi like this. Your hand comes to rest on the waistband of his jeans. 
“I didn’t have that much, I was just up late… thinking about you.” He starts to unbutton the collar to your shirt, slotting his leg between yours. Yoongi traces the cup of your bra with a daintiness that reminds you of the way he runs his hands over the keys of the piano before he reels up to play. Knowing that these hands that create his beautiful music are the same hands that are currently on your body produces a shiver that sparks down your spine. 
You try not to put too much stock into what he’s saying, he’s always been all talk. It’s just words to get you in the mood, set the scene. Yoongi has always been all bark and no bite, teasing you with empty, joking promises. That was his whole gimmick, if you could call it that. 
He knows you like dirty talk (you made that abundantly clear from that last conversation), you’re a warm and eager body in front of him, you can do the math yourself. There’s no need to read between the lines for this one. 
The gasp you make when he starts mouthing down your neck is involuntary, as is the way that you thread your fingers through his hair when he moves his way down your chest. 
Yoongi’s hair is uncharacteristically soft, like silk, or the little sigh of satisfaction he makes when he finds the sweet spot he’s looking for. You briefly consider asking him about his haircare routine when he closes his mouth over your nipple. Hot, wet, and everything you needed to forget about the long afternoon ahead of you. 
“Please, please.” He pleads again. “Please stay. I’ll make it worth your while.” 
“Okay,” You gasp, “Okay, I’ll stay.” 
“Good, because I’ll make you eat your fucking words,” Yoongi says, gritting his teeth. He’s fully unbuttoned your shirt now, and you are all but bare to him, save for your bra. “What were you thinking? Touching me like that? In class? What if someone saw? But you don’t care about that, right?” 
He doesn’t wait for your answer, however, instead opting to kiss bruises into your collarbones, adding to the faded violin hickey on the left side of your neck.
You are a deer in headlights, frozen in place, completely pliant underneath his touch. Even if you weren’t pinned underneath him with his hands and legs, then you are underneath his piercing gaze. You know he can probably see more than just your shocked, open-mouthed expression. He can probably see your longing written all over your face, or maybe the special kind of glee that comes from wish fulfillment. You might as well confess your feelings for him now, because your expression has all but told him the truth. 
“Did you forget what I said to you the other day? I’m supposed to be the one teasing you until you’re fucking desperate to come, not the other way around.” You shake your head no, lost for words. Who’s going to tell him you’re already desperate to come, sans teasing? 
He starts to push your pants past your thighs, kissing at the skin that’s now bare—and you squirm, whine, whimper into his touch, just to show him how much you want this. Want him. 
Somehow, it feels better like this, with the way he’s left your clothes half on, half off. The collar of your shirt is undone. There is a trail of four socks leading to the couch. It… it…  almost suggests that Yoongi is in such a rush to have you that he can’t be bothered to undress you properly. Like he needs you that much. You ignore the following twinge in your heart. 
All you can focus on is the fine bead of sweat on his hairline as he sways on top of you, ghosting a hand over your panties. When you finally feel him nudging against your clit with insistent, slow pressure, you make a strangled gasp. 
Faintly, you hear yourself cry out into the filtered indoor air, just above the sound of the heater humming. It doesn’t sound like your voice, but you’re too far gone to care or investigate further. All you can focus on is the increasingly hopeless need between your legs, and the person that’s currently about to attend to that. You’ve never heard yourself make noises like these before, let alone meet someone who’s able to make you so desperate. 
Your desperation makes itself tangible in the way that you writhe against him, straining against the warm weight of his body, too much and never enough. It feels like your body is making up for lost time, getting revenge for all the almost-touches, almost-confessions. All those quiet moments in the still night where you should have kissed Yoongi but didn’t, never closing the gap. 
Even now, when you’re right up against his body, it doesn’t feel like enough. Should it scare you that it doesn’t like enough, and you’re almost certain it never will be?
He laughs, almost coldly. It sounds nothing like the morning that you met him. This is a different kind of cold, a different kind of cruelty. “You sound like a little bitch in heat. What, you can’t be a little patient?” He checks the time on his watch, because of course, Yoongi is the kind of guy to wear an analog watch. “We still have time before your next class.” 
At your silence, he softens. He takes his hands off of you, much to your dismay. “Is that—okay? Can I call you that?” You should be embarrassed at the enthusiasm in your nod, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care. 
Yoongi leans over you again, grinning. “Don’t worry, I like it. I like having you like this. All desperate and,” Yoongi drags a finger downward , “Wet.” 
“Fuck, don’t tease. Don’t-” You’re absolutely shameless now, but it doesn’t matter, as long as you can get some kind of relief. 
“Are you sure? Then it would be over so, so soon.” Yoongi returns to your clit, tracing light circles that only serve to incense you. “Can you even take it?” He pulls your panties askew, blowing gently on the exposed skin. You shiver, now realizing just how wet you are for him. 
“Yes, yes, please, I can, just give it to me–” His finger meets little resistance when he finally pushes a finger inside your needy cunt, immediately setting a punishing rhythm. 
“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He kisses the crook of your thigh, settling ever closer to you. “I told you I would get you to beg.” You can hear the smile in his voice. 
“Oh, shut up.” You cover your face in your hands, laughing despite yourself. “Not everything is a competition, you know.” 
He works you open with skill because, of course, Yoongi is good at this too. It’s not enough for fate to make him a diligent student, a talented pianist, and have a heart of motherfucking gold. No, he just has to be good in bed too. How are you supposed to resist falling for him? Was it ever worth the effort to try? 
“But it’s so much more fun like that. You know, I don’t appreciate this backtalk.” He presses deeper on that sweet spot inside of you, and you keen, eyes fluttering shut. “Seeing as I’m the one who’s going to make you come, and all.” All the light is gone from his voice now. 
“You’re going to be good for me, right?” Yoongi says, as if the answer could be anything other than a firm, enthusiastic yes. He tightens your grip on your hips, his blunt nails digging into the soft skin. 
“ Yeahyesyesyesyesanythingyouwant,” you whimper. You don’t even have to pretend like you want this dearly, as you’ve had to in the past with less doting partners. How long have you held your breath, waiting for something like this to happen?
“And I thought you were worried about being late? You didn’t get enough? Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure you get your fill.” His playful condescension sinks to the lowest parts of your stomach. 
“Yoongi,” You whine, “You’re going to kill me.” You attempt to draw your legs up in a belated attempt to preserve your modesty, but Yoongi yanks you further down the couch. 
“No, no, I’m not done with you yet.” Yoongi finally takes your panties off, inadvertently streaking your arousal down your thigh. He throws them off to the side. In doing so, you can see your arousal dripping down his wrist in the afternoon glow. 
“This, Yoongi says, with stars in his eyes, “Is payback.” 
The hot lick of his tongue feels nothing like revenge. 
Yoongi is still keeping you trapped in the same place, nowhere to go. You’re nowhere closer to a release than before. The initial thrill of his mouth on you is gone when you realize that he’s not evolving past the featherlight touches with his hands. You roll your hips against him, as if to to pout. 
“Please, Yoongi,” You gasp. 
“What? Please, what?” He smiles. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and you’re not sure whether to love or hate him for it. 
“You—you can’t—just leave someone like this.” You all but shove your pussy in his face, relentless in your pursuit of some kind of relief, no matter how small. But he won’t give it to you. The kitten licks he’s giving you aren’t enough. The uncharacteristically coquettish kisses he trails down the inside of your thighs, leaving gooseflesh in his wake, aren’t enough. You’re insatiable. 
“Like what? I think I like you more like this.” You know he’s reveling in this, much like how he’s likely reveled in your desperation in the past weeks. Nothing he’s doing is providing relief to the need, the ache. Everything he does only serves to stoke the fire brewing in the pit of your stomach. 
“Yoongi, I need you.” Maybe if you keep hinting at what you want, he’ll give it to you. Because you’re not about to fucking beg for him. Again. 
“I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He drives his point home by dragging his fingers against the upper wall of your pussy. Your answering moan should be specific enough. 
“Come on…” You whimper, thighs trembling. You’re not sure if it’s from the pleasure or the lack of it. 
“Come on… use your words.” Yoongi stills his hand. 
“Just—ugh— touch me. ” you urge, whinier than you intend, exasperated and desperate. You need this release. You need it so much your vision is blurring. “Make me come,” your voice smaller, “Use your mouth, your hand, I don’t care anymore.” You throw your arm over your eyes in defeat. 
Yoongi has all the puzzle pieces laid out in front of him. He’s seen your wanting expression, now that you’ve all but admitted that you want him to give you an orgasm. How could he not see your puppy love for what it is? 
He chuckles, light as bells. “Was that so hard. And for the record, next time, you’re gonna come on my cock.” And just like that, it’s like a dam has broken. No more denial, no more teasing, no more waiting, and Yoongi is touching you in full now. 
You try not to look at him with his head buried between his legs. One, the pleasure is so immense that you can hardly stop your legs from trembling, let alone stop your head from lolling back against the couch cushion. 
Two, you’re scared. Of him looking at you, catching his eye. Of him seeing your face from below. Scared to face the truth, just a little bit. Min Yoongi, the concert pianist that you have been eyeing all semester, is servicing you with his mouth. It even sounds ridiculous in your head. 
Three, you’re not really even sure if this is happening. It is entirely plausible that you’re going to wake up tangled in your bedsheets in the dead of night and realize it was another night of mistaken belief. 
Next time. Maybe. What if. 
The few glimpses you do catch are of the dark hair caught between your fingers, handholds tethering you to the couch, to him. You can also see the indents his fingers make in your thighs, he’s holding you in place. His knuckles are white with the effort. 
“I’m-I’m gonna come. Yoongi, fuck, I’m—” When you finally crest over the edge, you all but levitate off the couch, every muscle in your body straining under the force of your orgasm. 
The sound he makes sounds almost like “you’re mine,” but you ignore that for now. You sit up, blinking in the sunlight. It might be nearly noon now, but you don’t care. Your afternoon lecture is low on your list of priorities right now. You smile wolfishly. “Your turn.” 
There’s no way to pretend anymore, no more mental gymnastics, no more what-ifs, buts, or maybes. You might as well dive in headfirst. 
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