#i was supposed to be ALL OVER THAT SHIT. instead i have the worst professor i’ve ever had and i can’t even make myself WANT to do this work

[prehistorictriforce]

i am going to drop out of college i swear to FUCKIGJGN god… i’ll do it… don’t test me… however the fuck many more years of this shit NO!! i can’t do it bros!!!

[cookie-crumblr]

Lucky

Shy M!Reader x F!Yandere OC

Part 2~

Her Info: 🪓

Part 1

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!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: M! Reader, Reader has a penis, Reader referred to as he/him, psychological horror/trauma, reader is on meds for night terrors, blood, bdsm, collar use, petnames for reader(good boy, bad boy), pet play, bondage, non con(reader goes along with it but doesn’t actually consent), Lucy has SH scars/wounds, overstim, multiple orgasms scissors ✂️ masochist reader

Anything in red reader isn’t aware of.

Lucy passes you a folded pink piece of paper, her eyes locked onto the board as the professor is teaching.

You unfold it: ty <3

is all it says along with a ton of hearts doodled all over the stationary.

Your face feels hot. She sucked your dick and is now thanking you for it… What do you even think?

What are you supposed to think? or even feel?

~

You get up at the end of class to leave, but Lucy grabs the hem of your shirt. She looks zoned out, so you say, “Lucy?” to try and get her attention.

“Ope! sorry! um, C-can I c-come over, Y/N?”

You don’t see why not, you have nothing left to do today… “Sure!” you hate to fantasize already… But if she did that in public, imagine what she’ll do later.

The walk to your place is quick and easy, but Lucy stops you, her stomach growling loudly.

“You wanna get some food first? I don’t really have anything at home…” You tell her sheepishly.

She nods excitedly and grabs your hand. You don’t pull it away, and she tugs you along after her.

She’s grinning as she leads you, her hips swaying back and forth… You can’t help but stare just at her. Her skirt swishing over her—

Don’t keep staring at her ass.

DONT STARE AT HER ASS.

…

You’re staring at her ass.

You can’t help it, it’s mesmerizing. Her long orange hair is down right to her tailbone, adding to the allure. She has long white socks on that squish her thick thighs just below her skirt, the rims of the socks are frilly.

Lucy leads you to a cute tea cafe, the awning is pink and white, the inside is filled with regal looking chairs, the fancy ones with the carved wood along the backs. The upholstery is all pale pink velvet, and the tables instead of cloths have doilies and each table has a candle warmer for teapots.

She orders food from every section of the menu and you worry she’ll make you pay… Your heart pounds and you’re sweating bullets, there’s no way you can afford this much food! the worst part: the menu didn’t even have prices!

“I-um, I can pay, i-if that’s okay!” She looks away blushing. You remember that she’s a trust fund baby, and sigh in relief.

“Oh thank gods, Lucy, you just scared the shit outta me! hah!” You laugh.

“Really!?” Her eyes light up as if that’s a good thing, she looks excited.

All you can do is laugh a little.

When her food arrives all the platters take up the entire table and they have to bring a stand for the rest.

She eats really adorably, every bite she takes, she looks more and more excited, and each one is complemented by a cute “mm!” It’s infectious, and she shares her favorites, holding out her fork for you to take bites.

“Here! try this!” She holds her arm out to you, a powder sugar and fruit covered french toast bite. “And this one!” the food is still in your mouth when she hands you another bite of something, her eyes alight with joy, as you try to finish fast and accept the new bite.

She’s loving how obedient you’re being…

You have plenty of dishes to choose from, and she seems to hone in on the things you favor over the others, making sure you get the biggest portion of the things you like.

Once your both stuffed with possibly the best literal feast that you’ve had in months, she asks the waite staff for a bag to carry everything in. You never saw the receipt, and you’re happy not to.

“Do you normally do this kinda thing? with all the food?”

“Nope! hehe!” She giggles.

~

You fill your previously empty fridge with enough leftovers to eat for DAYS. and with real cafe food! not cheap ramen!! She made sure you’d be eating decently, rather than your typical cheap ramen.

“Hey Lu—” the second you turn away from the fridge she’s on you.

Lips crashing upon you, her body’s hot against yours. She’s grabbing at your hands and trying to pin them behind you. You aren’t fighting her. You feel her knee pressing against your bulge.

She bites your lip not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to send a pang of lovely pleasure through your bloodstream and into your growing member. You sigh into her mouth which she happily swallows up with a little moan.

She lets go of your hands but you keep them folded behind you, before you hear the sound of a jingling metal buckle.

She slips something thick around your neck and with a *clink* She pulls away, holding a leash that’s attached to your neck.

“Lu-Lucy! What is this??” You lift up a heavy, and very old looking ornate iron lock that’s connected to your collar.

You go to the bathroom and she follows you like an owner walking their dog. In the mirror you see that it’s a thick black leather, with a shiny rose gold buckle. “Lucy! Do you have the key?? G-Give it to me!” Your voice cracks, you didn’t agree to this!

“No can do~ Now be a good boy and get on the bed.”

You gulp as your dick twitches at her words… “Wh-what!?”

“I said: on the bed. Now, Y/N.”

You don’t know why, but you obey her, sitting on the edge of your mattress nervously.

“Good boy~,” she smiles and pats your head.

“Lucy-”

“Puppies don’t talk.”

“Wha-! Lucy I’m not—!!”

She yanks the leash wrapping the leather around and around her hand, and drags you back off the bed. The back of your neck burns as she does.

“Bad Boy.”

You swallow painfully and rub at your neck.

“Are you ready to be a good boy again now?”

You nod.

Lucy ties your leash around the leg of your bed, where you are, it’s taught so your only option is to get back on the bed, or stay on the wood floor. She pulls out a large pair of scissors, “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you new clothes Y/N!” her voice is chipper and it makes you more nervous.

She starts cutting off your clothes slowly, you feel the cool metal occasionally grazing you, and it makes you shudder.

You aren’t sure anymore how you got to this point.

Soon you’re in nothing but your underwear and she makes you get back on the bed. She retrieves another leather strip from her bag and returns to you, using it to tie your wrists together above your head.

“Such a good boy! I’m so proud of you!! And good boys get rewarded!” giddily she climbs over you on the bed, scissors back in hand.

*sniiiiiip*

Slowly, the last article of clothing is removed from you, and you’re left completely bare to her. It’s a little bit humiliating like this.

Her eyes are dark, not at all what you’re used to, yeah you’ve seen it before, but you never thought she’d be like this secretly!? But… Are you into it? Your dick is certainly saying you are. Wait… Didn’t you just read or watch something just like this?

Now that your cock is freed and cold, she gets over you and puts her hot, clothed pussy just against your head, you groan from the sudden shift in temperature, oh my gods, your dick wants to get inside and warm up so badly. It twitches under her. You’re eyes had closed and without you paying attention you hear the shears open again…

There’s no clothes left to cut—

“L-Lucy!?” The twin blades sit at the base of your cock, the metal presses up against your underside. “Lucy, please—”

“Be a good boy, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Lucy this isn’t funny!”

She presses the metal harder against you, indenting your sensitive skin. You struggle against the binds, but she tied them really tight!

“I’ll give you your reward still for being such a good boy today, and prove to you that you enjoy this.”

“Wha-” You start as she slips her panties out of the way and lowers herself, just your cock head entering her and that’s it. She holds herself there and struggles to breathe for a second, before shuddering over you.

You feel her pussy contracting trying to milk something that’s not even fully inside her yet. The scissors are still at your base otherwise you might’ve bucked up into her, but you remain laying still. She starts rotating her hips, teasing just your head longer. You whine and try to pull your wrists free, but they burn against the tightly wrapped leather.

She shimmies down a little at a time, gasping as she does, and once your fully inside her, she lifts her skirt for you to see her puffy blushing lips spread, and flat against your body. Your cock is swallowed up inside of her, it’s enough to— Wait, Her thighs, they’re covered in raised scars and pink bandages…

“Lucy…” You want to ask, or hug her… Or something. She reaches behind her and squeezes the scissors slightly pinching your cock’s skin, “Lucy!!” You gasp and this time, harshly buck up into her, knocking her around and she lets the scissors fall to the floor.

“Ahh!!” Her voice is strained, and your dick throbs inside her.

You take a breath, all the relief that instantly floods your body is so dizzying.

Her insides pulse around you, you know she’s cumming again, and you can’t take the sensation and cum yourself, thrusting your hips up as high as you can, “Ahhhhh!!!” She yells out as your load shoots deep inside of her.

“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!! thankyouthankyouthankuouuuu!!!!” she moves her hips around as her insides keep milking you, driving you mad!

Your struggling against your bindings again whining and writhing as she continues to torture you. “Lucy!! Lucy!!” You beg but to her it sounds like a chant of praise.

She goes harder, lifting and dropping herself onto you. your body feels tired now. She leans back holding herself up with your legs and at this angle you can actually see the base of your somehow still hard cock stretching her open, she’s whimpering and you can feel that she’s about to come again.

The sweat slicked to your skin finally allows you to slip free from the strap around your wrist, your hands are burning and bruised, you sit up as far as the leash allows and grab onto her.

You push her down onto you and force yourself up as hard as you can. You cum together, and spend a while just catching your breath.

[mybelde]

10: downpour ♤

17 January, Monday 4.25pm

Location: Teyvat University's Foyer

Nothing ever goes as planned. Therefore people tell you to expect the unexpected. But how were you supposed to know that day it was going to rain? Even the weather forecast didn't expect it. What made things worst was that you forgot your dorm key and now you couldn't even go back to your dorm if you wanted to. You therefore resorted to texting in your gc for help

17 January, Monday, 4.47pm

You sat at your campus' foyer as you waited for Aether to arrive. You watched the rain pouring down everywhere. To see the water droplets crash down everywhere seemed so fascinating to you. Even though it was late afternoon, the sky was so gloomy. It almost seemed like it was in sad mood. The opposite to what you were feeling currently.

Your heart was racing and you waited for Aether with anticipation.

You didn't know why you were so worked up. Was it because it was your first time seeing Aether after two weeks? Probably.

You genuinely enjoyed his company that day and you wanted to hangout with him more. But you didn't know what was stopping you from asking him again. Did you feel shy with him? Did he enjoy your company? You hoped he did. Otherwise your goal to be friends with him was going to be impossible to achieve.

You soon heard the sound of someone running towards you. You turned around and spotted a familiar blond holding a large umbrella.

"Sorry if you had to wait a long time for me to arrive yn, I came as quick as I could."

You glanced over his features, he looked like he was out of breath and was gasping for air.

"It's alright Aether, I didn't wait for long. And you shouldn't have ran all the way here when it's raining, what if you slipped and got hurt??? Your sister would probably be worried sick!!"

You heard him give a small chuckle as a response and you sighed.

"Let's just wait here for a while until you catch your breath. After all, you only came here just because Lumine told you and I feel bad."

"I came here because it was you yn."

You felt your breath hitch and you looked at him in confusion.

"W-well i heard from lumine that no one was able to pick you up... and i thought you wouldn't have liked to stay here and wait until 6 for my sister or Hu Tao to arrive when you could be doing other things. I mean I wouldn't want to be stuck in this downpour alone as well, hahah.."

Wow, he was so thoughtful.

You gave him a small smile and replied, "Thanks Aether, I really appreciate you coming here to pick me up."

"Don't mention it! So..." He held his hand out towards you.

"Shall we get going?"

"We shall."

.

.

The walk in the rain was a quiet one, despite the rain crashing down everywhere. Both you and Aether were walking to his and Lumine's house in silence. The siblings opted to live in their own house instead of the campus dorms since their house was quite near to the college.

The both of you were sharing an umbrella together and were heading towards your destination. Though the umbrella was big enough to fit you both, you can't help but fluster over the fact that you were standing so close to him. Sure, you were literally on him when he saved you from the cyclist that day but that was different! It was in the heat of the moment. This time you were actually walking next to him and trying to not get wet in the rain.

"So... how was your day?" He asked. Probably trying to break the silence between you guys.

"Hmm... I guess it was alright. But Professor Varka was definitely picking on me today. He kept on asking me questions during lecture today and I couldn't even get out of it. And I think Ms Lisa is starting to get annoyed of me and Scara's antics lol, plus..."

While you were going on and on about your day, you didn't notice how big Aether's smile was getting as he stared at you.

"Oh shit, my bad. I didn't mean to talk so much haha.."

"No its fine, your voice is so soothing to hear if I'm being honest with you."

Oh?

Your heart started beating faster and you quickly became flustered.

Damn, I didn't know he was such a smooth talker.

"O-oh thanks... I didn't think my voice was actually that soothing to hear.. well what about you? How did your day go??"

Nice recovery yn.

"Me? It was pretty alright as well. I just finished my first journal entry today about Fontaine's latest invention."

"Ooo can I read it? I wanna know how you write your journal entries. I'm used to reading Lumine's entries, but I'm sure you have a different writing style than hers."

"Yeah sure! I can let you read some of my journals, oh and it looks like we finally arrived."

You looked up to see the familiar house you've been to many times. You used to visit Lumine at her house a lot since highschool, but whenever you were around, Aether seemed to be nowhere in sight. But now, it was just the two of you, in the house, alone.

And before you could do anything else, you had to get something off your chest first.

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Finally done with this chapter 💀

Took me a while to figure out what to write, hopefully it came out okay

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[honestlywtfisgoingon]

When You Weren’t Looking — pt. 3/?

PROFESSOR!OBI-WAN x READER

PART 2

an au where you and you literature professor realize you both have things to learn about love, and yourselves, outside of class. (as we all know, this can only be done through a big scoop of angst and a smutty cherry on top)

summary: sober-wan is gone

warnings: language, alcohol, anakin being the best and the worst at the same time (he’s gonna be v present in the series so idk if that’s a warning to u or not lol) satine

a/n: if y/n didn’t have a crush on obi then she would def have one on padme. im also entertaining the idea of dragging out the time before the smut and then throwing that shit in every chapter lmao. btw this is mostly dialogue and idk how to feel abt that yet

word count: 2,479

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin put his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and shook it to gain his attention.

“hmm?” he stopped scanning for places to sit and turned his head towards Anakin instead. Anakin grabbed both of his shoulders this time, turning him around fully so that Obi-Wan could see what he was already looking at.

“Isn’t she in your fourth-period class? Yeah, she is! The one you’re giving extra credit to,”

Anakin pointed at you standing behind the bar. You were serving drinks to an annoyed-looking woman and the rowdy group a couple of chairs over. Your head leaned back as you laughed at something they did. They weren’t disrespectful or anything, just having a bit of fun. They had come to celebrate the end of the work week by getting drinks at the bar, just as Obi-Wan and Anakin had come to do, except they were not aware of the small detail that was you being the bartender.

Obi-Wan clicked his tongue as he slapped Anakin's hand down. He was too late though, as you saw them standing in the doorway from across the room.

“Shit, sorry,” Anakin said sheepishly.

You didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered, a little surprised maybe, but the same could not be said of Obi-Wan. You waved, too far away for him to notice the blush on your cheeks. He returned it awkwardly as Anakin shouted your name, just loud enough to make it over the music.

He took a step forward, but paused when he noticed Obi-Wan still rigid next to him. He gave him a quizzical look.

“It’s just that it’s weird to see her in this environment I suppose,” Obi-Wan answered to his expression.

“You see her outside of class all the time,” Anakin was becoming both increasingly concerned and intrigued by his mentor’s behavior.

“True, but this is different. She’s not a student out here, she’s just…”

“a person?” Anakin raised an eyebrow.

“well…”

“Glad you figured that one out,” Anakin clapped a hand on his shoulder. Obi-Wan glared at Anakin. knowing him for years through Qui-Gonn had made becoming his TA more like becoming a brother. The two of them looked back at you, now focused on serving drinks to a new couple that had just sat down at the bar. Anakin looked back and forth between you and Obi-Wan.

“You like her, don’t you?” Anakin looked at Obi-Wan with a suspicious eye.

“Don’t be ridiculous Anakin,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“You do!” he exclaimed. Anakin knew Obi-Wan well enough to where he could spot the cracks in his serious facade. He had known that Obi-Wan was romantically capable, but that was only by accident. They were having a conversation one day and somehow he made a comment that alluded to the fact that he had once been in a relationship a very long time ago, and that it had deeply affected him. Anakin was able to get her name but not much else out of him, as Obi-Wan insisted it was in the past. He had been hoping for some time now that his mentor would find someone again, and he’d be damned before he wasn’t his wingman.

“Oh admit it. You have a thing for her!”

“This conversation ends now,” Obi-Wan said firmly.

“I know that Satine—“

“Ends. Now.” Obi-Wan glared severely.

Anakin raised his hands in surrender and started towards the bar again. They took the seats that opened up now that the annoyed lady had gotten up, presumably because she had had her fill of those next to her.

“Hi! I have to say it’s a bit weird to see both of you here. I guess I forget sometimes that teachers are still people and do…people things,” you had worded your thoughts rather awkwardly but chose to laugh at the fact rather than get hung up on it.

Obi-Wan relaxed at your statement. So you felt like it was a bit odd too, you just weren’t nearly as dramatic about it. Anakin subtly elbowed him, and he inwardly chastised himself while at the same time appreciating your own brand of confidence, laughing off an introduction that you could have otherwise been embarrassed about.

“Yeah we feel the same about you and the other students too,” Anakin chuckled.

“I’ve got to say it was a bit of a shock,” Obi-Wan chimed in, your eyes flicking to him immediately.

“I hope that's not a bad thing,” you smirked.

“No no, more like a pleasant surprise,” he was quick to reassure you, his nerves now smoothed considerably.

“I’m more than happy to pleasantly surprise, which is why” you turned behind you and then spun back around facing them, this time with two drinks in your hand, “I made these for you guys,”

“oh?” your professor lifted his brow.

“I uh, it’s just fun when a customer lets me surprise them with a drink based on their preferences. I took the liberty of guessing those too,”

you’re adorable— no sweet— nice?

Obi-Wan searched for an adjective that he felt less alarmed when using to describe someone in his professional world.

You pushed Obi-Wan’s drink towards him with a wink, saying, “don’t worry it’s on me.” You didn’t have to do the same with Anakin as he plucked his drink straight from your hand when you had offered. It was a dark drink in a martini glass, a blackberry with a toothpick running through it at the bottom of the glass. He stirred the stick a bit before he lifted the glass and took a sip.

“What is this? I like it a lot. What made you pick this one out for me?”

“It’s a black martini, pretty straightforward name, but it’s got gin, lime, pineapple juice, and charcoal but you can't taste it. It’s a little…moody,” you dropped your voice and leaned in for a feigned whisper “but it’s secretly fruity,” Anakin’s eyes went wide.

“No,” you laughed “Not in that way, but it doesn’t taste as dark as it looks,”

Anakin chuckled, “I’ll take it.”

You had turned to Obi-Wan now. “Sorry Anakin, but I’m more concerned about the Professors reaction,”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Obi-Wan leaned in with curiosity

“Well, one of you has to be the harsher critic,”

“Hey, I do grade you pretty well,”

“Did I not mention that last essay a while ago?”

“Ah, you have indeed, little one,” he conceded as he lifted his glass to his lips, a yellow drink with a lemon peel curled around the rim. His eyes widened in happy surprise. “mmm, it’s delicious” his tongue darted out to savor the taste.

“but…” he started, your forming smile put on pause, “The final score is pending until you tell me what it means”

“Well it’s called,” blushed and looked down a little in embarrassment. you didn’t think this through. “it’s called between the sheets” Anakin huffed air out of his nose in amusement as Obi-Wan choked on his second sip, which was unfortunately much larger than the last, “Well it’s a classic,” you quickly continued, “with a story behind it, something I feel like you’d appreciate in a drink, but most Importantly it’s got a little sass,” You all laughed.

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair

“She’s not wrong,” Anakin said.

“Yeah, Professor. You’ve got more spice than you think” well thank the maker you didn’t see him as old and boring.

Anakin had his mouth open to make another comment when he suddenly stopped and broke into a smile. You and Obi-Wan waited for him to explain but when he didn’t, you both leaned next to him to follow his line of sight, landing on Ms. Amidala walking in.

“Really now, is this a school meeting I didn’t know about?” Obi-Wan cried. He didn’t have anything against Ms. Amidala, but if things kept going in this direction, he was not going to be able to enjoy his drink…or you… if Professor Windu and the rest of the staff somehow got the same idea to show up.

“Actually, I invited her,” Anakin said in a rather confident tone, no doubt prepping for when she walked over.

“What?” Obi-Wan said sharply.

“Well we were just talking today and she said she’d like to talk again some other time so I convinced her to come here tonight,”

“Now who has a thing??”

It was your turn to say, “What?” Obi-Wan made a small incoherent stuttering sort of noise.

“Just be mindful Anakin—“

“Hello!” Ms. Amidala greeted all of you as she pulled up a chair. You’d seen your school counselor many times in the halls and she was always immaculately dressed, but you’d never realized how beautiful she was until now.

“I don't think I've met you before” she turned towards you with such a pure and genuine smile that you couldn’t help but return it. She really was something, Anakin.

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you Ms. Amidala. I usually see you walking around the campus. I'm a student at the university actually,”

“We’re not on campus right now, so please, call me Padmé,”

“Padmé then,”

“Padmé,” Anakin said next to her, a tinge of awe in his voice.

“Ani” she greeted him, “Thanks for asking me to come,”

“Of course,” Anakin said. Maker, could he drool any more?

Obi-Wan started to cough abruptly, and somehow that cough came out sounding an awful lot like the word “mindfulness”.

“Are you ok Obi-Wan?” Padme looked at him with concern.

“Oh, quite,” he dabbed the corners of his lips with one of the coaster napkins. Your eyes met as you smiled in amusement over his attempt at warning Anakin, which went completely over his head of course. Anakin was going to make a fool of himself regardless, but you, being the kind soul that you were, figured you could at least try to make it so he could blame the alcohol for anything too stupid.

This led to your sudden suggestion of shots, whipping out a handle of tequila in one hand, vodka in the other.

“It’s not a school night.” you said.

“On yes let’s!” Padmé said excitedly. She looked the picture of elegance with her swept-up hair and delicate blouse, and yet she was the one eagerly motioning for a little glass.

“Yeah!” Anakin agreed.

“Shit,” Obi-Wan whispered under his breath.

little one what have you done.

Anakin just laughed at Obi-Wan’s disdain.

“This is where the fun begins.”

—

Obi-Wan was stubborn, but as soon as you said the word, he was downing the alcohol, impressively smoothly one might add.

“Yeah! Let’s go gramps,” Anakin patted Obi-Wan on the back.

You never seen Obi-Wan as old, and the thought of it felt a little off to you.

“Just because Professor Kenobi’s the only one of you who can manage to grow a beard doesn’t mean he’s old,” you quipped.

“You make a fair point,” Padmé said and Anakin frowned.

“Thank you y/n,”

“Of course, Professor,”

You didn’t realize how much time had passed as you alternated between serving other customers and conversing with… friends? They were supposed to be your superiors but in this environment, you suddenly felt so close to them. Admittedly, it did help that Anakin was a little bit of a child at times, making you feel like you were on equal terms with him especially, you two being the youngest of the four.

It was now midnight and Padmé had sobered up from her buzz. She had only taken one shot and you realized she encouraged the shots mostly just for the boys and sat back to enjoy her own innocent amusement. She was funny.

At the same time, Anakin was revealing that he was very much a passionate drunk. He was telling stories of how he wanted to be a pilot at one point, and Padmé was thoroughly entertained. It was sweet how he made her laugh and she never had to doubt that she had his full attention.

You’d never seen Obi-Wan like this before, his eyes were a little droopy but his smile was huge. He had made himself comfortable by laying his arm on the bar, slightly propping himself up with his hand as he leaned lowly over the countertop. He was witty as ever, but as Anakin and Padmé shifted into their own little world, you noticed your Professor had been watching you walk back and forth behind the bar, wiping down the counter and getting ready to close down the bar.

“How are you feeling?” you asked him.

“Quite lovely,”

“I’d hope so, Professor. Tequila will do that to you.”

“Obi-Wan, please. Ms. Amidala had a point, and we’re both adults out here are we not?”

“Alright then, Obi-Wan,”

“I like how it sounds better when you say it,”

Was he…flirting? outright?

As much as you enjoyed it, he was drunk and you didn’t want to say anything foolish that he would remember you saying when he sobered up, but you’d be lying if you weren’t gonna take the compliment.

“Thank you. Although I think you should get some sleep now,”

“No,” he sat up and looked very adamant with a slight frown. He looked like a little boy who had been denied candy.

“Alright alright,” you turned to Padmé to whisper “I think he’s ready to go home now,”

“We are of one mind then,” she smiled. “I’m going to take Anakin home as well, I don't trust him to do it alone. it was wonderful to meet you,”

“I never expected to have this much fun—

“with teachers?”

“well, yeah I guess,”

She smiled then told both of them to stand up and they followed her out the door, but Obi-Wan only made it halfway there before he turned around, jogging back to you.

“I’d just like to say, I’m very glad I gave you a shitty grade,”

“what?” you said in surprise at his confession. You liked drunk Obi-Wan.

“No, it’s just that, if I hadn't, I wouldn't get to see you after my classes, and I wouldn't have realized how wonderful you are,” his voice was sincere and smooth. He had meant it.

“You’re right, I am wonderful,” you shrugged jokingly.

“Oh thank the maker you’re aware,” he said relieved and in all seriousness.

“I was joking, but I just want to say that I would've taken that grade any day if it meant spending time with you”

“I’ll see you next week darling,” he said as he kissed your hand. His eyes were low and your heart rate was high. You felt a dizziness that was becoming all too common around him.

He turned away too soon for your liking, and you watched him leave with Padmé and Anakin. You hadn’t even had a single drink and yet you felt so warm. After you closed up, you were definitely going to have one if you were going to digest what had just happened.

PART 4

[sarcasticsoup]

was curious what the Marauders were and.

huh.

honestly I've never read or even SEEN HP so idk what's going on

**massive harry potter spoilers ahead**

hello! sorry this took me so long i went to answer you and then completely forgot to post it. also i may over/under explain things, idk how much of the series you know so sorry about that.

also this is really long, theres a tldr at the end if you want

basically in the books theyre mainly only mentioned through Snape's eyes (and snape is a racist terrorist who created torture spells - dont listen to snape stans they havent read the books) so the marauders are presented as "bullies" that used to hex people for fun.

ill admit, james potter (harrys dad) wasnt a great guy when he was younger and did take it out on snape a bit, but we're only really given the worst bits, and obviously snapes memory will have exaggerated it a bit.

the marauders were james potter, sirius black (harrys godfather), remus lupin (harrys 3rd year defence against the dark arts professor) and peter pettigrew (a traitor prick).

Voldemort (aka Tom Riddle) leads the Death Eaters, a terrorist group based around blood supremacy (hating wizards that have non-magical/muggle family members, especially parents, and arent 'pureblood' wizards), and the marauders and their friends joined the original Order of the Phoenix, lead by Dumbledore (hogwarts headmaster) against the death eaters in the first Wizarding War. Snape was a death eater, but later joined the Order as a spy for Dumbledore.

Regulus Black, Sirius' younger brother, gave up his life to help take down Voldemort, by stealing one of his horcruxes (an item that contained part of voldemorts soul, keeping him immortal) and as a fandom, we generally bloody love reg.

**this is where the spoilers start**

Peter Pettigrew, who was Wormtail in the Marauders due to his animagus (animal you can turn in to) being a rat, was part of the Order but also secretly was working as a Death Eater spy for Voldemort. As a fandom, we generally hate the bastard and wish he died sooner.

There was a prophecy made about Voldemorts death, that seemed like it was about James' son Harry. so James, Harry, and harrys mum Lily went into hiding to protect themselves.

(its worth mentioning that Lily was muggleborn - her parents werent magic - and snape had ended their 'friendship' while they were attending hogwarts by joining the death eaters, terrorising other muggleborns and then calling lily a slur. he claimed that he loved her and its supposed to be his turning point that he reveals he was secretly good bc he loved lily, but he didnt he was creepily obsessed with her. again, dont listen to the Snape stans)

lily and james made pettigrew their secret keeper, meaning peter was the only person who could tell people where they were, and peter told voldemort

voldy then came to their house, killed james and then asked lily to move out of his way (Snape had made him promise not to kill her, snape didnt give a fuck about james or harry though). lily didnt move, and sacrificed herself to protect her son. this act meant that when voldy tried to kill harry, the spell backfired, killing voldy instead of harry, and accidentally created another horcrux inside of harry. harry had a piece of voldemorts soul inside of him.

anyways harry goes to live with lily's sister and her family, and theyre incredibly abusive, and then the first book starts when harry is 11 and gets accepted into hogwarts, finding out that he's a wizard and all of the horrid shit that happened to his parents. snape hates him because harry looks exactly like james did and reminds him of lily.

sorry this was so long

tldr; we mainly see the marauders through the eyes of the terrorist group that they fought, so they look like 'bullies' but actually snape was a prick. the fandom is composed of people who know this, and most of the canon isnt relevant to us.

thanks for giving me the opportunity to write this, i enjoyed explaining it far too much :)

[xrosegorex]

𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 '𝐄𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐊𝐈𝐃 || chapter two (previous)

Note: This chapter contains descriptions of self-harm scars. If this is potentially triggering to you, please don’t read this! Stay safe <3

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ɢʀᴜᴇꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴏ ᴡᴇ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ; ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʟᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴜᴄᴋᴇʀ ᴘᴜɴᴄʜ (𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 - 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘺)

"They're awful," Sebek said the next day during lunch.

"Who?" Silver asked, blinking to stay awake.

"My roommate! Alexandria!"

"How exactly are they awful?" Lilia asked with a tilt of his head.

"They're messy, they completely disregard rules, and they're unnecessarily violent." Sebek winced, thinking back to their outburst in class. "Someone said something to them in class today and they lost their mind! Professor Trein even had to restrain them with magic. They're lucky they've not been expelled!"

"I see," Lilia said thoughtfully. He and Silver shared a look. "Have they gotten detention?"

"No! No consequences except for being sent to the guidance counselor. Can you believe it?"

He could. There was obviously something going on, maybe something to do with why they ended up in Twisted Wonderland, and the staff must know. Why else would the staff be so lenient?

Sebek jerked his head over to the entrance of the cafeteria. "There they are."

Lilia frowned in their direction. Alex was running out of the cafeteria, away from Noelle, who appeared to be scolding them. "I'll be back," he said to his group. Without leaving any time for Sebek to protest, Lilia teleported closer to Noelle and Alex. 

Noelle was scolding them; "You have to control yourself. I know it's hard for you-"

"What's that supposed to mean?

"Your situation; I know that you feel-"

"You don't know jack shit about what I'm feeling right now at all. So stop trying to help me!"

"But-"

"Just stop!" Alex slammed their lunch tray against the wall, its contents spilling onto the floor. The sound reverberated through the empty hall.

Noelle reached to grab their hand.  "Alex, honey-" 

"No!" They shoved the girl backwards, causing her to stumble into the wall.

"Alex, you can't just attack what you don't like, especially when we're trying to help you!"

"I don't need help! Leave me alone!"

"Stop pushing me away! Your mother might have treated you like garbage, but I promise I won't, so talk to me."

"Don't you talk about my mom!" Without even blinking, Alex leapt at Noelle and sloppily punched her in the nose.

That's when Lilia decided to step in, hooking his arms under Alex's so they couldn't land any more blows. They kicked blindly. "No! Stop!" Frustrated tears spilled down their flushed cheeks.

"Alex?" Noelle said gently. Her nose was bleeding.

Alex took a shuddering breath and went limp. The hall was completely silent.

"...Alex?" Noelle's voice was just above a whisper. They looked up at her, lip pouting and mascara running. They said nothing.

"Are you both alright?" Lilia asked. He hesitated to release Alex, lest they try to run.

Noelle nodded. "I am, thank you." She held her magic pen up to her nose and the blood evaporated.

He glanced down at Alex. "And you?"

They glared at him. Up close, he could see the dark bags under their eyes and a fading bruise on their jaw. Their sleeves had ridden up from their struggling, revealing multiple old scars. Most were horizontal, scattered across their forearm and the back of their arm, but the worst one was vertical, starting at the bottom of their palm and ending at their antecubital. It looked like it had been recently stitched.

Once they noticed Lilia staring, they made an angry noise and wiggled out of his grasp. 

He glanced at Noelle, but she didn't seem surprised. Did she know?

This was urgent. Though there were no fresh cuts, something caused them to do that. He felt a pang in his chest. Perhaps instead of waiting for Alex to come to him, Lilia needed to come to Alex. 

A moment of silence passed. "Control your temper, young one," he finally said. "It can and will, and most likely already has, gotten you in trouble."

"You can't tell me what to do." Alex's voice was low and scratchy from the yelling.

"You know," Lilia said, "your roommate and your friend's roommate both train under me as knights. Isn't that a funny coincidence?"

They frowned. "Not really?"

"We all sit together at lunch, along with the prince they're training to protect. You two should join us."

Noelle gasped. "Alex, this would be a great opportunity to make new friends! Plus, the prince of Briar Valley-" Noelle leaned close to Alex to whisper in their ear, but Lilia still heard it- "is kinda hot."

Alex scoffed. 

"Consider the option," Lilia said nonchalantly, turning and slowly walking back to the cafeteria.

Noelle gave Alex a pleading look. "Think about it. Maybe you can even learn a thing or two."

With a sigh, Alex shook their head. "Fine. Fucking whatever." They grabbed Noelle and stomped towards Lilia, who turned around with a smug grin.

"Alexandria, you made the right choice."

Sebek made a face as Lilia returned with his roommate and their friend. "Don't think just because Master Lilia invited you to sit with us, I'll be your friend. Because I won't."

Alex balled their first, and Lilia put his hand on their shoulder. "Calm."

They seethed.

Noelle, sensing the tension, clapped her hands. "Let's sit!" She pulled up a chair next to Silver. "Hello, roomie!"

He nodded, expressionless.

Next to him, Malleus tilted his head, eyes full of curiosity. "Lilia, who have you brought?"

"Hi!" Noelle beamed, holding her hand out to shake. "I'm Noelle!"

Confusion flashed across his face for a split second, quickly being replaced with amusement. "Hello, Noelle. You're very bold."

She giggled. "And over there is my bestie, Alex."

Alex wasn't paying attention. They sat rigid in their seat, eyes on the floor.

"They're a bit shy."

Sebek scoffed. "They're not shy. They shit-talked me all night."

Lilia frowned in disapproval. "Sebek, language!"

Sebek looked down, guilt evident in his eyes. "My apologies; they're a bad influence."

"I brought Alexandria here," Lilia announced to the group around the table, "so they could open up. They're not from around here, and they're having a hard time adjusting. I'd like you all to help them feel welcome."

Malleus tapped the table in front of Alex to gain their attention. "Where are you from?"

They made a noise, looking away.

"You look quite a bit like Lilia."

At that, Lilia gave Malleus a warning glance. The prince's eyes widened for a second before flickering over to Alex, then back at Lilia. Sebek watched the exchange, baffled.

"They're from… out of town," Lilia replied, voice strained.

"Yeah," Noelle agreed. "And they're not used to so many people all at once, so excuse them if they act out."

Alex slammed their hands on the table. "You're talking about me as if I'm not here."

"Hey." Noelle gave them a pointed look.

They wrung their hands and began nervously bouncing their leg. After a second, they glared. "Why are you all staring at me?"

Sebek glared, staring harder. It was obvious he wanted to piss them off even more. "Master Lilia, can't you see they're a danger to the young lord?" He gestured to Malleus. "They're far too unpredictable!"

Lilia blinked. "Sebek…"

"Forgive me if I'm out of line, but why do you want them here so badly?"

Clearing his throat, Lilia turned to Silver. "Silver, why don't you take Sebek for a walk? Calm him down a bit?"

The boy blinked, furrowing his brows a bit. Lilia quickly glanced at Alex, then back to Silver. He nodded in understanding. "Sebek."

Sebek opened and closed his mouth like a fish, blubbering as Silver pulled him away.

After the two were gone, the table was silent. Noelle giggled uncomfortably. 

Alex shook their head and reached into their pocket, pulled out a crumpled paper, and slammed it onto the table.

"What's that?" Lilia asked, craning his neck to see.

"Work."

It appeared to be a sheet of alchemy questions from Professor Crewel's class, half-written equations scrawled across it in messy handwriting. The corner of the paper was ripped.

"Need any help, dear?"

"No."

"Alright." 

After a second, Noelle struck up a conversation with Malleus. Lilia continued to watch Alex, brows furrowed. 

What happened after I left? he wondered. I knew Elizabeth wasn't very responsible, but… stars, what did she do to this child?

Alex was growing increasingly frustrated with the paper, he could tell. They had begun to doodle on the page, their face scrunched up.

"What are you drawing?"

They looked up, their ever-present frown fading just a bit. "It's me but if my hair was short. I'm thinking of cutting it." 

Lilia studied it. "It looks good. The drawing. I could help you cut your hair, if you'd like."

They stroked their hair, fingers tangling in the wild curls. "Maybe I won't, though."

They jumped as the empty chair next to them was pulled away, Sebek settling down into it. Silver sat next to him.

"Oh, you're back!" Lilia smiled. "Sebek? Have you calmed down?"

Sebek stared at the fae incredulously, mouth open. "M-master Lilia! Wh-?" 

Silver cut him off with a look.

"Y-yes. I have. I apologize for my accusations, Alexandria." The apology was stiff, forced.

They scowled. "I will smother you in your sleep if you talk to me again."

[bunky-writes]

World Past Six

Chapter 1:

”The Incident ”

The first thing I recall before ‘The Incident’ is waking up, it was a sweaty and awful awakening. It'd been the most alarming heatwave yet and no matter how many fans we used, it was like satan's foul breath had been blown all over Sweden.

Most nights were spent in bed or in front of the TV with fans desperately attempting to blast the heat away. And when you're young and poor, that's pretty much all there was.

I'd spent my entire life so far assuming I'd be taking over the world by the time I was 25. Little did I know the whole world would be destroyed by bombs.

Although I still have 6 years left so who knows? Maybe I will be the man who decides the fate of the human race. Or maybe I'll become the diplomat between humans and a reformed reptilian race after I spend a few years living with a whole bunch of aliens.

No matter what, I'd still better be having fun because I've managed to live longer than a lot could.

Since the day I was born, I didn't like school, most likely because I was an art kid, too busy writing stories in my head, envisioning paintings, and so forth.

By age 10 I'd already seen many conflicts on the news so I knew the effects of war and was terrified of another World War. I worked hard to get good grades, attended the right kind of classes, and pretty much did everything I could to prepare myself for the future and yet still stay happy. This was even though by age 17, the world was on the brink of a third World War. I always figured that if I didn't become a professor then I would become a writer. And if I didn't become a writer then I would find some other profession where I’d write, maybe a journalist. So I spent my last 2 years at school studying, but before I knew it my mom fell ill, deathly ill.

I had to quit school to look after her. I had no idea what was wrong. I didn’t dare ask mom or dad about the illness. I just knew that I was supposed to take care of her while my dad worked. It was a lonesome reality and I still remember being so frightened because I knew what was coming. The knock on the door eventually came and my father broke the news to us. I remember nothing but wails and a strong embrace. I felt like I was in the way of doing what I needed to do, I was in the way of the peace that was supposed to be coming.

The worst part is, I was angry, so angry, that my dad’s new wife had ’replaced’ my mom. I was angry that my mom just left me, all of us, alone to deal with this tragedy. How could she? I was always so convinced that my mom and I were in this together and now I was alone.

After a couple of weeks, I stopped crying, though. I don't know if it was because my dad never cried or that I was in the process of dealing with so much. I don't know. My stepmom was nice, too nice, I felt nauseous from the guilt for wishing she'd been the one to die instead of my mom.

I didn't blame my dad for what happened to my mom, but I did blame his lack of reaction. He was just numb, and I feared that his apathetic demeanor would shatter if I spoke up about mom. I felt enraged and abandoned.

I moved in with my dad and his new wife. He was working long hours and so he didn't spend a lot of time with me. The only time he did was when he took me out to eat or watch a movie. If I was at home alone he would tell me to go to school or work but he never seemed to care that much in reality. He was a indifferent man and I was intimidated by him.

I think he wanted me to become a better person than he was. He probably wanted me to have a higher career and become a doctor, or something, and to avoid being a secretary or a clerk or even a fast food employee. But then one day he and his wife left to visit Colorado for vacation, and I went with them. But while they went to explore the state, I stayed in the BnB they had rented and played video games all day. And that was when the shit hit the fan.

It happened quickly. All of a sudden my phone was going off, bombarded by notifications from local news sources. Bombs had been launched, from both USA and Russia. A war had begun. The one that everyone thought would never happen. The one that everyone had been hoping to avoid.

Suddenly I was in an Uber, heading toward the nearest bunker.

I had a choice to make. Would I save my family? My friends? Would I sit this one out and accept the consequences? Or would I fight for the future of my country? And I knew that only one of those options was going to save my life.

There was nothing left for me to do but flee. I wasn't a trained soldier, sure my dad had shown me survival tips and a few self-defense moves, but that wouldn't help anyone. I knew my dad and friends alike would've wanted me to live, there was no reason for me to go on a suicide mission.

I don't know why but there's a hole in my memory between me getting into an Uber and a scene from my nightmares unfolding. The car stopped, and the driver slumped over, bloody. I stumbled out of the car, the streets were dripping red. Mangled bodies, unidentifiable.

My face was probably pale as if I'd aged ten years overnight. There was fire everywhere, and people screaming. My skin was bloody, but I wasn’t the one hurt. My hands were covered in red. Every ten minutes or so I would flinch, startled by a sound. Seconds would go by before I would be able to calm myself to remember to breathe. My mind went blank. I didn't know how long I'd been stumbling around, but I knew I'd had to hide. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up from a bad dream. But the worst part was the burned doll, abandoned, in a broken stroller.

I was no longer the person I had been. Instead, I was a weak, vulnerable adolescent.

I was running down the street, my hands were trembling. A man in a military uniform screamed for people to get inside the bunker, he grasped my arm and threw me in. Suddenly the door closed with a bang, and then silence. But not for long, the ground shook with the power of an explosion. The door felt hot to the touch, practically burning.

I sat down on the floor, or more like toppled, and attempted to calm my nerves. I took deep breaths, over and over again. Eventually, I looked around at the people who were at the bunker’s entrance with me. I flinched when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw the face of a middle-aged man, his face bloody and scratched, his clothes torn. I jumped to my feet, my hands shaking.

"Stay calm, we're all going to get out of this," he said, patient and somewhat monotone.

He had a thick southern accent, it would not surprise me if he was a farmer, he certainly had the build for it. He was like a bear, broody and towering over me and he seemed grim and stoic. Although not dangerous, his hazel eyes seemed kind. His blonde hair slightly hid his graying strands, he was probably in his mid-40s.

Although he seemed kind enough, I couldn’t let my guard down yet, but I had to play along. I looked down at the ground and gave him a weak nod.

"I'm…-he coughed, clearly uncomfortable- sorry for what has happened to you."

I nodded again, then felt an ice-cold shiver down my spine.

"My dad... he, he didn't make it, did he?" I asked, putting my hand on my chest, already starting to feel the hidden wounds that would never fully heal.

He shook his head.

"I’m the only man old enough to be your dad here. Sorry, kid"

My sight darkened, disoriented, and lost. I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't see anything. Just a black mist filled my vision. I could taste bile in my mouth, ready to escape. I was drowning, everything was distant and blurry. My lungs crying out for air yet refused to take a breath if I moved the whole world would shatter, and I’d plunge into a black hole, to be forgotten. To no longer feel or think.

"Are you okay?"

I heard a feminine voice say behind me. But I didn’t dare to turn and see the pitiful look in their eyes.

I wanted to say something, scream that I was not fucking okay, anything to reveal that I wasn't fine. My last family member was no longer alive and there was likely not even a fucking body to recover. And the last thing I said was something as indifferent as a hummed ”goodbye”. My heart was screaming and wailing, but I couldn't find any strength. I couldn’t utter those words.

"Yeah," I whispered.

[xoxo-bunnydumpling]

There's not a lot I can do to surprise Eli anymore. We haven't been married very long but he's very adaptable and is used to all my bullshit by now. He may act surprised but he's not.

He is, however, a very heavy sleeper and this works to my advantage. If I can't surprise him, I can ambush him. He somehow didn't wake up when I opened the door FOUR times, nor did he wake up when Moses and I filled the room with stuff while tiptoeing and quietly giggling like two of the worst ninjas on earth. He didn't even really wake up when Moses, wanting to wake him up gently, got into bed with him and squeezed him. He just got squeezed back and trapped by a sleeping giraffe.

They laid there for a solid ten minutes before Eli was shaken awake by Moses laughing.

"Good morning. Ohhhh...good morning? You're here. Hi."

"Hi."

"Not at work?" Eli has rolled over and is trying to come back to Earth.

"Nah, fuck them kids."

The fact that he calls college students "kids", and chronologically has a right to do so, makes me wonder if we have to start acting our age soon. Not today, but soon.

I have my laptop open to friend Alex, and lay it on the bed so he can see her. She doesn't usually speak when she's on with him, just signs or types, but today she's talking for my benefit...and so Eli won't have to sign and also tell me what she said so early in the morning.

"Why are you naked? Did I interrupt?"

He looks under the blanket before telling her he's not naked, just shirtless, and she says "not like I haven't seen it but it's too early."

He does end up interpreting, a little slowly, when Alex and I gang up to tease him.

"Why have you seen him naked? Should you have been the first wife instead of Shelby?" He glares at me while he signs this to her and also when I point blank ask him if they ever got spicy. It's just a question...I'm not convinced I'd even be bothered if they were doing it now.

Then they tell me how they met. Well, he does, and peppers in her comments as they come...she's kind of given up talking. He's waking up and signing faster now and holy shit it's impressive that he can do this at all. She was in a lecture hall with him, first day of a class, sitting in the front to try to read the professor's lips but this guy was a pacer. She couldn't see his face most of the time. Eli was sitting behind her, watching her leaning really far forward and trying to keep up...he put two and two together and went to sit next to her to help her. There was supposed to have been an aide there to interpret for her but there wasn't, and she was too shy to stop the guy and tell him to quit moving, I'm the deaf student you've been told you have, for the love of god stand still and let me try to read your damn lips.

After that class he went with her to the student resource center and helped her ask where the hell her interpreter was. As it turned out, it was a student volunteer because at that time that's all they had as far as access was concerned, and that person had forgotten they had their own class to go to and obviously went to that instead. Then he went with her to her counselor and they weren't much of a help either aside from being sorry. She left thinking she'd have to transfer schools or something similarly major. Eli told her "give me your schedule, we'll figure this out."

So my husband...and yes I did cry when they told me this, went to his own counselor that day and switched all of the rest of his classes to evenings so he could go to Alex's with her during the day.

She's talking again.

"But...I've seen him naked because he also interpreted for me at parties, until he was too drunk. Not easy to read drunk lips."

I'm so glad that I met him. I should celebrate him daily, more than I do, but today seems a good day to pour my love into him and try my best to show him his continued existence is a miracle to me. That we met at all boggles my mind still and yes I know I'll never get so lucky again. He's the kindest, most loving person I've ever met. 43 years on Earth today and by all accounts, he's been just the goodest boy around for the entire time.

@the-ukrainian-giraffe I'm so glad you were born. You're absolutely everything, I love you.

[weezly14]

2. 3. 5. 6. 13. 14.

2. Is there a trope you've yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I'm somewhat intrigued by enemies to lovers - it's not one i read often because I'm very picky and I think this is a trope that's easy to get wrong, but it feels like a puzzle to get it right and I kind of what to try to figure it out.

3. Is there a trope you wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole?

Student/teacher AU - as in, one of the characters is the other's teacher/professor/whatever. I don't care the ages, it's always gonna be creepy to me and a power differential I just can't get past! "But what if one of the other's TA or something like that" - also no!!!! No thank you.

5. Share one of your strengths.

-.-

I think I write dialogue well. I think I'm good at capturing how people actually speak.

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

I get super in my head sometimes and hate everything I've written, and nothing ever feels quite good enough. I can reread and edit over and over and nothing substantially changes! I also will scrap whole scenes and rewrite them because again, I'm too in my head. When this happens I usually just post and hope for the best.

13. What is the best writing advice you've ever come across?

I don't always follow this advice, but my playwriting professor in college told us: don't edit the first draft. Tryst your gut, write what comes to you, don't edit or cut anything until the first draft is done. It's possible that something you think is a stupid detail that has no bearing on the story is actually really important. Get the whole thing on the page before you start fucking around with it.

Playwriting and fic are very different mediums, but there are definitely things I've written and left in, not knowing where it would go, and yeah, it was relevant, it did come into play.

14. What's the worst writing advice you've come across?

Oh God. So when I was in grad school I TA'd a screenwriting class. And the professor very proudly told the students they would not write a screenplay in his class. Instead he gave them exercises like - here's a scene from a movie. Change the genders.

So these students would just search and replace because they weren't supposed to alter the scene in any meaningful way, and his whole philosophy was "walk before you can run, you have to learn about all this before you could possibly write."

And I fucking hate that. You don't learn how to do things just by reading, and with something like writing? You can get in your head way too easily.

Fucking write the thing. Write and edit. Learn from doing, by actually doing it. None of this "let me follow the theory" - it's creative writing, fucking try shit out, sew what works. Yes, read, watch, absorb - but stupid exercises like this professor had them do did not make these kids screenwriters, it was busy work and a waste of both of our time.

Thanks, friend!

[soperatic]

seven minutes (in hell) with you

chapter three

When Taehyung takes his first step into his future home, he is hit with a powerful and painful wave of nostalgia. 

Jeongguk had Hoseok text Taehyung to come and see the apartment that he’d be moving into before they needed to sign the lease and he hastily agreed. He isn’t that interested in checking the place out, already knowing that hundreds of students must have their eyes set on the place like vultures on dead meat. Paradise apartments are known for being pretty and well-managed but he supposes it’ll look good if people saw him going to Jeongguk’s place. Legitimize this newly sprung-on relationship some more. 

So he got ready, moved his check-in date to an earlier time and had his mom’s assistant put some things on hold for him for later. He dons his pleated white pants, a cream colored shirt and a yellow sweater vest. Pearls on his wrist and neck along with a delicate gold chain with a flower pendant. His hair looked messy enough where his curls fell naturally over his forehead. Looking perfect as always. 

But his peaceful morning turned rough fast with some lovely texts from Doeun. 

Taehyung played nicely, despite wanting to rip the little shit’s head off by reaching through his phone speaker. He’s constantly popping up at the worst fucking times. Just when Taehyung thinks he can pull his head up out of the water to breathe, Doeun is tugging him back down, filling his lungs with the liquid instead. 

doeun 

i need to see you right now

taehyung 

 i have class in an hour

doeun 

more than enough time then

He curls his fingers into his palm, trying not to lose his shit so early in the morning. 

Doeun isn’t going to leave him alone that easily. It'll take a crowbar to wrench that leech off him but that’s only if he does it himself. Taehyung needs someone that can take him down. 

He’s hoping that Jeongguk can help. 

taehyung 

look, i’m busy 

i can only see you after class

besides, we can’t be doing that anymore. 

He has Jae now. He doesn’t need Taehyung. He shouldn’t need him. 

doeun

i know that. why do you think we haven’t done it in a month?

don’t try to be smart with me taehyung

you’re pretty so let’s just stick with that okay? 

2:30

in my car

Taehyung doesn’t respond. He wants to chuck his phone out the window and watch it get run over by a semi-truck then change his name and hide for the rest of his life. He’s never hated someone this much until now. A simple text can flip his mood to a completely different end of the spectrum. The sheer sight of the guy catapults him into the heaviest state of anxiety. 

He was such an idiot this summer. A careless idiot with no idea how much he’d fuck things up later on, only caring about sex and fun. Now it feels like everyone else is picking up after his mess.  

But Taehyung doesn’t know what else he can do to get Doeun to lay off. Every time he meets up with him, there’s another thing he has to do. It’s just a constant cycle of favors and he’s completely fed up with it. He has to get Jeongguk to help. Maybe intimidate him or something since he’s got some muscle now. His dad could also help since he’s a law professor and all. Something, literally anything, would be of great help. 

A ten minute drive later and Taehyung is dropped outside the building which stands tall and luxurious, similar to most modern highrise apartments in Seoul with clean windows and white exteriors. The parking garage starts on the ground floor where people park their fancy cars and motorbikes before going further underground. Taehyung thinks he spots Jeongguk’s Mercedes among the slew of Porsches and Audis. It leads into the main lobby where people come in by punching a unique code. Jeongguk did him the favor of texting it to him. 

0613. The door unlocks and Taehyung enters the lobby. It’s just as majestic as he’d imagined, with marble floors and pillars. There’s no one at the front desk, just an empty hall with some elevators and a door for stairs. The walls are stark white and the floors are made of pristine black and white tiles laid out in a simple pattern. A map is hung on the wall which tells him about all the amenities offered in the building. The air smelled a little lemony from cleaning products. There’s a rec room and an indoor pool along with a spa and a study room down the hall for students to use. If Taehyung listened closely, he could hear people giggling in said rooms. 

Quickly, he takes the elevator and gets onto the 2nd floor where Jeongguk’s apartment is. The elevator is nice, cold and empty. There’s a poster hanging on the left wall with phone numbers for the police and a sexual assault help line. The right side is a cheesy poster about peer pressure. It makes Taehyung snort to himself. 

As much as you try to market things like alcohol and drugs as bad things to students, the more inclined they are to try them. Turns them curious. 

When the door opens, he sees an empty hallway with rooms on either side. Some have placemats, some have doors with whiteboards or funny signs. Someone even hung a poster of IU as an angel on their door.  But Jeongguk’s door is completely bare. Just a simple dark gray placemat outside and not a single drop of personality. Pretty much like him.

Taehyung rings the doorbell once and knocks, practicing his brightest smile to greet his brand new boyfriend. There’s not a single soul out here but who knows, maybe they’re staring at them through the peephole or hiding behind walls to study them. He wouldn’t be surprised if at least one person was tracking his every move ever since those pictures came out.

The door swings open a few seconds later and reveals a full mouthed Jeongguk chewing. 

“Morning baby,” Taehyung grins and holds up a warm americano he picked up from the cafe in the lobby of his hotel. His body leans perfectly on the door frame, and his legs cross over delicately. “Had breakfast yet?” 

Jeongguk looks back at him indifferently for a moment before rolling his eyes and ignoring both his greeting and his question, stepping to the side to let Taehyung in. 

“You’re twenty minutes late.” 

Jeongguk looks rather funny in the mornings. He’s always hated waking up early so his hair is still messy and his eyes bleary but his black oversized Balenciaga t-shirt and wide legged jeans really complete the disheveled emo-hobo gone chic core he’s got going on.  His cologne wafts over to Taehyung, smells expensive and clean with notes of cotton and violets. Doesn’t fit his aesthetic but it strangely fits him. His eyelids are low and his lips are lighter and a little cracked without the slight tinted lip balm he always uses. 

“It’s called being fashionably late, my darling,” he coos. Jeongguk snatches the drink from his hands with a low grumble and shuts the door behind him. When the self-lock clicks shut, Taehyung’s nice demeanor fades. “Okay, we really need to work on your acting skills.”

“No one is out right now.” Jeongguk turns his back to him, shaking out his hair. 

“Someone could’ve been listening through the door,” he argues. “You’re such a fucking dumbass sometimes.” Taehyung’s head shakes. Jeongguk is way too lax about this entire thing! 

He toes his shoes off and when he inhales he is hit in the stomach with something familiar that makes him pause. The apartment smells like those specific candles, the handmade ones you buy at expensive grocery stores made from the purest wax and real fragrance. 

The kind that Jeongguk’s mother always used to buy. 

His house always smelled like this fucking candle. There seemed to be one in every corner, lit with a crackling wick and scenting each room completely in its saturated, soft, flowery goodness. 

Taehyung tries to swallow down bitter saliva when his brain throws a slew of memories at him like their back-to-back sleepovers where he’d be chasing Jeongguk around in his backyard while playing tag or going diving for “treasure” in his pool during the summers. Matcha cookies and pork grilled to perfection by Jeongguk’s dad after a long day in the water. He remembers movie nights on the floor of  Jeongguk’s bedroom, turtle chips and cheese balls in the middle of the night, playing on each other’s DS for hours on end and sleeping next to each other on his bed until Taehyung would eventually give in and throw his arms around the younger because he needs to hold something to fall asleep. 

It’s amazing how a scent can trigger such painfully sweet memories. 

He shakes his head and looks to his side by the entrance. There’s a small shoe rack with pairs stacked neatly. Taehyung sets his loafers down next to a pair of chunky Prada boots then looks up at the younger, hoping that the painful twinges he’s currently experiencing aren’t obvious by his expression.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, seated at the counter where barstools are lined underneath. He’s got a bowl of cereal and cut fruit laid out next to the to-go coffee cup. “Look, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now. I have class in a bit, I have to finish breakfast and we still need to drive to the housing office to sign the lease so you can move in before the line gets too long. So just look around or do whatever you have to do and quickly,” he waves him off, taking a bite of his corn flakes. 

Ideally, he could walk away after getting scolded like an annoying child but no, Taehyung is not letting him get away with that. No one speaks to him this way.

“Only if you give me a tour.” His arms cross over his chest defiantly, raising a single eyebrow. Slowly, Jeongguk turns his head to his gaze and if looks could kill, Taehyung would be buried six feet under. 

“Do your legs not work or something? Tour it yourself.”

He ignores the sting in his chest. “As a future rent payer, I demand a tour.” He balances on the balls of his feet, looking oh-so innocent with the straw of his half-empty watermelon juice between his pink lips. “It’s the least you could do for me after I saved your ass back there with Jae.” 

It’s not like he really needs a tour but he needs to establish the relationship here. Or, re-establish. Taehyung is older (born a year before in December) and he came up with this entire idea of fake dating so Jeongguk, being the younger one, should be grateful and stop being a little shit by giving him a tour. Paying him back and all that, you know? 

His eyes flash with anger. “I didn’t ask for–” he stops himself and clenches his eyes shut for a moment before letting out a pinched, shaky exhale. “Fine, I’ll give you a stupid fucking tour.” Jeongguk glares at him. 

Although Taehyung is so curious as to what he was going to say. You didn’t ask for what? 

Didn’t ask to be in a fake relationship with me? 

Jeongguk gets up, taking his bowl in his hand, and mutters under his breath about wanting to end it all before starting.“This is the kitchen,” he lists in a monotone, pointing to the open kitchen with rustic wood cabinets and cream marble countertops. There’s a rice cooker, air fryer and a French press lined against the gray tile backsplash lit up by white LED lights under the cabinets but besides that, spotless. No pans on the induction stove, not even a mug in the sink. A microwave above the oven and right next to that is an impressively large fridge. There’s that offensive lit candle next to the sink across the stove. Since there’s no dining table, the counter raised above the sink has ample eating space and barstools lined underneath the extended counter for eating space. 

Across from there is a small open living room with a window facing the street and another candle on the coffee table, unlit this time. 

“Couch, fake plant, tv, coffee table,” he points to each for a second before moving on, tone so miserable Taehyung genuinely enjoys it. .

He notes the coffee brown couch and the matching wood grain coffee table with a tv remote, some more unlit candles, a pack of cards and an airpod case charging. Across from that is a regular sized TV on top of a stand and a fake fern next to it. 

Under the coffee table are various wicker and cloth baskets with things inside that Taehyung has yet to learn about. The entertainment stand has a Playstation and a few games and movies lined neatly in the storage cabinets. 

There are two hallways on either side of the kitchen. Jeongguk points to the left one where a closed room lies at the end. “My bedroom.” There’s another door closer to the kitchen but on the adjacent wall of the left hallway. “In-unit washer and dryer. Your room will be on the right side of the kitchen.” 

So we’ll be divided? Meaning Taehyung will live in his own world in his own room without even thinking about Jeongguk? Not that he gives a shit, but how was this even considered  for him and Jae, a couple supposedly living together? 

Jeongguk points to the right hallway where there’s a room at the end of the hall and another one on the wall. He gestures for Taehyung to walk behind him. Begrudgingly, he does so. 

“You know, the lack of decoration in here is giving you serious serial killer vibes.” The pale white is making him sick. “Couldn’t you have hung up a poster or a polaroid of your friends? It’s like you have no personality.” Taehyung points a finger to the bare drywall, dragging it along the prickly walls. He wonders what happened to the old Jeongguk who used to get a new obsession every week, from different girl groups to a new anime.

“I’ll buy some later.” Jeongguk waves off, shoveling more soggy cereal to his lips. “And here is your room.”  

The doorknob untwists and Jeongguk moves out of the way, pressing his back to the adjacent wall so he can eat in peace. 

Taehyung steps in. It's a college apartment so it comes furnished with a bed and a mattress, a nightstand, a chair and a desk. There’s an en suite bathroom and a walk-in closet that are decent in size. His walls are the same eggshell white with an AC vent and overhead lights hanging in a set of four. This is the only room devoid of that smell from the candles and Taehyung takes a deep breath in to clear his mind. 

He tries to visualize it. His sage green sheets and cream pillows. Posters and art pieces hung on the wall, pictures of his friends littered across. He could get a calendar and tape it above his desk and by organizers for his school stuff and keep his tennis gear in a corner. Maybe buy a space heater in the winter so his room can become the ultimate cabin when it’s snowing outside.

This will work. Sure, it’s nothing compared to the size of his room at Josun Palace but he doesn’t need much. 

At the very least, it’s a home. It’s something he can come back to, a constant. Not a lifeless hotel room nor will it require a heavy drive through Seoul traffic. It’s his own little spot for him at school, a place where he can be himself unapologetically. 

He turns around to find Jeongguk now leaning against the frame, chugging the last of his milk so the veins in his neck and Adam’s apple move. His neck bends back and he swallows the last of his breakfast with spots of creamy white on his lips before wiping it off with the back of his hand. Quirking a brow, he waits for Taehyung’s opinion on the place. Taehyung’s heart weirdly speeds up for a moment.

“I like it,” he nods. Jeongguk’s hand dangles by his thigh and Taehyung can see a silver Rolex around his wrist. 

“Perfect. Let’s go to the housing office then.” Jeongguk nods to the kitchen and turns around before Taehyung even takes his first step, giving him a few of his back and the back of his head. Curls swishing with his movement, shining in the streams of light coming in all directions. 

He gets this inexplicable urge to run his fingers through it but Taehyung pushes it down the moment it pops up.

On the way out there’s another unmentioned closet in the hallway just before the main kitchen/living room area that Taehyung pulls open curiously which Jeongguk doesn’t notice. Part of him was expecting something crazy like for it to be his sex dungeon or weapon storage for when the apocalypse finally happens.  All he finds is a vacuum, a broom and a Swiffer along with some cleaning products and refill packs.

Boring. He closes it with a disappointed pout  but it raises a question for Taehyung. 

“By the way, how often does your maid come by?” He stops closer to the younger than before who sits and starts on his bowl of apples. “And what about a personal chef or do you just order in every time?” 

Since Paradise has a higher rent compared to dorms or commuting from home, Taehyung assumed Jeongguk would be living life similar to his life in Gangnam: with all of his amenities provided for him. That’s how they grew up after all. Never having to lift a finger without someone rushing to help. Most of the people they know have never scrubbed a dish or vacuumed the floor in their entire life. 

Taehyung swears he sees the side of Jeongguk’s cheek perk up almost fondly at his question.

“Well, you’re looking at my personal maid and chef,” his finger presses to his chest. “Although I hate to break it to you, I only work for Mr. Jeon.” Jeongguk fakes an awkward wince to go along with his bit. “Sorry about that.” 

Taehyung’s fuse begins to shorten at the taunt. “You’re not hiring any helpers?” 

He’s shocked. It’s not like his parents don’t have the money for it. His mother’s makeup company couldn’t be doing better. His dad got tenure at SNU after only three years since leaving a very prestigious law firm. They should be bathing in cash. He should be sneezing into ₩500 bills instead of tissues. 

But Jeongguk just scoffs at him like he’s a stupid little child. “It’s a two-bedroom apartment, I think I can handle taking care of it and myself,” he plops one of the apple slices into his mouth and chews with his mouth closed politely. “You can hire them if you want but they should only worry about you and your shit.”

Does he think Taehyung is not capable of cleaning and cooking for himself? “I can handle this on my own too, you know,” he argues back. Taehyung isn’t an idiot. How hard must this be anyways? He’s an adult and millions of people live alone. Yoongi and Jimin survive.  “I won’t hire one if you aren’t,” he declares, only to prove a point. 

Although his mother would be particularly proud of this statement, Taehyung doesn’t know much about how to take care of an apartment or cook anything other than instant ramen. 

But like he said, the internet is free so he’ll pick it up in no time and not make a fool of himself in front of Jeongguk. 

“Fine with me.” Jeongguk shrugs. A moment of silence lulls the conversation. Jeongguk pops another apple in his mouth and his crunching breaks the silence in the air. Taehyung looks out the window to take his mind off the noise, studying the various people walking along the lined path to the bus stop while bike riders occupy the right lane. Then he looks at that stupid candle briefly before jumping back to the wicker baskets shelved under the coffee table.

One has controllers, remotes, four karaoke mics and extra batteries while the other has lighters, coasters and a pack of disinfecting wipes. 

What are those mics for? Jeongguk hates karaoke. Taehyung used to have to drag him to the booths and force an IU or Red Velvet song on him. Now he does it on his own? 

Who are you and what have you done with my Jeongguk? 

Taehyung almost asks when he turns to look back at him but he stops when their gazes meet. 

There’s apprehension in Jeongguk’s eyes. As if the cold front he’s been displaying ever since the party cracks in the middle just a bit, revealing that familiar pensive look. He watches Taehyung carefully from where he sits, eyes dancing all over his body and face, and it drives him insane as much as it causes all of his muscles to stiffen. 

“Spit it out,” Taehyung scoffs, holding a hand out so he can have a piece of apple too.

Jeongguk places one in his hand softly, wet and cold. “Do you really want to do this? Like, live with me of all people?” 

There was once a time when Taehyung and Jeongguk made plans to buy a vacation home together. Back when his parents first divorced and he was sad, Jeongguk promised to make him happy by buying him a home in the nicest place possible so they could escape there whenever they were sad. Taehyung perked up a little at that. A spot for him and his best friend where nothing else mattered but them. Where they could run away from all of the demands of their current life and just have fun. 

When you’re 8, empty promises like that mean so much. 

And now, here they are. Jeongguk is renting an apartment at their university and Taehyung gets to live here even though he wasn’t the first choice. That happy shiny dream of living together was smashed into smithereens a while ago and now it feels like the perfect opportunity to piece it back together slowly. A second chance. 

Would eight-year-old Taehyung be happy with how things turned out? Would he be happy once he learned what he did to Jeongguk five years later? 

“There’s no backing out now, Jeon.” His voice comes out gruffer than he would like. He needs to push out that guilty feeling building up in his chest. He did it. There’s no going back. “Had I known someone else with an empty room I could take, I would’ve said their name instead of yours but I don’t. This has nothing to do with our past. I don’t care about it so you shouldn’t either, okay?” 

It’s a lie. A big fat fucking lie. 

Not a day goes by where he wishes he could switch back to how they used to be or go back in time to stop himself from ending everything but he doesn’t know how and there’s nothing he can do about it. There were nights when he wondered what Jeongguk was doing, old inside jokes reappearing that make him laugh inexplicably but no one would get, every time he saw matcha cookies and played Mario Kart. Taehyung realized how his childhood was interwoven with Jeongguk’s where every warm memory brought up a pair of curiously wide eyes and a soft laugh. 

But what can he do? There’s no way Jeongguk would actually want him back in his life again, especially now that he’s found better friends. 

And he’s gotten used to life without Jeongguk, filling the empty canyon inside of his heart with other things and people in hopes that they would feel somewhat similar. All of their closeness has melted away, leaving the awkwardness and nothing else. 

The apple in his hand weighs heavy. Taehyung takes a bite and the cold sweetness meets his teeth, juices flooding his mouth. It tastes good but there is the onset of regret flooding his system that spoils it.

Jeongguk’s gaze hardens quickly. That momentary vulnerability that showed for just a few seconds is gone and replaced with his emotionless stare and set eyebrows. Gone, poof, disappeared, and he’s back to being an impenetrable wall. He turns to the side and swallows shakily. 

“Fine, I won’t.” He snatches his bowl closer to him and gets up from the stool. “The housing center opened about 30 minutes ago so there shouldn’t be too much of a line. I just need to grab my stuff first and then we’ll go.” He’s detached when he talks, emotionless and quiet. 

Jeongguk is already walking away before Taehyung can respond. His body retreats back to his room at the end of the hall and when the door shuts, the silence rings in Taehyung’s ear. 

Now it’s just him and the scent of that fucking candle.

He shakes his head and walks over to the trash can to dispose of his plastic cup. Taehyung’s mind runs a mile a minute. Doeun, tennis team, Jimin and Yoongi, Instagram, Jeongguk, school, his followers, his mom and step-dad. How much longer can he juggle everything on his own?  

The facade of perfect It-Boy Kim Taehyung that he’s been building since his first tabloid appearance will shatter the moment he’s weak and everyone comes to know about his fake relationship and about what happened with Doeun. 

Taehyung doesn’t want to wait for that day. Everything he does is all part of a plan. Meticulously, thought out after yesterday. He’s going to fake date Jeongguk, get Doeun off his back, play a great season of tennis, pass his classes and hang out with his friends and family all in one go. He just has to work a bit harder at it. That’s all. 

And more importantly, he has to stop thinking about his past with Jeongguk. It’s dead, over, caputze. 

The trash bin automatically closes shut and he walks away but not before blowing the flickering candle flame that’s been poisoning his mind out. 

⍟⍟⍟

“Okay, your car is really fucking nice.” 

Taehyung practically melts into the buttery black leather seats like he’s becoming one with the damn thing, feeling the warmers do wonders on his frozen skin thanks to the AC being on full blast at the housing office. He’s seen Jeongguk’s car before, in the parking lot or on his driveway, but he has never been in it nor has he ever seen Jeongguk drive it before. 

And both were quite the sight. 

He has color changing LED lights to illuminate the seats and armrests, a touch-screen display and multiple events along with a button gear shift. Then there’s the Spiderman vanilla-scented car freshener hanging on the rearview mirror. Typical Jeongguk.

Jeongguk scoffs. “Didn’t think you’d actually like it. But just to let you know, your opinion means fuck all to me .” He presses the R shift and backs out with one hand. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes and tries to focus on what he’s doing rather than his words.

Oh right, Jeongguk driving. Yes, yeah, well, his hands when he’s driving are truly something else to look at. His knuckles are knobby and wide with his fingers are maybe a centimeter shorter than Taehyung’s. But the tendons and veins that become more prominent at the smallest thing are…nice to stare at. Along with the subtle flex of the muscles in his forearms that ripple whenever the steering wheel is turned. 

But that’s totally normal. Taehyung’s hands and arms do the same thing (sort of) so if his brain could stop thirsting over the bare minimum, that would be great. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Taehyung asks, clearing his throat and pressing more into the interior of his seat.

“I don’t know. Hobi calls it the Douchebag Mobile so,” he shrugs, changing gears and getting out of the housing offices’ parking lot. 

Thankfully, there was no one there so Taehyung signed his lease and got out before anyone could see them and they had to pretend by holding hands or some other form of PDA . His phone had most of his bank information and now he just has to send the check and move in. He texts his mother’s assistant to drop off the stuff today. 

“He was so right for that,” Taehyung bites his lip so he doesn’t let out a smile. “Most fuckboys tend to get these kinds of cars. You’re one perm away from sliding into someone’s DMs, asking for nudes, barely flirting with them and then having godawful selfish sex before completely ghosting them.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” he presses, sending a small glare his way. 

Jeongguk goes onto the main road. The main parking structure is only two minutes away so they’ll have ample time to walk to their classes with their friends. 

Taehyung snorts. “Relax, you’re in a relationship so no one will suspect you of such treachery.” 

Jeongguk has always been more of the relationship type from Taehyung’s memory. There has yet to be a rumor about him shamelessly flirting with anyone or hooking up with people. Then again, no one batted an eye when he started dating Jae. 

“Whatever.”

The radio plays way too softly in the background so Taehyung can barely hear the cheesy American pop song that’ll take his mind off of everything that blurs his brain completely. 

He opts to look outside instead. There’s a group of first-year girls who walk in clusters, gabbing excitedly about something while one girl lingers in the back all alone. In the bike lane, a boy rides a hoverboard decked out in some downright disrespectfully ugly hypebeast clothing (Hoseok would die on the inside). 

Today is Tuesday and it’s one of Taehyung’s longer days of classes and discussions. Tuesdays and Thursdays tend to be his dead days, especially when games are beginning, but thankfully he doesn’t have much Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He wonders what Jeongguk’s schedule is like so they can go back to the apartment together.  Hopefully they coincide so Taehyung doesn’t have to get a cab back or ask Yoongi to drive him. 

His fingers tap on his knees the entire time, begging for something, literally anything, to be interesting enough for the final minutes of this already short drive until Taehyung bites the bullet and opens his mouth. 

“So,” Taehyung stretches, “how’s your sister?” He decides to ask out of sheer curiosity. 

Jihyo graduated last year and got into a great law school in Seoul. The same one their father went to. Growing up as an only child at first, Taehyung always relied on Jihyo. She was sweet and caring and loving so he was really proud to hear about her success post-grad.  

Jeongguk’s teeth tease the skin of his bottom lip. “Fine.” His tone is clipped. 

“Just fine?”

Taehyung doesn’t get why he’s pushing a stick up his ass. He’s known Jeongguk’s sister almost his entire life. They went to tennis camp together, she led the girl’s tennis team and even recommended Taehyung as captain. 

For fuck sake, she used to put bright red lipstick and horrendous green eyeshadow on both of them whenever they got too loud as punishment. There’s no reason to get all defensive over her. 

“She’s taking the semester off before starting law school. She just came back from Milan last week.” 

He feels some of the icy tension begin to melt at the briefest drop of information, which is good. So he prods further. “Cool, cool. And your parents?” 

Jeongguk inhales sharply, turning his head to glare at Taehyung. “Kim,” he warns and the budding lightness is immediately crushed by the heavy boulder that Jeongguk drops on the conversation. 

“What? Am I not allowed to ask questions?” Taehyung interrupts. His shoulders rise up in defense mode. 

So I can ask about his sister but not his parents? What kind of backwards logic is that?

“I know you don’t actually give a fuck about my family.” He spits out harshly, turning into the parking structure to the security machine. “So don’t force out these stupid questions. I’m not interested in small talk with you.”

The car slowly stops and he presses a button on the side panel to lower his window. Jeongguk’s left hand goes to the center console to pull out a tag for the machine to scan. 

Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest, curling into himself some more to block out Jeongguk’s coarse words. Each step he takes feels incorrect, like he’s striking a nerve, so now Taehyung has to play this silly little guessing game to see what topics are okay and what topics will make Jeongguk get all bitchy. 

This is about to be three months of straight-up torture, he thinks to himself. Taehyung leans his head back against the headrest and curiously turns to look at Jeongguk. 

He’s wearing a short sleeve so when he puts weight on his right arm while leaning forward, his muscles strain and flex. Taehyung’s eyes fall on it, watching as the size of his forearm increases, veins mapping out the most beautiful pattern right in front of his eyes and Taehyung is gaping like he was invited front-row to watch Monet paint the water lilies. His mouth goes completely dry. 

Taehyung briefly wonders how those muscles would feel under his hand. If he reached out and pressed down on the veins, what would Jeongguk do? 

But he snaps out of it. They’re fighting. 

And Jeongguk doesn’t like him. 

“You know, I would really like it if you’d stop making assumptions about what I want or care about, please and thank you,” he manages to retort back, shaking the image of his sexy arm out of his head.  

The machine beeps and the clearance bar lifts to let his car through. Jeongguk rolls the window back up so humid air doesn’t get inside before scoffing loudly. 

“So you’re telling me you do care?”

He was just trying to break the awkward ice with some small talk but apparently that word does not exist in Jeongguk’s brain. 

“Well, I–”

Jeongguk cuts in. “You don’t. You don’t even like me and I don’t like you either. So save your words for someone else.” His words cut deep like a sharp knife into Taehyung’s side. 

“God, you are insufferable, you know that? How does anyone have a conversation with you?” His body shifts as the car turns into the structure, first floor, slot number 901. 

“Me? I can talk with the people I like with no problem but with you? If someone could measure my dislike for even breathing the same air as you, it would be in the billions.” 

Taehyung was glad that the car was moving before because he was gifted the luxury of not having Jeongguk’s eyes on him. But when he parks the car and turns to look at him, making his jab hit harder with challenging, low-set eyes, it sparks a lick of flame in his stomach. 

Like an idiot, he presses the button on his belt buckle, freeing his body from the restraint so he can lean closer to the other. 

“Well, mine would be in the trillions.” 

“Mine would be infinite.”  His jawline ticks and dear god, that is one nice fucking jawline. 

Taehyung splutters. “You wouldn’t be able to calculate mine because it’s so big and-and imcountable.” He slips up. 

Jeongguk smirks, clicking his own belt free. “Yeah, imcountable.” He knows he won that one, fucker. The confidence radiates off of him like rays off the sun. 

Taehyung is so terribly floored, not just by the slight decrease in space but also because Jeongguk is fighting back. When they were younger, he would always fall short, lose, and then pout about it for a little before letting it go. Taehyung always won these short little back-and-forth battles but now, he’s holding his own. 

He’s fighting back. He’s gotten older now, no longer the trailing little boy that clung to his Dad’s legs whenever he met new people. Jeongguk has some sureness in his stance and less of an insecure gleam tugging his face down. 

And it’s kind of…. hot. 

Taehyung hates that he’s finding the smallest thing attractive about a guy who just claimed he hates even breathing the same air as him but he can’t help it. There’s growth and it’s led to making that shy boy into a man. A very sexy, intimidating man that can keep up with his petty bullshit.

He opens his mouth to taunt further, see if Jeongguk can meet his friendly fire with some of his own, but then there’s a rough tap on Jeongguk’s window and both him and Taehyung jump at the sound. 

The window reveals none other than Seokjin with a teasing glint in his usually soft eyes. 

“Are you going to get out or do I need to give you two lovebirds some private time?” 

Taehyung stares back at him like a deer in headlights. He swears his heart has leaped up to his damn esophagus, pounding like anything despite literally nothing happening. It’s as if all coherent, logical thought has completely evaporated from his mind and he’s being controlled by some exterior thirsty force that thinks everything a man he supposedly despises does is sexy. 

It’s probably just touch starvation. Let’s go with that. 

His fingers scramble to press the unlock button on his door, hauling his bag up and getting out of that vanilla-scented hellscape before Jeongguk can say anything else. Taehyung is welcomed by fresh air and the sight of their four other friends standing around Jeongguk’s parked car with giddy little smiles on their faces. 

“Morning, Romeo,” Jimin teases. “You and Juliet have a rough start?” The others giggle and Taehyung shoves his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t thwack the blonde on the forehead. 

“Don’t even start with me, Park,” he warns, tugging his bag onto his shoulder and forcing himself not to look when he hears Jeongguk get out of the car and lock it, standing next to Seokjin rather than him. 

Jimin just giggles. “You two will be in the honeymoon phase before you know it.” 

Yeah, when pigs fly. Jeongguk would rather drink battery acid than be near him so the honeymoon, lovey-dovey, actually happy stage seems impossible. Not that he wants it either.

Somehow, they’ll have to pretend with other people around. Taehyung doesn’t know if Jeongguk is going to snap at simple small talk but it’s not like either of them has a choice right now. 

He just rolls his eyes. “Let’s just go.” Other people are parking their cars here so they should move and put on a show before anyone notices the lack of chemistry between the newest It-Couple. 

Briefly, he glances at Hoseok and Seokjin who were crowding around Jeongguk, ruffling his hair and giving him hugs and pinching his cheeks. Taehyung watches bitterly as he smiles at them. 

Like a real, genuine, cute smile. Something that Taehyung has not gotten once from him in years. 

Seokjin says something to make them laugh and Hoseok giggles so hard he trips into Jeongguk, who holds him up with a grip on his forearms. His nose scrunches and his eyes narrow while the brightness of his smile takes up his face like a beam of light. The older slaps Jeongguk’s shoulder, stumbling just a bit but mainly watching Hoseok’s face change animatedly as he beams and claps with laughter. 

Taehyung’s body goes rigid. His lips purse as the nastiest feeling floods his system. 

Without a second thought, he walks over as Yoongi and Jimin are ushering them to leave. “Jeon,” he calls, watching as Jeongguk’s smile begins to crumble at this voice. It’s like a slap to his face.“It’s time for us to go to class.” 

The pit in Taehyung’s stomach grows deeper as Jeongugk’s expression fades to a look of discontent. He was just giggling and laughing two seconds ago. 

“Ugh, fine.” He waves goodbye to the others as they walk ahead of him, patting his cheeks or squeezing the back of his neck in parting. Taehyung watches silently and then moves to the spot right next to him. 

His shoulder is so close to Jeongguk’s that he can feel the heat radiating off of his body. The smell of his perfume hits Taehyung’s nose along with the lingering smell of sunscreen and hair serum. It’s such a soft and sweet smell that if he were to close his eyes, he could imagine himself in a flower field on a warm spring day. 

“Well, jeez. Don’t get too excited, buddy.” He holds his hand out in front of Jeongguk. His right one, to be exact, and keeps it up in the air while his eyes scan around for other bystanders walking by them.

Judging by the way Yoongi and Jimin are like in public, Taehyung decided in the car that it would look good if they walked to the main quad together, hand in hand, to say goodbye (in front of other people) to get a nice head start on this thing. Nothing too raunchy but nothing too stiff either.

A few seconds go by with Taehyung’s hand floating lonely in the air while Jeongguk seems to be looking everywhere but him. Practically whistling and rocking on the balls of his feet for the next step. 

Taehyung is going to bash his head in. “Hey,” he calls, waving the outstretched hand in front of his face. 

“What?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you. Did you not see my hand?” For effect, he stretches his hand out once more, staring right into Jeongguk’s eyes while his fingers wave in the air all lonely. He just hopes no one is paying close attention to them, or they’ll catch their act in two seconds flat. 

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes for the millionth time but before Taehyung can jab him with another retort, his hand is clasped around Taehyung’s. 

Taehyung tries not to overthink it. Holding hands is straightforward, the tiniest bit of contact, and it’s one of the least demanding things he can do with Jeongguk. Nothing compared to having to kiss him. 

But his fingers, which have always been long and daunting, fit well with Jeongguk. He doesn’t feel like a giant holding someone’s hand. The length actually works because Taehyung’s fingers can fully encompass his wide palm and Jeongguk’s palm is big enough to capture his smaller one. Like a perfect fit, two pieces of a puzzle that you’ve been trying to solve. 

No intertwining fingers, Taehyung isn’t there just yet, but this is fine. For now. 

“Just shoot me now.” He mutters under his breath. Taehyung catches it over the loud thump of his heart. In retaliation, his nails softly dig into the flesh of Jeongguk’s hands, getting a jolt in response as they leave the parking structure. 

“Don't worry. If you keep this shit attitude up then I might just make that dream of yours come true.”

His friends are quite a few paces ahead, already in their respective “couples” and waiting for Taehyung and Jeongguk to appear under the green trees with beams of fresh sunlight peeking through the spaces. It’s a nice day out, not too disgustingly hot to the point where Taehyung feels like he might die. He’d be happier if the guy he was holding hands with wasn’t such a piece of shit. 

“Oh goodie!” Jeongguk cheers sarcastically, putting on a cheerful animated voice. “Holding hands! Wow, I love dating you. I could do this all day.” His free hand cups the side of his cheek, fingers drumming gently while his eyelashes flutter like a smitten anime character. 

Taehyung quirks a brow in response, trying not to smile. “Is that a challenge?”  

Because, if he really wanted to, he could be the prissy bratty princess of Jeongguk’s nightmares.    

He scoffs. “Please, you couldn't handle all of me.” Jeongguk’s hand gets to the door handle before Taehyung and he holds the door open for him. 

Taehyung doesn’t expect it so for the first few seconds, he’s standing in front of the open door with a funny expression on his face as if Jeongguk is gonna cut through and slam the door in his face. 

He shakes his head slightly and walks first so Jeongguk misses the heat building over his cheeks. 

“Handle you? You're throwing a fit over us holding hands.” What does he think is going to happen when they kiss?  

Jeongguk follows him, hands still connected and leaving faster than usual to quip back fast enough. 

“This is nothing. When I get into it, I can be everything you hate. The ultimate romantic. People will get so sick of us that our relationship will be mentioned even after all of this is done and you’re fucking married with kids. I’ll be like the cheesy male lead in a K-drama that makes your fucking teeth hurt.” 

“Oh yeah?” Taehyung challenges him. He’s not dropping this so quickly. If Jeongguk wants to play the cheesy rom-com boy then he can play the other end too. “You think you can date me that well?” 

And then Jeongguk steps just a bit closer, leaning in so his face is right in line with Taehyung, making perfect, strong, powerful eye contact. “You’d be surprised.” 

His voice is just short of a husky whisper. Taehyung can feel the gentle breeze of his breath intertwined with the fall wind. He swears his entire body stiffens at the sight of Jeongguk so close to him, all of his moles, the shape of his nose, his beautiful eyes, the perfect shape of his glistening lips, it turns tantalizing.

Taehyung doesn’t want to back down just yet.  “Okay then, show me. Give me a little taste.”

He has no idea what to expect. Jeongguk is probably speaking out of his ass, trying to get under Taehyung’s skin with comments like this, knowing that he’s never been the type to drop an argument unless he wins it. Not much has changed with him anyways. Taehyung is hard to crack and  hard to get through. Cold and enigmatic, an emotionless hedonist. The complete opposite of Jeongguk. 

Emotions are scary and difficult to comprehend which is why Taehyung has always preferred hooking up over dating. Pure pleasure and nothing else while Jeongguk wanted to live in shoujo manga, wanted all of the romantic bits, the slow bits, the angry bits, and the bits in between. 

It’s what made their friendship so endearing to everyone else. Jeongguk was always so upfront about how he felt while Taehyung held it in, cried alone, and got angry behind closed doors. 

If he was mellow water, Jeongguk was a bright fire. Cold hidden depth and burning passion. 

Two seconds go by without Jeongguk doing anything and he has Taehyung thinking that nothing is going to happen right until he feels it. His jaw goes a little slack, lips parting to let out the smallest inaudible gasp. 

Because Jeongguk decides to let go of his hand and slip it into Taheyung’s back pocket, pulling him onto his side with his grip. 

A line of electricity jolts up Taehyung’s spine thanks to the heat of Jeongguk’s hand inside his pocket. It feels warmer almost, adding to his body temperature and causing a thin line of perspiration to build on his skin.

He freezes up, shoulders going to his ears, pausing in the middle of the path up to campus while trying to register all of this. Taehyung’s mind goes completely blank, void of any other thought besides this. 

And remember those big palms? Yeah, Jeongguk has to squeeze his hand into the tight pocket, curving his hand around the round flesh of Taehyung’s ass just right. Such an almost sensation thanks to the fabric of his stupid pants and his stupid boxers. 

One group of guys look at the four of them, whispering and pointing amongst each other. Taehyung can’t even catch their words or greet them. He can’t even look up from the ground because if he does, he will blush like a smitten schoolgirl and that is so not the vibe he’s trying to go for. He has a reputation to uphold but it’s so easy to forget about right now while Jeongguk palms his cheeks.

“Is this,” Jeongguk starts, the previous fire in his tone dimmed down to a slightly concerned one, “Is this okay with you?” His eyes are trained on Taehyung’s facial expression and judging by the lack of words coming from his mouth, he’s probably reading this the wrong way, which is totally understandable. 

Because Taehyung is at the crossroads of wanting to push Jeongguk away and wanting him to squeeze his ass once at the same time, just to see how it feels. 

Look, he’s had guys do way worse than stick their hands in his back pocket but this, this feels like something brand new. The simplicity and the nonchalant territorialism exuding off the action. Jeongguk’s hand molded along the cleft of his butt so if some creep wants to gawk at him, they’ll see his hand before anything else.

It’s so fucking hot. Taehyung feels wanted and in the best way possible. 

He clears his throat. “Yeah it’s,” he does it again, “it’s fine with me.” He hopes his face isn’t bright red. “Is this an excuse just to feel my ass? Because I get it, Jeon. Lots of guys would kill to be in your place.” Judging by the way they stare, it should be apparent. 

Jeongguk scoffs, shoulders shaking for less than a second. “It isn’t,” he answers honestly and to Taehyung, that’s a sign that the game is over. He has nothing left to say anyways. 

So he drops it and lets silence lull over them from the crosswalk up the path to the main quad. 

Taehyung continues to walk and his eyes make sure to veer clear of Jeongguk’s gaze. With every step he takes, he feels Jeongguk’s palm, his fingers, and the press of his arm against his lower back. His nose is flooded with the scent of him, that cottony floral mixed with a hint of that candle he always burns.

The tree-lined path allows for the streams of sunlight to light up patches of his skin, his hair and his clothes so the burning heat becomes less intense and Taehyung can focus back on being his normal self again. 

He waves and smiles brightly, leaning into Jeongguk’s touch like he wants to and not because he should.

“I love your shirt, Taehyung!” 

“Taehyung! Will I see you at Seojoon’s end of the first week party?”

“The rugby team is throwing a rager this weekend. You should come.” 

Taehyung tries to respond as per usual. Thanking them for the endless compliments and the textbook “Maybe,” or “I’m not sure yet”, to get people to lay off. Most of the time they ask questions about parties he knows he will already be going to or events he’s received the invite for so these people will find out then. There’s no need to jump the gun by letting them know in advance. Besides, he loves the element of surprise his sudden appearance brings.

His cheeks hurt from the fake grin he puts on. People flock to him more now that Jeongguk is stuck to his side, eyeing the pair like one of them is going to transform into a wolf and eat them if they do something wrong. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Jeongguk asks as the main quad gets closer and closer. 

Taehyung breaks his pact of not looking at him now that he’s somewhat gotten used to Jeongguk’s touch. His head turns, meeting the younger’s soft gaze and bitten lips, tufts of hair falling in front of his face and brushing his cheeks, and his heartbeat accelerates. 

Wow. “Tired of what?” Fuck, Taehyung’s voice sounds too breathy. 

“You know, tired of people giving a fuck about every small thing that you do, being all up in your business?” 

Taehyung shrugs. “Sometimes.” He’s well aware of how exhausting this lifestyle can be. “But I like the fact that people care.” Taehyung doesn’t say it but the attention makes him feel good. He’s always liked feeling wanted even if it’s for the sake of sex or fluffing egos or giving his fame to others. But he isn’t going to drop the chance to taunt Jeongguk once more. “Why? Too much for you already, Jeon?”

Jeongguk’s eye roll is immediate. They reach the middle of the quad, almost the same exact spot where Taehyung revealed their relationship to everyone. It’s perfect because anyone can see them as they walk by, just waiting for the next thing to gush about.  

It seems Jeongguk decides he wants to take the reins. He stops Taehyung by slipping his hand out of his pocket halfway so only his fingers are inside to spin him around to face him. Taehyung feels his balance slip, feet stumbling while his stomach flips from how fast Jeongguk seems to be moving him, as if he’s a pliant piece of clay. 

He tries to steady himself by placing his hands on Jeongguk’s chest, right where his heart is and feeling the same pounding beat underneath his fingertips. 

Taehyung’s hair wooshes around, probably looking like a poodle-y mess thanks to the wind. But Jeongguk continues to grin at him, genuinely, without his eye contact wavering once. 

“Not at all. I was just curious about your endurance.” 

His touch starved brain breaks free from its holds and decides to completely control Taehyung’s body. He lets his hands slink up and dangle behind Jeongguk’s neck, chest brushing the other’s, faces inches apart. 

From here, Taehyung can see each mole he has on his face, that scar he got when they were play-fighting once, and count each of his eyelashes.

Part of him begs to pull back but a stronger part of him begs him to stay. It’s nice and Jeongguk isn’t pushing him away, he’s playing along, it feels familiar and safe. Taehyung wants to cherish this some more. 

“That’s cute,” Taehyung smirks. “My endurance lasts way longer than you think, baby.”

“Is that so?” His eyes sparkle so much. Each individual star is present, swimming in the silky black pool. 

Taehyung hums. “Some people can’t handle it. That’s how long it lasts.”

The context switches from his public persona completely. He can’t stop it and Jeongguk seems to play along. 

“You’ve clearly been with a couple of pathetic wimps.” Jeongguk chuckles and his dimples faintly appear. Taehyung’s eyes drop to them for the split second they come up and he cannot fathom what in the hell Jae was thinking leaving a man that looks like this. 

Wearing such a simple outfit, all black, hair tousled by the wind and his friends. Taehyung finds him more attractive than anything. 

“Think you can do better?” 

Jeongguk’s fingers reach up and push strands of Taehyung’s hair back. His face gets closer and closer, like he’s about to push their lips together and Taehyung can feel the anticipation in his stomach bubbling up. 

He flutters his eyes shut as the teasing sensation of soft, soap-scented fingers gently brushes his skin.

“I know I can.” 

Show me, his brain pleads. I wanna see. Show me how you’re better. 

Taehyung leans in a bit, just to see if he’ll do it first. Jeongguk might be all talk like he thought. This could all just be part of their fake relationship. Maybe he’s just good at acting. Maybe he’s just stringing Taehyung along as a little joke. 

Or, maybe his body feels that ceremonious pull too. Maybe it’s not just Taehyung. 

His eyes dart to every corner of Jeongguk’s face. From his dangling earrings to the delectable mole underneath his lip. It’s right there in Taehyung’s view, all he has to do is lean in some more and press his lips and boom, they’re kissing. 

 So easy, right? Just lean in and–

He is interrupted by someone from a group of people calling Jeongguk’s name rather loudly and he splits from his horny induced madness. 

He turns away from Taehyung to find the swim team standing on the steps to the science building, giving Jeongguk a funny look or trying hard not to break their faces from how hard they smile. 

“Let’s go lover-boy,” Kim Yugyeom, the team captain, calls. “We have to get good seats in Physics this time.” 

A (cute) panicked look takes over Jeongguk’s expression and he pulls away from Taehyung, leaving him cold and confused. “Shit, I gotta go.” The warmth of his hand leaves Taehyung’s skin, gone is the scent and the feeling of him pressed all close. 

He moves without thinking, tugging Jeongguk back to him with a hand on his forearm. It’s easy since he doesn’t expect it so his body is loose. 

The same expression lies on his face, cutely surprised, and he raises a single eyebrow at Taehyung. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” His skin crawls with all of the people that stare as if they are two animals at a zoo. Jeongguk stares back slightly confused. 

His eyes dart all wide and cute over Taehyung’s face. “What is it?” Gone is the teasing tone, the sexy bravado that fueled their back and forth, and erupted goosebumps all over Taehyung. He’s Jeongguk again, clueless Jeongguk who hates him. “Did I forget my phone?” 

Taehyung’s face dulls. “You’re supposed to kiss me goodbye,” he points out. 

In seconds, his expression completely flips. 

“What! No, I’m not doing that,” he denies it in a panicked manner, shaking his head like Taehyung asked him to clean the bottom of his shoes with his tongue. 

It’s a fucking kiss. 

“Do you want people to believe us or not?” Taehyung looks around once more and people are gawking, waiting, getting late to their classes just to see them. So Jeongguk better speed it the fuck up and fast. 

He swallows shakily. His voice climbs with nerves. “I never said I’d kiss you. You never said I would have to.”

“Stop fucking panicking, people are watching.” He smiles while gritting his teeth, linking their hands to turn this spat into a romantic gesture and standing close to Jeongguk. “What did you think would happen? Boyfriends kiss when they leave each other-”

Jeongguk cuts in. His voice is breathy and low. “I-”

Taehyung doesn’t let him finish. 

“-and if you’re going to be a child about it again then this is really going to be a problem for us-”

“Kim,” Jeongguk tries again. 

“-because people are only going to believe it when they see it, especially people like Jae-”

Jeongguk squeezes his hand to get him to stop, his eyes clenched shut like he’s in pain. “Taehyung,” he exhales. Taehyung finally stops talking. “I can’t kiss you, okay? It’s just… it’s too early for that, for me at least.” His expression is tight and restrained. 

Taehyung’s chin pulls back. His initial reaction is to poke fun at Jeongguk’s painful look. It’s just a kiss. Who cares? Because in his mind, he couldn’t give less of a fuck who he was kissing. People put way too much emphasis on the damn thing. It’s just lips on lips pressed together. Why does it have to be so emotional? No one actually feels anything when they kiss someone, right? 

To him, it’s always been this thing he does during sex. No intimacy or romance behind it. 

But he supposes, if he really thinks about it, that for someone who had spent two years kissing the same person, whom he loved, it would hurt to kiss someone else.

And for someone like Jeongguk who is always so absolute about everything, black and white, yes or no, he can’t see that point of unattachment like Taehyung does over a measly kiss. His heart might still yearn to kiss Jae and he can’t feel the nonchalance that Taehyung does because his heart is still connecting the action to one person. 

Taehyung swallows down the bitterness in his mouth. “Fine,” it’s tight, his teeth pressing together. “Can I kiss you on the cheek, then?” 

A significantly less intimate spot in his opinion and definitely not enough for him or for the thirsty bitchless vultures around them but Taehyung is trying to accommodate here. 

Jeongguk still turns to the side, looking terribly, terribly uncomfortable. His eyebrows furrow in thought like he is piecing together every possible outcome before making his decision but Taehyung doesn’t have time for him to think through every possible outcome before speaking his mind. 

Both of them have places to be and saying goodbye should not be this drawn out, holy fuck. Every second they waste hesitating ruins the perfect act they put on right before this.

He groans quietly. “Jesus, can I hug you then?” Taehyung asks, tone dripping with disbelief. 

“Uh yeah.” 

Taehyung moves quickly, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Jeongguk’s shoulders and pulling him in. Chests pressing, he can feel Jeongguk’s pounding heart as he wraps his arms around Taehyung’s waist. It’s loose and half-hearted, tapping his lower back either affectionately or to get him to move on but that doesn’t take away from the way it makes Taehyung feel. . 

His scent becomes omnipresent, sticking to Taehyung like a fresh layer of glue. But it isn’t nauseatingly heavy. It’s nice. Familiar, warm, and safe. 

If he could stay, he would. He wants to. In these arms, he could melt. All strong and secure.

Fuck, this isn’t good. Taehyung’s eyes clench shut, his stomach flips and his entire body feels relaxed. He doesn’t want to leave when he should and Jeongguk doesn’t want him to stay when he shouldn’t.

It’s just a hug, Taehyung thinks. How would he react if Jeongguk was okay with kissing? God, he’s a hypocrite. 

And that is what makes Taehyung pull away. One thing echoing in his mind. 

What. The. Fuck. 

⍟⍟⍟

His classes end right on the dot as his fundamentals professor finishes his point on the powers of social media for your career, something Taehyung already knows so he can get away with scrolling through twitter on his laptop and tuning the guy out. Carefully, he gets up from his seat, one of his backpack straps over his shoulder, and slinks out from the back exit. 

Unfortunately, Taehyung doesn’t get to go home like everyone else. He’s got a rat to deal with. 

Grumbling, he takes a back path to a more secluded area where no one could spot him and Doeun together. There’s an older parking structure that some people prefer to use when the main ones get filled up. Especially the people coming in limousines so they won’t get egged. The only problem is that it’s just too far away.

Taehyung feels like he’s walking all the way to Japan just to find this damn parking structure. 

He connects his airpods and listens to some jazz while he walks, holding his head up high, even while he’s walking. People say hi to him the entire walk there and he smiles back. He has to keep up his friendly persona, right? 

Jeongguk is lucky. He gets to walk around campus and just be himself. No one is watching his every move, caring about the tiniest details, scrutinizing anything he wears or does. He’s free. 

What Taehyung would give to have that kind of life.

Don’t get him wrong. He loves being the It-Boy. He likes the clothing sponsors, all of the party invites, the envy and the feeling of being wanted. Taehyung gets to bathe in attention and, in that realm, he’s never dissatisfied. 

It’s everything else that sucks. That makes him wish he was more like Jeongguk.  

Sometimes, Taehyung just needs a breather from it all. He’d like to go out wearing his comfiest clothes, post himself having fun online, and just be a reckless young person without fear for a little longer. His youth is being ostracized every second he gets. Jeongguk gets to fuck up, make mistakes, be human and no one will get mad at him for it. His smallest mistake won’t appear on some gossip blog, posted on the internet for everyone to gawk and laugh at. 

Meanwhile, if Taehyung steps outside this perfect persona he’s created, he’ll never hear the end of it. 

Speaking of Jeongguk, what the fuck was that in the main quad today? Taehyung was acting like a virgin who’s spent their entire life underground and only survived off of canned beans and anime porn. Shuddering and panicking over a damn hug like he hasn’t been fucked uncountable times before. 

It’s embarrassing and honestly, completely out of character for him. He’s the experienced one after all. 

So shouldn’t he be making Jeongguk blush? 

That’s how this goes in movies. The shyer one will get teased and teased while the cooler one will be doing the teasing until they get closer and fix their relationship. 

But Taehyung is simply a fucking mess right now and that cannot continue for the rest of the three months or however long Jeongguk decides to drag out this shitfest. He thinks his heart might need reconstructive surgery if it’s gonna beat at that high of a BPM whenever Jeongguk barely touches him. 

Not just his touch. His scent, his smile, his hair, his clothes, the way he kept up with Taehyung today. It’s fucking getting to him and Taehyung is thinking he’s gone insane from the lack of sex. 

Yes, that must be it. 

He reaches the parking structure where a handful of people leave from, barely glancing at Taehyung. It’s a short, four storeyed building with regular cars on the bottom two and mostly limousines on the top two. All it takes is a simple elevator ride and Taehyung is there. 

Partially, he’s glad that no one pays attention to him here. That way, no one can report his whereabouts and spark rumors. 

The elevator doors part, the robotic voice says the floor number and Taehyung is greeted with a half empty lot. His fingers pluck his airpods out and with a heavy sigh, he walks to the car he unfortunately knows too well. 

Kang Doeun, a 5 '10, AI-generated K-pop idol looking loser that was most likely born in the pits of Satan’s asshole.

Doeun is pretty well off. Not nearly as much as Taehyung or Jeongguk but he’s wealthy enough to make a statement. His dad owns a few news agencies that are pretty well-known and his mom works in tv. So he doesn’t get a limousine or a fancy car but a nice Hyundai Genesis that he boasted about to Taehyung when they first met like it was the Nobel Peace Prize. 

Taehyung walks past one or two bouncing and steam-covered cars. Usually the top floors are reserved for people who are interested in hooking up between classes or doing drugs but considering it’s 3:30 p.m. on a Wednesday, the amount is low which he is grateful for. 

Taehyung taps his knuckles on the blacked out windows three times, exhaling a heavy sigh. 

“Eun, it’s me.” 

A few seconds pass when the door opens just enough and Taehyung climbs inside, making sure he’s as close to the exit as possible when his ass meets the leather upholstery.

And right there is Kang Doeun, smiling at him like they’re best friends or something. 

“Hi there, kitten,” he grins. Taehyung tries not to visibly cringe too hard at the old pet name given to him. 

If you were to ask Taehyung what he thought of the guy two months ago, he’d have nothing but nice things to say. But now that everything has transpired and he got to see what Doeun is really like, Taehyung feels gross looking at him. 

Ugh, Jae must love his sharp eyes and his pouty lips but Taehyung is filled with remorseful memories of cold hotel rooms and cigarettes on the balcony after a hot day instead.

“What is it now?” He sighs, squeezing his kneecaps to rid himself of any residual tension. 

Doeun shakes his head and clicks his tongue in corny disappointment. “So prickly, can’t I just talk to you?” He pouts. 

Taehyung’s short fuse blows once again. He’s not here for fucking games. “Look, I’ve had classes all day today. I’m hungry and tired and I wanna go home,” he presses. Taehyung needs to move his stuff in today and he needs to talk about being couple-y with Jeongguk too. “So just tell me whatever it is you want and then let me go–”

Immediately, fingers squish his cheeks together, limiting his speech and causing him to jump. “Ah, ah, ah, you don’t get to make the orders around here, remember? I’m the one with those pictures of you and I can have my dad print them with a simple text.” His fingers trace the plush shape of Taehyung’s bottom lip. “So play nice. I want to talk for a bit.” 

Momentary fear courses through his body, freezing his veins and muscles till he’s a block of ice. Taehyung will never be left alone if those pictures come out. He’ll constantly be reminded of it, no matter what he does in life. It will affect his family, his future family, his step-brother, his mom and step-dad and him the most. 

“Fine,” he moves his face out of Doeun’s grip. “Let’s talk.” If that’s all that this is going to be then he has no problem. 

The younger leans back with a satisfied smirk and grips a plastic cup of iced coffee. “You and Jeon, what’s that all about?” His head tilts, tone lilting like he doesn’t think it’s true or that he finds the entire ordeal to be beneath him.

“We’re dating.” Taehyung deadpans. 

Doeun snorts at him the minute it falls from his lips. The mere sound causes a lick of flame to burn in Taehyung’s stomach. 

The kind that makes him see red. 

“You? Dating that loser? That’s fucking rich,” Doeun laughs sardonically to himself as if  he has the right.  

Dismissing Jeongguk like he’s any better is honestly comical. One of them is the unproblematic son of a famous CEO and lawyer while the other is a prissy little bitch hiding behind his dad’s company to blackmail people into doing the things he wants. Take a guess which one is which. 

“And what do you know about Jeongguk?” Taehyung looks down at his nails instead of Doeun to keep his temper in check. 

“Considering the fact that I’m with his ex, I know enough.” The ice crackles in the cup as he swirls before taking a sip. The car reeks of coffee and his shitty cologne and Taehyung hates it.  “Jae talks so much shit about him. Like all the time thanks to your little declaration in the quad on Monday. It’s kinda driving me up the walls.”  

Taehyung’s tries not to make a face. If he could, he could write a dissertation about wha Jae is the most annoying human being on the planet, sent from an alternate dimension where pure evil exists to punish Taehyung for being too cool and pretty. 

Seriously, he’s the absolute worst.  

He leans in close, coffee breath right in Taehyung’s face.  “Apparently, Jeon’s super needy and super insecure and Jae was getting fed up with it but he only had the balls to leave him when he met me.” Doeun’s shoulders raise with confidence, as if that’s something to brag about. 

 He feels weird hearing about this from someone that isn’t Jeongguk. After hearing the details of his painful summer, the last thing he’d like to hear is Jae living it up with his living nightmare.

“Why are you telling me this?” Taehyung’s eyebrows scrunch.

“Thought you should know because, from my memory, clinginess is something you can’t stand.”

Not fully true. Taehyung likes attention, likes affection, and he never minded when Jeongguk used to follow him around whenever he got shy in new settings or when Jeongguk had that relieved expression whenever Taehyung entered a party late because he finally had someone to talk to. He always saw it as sort of cute. 

However, what isn't cute is a hook-up draping all over him for coffee or a date. 

He’s a one-and-done kind of guy. No need for lingering after or eating food or even sharing a post-sex cigarette like an 80s movie. Once both parties have done the deed, Taehyung leaves. And he always hated it whenever they couldn’t take the fucking hint. 

Like Doeun. He just kept on coming back. 

“I don’t mind when it comes to him,” he shrugs.  It doesn’t feel like a lie when he says it.

Viciously soft memories play in his mind like a reel. At first, Jeongguk could barely speak to Taehyung’s parents so he would just mumble under his breath to their maid until his family eventually gained his trust. He would call every year on Taehyung’s birthday to wish him, even if they would see each other the next day for New Years and after every trip, Taehyung would be the first one to hear everything that went down. 

He never once complained about it. Since he was an only child it was nice to have Jeongguk around. Finally there was someone who Taehyung could tell everything to that was his age. Someone that wanted to play pretend and dirty their fancy clothes because they’ll get washed later. Nothing about their friendship felt needy or too clingy on Jeongguk’s end. 

Being with him makes up some of Taehyung’s nicest memories. 

“How did you guys even meet?” Doeun asks, pulling Taehyung out of his nostalgic recap.  “Can’t be the first two months of summer since you were busy with a certain someone.” The smirk on his face makes Taehyung want to yak all over this stupid car. “So this must be pretty new huh?” 

Doeun is trying to catch him on his ass to flip it around and use this for his own benefit. Taehyung has gotten burned by him once

But thankfully, he’s actually thought of their beginning while nodding off during class. 

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. Our moms are friends and we,” he trails off to seem more organic and less rehearsed, “just started talking again in August. He’s really sweet and nice and it just turned into a relationship.” Stripping the details of their first date so Doeun doesn’t get overloaded but also because Taehyung thinks he should be discussing this with Jeongguk. 

The younger raises an eyebrow. “Really?” Taehyung nods. “Why doesn’t anyone know about you two being friends?”

“What, do you want pictures of our mothers at Mommy and Me yoga? We weren’t as close as our moms were until now.” His heart tugs. 

That’s quite literally the opposite of the truth. 

“Alright,” he presses a comically  large vape to his lips, blowing banana-creme clouds right in Taehyung’s face, “how is it then?”

“How is what?” Taehyung sighs. He wants to eat. 

“The sex.”

“Ew! I’m not–”

Doeun interrupts him, blowing more nasty smoke out. “If we’re not gonna fuck then let’s talk about it. Does Jeon fuck you nice and good? Do you fuck him? Is it big?” He questions with great curiosity. God, it is too early for all of this to be thrown in his direction. 

“Why don’t you ask Jae, huh?” Satisfaction is immediate when Doeun’s jaunty smirk falls at the sides.  “Better yet, why don’t you talk to him about how sex with Jeongguk was?”

“He rarely brings it up when I’m around.” The cockiness radiating off of him is really getting to Taehyung. “So Jeon must be pretty bad, then, huh?” 

This is a lie that Taehyung is totally unprepared for but his mind reverts back to the moment Jeongguk’s hand reached into his back pocket, the way he spun Taehyung on his axis, the way his hands looked when he drives and they all form a picture in his head. One of his hands being pinned above his head, of heavy breaths and sizzling eye contact and moans swallowed by wanton lips and he fucking runs with it. 

And before you go giving him a look, it’s better than nothing okay! 

A smirk grows on his face. “Quite the opposite, really.” He adds spice just so Doeun can fully understand how much better off Taehyung is now that he is (not actually) fucking someone else.“Could barely walk last time and that’s how I like it but you wouldn’t know that.”

There’s a reason he only had sex with Doeun 2-3 times. 

He scoffs, setting his vape down to rub his chin in thought before speaking. “Just for that, I’m asking for something in return.” 

“Seriously?” Taehyung shrieks. He is not fucking doing this again. No way. He’s calling the cops and sprinting out of here. “What part of the word relationship do you not get?”

“I’m not talking about sex. I want something else.” Doeun pauses, either for dramatic effect or to be an asshole. “I want an invite to every party that you get invited to.”

“Why?” This is a huge campus, with tons of other parties occurring at the same time. So many cliques and clubs and communities for Doeun to weave his way into. The rich jock community is not one of the welcoming or easy to get into types simply because of the qualifications. 

You either have to know someone or be someone and considering most of these jocks are selective about invites, newcomers are rare. But people always want in. They want all of the glitz and glamor because it feels like something they’d find in a Fitzgerald novel. Overly embellished, shiny, and pretty settings with posh language and expensive dresses when that is far from the truth. 

“You little snobby fucks love hiding it from the rest of us, well guess what? I want in. I only got into the last one because I overheard some idiots blabbing about it to each other but now I want you to send me the addresses or passwords. For me and Jae,” he makes sure to add. 

If Taehyung is not wrong, he might detect a bit of jealousy. He’d tease Doeun about it but he doesn’t want to end up with worse so he drops it for now. “Jae doesn’t like parties.” He would know, the idiot never comes to any team mixers. 

“He likes them with me,” Doeun shrugs. 

Whatever. “Alright, fine.” It’s easy enough. Taehyung doesn’t care who comes to the parties he frequents as long as Doeun keeps his side of the deal. 

He turns his head to the door and places a hand on the handle so his exit is quick and easy. But then, Doeun swipes a thumb over his cheek, completely different to the gentle way Jeongguk brushed hair out of his face this morning. Doeun’s fingers are icy cold from his drink while Jeongguk’s were soft to the touch. 

A wave of discomfort follows the sensation as Taehyung’s body goes into flight or fight mode. 

“See what happens when you listen to me?” He coos, pressing down on his bottom lip to reveal the flesh behind it along with his bottom row of teeth. “Keep this up and those pictures will be gone before you know it.”  

He’s demeaning, demoralizing and terrible to be around. Had the circumstances been different, Taehyung would’ve falcon punched this man into the stratosphere but he can’t. There isn’t much he can do to get Doeun off his back. 

Because if those pictures get out, it could ruin everything he spent his entire life working for. 

⍟⍟⍟

“So,” Jimin asks, “how has it been living with your betrothed?” He’s got that teasing tone and Taehyung is glad the blonde Factimes him while he organizes his closet because he gets to see his lovely reactions. 

“This isn’t fucking Bridgerton,” he mumbles, pulling clothes from a suitcase and trying to preserve the folding so he won’t have to do it again. 

Two days have gone by since Taehyung signed the lease and this Friday marks the end of the 1st week of school. In any other case, he’d be jumping for joy because Fridays mean the weekend which means parties but lately, Taehyung has not been in the mood. 

“That’s boring. I was expecting some late night tension and pining,” he lists with a sultry tone. 

Taehyung snorts. “Far from it.”The last time he saw Jeongguk was when they came back from morning classes and retreated back into their rooms to recharge/nap. They’ve barely spoken to each other besides the car rides to school and those fake sickly-in-love walks to main campus. Taehyung leans close to whisper to his phone, just in case these walls are thin as paper. “He is so difficult to live with.”

“How?” Jimin’s hair is fanned out on the couch he lays down on and he runs his fingers through his locks while the sounds of Yoongi tinkering in the kitchen are audible so Taehyung knows they’re both listening. 

He makes sure to keep his voice down. “First of all, he’s the most nit-pickiest person I have ever met.” 

Jeongguk has pretty detailed rules that he listed  on his first night here. Ones about not leaving any dishes in the sink, otherwise it attracts flies or buying his own laundry stuff because Jeongguk uses specific ones and he knows Taehyung doesn’t give a shit. Fine, okay, Taehyung can follow that. He’ll just order out and buy his own laundry stuff then.  He didn’t think it was that big of a deal. 

And look, Taehyung is not known for being the best at chores. Let’s remember this folks, he’s never had to do them in his entire life. So, sometimes he makes the human error of forgetting to pick up after himself. Not a crime right?

“Last night, I picked up McDonald’s and I asked if he wanted some and he said no because he follows a meal plan,” he mocks Jeongguk’s tenor voice and Jimin giggles. “So while he ate some boring ass chicken salad with sweet potato, I was fucking up this cheeseburger and I was eating in the living room so I could watch Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha.” Taehyung narrates. 

“As one does.”

“Yes, as one does. Well, it was like 9 at that point so I went to bed because I was tired and I had a discussion in the mornings and you wanna know what happened this morning when I woke up?” Jimin nods. “The little shit starts lecturing me about not picking up after myself, acting like I shat on the living floor when it was literally like some wrappers and an empty soda cup.” 

It was the definition of unnecessary. If it bothers Jeongguk so much why couldn’t he have thrown it away? Do a few pieces of garbage really make him that upset? 

Taehyung waits patiently for Jimin to take his side and appease his broken ego when the other just tilts his head like he’s weighing the options. “I mean, he’s not wrong.” He tries to deliver it lighty but it stabs Taehyung in the side nonetheless. 

“Our friendship is over–”

Jimin interrupts with the beginning of a knowing smile. “Hear me out first, shithead.” Taehyung’s arms cross over his chest patiently, motioning for Jimin to continue. “Alright, you can’t just leave trash around in the common area and expect Jeongguk to be okay with it. Wasn’t it spotless when you first looked at the place?” He nods, grumbling. “Right so obviously Jeongguk is a neat guy. Be messy in your own room but out in a shared area, you should accommodate.” 

Whatever, maybe Taehyung was too lazy and he thought that if he pouted enough, Jeongguk would let it slide but his plan didn’t seem to work so no one needs to know about it!

Hastily, Taehyung throws a shirt onto his bed. He’s about ¼ settled in. His bed is made and he’s got his laptop, a few power strips and all of his clothes in suitcases but that’s about it. So he’s spending today trying to organize his closet and then the weekends going shopping for the rest since his mother told her assistant that Taehyung should do it. 

He’s hoping that he can turn shopping into an outing with Jeongguk to get some pictures since Taehyung has not posted the guy once. All they’ve done is follow each other on Instagram but that was days ago. 

“We really need to talk,” he starts, keeping his eyes on the striped polo rugby shirt in his hands, “about this whole fake relationship thing.” 

Jimin shoots him a flirty wink. “Communication. Now that’s sexy. You guys should come up with a contract or something like that. You know, set boundaries.”

“Like what?” 

“You know, like going on a date once a week and posting each other on your Instagram stories each time and on the weekends and figuring out a timeline and shit. You can’t just wing it forever, Tae. People are going to have questions when you don’t post him at all. You broadcast every little happening in your day on social media, you think they won’t be suspicious if you don’t post your boyfriend? ” 

He’s right. Doeun was easy because Jeongguk wasn’t there. Taehyung was on his own and he could just make stuff up on the go without getting called out on it. But when people see them together, they have to sync up. 

And that takes time and love, like what normal couples have. 

So after another 30 minutes of calling Jimin and listening to him rant about Dance Moms, Taehyung says bye and ends the call because he hears Jeongguk in the kitchen. Sounds of pans clattering and water running. He should make a post on his story of them together and then they’ll make an agreement. 

Taehyung takes out his airpods, fixes his hair to perfection and walks out, shoving his hands in his pockets to look all relaxed. He shuts his door behind him and his feet press softly into the cold wood. The air smells of that fucking candle and a little bit like oil when he passes the threshold to see Jeongguk placing a large silver bowl on the drying rack. 

“Jeon,”  Taehyung calls, earning an unintelligible noise in response. “We have to talk.” 

 He looks cozy in loose shorts and a big gray t-shirt with a Nike logo in the corner. His hair is shiny, fluffy but combed. Eyebrows resting naturally, lips in their usual pout. 

Taehyung can feel his eyes on him, studying the way his shirt slips to reveal some of his collarbone and his shorts are baggy around his knees. It’s a hot day and even with AC on, Taehyung is aiming for something breathable, just like Jeongguk is. Streams of sunlight illuminate the open area.

“Why?” He asks, wiping his hands using a white and blue striped dish towel. 

There’s a bit of sauce collected at the corner of his lips and Taehyung’s instinct is to get closer so he can wipe it off but before he can scold himself for even thinking that, Jeongguk’s tongue swipes it off quickly. 

“I think we need to discuss this relationship thing a little more.” Taehyung makes his way to the raised counter facing the sink, leaning an elbow on it. “You know, like how we met and stuff.” 

“Ooh yay, our backstory,” he cheers in a monotone before rounding the kitchen and plopping down on the couch. The air whooshes when he passes by, giving Taehyung a wave of his scent while he follows his moving body. Jeongguk huffs and his hair flies up with it, landing in a messier state than before. 

The conversation has lasted three seconds and he’s already annoyed. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Yeah, anyways, here’s what I’ve come up with.” He sits down on the barstool underneath the counter, facing him. “We’ve been dating for two weeks but we’ve known each other since we were kids because our moms are friends. We talked after a family lunch which turned into a few dates and here we are. Sounds good?”

He was hoping for a thumbs-up, expecting another half-hearted whatever, but instead, Taehyung gets something else. 

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling everyone we used to–” Jeongguk pauses, looking to the ground and licking his bottom lip before speaking up again with a strangely confused and murky look in his eyes, “that we knew each other as kids?” He says quietly, with seemingly less annoyance than before. 

Taehyung just shrugs. He already told Doeun so what’s the point in lying? “It’s the truth and if it helps people believe our story then yeah, fuck it.” If anything, people will find it cute. Everyone loves a friends to lovers trope after all.  “Do you have a problem with that?” He asks.  

The bitter notion that Jeongguk might be embarrassed by their friendship is a treacherous thought floating around Taehyung’s brain. It’s out of character for the Jeongguk that Taehyung remembers but it’s been years so maybe things have changed. 

He earns a glare from the younger. “It was a problem for you, remember? 11th grade? Mr. Moon’s class?” 

Taehyung’s jaw unhinges as his brain pulls a nasty memory from high school. One that he is now regretting. 

He was on top of the world thanks to a boost in followers and his successful model debut in his mother’s show. People were obsessed with him and Taehyung wanted to keep that up until the end of high school. That could only be done by hanging out with the coolest people to make sure his own following never dropped. People whose parents were famous actresses, singers, directors, owners of huge companies. Everything was going just as he planned and Taehyung could not be happier. 

 Lo and behold, on the 1st day of 11th grade, he walks into Chemistry class and sees Jeongguk sitting at a table close to the back. 

Taehyung remembers their eyes meeting awkwardly, how he sat at the table farthest from him and he remembers putting a note in Jeongguk’s locker asking him to pretend like they didn’t know each other. 

He knows why he did it. It was out of fear that Jeongguk would come up to him and ask why they stopped being friends in front of Taehyung’s new group. He didn’t want to take that chance so he slipped that note in and went on with his life.  

Eventually, this new friend group fell apart because it turns out that being friends with people for social media fame isn’t exactly the best way to form meaningful relationships! And he ended up finding Yoongi and Jimin who were high on the social ladder because of their family name but they were also sweet and good friends to him. 

It was such a stupid teenage decision that Taehyung cringes at now but what can he do? Go back in time? 

All he can do is try to fix it now. 

“So you don’t care if people know we used to be friends?” Taehyung asks incredulously. 

Jeongguk just shrugs, playing with the hem of his shirt. “It’s not like it really matters anymore.” 

It doesn’t. Because they aren’t friends anymore. 

Taehyung plays along, getting up from his seat as he speaks. “So you wouldn’t have cared if I told everyone about the Spiderman night light that you took to every sleepover and every trip and how hard you cried when the paint started peeling because you thought he wouldn’t be able to protect you from monsters?” He remembers having to hold him tight because Jeongguk couldn’t sleep for so long but Taehyung didn’t even mind. “Or what about that time your sister wanted to be a makeup artist and she practiced on you every night and turned you into Bibble from that Barbie movie because she said that was her least favorite character and you were annoying her?”

“I wouldn’t prefer it.” And for a second, Taehyung thinks he’s won against Jeongguk. 

But Jeongguk speaks up once more. “Then again, I could let everyone know about how you threw up on your 7th birthday after eating an entire tub of vanilla ice cream and trying to dance along to a 2ne1 song or the time you accidentally knocked a waiter down to grab a pitcher of water because there was a pepper in your food. It’s your choice,” Jeongguk replies, shrugging like it’s nothing. 

It’s no use trying to play this game against each other. They simply know way too much. All of the small details and the important ones. Each and every single embarrassing memory stored in an arsenal for future birthdays and weddings now being dusted in the inner caverns of their brains for this farce.

Taehyung wants to jab some more, pull up even more anecdotes to get Jeongguk blushing but nothing comes to mind, nothing good enough, and he wants to stop relying on their past as a way to hurt him.

It’s high time they move on from that, right? 

“Fine,” he decides. His teeth press together for a moment. “We won’t reveal such personal details but for the sake of our story, let’s say we were acquaintances as kids.” 

“Okay,” Jeongguk agrees surprisingly easily.  

“Great. Now, we have to keep up with this story in real life and on social media. That’s where it really counts.” It’s where most people will see them. “So, once a week we’re going on a date and we will post cute pictures and stories,” Taehyung steamrolls before Jeongguk can open his mouth to protest, “and you and I will go to each other’s games for support.”

Last year, Hoseok was briefly dating this girl and Taehyung recalls constantly seeing her in the stands, wearing his shirt. It drew more attention to their relationship and Hoseok reached 9 million followers after that. 

Of course, their breakup was super messy and public but that’s besides the point. 

“You want to go out each week?” Taehyung nods at him. “Like what? A movie and dinner?”

“No, I want you to buy a private jet and take me to Italy so I can eat vongole pasta and see the Sistine Chapel,” he shakes his head at the stupid question, eyes rolling. “Obviously, movies or dinner are fine. And you’re coming to my first tennis game. I don’t care,” Taehyung adds because Jeongguk never responded to that. 

“Jeez, you’re demanding,” he nearly shudders.  

“Well, that’s how relationships work.” Not that Taehyung would really know but he’s rolling with it. “Come on, don’t tell me you lost all of your knowledge on dating after that phony activist dumped you.” 

To Taehyung’s credit, his comment makes the smallest perk in Jeongguk’s lips only for a second. “I know how dating works but I don’t know how fake dating works. Jae never said I had to take him out every week.” He untucks his legs, spreading them out so he can get up and meet Taehyung’s stance. “Do I have to go to parties?”

Taehyung doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes. There’s one tonight and we’re going to it.” 

“Ugh, why?” Jeongguk whines. His face screws up in discomfort and that right there is an expression that Taehyung so fondly remembers. Despite his face changing with age, most of his features combine to make the most recognizable expressions. 

“Don’t whine. I like going to parties.” And people are expecting them to be there together. 

“Okay and I don’t,” he says, like it’s common knowledge you could find online.  

Jeon Jeongguk: 20, Virgo, Blood type: A, major introvert. 

Taehyung clicks his tongue in annoyance. “This entire thing happened because we were both at a party,” he points out.  

“Yeah because Hobi forced me to go.” Jeongguk’s voice climbs a little. He steps closer to Taehyung, who is reminded that height and size cannot be used as points of intimidation against him. 

Jeongguk is just as tall as him, just as broad, maybe stronger than him. There’s no point in trying to appear all big and bad because Taehyung can’t compete. The playing fields have been leveled so he opts for something else to get Jeongguk to shut up for once. 

The kitchen, cold and already so large, feels like a small box when Jeongguk decreases the distance. Taehyung wants him to stay back. 

“Great and now so am I.” He retorts. 

Jeongguk shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to.” His arms are crossed over his chest so protectively when he tries to walk back to his room for safety but Taehyung doesn’t allow it. 

“Jeon–”

Jeongguk cuts him off, already in defense mode. “You’ve decided literally everything so far and I’ve been okay with it because I’m trying to play fair but I’m not going to be your little plus one to these coke–infested shithole parties full of people who couldn’t give less of a fuck about me. I don’t care about parties or social status like you do,” he points a singular shaky finger at him.  

Taehyung tries not to twist the accusation in his mind. He likes social gatherings, he likes talking and meeting people, and he’s always been effortless in these kinds of settings by bringing out his charm and looks. 

Sure they can be tiring and sometimes he just wants to be alone, but he still loves it. 

How is that a bad thing? How does that make him a bad person? 

“People need to see us being in a relationship in order to think we’re together.” He tries to spell it out slowly for him. 

“Oh please,” Jeongguk scoffs. “Jimin doesn’t force his boyfriend to go anywhere and everyone is fine with them. People can believe what they want from what we give them, we don’t have to go the extra mile just to prove it. It would seem like we’re trying too hard anyways.” 

Nice move, bringing up Jimin and Yoongi but the stark difference between them is that their relationship is real. It doesn’t matter if people aren’t around to see them being all couple-y because their relationship is for them and only them. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk have something to prove here. 

“People should be jealous of us.” Jae should be jealous, he wants to say. He should regret hurting you.  

Jeongguk should be happy. Taehyung came up with this plan to get back at Jae. Doesn’t he know how satisfying would it be to turn into this sociable ideal boyfriend with the person his ex hates the most? 

Jeongguk’s arms drop, slapping his thighs. His eyes sparkle with something that Taehyung cannot fully process. “Why do you care so much about what people think?” He shoots back, clearly tired of fending for himself. “Is external validation that important where you feel like you have to whore yourself out at every social event possible?” 

Taehyung pulls back a little. Each word combined to strike right at a deep rooted insecurity of his until he’s overcome with hurt. He feels himself become a little smaller, turning away from Jeongguk’s sharp gaze. The hard marble of the countertop presses against his back, grounding him, as whatever he was going to say next leaves his mind. 

Whore.  

He’s long decided that there is nothing wrong with wanting to be liked. He’s someone who has been in the public eye for years now and he knows that there were people that were never going to like him but he learned that people could be swayed easily. Basking in likes, follows, cameras, magazine covers, horny men and attention is a good feeling. Reading comments about his good qualities, articles about his features, having men clamber to have a chance to spend one night with him, he loves it. It reminds him of all of his good, enviable, marketable qualities. 

That’s not whoring himself out. That’s just being a normal person. 

And he is sick and tired of other people weaponizing it. Just because they are bitter and lonely and sad. 

“Fuck you, Jeongguk,” Taehyung spits out. His tone has lost all of its strength, leaving a vituperative, sad, deep one. “Just because I like going to parties doesn’t mean I’m whoring myself out for people.” His head turns away again. He does not want to give Jeongguk the pleasure of seeing his face. “Parties are fun.”

Whore. It’s been a while since someone has called him that. Most of the time it doesn’t bother him, especially because it’s coming from some loser he just had sex with who was mad they won’t get another chance. 

But from Jeongguk? Yeah, it fucking stings. 

A few seconds go by with Jeongguk going quiet. Taehyung hopes he’s forming the perfect words for an apology so that they can move on from this and go to this stupid party where everyone is expecting him. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even want to go anymore thanks to Jeongguk’s little comment. 

“People can get enough of us on Instagram. I’m not about to make myself uncomfortable for something that isn’t even real,” he mumbles, tucking some hair out of his face. 

Taehyung scoffs.The hurt returns but this time in the form of petty anger. “So you’d do this for Jae, then? For a real relationship?” He doesn’t know why the thought bothers him so much but it does. 

“He’d never make me,” Jeongguk argues back. 

“What would you two do then?” Taehyung doesn’t actually care about the guy but he wants to know what Jeongguk did with him that makes him comfortable. It could just be a matter of getting him used to stuff. Then again, he isn’t much of a party-goer to begin with. 

Jeongguk groans softly. “Like play video games, go to movies, make dinner together, take walks, I don’t know. We did the same shit I did with my friends,” he lists out.   

Taehyung doesn’t think. He knows that these are actually pretty great ideas for their fake dates and that going to parties as a couple doesn’t really have to be one of them. But there’s anger rushing in his veins and he doesn’t care to think logically at the moment. His brain runs fully on petty irritation. “Yeah, no wonder you barely have any of those,” he mumbles under his breath. 

Even if it’s the smallest bit, Taehyung wants Jeongguk to feel the pain he just felt after being called a whore. So he hits as below the belt as he can reach, to see if he can get a reaction, if he can hurt too. 

“Excuse me?” He barks. 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, trying to play it off. Jeongguk doesn’t let him. 

His shoulders widen and his face changes in a way that Taehyung is not used to. Furrowed brows with something dark brewing in his usually soft eyes. His gaze is almost lazy and demeaning, like he doesn’t even have the time to deal with Taehyung’s bullshit.  

“No, you can say it out loud.” He’s inviting a fight that Taehyung doesn’t really want to participate in. “I don’t have any friends because I do boring shit, right? Cause I don’t go out and get shit-faced at every party I hear about.” Taehyung takes a step back again, turning away from Jeongguk’s heavy eyes. “Well, you didn’t seem so bored of me back then so what’s changed?”

His heart plummets down to his heels. Is it time? Are they finally going to talk about their friendship ending? 

Is Taehyung finally going to explain what happened? 

“Things have changed,” he dismisses it. This isn’t the time to be talking about this. 

Taehyung turns away, specifically to his side to go back to his room, order delivery food and then hide under his covers for the rest of the day. But Jeongguk is hot on his trail, getting closer and closer. Taehyung can hear his steps padding on the floor until he is inches away from him but he doesn’t dare reach for his shoulder to turn him around. 

“What changed?” His voice drops to a strained murmur. “One moment, we’re doing everything together then you’re dodging my calls and lying to me and ignoring me at parties. That can’t happen for no reason.” 

 Taehyung turns his head to the side, just enough to catch Jeongguk’s eyes. “I’m not talking about this right now,” the second attempt at brushing it off. 

“Then when do we talk about it?” Jeongguk’s resolve finally breaks. “How long are we going to put off this conversation?” His eyes flash and change with his emotions, as Taehyung poked and prodded and demanded a reaction from him and he is regretting that decision greatly. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt? You were my best friend, we did everything together and then you just stopped talking to me. I don’t get it. What did I do wrong?”

His voice breaks and it becomes apparent to Taehyung just how much this split hurt him. 

Which is precisely why he can’t tell him why he had to end their friendship. 

He turns around fully to find Jeongguk staring at him with pleading and open eyes, begging for the truth.

“You don’t know what was happening at that time.”

“You never talked to me about it so how could I?” Taehyung watches his hands clench into fists in the pockets of his shorts and he cannot help but wonder if he is shoving his hands there to stop himself from pushing him.  

“Just let it go. We were 13. There was no guarantee that we’d be having sleepovers forever. Things happen, people grow and change. Childhood friendships aren’t supposed to last,” he goes on. 

“Yeah, because you squashed that chance.”  

Taehyung swallows shakily. He can’t talk about this anymore. It’s bringing up all sorts of weird feelings mixed with nauseating guilt and it’s too much right now. He didn’t come out here to tell Jeongguk all of this. He came here to tell him about the party. 

“Just tell me the truth.” Jeongguk’s voice goes back to that soft decibel and it’s getting harder for Taehyung to hold himself together. “You owe me that. If you’re gonna stay here with me, just tell me the truth now and I can finally move on from it and I won’t bring it up anymore..” 

Taehyung doesn’t want to spill it out. What could he say? That Jeongguk did nothing wrong but it was his own fears driving his actions? That the thought of everyone leaving him like his father did still scars him? 

It's so stupid and Taehyung isn’t ready to say it out loud. 

To this day he still doesn’t get that close with people. Jimin and Yoongi know him but not as well as they could. Taehyung has different ways of acting around people and he’s been okay with that for a while now. Only he can protect himself and he’s the only person that really knows him. He doesn’t want to change everything because Jeongguk, the one person who really knew him, has now wormed his way back into his life. 

Friendships end and sometimes, they don’t have to be rekindled. Taehyung and Jeongguk haven’t spoken in years. 

And Taehyung is going to make sure it stays that way, thanks to that conversation he had with Doeun a few days ago. 

“You were just–You were too much, okay! You were too needy.” He exasperates. The lie sits heavy in his mouth and it feels terribly wrong when he says it. Taehyung looks at the wall behind him so it’s less painful to say. “Always hanging around me and following me around like some pathetic little duckling. It was too much for me and I needed space so I cut you off,” lies, that’s not at all what happened, he keeps on lying. The worst version of him comes out and nips this stupid backstory right in the bud. “I wanted to do cooler things. I wanted to go out and actually have fun, not sit in your bedroom and play Legend of Zelda and eat your mom’s cookies all the time.”

Sure, he made new friends and he hung out with them all the time but Taehyung quickly learned those people weren’t Jeongguk. They were fun and more mature than him but they didn’t talk, they weren’t there for him, and they didn’t really care about him. 

Not like Jeongguk did. 

But it didn’t matter. It’s done. He and Jeongguk are done and by the time this three month fake relationship is over, they’ll go back to pretending like the other person doesn’t exist till the end of time. 

Taehyung exhales shakily and focuses his eyes back on Jeongguk. His fingernails dig into his palm at the sight of Jeongguk’s glassy eyes, casted downwards, and how his entire frame which was just standing so proudly, collapses inwards like a wilting flower. 

What have I done? What have I done?

“Thanks for being honest,” he mutters, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. 

The air was just zinging with fiery tension and now it’s completely bare. Even as the sun shines and the sounds of people flutter in from the window, the apartment feels cold and empty and desolate. 

“You asked for it.” Taehyung tries to reason despite the reasonable voice in his head screaming in frustration that he’s just worsening it with every word that drops out of his mouth. 

Jeongguk shakes his hair out his eyes. “I know, I did.” His shoulders rise and then sag with an exhale. He was carrying so much tension just now and it’s all gone and replaced with something else. 

This isn’t what Taehyung wanted. 

“Look if this is going to affect the deal–”

Jeongguk cuts him off. “It won’t. It’s fine. I’m over it.” Quickly, he turns around before Taehyung can say anything else. 

His footsteps pound against the floor and it’s the last thing Taehyung gets to hear before the door slams shut. Then he is accompanied by nothing else but the eerie silence of their apartment along with the fading smell of the candle.

And he immediately regrets everything he just did.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Fire and Ice Day for @nessianweek Yes, I just wanted an excuse to write more hockey player Cassian. No, I will not be taking criticisms at this time. Follow up to this drabble. Hope you enjoy! :) 

Nesta steps out of the English building, taking in a deep breath of the crisp, winter air. The lecture hall had been stifling, and the way Professor Matthews had droned on and on about Chekhov had her desperate for the class to end. She cuts across the Commons, heading toward the library, when she hears heavy footsteps fall in beside her. She doesn't need to look to know who they belong to. 

"So about that dinner," Cassian starts. 

"I don't actually recall agreeing to it." 

"Well, how else am I supposed to thank you for being there in my time of concussion need?" 

"You don't need to thank me. Maybe I was just hoping to see if a good thwack to your head would finally fix it. Clearly, it didn't." 

"Sadly, all it did was make my two working brain cells become just one," Cassian says, putting on his best solemn tone. 

The comment pulls a surprised laugh out of Nesta, and when she turns her head to look at Cassian, his smile is wide and his eyes are bright. She swears she can almost see pride swimming in those flecks of gold that make up his hazel eyes. 

"So what time should I pick you up?" 

Nesta doesn't respond. She merely rolls her eyes with a scoff and continues toward the library. That is until Cassian uses his long strides to step in front of her, effectively cutting her path off. 

"What do you have to lose?"

"My sanity?" 

"So 6:00 then?" 

Nesta takes a moment to take Cassian in. He still has that cocky grin that never seems to leave splashed across his face. But she doesn't miss the way he fidgets, running a hand through his tangle of dark curls, nor does she miss the nervous pinch around his eyes. She supposes she could go for a good meal, and while Cassian most definitely gets under her skin, he's not the worst company. 

"I have to meet with my group for our psychology project. 7:00?" 

"Deal." 

The smile on Cassian's face pulls even wider, and Nesta's pretty sure the only thing keeping him from actually cheering is the way he clenches his fists at his side. It's endearing, and Nesta bites the inside of her cheek to keep her own smile tampered down. 

"Well, see you then," Nesta says, starting back toward her original destination of the library. 

"Wear something nice, yeah?" Cassian calls after her. 

Nesta flips him off over her shoulder at the comment, and Cassian's booming laughter follows her all the way across the Commons. 

Luckily, meeting with the students in her group project isn't too migraine inducing. They divvy up the work and all agree on who will take which slides. When she makes it back to her dorm, she pulls a black dress out and gets started on her makeup. 

At 7:00 on the dot, there's a knock at her door. She quickly slips on her heels before pulling it open, Cassian waiting on the other side. The way that Cassian's mouth drops open and the awed way he whispers, "holy shit," has a blush creeping in and settling on Nesta's cheeks. 

"You clean up nice," she notes. 

And he does. Cassian has on a button down, the sleeves rolled up slightly, the tanned skin of his forearms and the ink that swirls against it on full display. Both the shirt and the black slacks he's wearing are form fitting, showing off the athletic cut to his body, years of skating having done wonders for honing the muscles. And while Cassian's dark curls are loose against his shoulders, Nesta can tell he's put product in it. 

Nesta waits for Cassian to make some sort of quip back after her comment, maybe for him to even comment on her, but he just continues to stare like he can't believe she's actually real. She tries not to focus on the fact that look has her heart beating double time in her chest, or the fact that warmth settles through her whole body. Instead, Nesta just rolls her eyes and steps fully into the hall, closing her door behind her. The sound seems to jolt Cassian back to reality, who blinks hard before his eyes focus properly on Nesta's own. 

"Wait," he says. "Bring your skates."

"My skates?" Nesta asks confusedly. "I thought we were going to dinner?"

"We are, but bring them."

"Why?"

"Just bring them." 

Nesta sighs, clearly not getting a straight answer out of him. But she heads back inside, stuffing a heavy pair of socks into her skates. She steps into the hall, skates in hand, and raises a pointed eyebrow as if to ask, 'happy?' Cassian's just answers with a wide grin. 

Cassian leads Nesta down to his truck, and she's surprised when he drives them to one of the higher end chophouses downtown. Dinner is good and the conversation flows easily between them. Cassian even asks Nesta about her current book and actually looks genuinely interested as she explains it. Although, his smirk is infuriating as she tries to subtly skip over the more… scandalous parts. 

After dinner, they clamber back into Cassian's truck, and Nesta's brow pinches in confusion as they pull into the rink parking lot. This explains the skate request. When Nesta looks over at Cassian, his eyes are already on her. Under the yellow glow of the parking lot lights, his eyes look extra golden, but Nesta doesn't miss the mischievous glint swimming in them. 

"I'm not exactly dressed for skating," Nesta points out, glancing down at her dress as if to prove her point. 

"Says who?"

"I'm serious." 

Rather than respond, Cassian just reaches back into the backseat of his truck, producing one of the hockey team sweatshirts, which he holds out toward Nesta. Nesta hesitates for only a moment before she's pulling it on over her dress. It's clearly too big on her, but the fabric is soft and the scent of fabric softener and Cassian fills her senses. 

When they get inside, the Friday night public skate is still in full swing, families and awkward high school dates milling about on the ice and in the lobby. In their attire, Nesta is sure that she and Cassian must stick out like sore thumbs. They walk up to the reception desk, and Nesta expects Cassian to ask for two passes for the public skate, but instead he and the rink staffer share a pointed look and then a key is being slid inconspicuously into Cassian's hand. Before Nesta can even start to ask what that means, Cassian is grabbing her hand, pulling her down the hall, past the locker rooms and snack bar. His eyes quickly dart around before he slides the key into the right side of the double doors, tugging Nesta inside and flipping on the lights. 

"The tiny-ass practice rink?" Nesta asks, looking around.

"Bal owes me a favor," Cassian explains, pocketing the key. 

Cassian grabs Nesta's hand again and leads her around to the benches. They each take their time trading their shoes for skates before stepping out onto the ice. 

There's something about the way ice feels under her feet that calms Nesta in a way nothing else can. The cutting sound of her skates against it is like music to her ears. She glides easily to center ice, taking a deep breath and letting the cold welcome her into its embrace. She feels Cassian's presence behind her, warm hands settling on her hips. 

"You know you look better in this sweatshirt than I ever did," he says, voice pitched low. 

"Sounds like a personal problem," Nesta counters, turning around to face Cassian. "It's not my fault even hockey things look better on figure skaters." 

"Big words coming from someone who needs a toe pick to stop."

"That's not what a toe pick is for." 

"How about a race then? To settle things." 

"Fine." 

They both skate over to the goal line, getting into their starting positions. Cassian counts them in with a ‘ready, set, go,’ and then they’re off, sprinting down the ice. Nesta’s hair whips past her face, the cool rink air rushing along her cheeks, as she pushes her legs to go faster and faster still. Cassian crosses the other goal line first, an icy spray flying up as he stops hard before the boards. Nesta stops beside him, crossing her arms as she takes in his wide smirk. 

"You totally cheated."

"What? I did not."

"You have longer legs. It's an unfair advantage."

"Sounds like excuses to me. Just admit it. Hockey players are better."

"Are they? Could a hockey player do this?" 

Nesta pushes off the boards and settles easily into her stride. A swing of her leg and a push of her foot and she's up in the air, pulling her arms in tight as she twists and twists around. Her feet land back on the ice and she glides out of the move gracefully. When her eyes land back on Cassian, his own are wide and awed as he watches her. But then his eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. 

“Who’s cheating now?” 

“Fine. Something simple then.” 

Nesta jumps and does a single twist, holding her arms out when she lands and raising an eyebrow toward Cassian in challenge. His eyes stay narrowed on her, but he pushes off the boards, settling into a stride toward center ice. 

“How hard can it be,” Cassian mutters. 

Cassian skates a few circles, clearly trying to walk himself through the move, trying to hype himself up. Nesta has to bite the inside of her cheek while she waits. After a few moments, he throws himself into the air, spinning around once. His skates land back on the ice, and for a moment, Nesta is about to be impressed, but then his left foot is slipping out from under him. He falls ass-first onto the ice with a loud ‘oof.’ 

Nesta can’t help the loud laugh that tears its way out of her chest. She tries to press a hand to her mouth to stifle it, but her whole body shakes with it. When she finally calms down and finds Cassian's stare again, his face is marred with an unimpressed frown. 

“I’m so glad my pain brings you joy,” Cassian says sarcastically before holding his arms up toward her. “Aren’t you going to help me up?” 

“No.” 

Nesta realizes she’s made a mistake. A slow smirk slides across Cassian’s face and even from across the rink, there’s no missing the mischievous glint in his eyes. Before Nesta can even blink, Cassian is on his feet and charging toward her across the ice. The rink is small with nowhere to go, so soon Nesta finds herself cornered back against the boards, Cassian’s arms bracketing her in on either side. 

Cassian opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but it gets lost along the way, and instead he just stares. This close up, Nesta can see the greens hidden in his hazel eyes, the way they flicker under the rink lights. Cassian’s eyes drop down to her lips before settling back on her eyes, and Nesta’s heart does a little flip in her chest. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"What if I say no?"

Cassian leans in closer, and Nesta can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips, is sure that he can feel the way the breath hitches in her throat. 

"Say no, then," Cassian whispers. 

The silence hangs between them for only a second before Cassian closes the distance, pressing his lips to Nesta’s. Nesta practically melts into it, pressing closer as their lips slot and slide against one another. One of Cassian’s hands comes up to bracket her jaw, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist. She can feel the way he sighs against her lips, the deep groan in his chest as the kiss deepens. 

"Hey, why are the lights on back here?" 

They break apart at the sudden voice, Cassian taking Nesta’s hand and tugging her down so they’re hidden behind the boards and out of sight. They can hear the footsteps of the rink staffer walking around, and Nesta turns to glare at Cassian. 

"I swear, if we end up arrested because of you…"

"Don't worry. I'd never let that happen. We're both too pretty for jail."

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[anika-ann]

Words Whispered in the Dark

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6250🙈

Summary: There are things, intimate desires, which people simply don’t want to talk about out loud. Since you prefer writing those down, it applies twice as much. 

Steve supports your writing – but what he’d think about your newest story… well, you’re not sure you wanted to know.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bondage, oral (M rec), consensual sensory deprivation, praise kink & body worship, ‘babygirl’, fingering, dom/sub undertones & implied age gap & professor-student dynamic & cumplay if you squint, language ---- (let me know if I missed any…why is the list so long wtf)

A/N: Can be read as a standalone. Part of the Attached ‘verse with professor!Steve.

A/N: For Siri’s 5K Soft Dark Challenge. Congratulations to the rightfully earned milestone ❤️ Thank you for hosting the challenge and kindly including even soft fics (even though I feel like my soft got lost in translation a bit).

Prompt: “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.” - bold in the text, pls don’t @ me for the way I used it.

Stepping back into your and Steve’s shared bedroom and study room in one, you froze on spot, heart leaping to your throat.

You were lucky you didn’t drop your coffee and snack upon the sight of him, your fingers gripping the items tighter in surprise instead. But fuck, was it a close call.

Because few minutes ago, you moved to the kitchen to grab some refreshments for your brain. Relaxed air had settled over your tiny but loving household on a late Sunday morning; Steve was chilling on the bed, while you sat by your desk, laptop in your lap as your fingers danced over the keyboard, putting into words your latest… uhm, story. It was going great too and being able to steal glances at your gorgeous fiancé and muse in one person was a pleasant bonus.

Steve was, as sheepish as it sometimes made you, well-acquainted with your passion for writing, even rooting for you in his fully-supportive partner mode at all times. He read a few things of yours, both dirty and sweet ones, and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. You weren’t hiding things from him, never had to; and damn, did it feel good for both of you.

So technically, you knew there was a chance you��d find him behind your desk, eyes skimming over your words since you left the computer opened, just like the document, but… well.

Nothing could prepare you for the sight on him actually doing it, shoulders tense, Adam’s apple bobbing, breathing shaky as his chest kept rising and falling irregularly.

Your own breath hitched at the sight, face feeling like set aflame, pulse hammering in your temples.

Oh no. Oh shit. This wasn’t happening--

Truth was, you really had no problem sharing your stories with Steve. But this one… well, fuck. You were so fucking screwed.

“Oh---oh honey,” you stuttered, the endearment you rarely used tasting foreign on your tongue. That was how out of it you were upon realizing what was happening here.

Steve was reading it. Steve was reading that thing. That shameless, entirely dubious thing that--- this was bad. Bad, bad, bad, really fucking bad—he hadn’t run for the hills before, no matter how filthy your stories got, but now he certainly would.

Steve’s head snapped to you at instant, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as he was caught red-handed.

“You- uh, you weren’t supposed to… see that,” you stuttered awkwardly, still unable to move an inch.

Maybe you should run for the hills just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath?

He didn’t react apart from spinning in the chair to face you, throat working again as his gaze trailed up and down your figure clad in a simple shirt and shorts, fluffy socks to keep your feet warm. Despite your plain outfit, his gaze burned with intensity and dare to say hunger, enough to stir heat in your belly.

Realizing this might be the last time you’d ever see him (okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but better safe than sorry), you let yourself to take him in as well, again, even if you knew every line of his body, every detail. The cut of his jaw, tendons in his throat tense as well as his shoulders, long fingers griping the armrests, legs slightly parted, accenting the unmistakable growing bulge between them.

Your heart skipped a startled and excited beat. Oh. Well. At least he liked what he read, you supposed, even if all bells in your head were ringing it alarm, because… that. That kind of story would be a little too much for him, you had thought.

Was it?

“Come here,” he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had just woken up, the same voice that caressed your ear as he rutted into you, in the lazy loving which so perfectly fit a morning like this.

Willing your feet to move, teeth sunk into your lower lip, your fluffy socks padded almost soundlessly against the floor as you obeyed his request.

He gestured for you to rid yourself of the items in your hands; once again, you obliged.

The second your hands were free, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you in for a dirty kiss, fingers sinking into your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you. Sighing in relief, you relaxed into his affection and he wasted no time licking into your mouth, his free hand gripping onto your shirt (his shirt) to drag you into his lap.

A hazardous position in an office chair, one might think. But you had a lot of practice with your favourite professor.

Sliding lower in the seat and pulling you up, Steve positioned you to his liking, drawing an appreciative hum from you as his erection rubbed deliciously against your core. You felt him smile into the kiss at the little sound you made, his fingers digging into your flesh in order to press you into him further, rutting against your quickly dampening centre.

Okay, who were you kidding. You had been writing down your filthy fantasy, you were already soaked, Steve’s movements and apparent enthusiasm just adding to the heat. A whine escaped your lips when he withdrew a fraction, giving you a chance to breathe, hand slipping under your shorts to fondle your lower cheek.

“Well, I did see it, sweetheart,” Steve said lowly, a little too short of breath for the teasing to work in his favour. Still, your stomach twisted in anticipation of what was to follow. “And I want it.”

Your eyes snapped open, your lips parting in awe, butterflies erupting in your stomach. You met his eyes, dark pupils having almost swallowed the blue of his irises, gaze intent to prove his point. Fuck. You could come right now if he kept you sitting exactly as you were and watching you like that.

It was one thing to see him react to your fantasy laid bare for him to see – voluntarily or not – but him admitting it out loud, well that was just a whole new fucking level.

Now the idea of that actually being doable was planted in our brain and your core clenched at the wistful image you had painted with your words.

It took you another minute of staring at each other to realize what exactly he was saying without explicitly voicing it.

“Wait, right now?” you blurted out breathlessly, a single nod and a kiss to the corner of your mouth your only answer.

Fuck. Shit. Okay.

“A-alright. Let’s do this then,” you stuttered, as thrilled as nervous.

You didn’t expect that – but you weren’t one to let the opportunity pass. You framed Steve’s face with your palms, his beard rough against your skin, and pressed your lips to his in a hurried kiss, eager to get him where you needed him before he changed his mind. Last grind of your hips, swallowing his content hum, you climbed from his lap to search for something that would hold.

“Bed. Now.”

Your fingers were shaking a bit under his intent gaze as they slipped under his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Steve was sitting on the bed now, legs parted enough for you to stand between them, watching our every move. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to the way he was looking at you – so tender, with longing and yet with such lust.

It lit your nerves on fire in the worst and best ways and that was alright with you, as long as you’d get to keep him.

He smiled at you softly, a little quirk to his eyebrow when he caught you staring and not springing into action just yet.

“What is it, babygirl?”

His hands trailing up your waist made it harder to answer.

You sighed, feeling your earlier confidence wavering. “You’re just so fucking pretty, it’s unreal.”

His lips curled up in a smirk, but the light in his eyes gave away just how much the compliment meant for him. He pulled you closer, a breathy kiss landing on your clothed stomach.

“That coming from you… could look at you all day, you must already know that,” he murmured to your shirt, sending a sparkle of courage up your chest.

You ruffled his hair and pushed him away with a chuckle, mirroring his previous smirk.

“Well, you won’t, not this time,” you sing-sang cheekily, stepping over his thigh to kneel on the bed behind him, hearing his breath catch, his hand brushing your thigh as you danced out of his reach.

Placing the scarf over his forehead first, you felt your insides twist in anticipation, fingertips tingling. God, you were really doing this.

“You ready, Professor Rogers?” you hummed to his ear, marvelling at the effect the title had on him, always, as his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

“When you say it like that, babygirl? Yes, I am,” he grumbled, causing you to bit down on your lip.

Making sure you didn’t tie the knot too tight nor too loose, you moved the fabric so it would cover his eyes.

“Good?”

“Uh-huh,” was his wordless answer as you let your hands slid to his bare shoulders.

Steve was undoubtedly a specimen. He was every male-attracted person’s wet dream and you were the one getting your hands on him.  You thanked heaven and hell for it every day. The barely visible lines of his abs, toned chest… but Christ, it was his back that would be your downfall.

Allowing your hands to wander, your fingertips traced the hard lines of his deltoids, a featherlight touch making him shudder and your mouth to actually salivate. Dropping a kiss between his shoulder blades, you scooted closer so you were literally breathing down his neck, palms sprawled over his triceps, caressing his thick biceps, down his forearms and over his fists and all the way back up.

It was almost like a beginning of a massage, you supposed, but no one could blame you if you were enjoying the sensation on your palms a little too much. You didn’t get the opportunity to appreciate Steve’s physique like this often enough. So you indulged yourself a few more times, applying more pressure, dropping a kiss to the crook of his neck every once in a while. He winced at the accidental scrape of your nails up his forearm, causing you to halt in your movements.

“You still good?” you questioned quietly, genuinely worried for a second. You realized he had barely made a sound so far.

“You could say that, yeah,” he choked out you felt your lips curl up into a smile. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, you took notice of the unmistakable hard outline on his sweatpants and gleefully resumed your movements, nibbling on his shoulder before soothing the skin with a gentle lick. “Babygirl…”

“Yeah?”

“You know what. Don’t test me,” he warned, only making you smile wider.

“Or what?”

He turned his head to side despite not being able to see you, giving you a perfect view of how tense was his jaw. Oh, you could imagine the stern look he wanted to scold you with.

“Or you’re not gonna like what’s to come when I put my hands on you,” he threatened, sighing exasperatedly when you replied with a barely audible ‘promise?’.

“In all seriousness though… what if you… uhm, couldn’t?” you asked reluctantly, not keen on sharing what you wanted… but wanting it really badly. You were sensing a pattern within yourself, seriously.

“I don’t follow---  oh,” escaped him soundlessly as your fingers attempted to wrap around his wrists and squeezed to give him a hint. “I don’t know about that, I mean-“

You felt your hear sink in disappointment, but you tried not to let it show, wondering how to try to convince him one more time. Sure, if it was a no-no, then you wouldn’t force him, he never forced you into anything either and this was about your mutual pleasure, but… now, having him partially at your mercy, the idea nudged insistently on your mind and the image of him with his hands tied above his head while you could do anything you pleased… you might have been soaking the shorts and the sheets at that.

“We don’t have to, Steve,” you assured him kindly, hundred percent honest despite planning on playing dirty. Your hands moved to his abdomen, caressing their way up his chest, accidently brushing over his left nipple, your lips moving to his ear. “But I’d be so good to you…”

“Babygirl,” he whispered, out of breath as your hand wandered down his happy trail, slipping just under the hem of his sweats, the fingers of your other hand moving to the neglected nipple, this time shamelessly toying with it.

“I’d be such a good girl for you, Professor Rogers,” you promised, keeping the smile off your voice when you heard him gulp, his cock visibly twitching. “I’d be really, really nice. Don’t you want that, Professor?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay-“

“Good choice,” you said approvingly, dropping a kiss to his cheek, making him groan and probably regret his decision already. You stood up, quickly looking for something you could use. “Just so you know, I think this is where the same rule applies,” you noted matter-of-factly. “You don’t like something I do, you want me to stop at any point, you tell me. I really want this to be good for you, Steve. So. What’s the word?”

From the front, you could see the blush that spread over his chest, causing you to bite your lip and nearly stumble over your feet. Good lord, Steve blindfolded, all flushed and waiting for you on the bed so you could do your worst--- now that was a sight to behold.

“Uhm… Waterloo?”

You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at his choice. It was cute and ridiculous... but also kinda hot, because well, Steve’s brains were just another turn-on for you. Of course he would choose something like that. Professor Steven Grant Rogers, history buff, certified hot nerd, the sweetest man to ever walk the Earth.

You pressed your lips together to prevent yourself from smiling too wide. You didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like he could see you.

“Okay. Waterloo it is,” you said, swiftly moving to the closet when another idea popped in your head.

Slipping into a new outfit before heading back, you were rather satisfied with yourself as you grabbed the two ties you found prior. Not that it would actually hold him – it was about the idea.

“You’re taking a bit long, babygirl…”

“And? You mind?” you teased him, stopping to stand in front of him. “Have some… pressing issues?”

“Keep it up, babygirl, see what happens once this is over,” he bit back, only making you chuckle at the perfect pass.

“I think there’s something else that’s up--- sorry, sorry,“ you mumbled when his hand landed blindly on your thigh.

His brows furrowed when he felt the difference.

“You changed.”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand trailed up curiously, right under your miniskirt and you let him… just until air got stuck in his throat upon finding you with nothing but the generous amount of slick covering your core.

“Fuck-“

“Nope,” you replied cheekily, even if the flicker of his finger caused you to shudder, his touch like liquid fire at this point.

Fuck, you wanted him. You wanted him right now and you wanted him to take you in every way he wanted… but the idea of him at your mercy was appealing enough for you to control yourself.

You grasped his wrist and shoved it away; he allowed it, but not without whining pitifully.

“Lie down, Steve, please. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You better,” he grunted, unwillingly moving up the bed, obediently spreading out on the sheets and letting you guide his arms up as you climbed over him and tied his wrists together.

“Not too tight?”

He shook his head, a smirk crossing over his lips. You rolled your eyes at the double meaning, but you guessed it served you right.

Oh, but would you wipe that smirk off…

Securing the knot, you shifted to be face to face with him, lips hovering just above his mouth, breathing the same air and hoping to begin the sweet torture.

You had to admire his patience; despite definitely noticing your positions, Steve didn’t move an inch. It was up to you then – and the premise sent another thrill through your veins. Oh, you’d break him in the most delicious ways.

As soon as you erased the distance, his lips sunk into yours hungrily, wet and soft in the contrast to his beard, the sensation you adored, having you squirming above him until you remembered again that you were the one in control.

You kissed him with vigour, licking into his mouth, one hand still where his were joined, the other pressing against his chest. Your tongue met his, revelling at his taste and at another of his tries to dominate the kiss, to set things as they usually were. But as much as you loved it when he took charge… not today.

Parting abruptly, his lips following on instinct, you couldn’t but grin to yourself. Kissed his fingertips, you lingered at the one still glistening with your juices. You took it to your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and sucking lightly, feeling Steve’s heart speed up under your palm like crazy.

When you lightly grazed the skin with your teeth, his groan and the way his hips thrusted upward was the best reward you could get.

Kissing a trail down his arm – because goddammit you loved his arms – you hummed to yourself contentedly whenever you could feel the slightest shift of his body under yours and greedy for more contact, you allowed yourself to put most of your weight fully on him.

The choked sound it elicited from him startled you at first – until you realized that with your skirt hiked up, you weren’t the only one enjoying the skin-on-skin contact, your slick coating Steve’s lower stomach just above his sweats. Hopefully it was giving him ideas – it was certainly was to you.

Rustle of fabric, ragged breaths, occasional smacking noise when you moved up or left a small hickey on his shoulder and above his collarbone. Your fingers toyed gently with his nipples as you kissed his sternum before replacing your hands with your mouth once more, sucking, drawing a quiet whimper from him.

Fuck couldn’t get enough of the noises he was making. The pretty breathless moans of your name, the curses slipping from his lips… it was like music, but on a desperately low volume.

“What is it you always tell me?” you teased, lamely covering for the fact that your own arousal was nearly uncontainable. Shit, you loved how sensitive his nipples were… how much more sensitive he must have been now, no visual, laser focused on every touch instead? You wanted more… so much more. “Don’t hold these pretty sounds from me?”

Steve gritted his teeth at the remark, but as soon as you positioned your heat directly over his hard length and rolled your hips, he sang for you beautifully.

“Shit, sweetheart-“

The rush of confidence, the feeling of power was almost overwhelming – the image of him, lips parted in mute pleasure, certainly was. You were a little too close to climbing your own peak a little too quickly to your liking.

Sitting up straight, you undulated your hips few times, hands tracing patterns over Steve’s rapidly rising chest and abs. Much to his obvious dislike, you all too soon slid lower, your mouth making its way down his abdomen and then you finally, finally rid him of his sweatpants and boxers in one go.

His cock sprang free, hard and red at the tip, leaking just enough to cause your mouth to water and your thighs to rub together to give yourself some of the friction you craved so much.

Hands planted on his hips, you kissed along his hip bones and the apex of his thighs, taking your sweet time exploring everything you could – except for where you suspected he wanted you the most. You had to grin for yourself when you cupped his balls, causing him to hiss in relief, the muscles of his abdomen and legs clenching beautifully.

“Talk to me, Steve,” you hummed as you replaced your hand with your tongue, licking a stripe towards his base.

“Christ- don’t stop--“

“Eloquent as always, Professor,” you retreated, causing him to let out a growly sound you never heard before and had your core tingle, cunt feeling awfully empty.

Christ was right, alright. Seeing his chest heaving, fingers twitching as if he wanted nothing but to tug at your hair to keep you there and stuff your mouth full of his cock---  if you didn’t get some soon, you might actually combust.

So you put your mouth back to work on his sack again, fingers barely curling around the base of his cock, giving a first experimental stroke before you squeezed a bit tighter – and then swiftly moved away, his hips following on instinct in, craving more.

“For fuck’s --- how did I ever think you were sweet and nice?” he complained huskily, impatience lacing his voice.

You chuckled, but heard him out, leaving his balls in order to give more attention to his impressive and possibly painfully hard length.

“Beats me,” you retorted, hands busy with gentle strokes to his shaft. “I mean, we literally got together thanks to you finding out I wrote about sucking and riding your dick right in your office, Professor Rogers.”

“You little-“

His protests died in his throat, features twisting in wordless pleasure when you finally wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, delivering a few kitten licks to the tip. His taste exploded on your tongue, eliciting a content hum which he certainly felt too, because a jerk of his hips pushed him deeper to your mouth.

Slowly swallowing as much as you could without having him hit the back of your throat, you curled your hand tighter around the base and started bobbing your head.  

A string of breathless profanities left his mouth whenever you squeezed, only getting filthier when you hollowed your cheeks. It was all encouragement you needed to take him deeper, giving him a taste of heaven as his tip brushed the back of your throat.

“Babygirl, fuck, fuck, yeah--- just like that…”

Your own arousal became unbearable, a surge of hot need squeezing your insides at Steve’s praise. Slipping a hand under your skirt, you sighed in relief when your fingers caressed your lower lips, hips bucking forward in desperate need of more.

Your predicament was impossible to solve – you wanted him inside you already, so badly, but fuck the picture Steve made, even if blurry as tears prickled your eyes whenever he hit the back of your throat, was just too divine.

Lips crimson with how he kept biting at them to keep at least a little quiet, hair sticking to his forehead, muscles drawn tight like strings as he kept clenching them both unwittingly and consciously in hope to get you where he wanted you and the fresh taste of him whenever you did something he particularly liked--- you simply had to feast your eyes on him. And he couldn’t do the same… or take charge for that matter.

So fucking pretty like this.

And you were the only one seeing him like that, tied up, helpless against the assault on his senses sans vision. He gave himself up to you like that, willingly. The thought warmed you up inside out, enough to drive you nearly as crazy as if you were in his place.

Wasting no time with preparation you didn’t need, you pushed two fingers into your core at once, whimpering around Steve’s cock when you did. Your whole body relaxed, the pent-up desire easing a little and yet burning hotter. You pumped your fingers slowly, the sensation so blissful you had to remind yourself to keep working on Steve too.

Still, your actions didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you—are you touching yourself, babygirl?” he whispered, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

It took you a second to swallow the baseless embarrassment and literally swallow, causing Steve to let out a moan so wrecked and pretty you felt your pussy clamp around your fingers.

Hoping your words would come out less shy than you felt when saying them, you released Steve’s length with a wet pop to tease him some more.

“Yeah, I am…. Why? You want a taste?” you asked sweetly, clearing your throat that suddenly felt so empty.

The guttural moan that erupted in Steve’s chest was music to your ears, his cock twitching and glistening with fresh beads of precum a sight to behold.

“Yeah, babygirl… give it to me,” he choked out and the genuine desire in his voice was like a punch to your solar plexus. Your walls clenched around your fingers, the familiar coil in your abdomen tightening.

Swallowing a pitiful sigh at the loss, you stretched over the warm length of Steve’s body, gulping when his own parted in invitation.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Reluctantly, you let the fingers sticky with your juices brush over Steve’s lips, gasping when his tongue instantly slid out to lick at the essence eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Fuck, always so sweet, babygirl…” he muttered, your breath stuck in your throat when his mouth blindly chased after your fingers before you could withdraw your hand.

“Oh my god-“ you choked out, mesmerized, your pussy clamping around nothing.

He sucked greedily, the image alone causing your hips to rut against his, your clit catching against his rock-hard shaft. Your eyes fluttered close in bliss, stars exploding behind your eyelids.

Unwittingly, you worked your hips faster, riding Steve’s thick cock even without having him inside. The friction, the soaked fabric of your skirt brushing against your clit, the sensation of Steve’s tongue lapping at your fingers as if he had his mouth on your pussy instead--- you felt the coil in your belly snap, the world turning white before you knew how.

You came with a broken cry, blissed out and shocked at the sudden release, but riding your pleasure out on instinct.

Grazing your fingers with his teeth as he let go, Steve spoke words so filthy our head spun.

“That’s it, babygirl. Fuck. Look how little my girl needed to come all over my cock. Using me so shamelessly.  You must have really wanted it, didn’t you…” he said, voice hoarse with a tint of smugness as you came back from your high, the dirty talk only already riling you up again.

You had no idea what just happened, but you had a feeling Steve immensely enjoyed it as he somehow got the upper hand on you despite being the one tied up.

For someone who was supposed to have all blood out of his brain and have it in his dick instead, he was way too smug… but you’d reverse it again. He had no idea what was about to hit him.

Stealing a kiss to taste ourself on his tongue, your fingers went to remove the blindfold.

Your professor was, in certain aspects, still just a simple guy – he liked a good visual. It was silly of you to rid him of it in the first place, no matter how much fun you had with it.

Steve blinked in surprise, squinting against the sudden light, while you slipped out of your bralette, leaving you in nothing but your very schoolgirl-like mini skirt. You smiled at him sweetly, kissing his mouth once more, thumb softly brushing his lips as you towered over him, nearly giving him a view of what was under the fabric.

“I always want you,” you whispered with a smile, your hand cupping your breast, gently tweaking your nipple, his gaze following the movement as his fingers twitched. You bit the inside of your cheek, hand slowly trailing down. “Want you to touch me, everywhere. Always so wet and ready for you…”

Dark eyes watched you as you slipped your fingers under the waist of the skirt, a tiny mewl escaping you when the pad of your fingers bumped into your clit.

You would have felt stupid trying to give him a show after you came after almost nothing, but the warning growl of your name once again assured you that unsexy was the last thing that came to Steve’s mind when looking at you. It warmed both your belly and your heart. You almost felt regretful for a moment that you were still keeping him hanging, neglecting his no doubt aching cock, but he thought he had the upper hand here.

He was wrong.

“Always thinking of you… even when I’m alone, always thinking about your fingers, stretching me so good, about you fucking me, so hard till I’m screaming your name,” you continued in hushed voice, revelling at how tight his jaw set, eyes narrowed, breathing once again picking up.

“Babygirl—”

“Oops, sorry,” you chipped, pecking his lips as you withdrew your hand, quickly drawing a trail of kisses down his chest and abdomen, unable to resist a lick here and there where the line of his muscles looked particularly tasty. “Just thought you’d like to see my mouth on you. You like to watch, Professor Rogers, no?”

He never got a chance to answer as you guided him to your mouth again, holding his gaze as he indeed watched, eyebrows furrowing, each breath hitching, soon chanting your name. You caressed his balls as well, tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his length, your other hand firmly around his base.

You were the first to avert his gaze as your eyes fluttered close so you could fully focus on your task, relaxing your throat.

“Babygirl--- fuck me-- I’m gonna-“

You eased up a bit, earning a frustrated growl, the corners of your lips rising a bit as you imagined the ugly glare he must have shot you.

Thinking about it, closing your eyes was a mistake.

You never saw it coming as a hand suddenly sunk into your hair, yanking you up face to face with him, alarmed eyes staring into black ones as his pupils nearly swallowed all the blue or his irises.

He had slipped out of the poorly tied bonds, clearly fed up with your shenanigans.

Ah-oh, sounded in the back of your mind.

Another part of you didn’t fail to notice that despite the swift movement and calling an end to your games, Steve’s fingers were careful not to pull too harshly, making sure he was cradling your head safely. Same when he rolled you over, trapping you under the hard lines of muscle you had been tasting a moment ago, protective cage of his arms around your head.

If you weren’t so startled, you would have swooned.

You never got the chance, because any possible sound was muffled by his mouth crashing into yours, hand slipping from your nape to your throat to keep you in place with a wordless warning, hips pressed to yours just in case you would want to escape.

You would never. Even if you had a hunch Steve was about to ruin you in a way that would have you feel it for days.

Having enough of your mouth for the moment, giving you a chance to gasp for air, he stared at you smugly, one corner of his perfectly red lips raised in a smirk.

“Wicked little thing, aren’t you?” he grunted, thumb caressing the hollow of your throat softly, causing you to gulp.

You summoned your best innocent look, doe-like eyes that usually worked. “S-sorry?”

A flicker of a smile as he forced his knee between your thighs, instantly pressing against your still sensitive core.

“I don’t think you are, babygirl,” he huffed, nosing the crook of your neck, biting down sharper than you expected, a yelp erupting from your throat. He soothed in with the pad of his thumb, smiling wide, something soft in his eyes when he looked at you again. You were so fucking baffled at what that meant. ”That perfect filthy mind of yours… and you still get a bit shy, huh?”

“W-what?”

“You know what I think, babygirl?” he whispered intimately, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I think that you left the document opened on purpose.”

Your rapidly beating heart stopped in your chest, wind knocked out of you completely.

Fuck.

You were so busted.

Steve had read you like a book wide open--- because of course he did.

Yes, there had been a great part of you who wished for him to see it, hoping in this exact outcome; there had been an equally great part dreading what he would think about you. Writing the story down, you were thinking a bit more with your pussy than your brain though, so you decided to leave it for Steve to read. If he went for it, maybe you’d get something from it. If he didn’t, you’d move on. No harm no fool, right?

Right. No.

Now he did know and saw right through your little trick. And damn, did he look proud of himself for figuring it out. You were in so much trouble.

Somehow, you were as horrified as excited.

Steve chuckled as you swallowed against your suddenly dry throat, eyes no doubt wide as saucers.

“Oh, you did. Too shy to ask for it, leaving that to me instead. My sneaky, needy girl,” he muttered, fondness and humour with a dark lilt in his voice.

“I—I didn’t know how-“ you stuttered, feeling your face burning in embarrassment at his tone, just a smidge patronizing.

You averted his gaze, a vain attempt really, knowing he wouldn’t let you. Slipping two fingers under your chin, he guided you to face him again.

“Didn’t know how… hmm… so you thought you’d play me? That’s really naughty, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry… Professor Rogers,” you added quickly in hopes to mollify him, indeed earning a sweet kiss.

“Oh, it’s okay, babygirl. You know why?” he tested you and you could only shake your head lightly, guessing at best what kind of revenge awaited you. “Because you’re my good girl and you’ll let me settle the score. I’ll play with you now. It’s only fair, no?”

Oh fuck, here it came.

For a brief second, his lust-filled eyes appeared startingly clear and sober, boring into yours with a serious question.

It’s only fair, no? he had said.

It’s alright with you if the roles reverse, right? was what he was truly asking, checking, always checking if you were okay, just like you had been checking with him.

Because sex was fun, but only if all parties were on board.

Because Steve was sweet, considerate, soft and loving and he was everything you ever looked for in a man and more. You trusted him. You always did and you trusted him now – he would make you feel so so good. It was never really a question.

“Y—yes, it is.”

“Good girl,” he praised you, causing your core to weep. And he knew it, oh did he know and shamelessly used it against you... a little payback to all the professor you’d been throwing around. “Close your eyes.”

And you did. The blindfold came first, then hands, his fingers skimming over your forearms teasingly, feather-light touch on your sensitive skin, before he finally brought them up and tied them together.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

No, you were absolutely not ready, but your body was buzzing with desire again at that point, so you breathed a soft yes. And maybe, just maybe… no matter how you had enjoyed driving him crazy, cheeky and full of feeling of power, this felt like home. Because you trusted him – and so you gave yourself to him wholly.

He hummed in contentment as you confirmed, causing you shiver as he nosed the skin under your ear. “Good. Because I’m going to wreck you for that little stunt of yours.”

His words tickled the sensitive skin and shit, okay, your nerve endings were tingling, the sensation amplified tenfold with your eyes covered. Steve really was going to wreck you.

Mouth moving to your breast, he took the nipple in his mouth, shifting so the head of his cock nudged at your weeping opening, pushing just a bit with a promise of a delicious stretch, almost, almost there.

“Please,” was all you managed to breathe out, growing impatient, hissing when gave a playful bite to the underside of your breast, sending a surge of arousal through your veins. You back arched, a mewl escaping your when Steve moved his hips away completely, denying you.

“And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?” he muttered to your skin, lips trailing lower and lower, warm and soft, beard leaving behind a delicious burn.

“Y- yes.”

“Good girl. And what else are you going to do? Tell me,” he encouraged you, large palms pushing your thighs apart so he could fit the insanely broad shoulders between them.

Mind foggy with need, senses overwhelmed, you still had enough wits to understand what he wanted to hear.

“Thank you,” you breathed out.

“Damn straight.” His words were a damp hot blow of air against your mound, causing your hips to jolt as if your body was begging to be taken apart by him already – blissfully aware of how he would put it back together again.

And with an inevitable scratch to your lower lips and a kitten lick to your swollen bud for starters, Steve did.

Attached masterlist

S.R. masterlist

I sincerely apologize for twisting the prompt and not even being able to write a soft enough fic the one time I’m supposed to.

But I hope you enjoyed anyway.  I mean, if you made it to the end…

Thank you for reading :-*

Your Anika I’m-Not-a-Smut-Writer Ann

P.S. Fic loosely relates to one of the reblogs of this series: “You know one good thing about being an erotic writer is - you don’t have to talk about your embarrassing kinks. You want to tie your boyfriend up? You just email him a story about it 'subtly’ hinting at it.” Close enough?

[buckyownsmylife]

Them - Chris Evans Smut

The one where Chris is your professor.

Warnings: smut, professor au, reader is a postgrad student, so no underage business, but definitely some age gap, reader is very clear about what she wants here, lots of dirty talk

Chris’ P.O.V.

Looking out of the window of the fancy bistro I had been waiting on, I just couldn’t believe my luck. Y/N, the woman I had been thinking about for the last three months, that one that had made me accept this stupid idea of a blind date to try to get over her, was standing just outside the restaurant, looking from side to side, clearly waiting for someone that was nowhere around. 

I pondered over what to do, weighing the consequences of what I truly wanted, but in the end, I said, “Fuck it,” and jumped out of my chair, explaining to the host that I only needed a minute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I knew I was grinning from ear to ear, but that was just the effect she had on me. When her eyes widened as she took in who was talking to her, I had to laugh. “What? Not used to seeing me in more casual clothes?” I was convinced her chuckle was enough to end wars. 

“I don’t think that can be considered casual, Professor Evans,” she said, but with the cutest teasing smirk on her face. Right. There was a reason why coming out here to talk to her could possibly bring severe consequences to my life. She was my student, after all, and even though she was pursuing her PhD and we weren’t currently in an academic setting, her politeness served to remind me of the distance that remained between us.

“Well, I’m not sure I could consider what you’re wearing casual either, but I must say, sweetheart… You look beautiful.” I took pride in the blush that spread through her cheeks, making her almost as red as the dress she was currently wearing. Fuck if I didn’t want her desperately.

“Thank you, sir.” I was convinced she knew about the effect those words had in me, but then again, it wasn’t like I could call her out on it. Clearing my throat, I decided to change the subject before I brought more difficulty for my own situation.

“So, what brings you here on this delightful friday evening?” I forced myself to look away from her as I spoke, mostly because I felt like I’d been staring for too long. But I’d happily look at her for as long as possible, if I didn’t fear for what she’d think of me.

“I’m guessing the same thing that brought you here, Mr. Evans.” To my raised eyebrow, she simply responded with a shake of her head, her delightful giggle going straight to my pants. “C’mon, you’re dressed like this, on a friday night, and waiting for someone in a bistro? You’re obviously on a date!”

Well, I was most definitely impressed, but that didn’t serve to distract myself from the disappointment that pierced through me at the realization that she had dressed up so pretty to go out on a date with someone other than me.

“If that’s the case, then where is the lucky gentleman?” That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask, by the way her beautiful face fell.  Immediately, I felt terrible for being responsible for sucking the light out of this woman.

“Oh… I guess he’s not coming. I’ve been waiting for him for at least an hour, it was supposed to be a blind date. My friend thought he’d be perfect for me or something. Guess he didn’t agree, huh?” She tried to chuckle, but the fact that she couldn’t meet my eyes was enough to demonstrate how embarrassed she was by the whole ordeal.

“Sweetheart…” I itched to touch her, to pull her body to mine and comfort her anyway I could, but she continued to avoid my eyes, keeping up with her own monologue almost like she couldn’t physically stop.

“And the worst part is that I can’t stop thinking about how he probably walked in, saw me and decided to go home. God, this is mortifying. Why am I even telling you this?” At that, she finally looked up to find me looking back at her, and whatever it was she identified in my gaze at last made her stop.

“Come eat with me,” I offered, not even thinking about what I was saying, although capable of admitting that it was all I truly wanted. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but she wasn’t able to structure a proper sentence, looking up at me with those big bright eyes.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know what to say. I was completely taken by surprise by his invitation, but I couldn’t really say it made me uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than the chance to spend some time with him, away from the university environment.

It was no secret that he was attractive, of course. I knew that, but it wasn’t because of it that I wanted the chance to share a meal with him. It was for all of the little things I’d managed to learn over the course of our meetings, the bar trivia he liked to share randomly over cups of coffee when it would make more sense if we were sharing a beer. It was the fact that his mind fascinated me, and I’d never met anyone who had captivated me so much, so easily, in such little time.

Even with so little to go off on, he occupied my mind. And perhaps half of the attraction came from the taboo of it all, but I couldn’t deny that it was there. I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to say yes. Didn’t I deserve it, after such a lousy night?

“We shouldn’t,” I decided to remind us both, but he only smiled, reaching out for my hand. The touch surprised me even more, but I found myself accepting it easily, even smiling as I looked up at him from underneath my eyelashes to see an answering grin in his handsome face.

“No one has to know. Come on.” He tugged me in the direction of the restaurant he was in, apparently, some place definitely fancier than where my date was supposed to happen, and with a curt nod towards the greeter, he quickly took me to the table he’d been occupying before pulling the chair for me.

Such a simple gesture, not at all romantic, really, but it sent butterflies all over my stomach, and I bit my lip to stop the giddy giggle that wanted to break free. “Thank you,” I recognized, and he only flashed me another perfect smile in return.

“It’s my pleasure. Would you like some wine?” He gestured for the waiter, his eyes barely leaving mine before returning to me again. “It’s okay if you don’t. Choose whatever you want, I’m usually more of a beer guy myself, but with this being an italian restaurant and all…”

I waved his fears away, rejecting the menu the waiter was offering and pointing to the glass of wine that was sitting in front of Chris. “I’ll just have the same, please.” The waiter nodded, already turning to grab me a glass when my professor called him over again.

“Wait! Just bring us the bottle, would you?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk making its way into my face. If there was one thing I had already learned about the man I was about to have dinner with, was that he loved to be teased.

“Planning on getting me drunk, professor? That’s not the right way to keep me quiet.” His eyes grew big at first, before he caught on to the teasing nature of my comments, and then he laughed, a hand going over his chest as he threw his head back and closed his eyes, fully in the moment.

Chris’ P.O.V.

Fuck, this was exactly what I’d hoped for when I took the chance and invited her over here. She was just so damn *funny. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to spend some quality time with her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart. I really don’t want to keep you quiet.” Shit. It was only after it was out in the open, and her eyebrows were raised high, that I realized just how weird that sounded, given the context. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was, I really want to hear you.”

By now, she was pressing her lips tightly, clearly trying not to laugh about my awkwardness, so I saved her the trouble by breaking into a fit of laughter myself. “That’s okay, Professor Evans. If it makes you feel any better, I really want to hear you too.”

… Was she flirting with me? The idea caught me by surprise and sent a jolt of thrill up my body, making me sit up straighter in the restaurant’s chair. I pressed my lips tightly together in an effort to suppress my laugh, and looked up at her from under my eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, and it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

“Why not?”

“It makes me nervous.” The answer surprised me. I never considered that I could affect her in any way, much less that one, and so I found myself leaning in her direction, my elbows on the table so I could talk more quietly and she could still hear me.

“Why are you nervous? It’s just me. We’ve been alone in smaller environments than this one,” I reminded her, watching with delight as she giggled but avoided my eyes, opting instead to play with the glass of wine that had by now been delivered to us. I knew she was thinking about the tiny office we shared and all the times we had to ignore this sexual tension as it filled the air between us. When her eyes met mine, the mischievous glint in them was unmissable, and so I braced myself for her answer, knowing it would definitely be something as out of the ordinary as herself.

“Yes…” She started, leaning closer to me and lowering her voice, and while I was sure I didn’t want to miss one single word of what she was saying, it was impossible not to look down at how her breasts threatened to spill from her dress. “But this time it’s harder to ignore just how much I want your cock down my throat.”

I was stunned to silence for a minute, staring back at her with my mouth opened as I felt my cock unmistakably harden at her directness. This was so different from the reserved and polite woman I had to work with at the university, and if that one was already enticing, I had no words to describe the minx that stared back at me with deviousness in her eyes.

“Well, now I feel bad,” I settled on saying, eyes dropping to her cleavage before meeting hers again, making sure she saw just how hypnotized by her body I was. “And here I’ve been, picturing you on your knees all this time.”

I *knew she was hot and bothered by my comment, it was pretty obvious by the way she fidgeted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, I was certain. There was nothing I wanted more than taking her away from here, and just… well… *take her. Preferably more than once, but it didn’t even have to be on a bed. I wasn’t sure I’d hold back enough to get her close to one, even. Especially when she stepped it up a notch, her heeled foot caressing my leg under the table as she whispered, “I think I made a smart choice when I decided to wear this dress tonight.”

Inevitably, my eyes fell to her breasts once more. It was obvious that I agreed, but still, I licked my lips to be able to agree, “Yes, I’m very fond of it as well.” The corners of her lips twisted up, a clear indication that I’d fallen right onto her trap.

“I’m glad you liked the choice. Wanna know why I’m happy I ran into you while wearing it?” I just nodded, dry swallowing at the thought of what she was about to say. “Because I can’t wear anything underneath it.”

My knuckles turned white as I held onto the edge of the table, practically urging myself not to leap out of my seat. “Careful, sweetheart…” I tried to warn, the months of restraint and tension taking a toll out of my patience and control. “You should think about what you’re saying. *Pay attention to what you’re asking of me. I’m not exactly great at resisting something that I want. You have to be sure,” I murmured, eyes never leaving hers as I watched her breathing grow more laboured.

She let the silence simmer the anticipation between us, until I felt like *I was about to collapse.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“I think I’ve made my desires clear.”

That was all it took for him to dart out of the chair, fishing out his wallet and throwing some bills on top of the table before reaching for my hand. “Come.”

I followed easily, body buzzing with excitement as I accepted this first touch from a man I believed to be unreachable only a few hours before.

Nothing was said as he directed me towards his car. Once inside, I took advantage of the few seconds it took for him to reach his own door and took a deep breath, both to calm my nerves and take in the delicious scent of the familiar cologne that seemed to be ingrained in the vehicle. How many days had I spent clenching my thighs as I tried to focus on my research because his scent took over our tiny office? Too many to count. But now he was right here, ready and willing to take care of the mess he made of me.

A shiver went through my body when he finally made his way inside the car, and instead of turning on the engine, fixated his gaze on me. It was heavy with lust and primal need, that much I could recognize - mostly because I knew those two feelings all too well when it came to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” It wasn’t a question, and immediately after he was done speaking I was already leaning over to meet him halfway. 

Chris’ kiss was nothing like I expected it to be. While I imagined a gentle lover, he was more on the eager, almost desperate side. I was surprised how much I liked it that way. He took control of our kiss so easily, it made me feel small and under his spell. Like I’d do anything he wanted me to, just as long as he kept devouring me like this.

I lost myself to the kiss, to *him, to the taste of wine and something that was undeniably just him, but then a hand fell on my lap and I gasped, instinctively opening my legs to feel more of his touch. It made him grin, but he didn’t stop kissing me, instead cradling my face between his hands before returning one of them to the spot that was throbbing for him.

“I just really need to feel you, only for a second,” he whispered against my lips, and I could only nod, too lost in his eyes to care about the implications of his words. “Maybe if I have your taste on my lips I’ll feel motivated enough to drive all the way home, instead of just taking you right here.”

Needless to say, paired with two of his fingers curling inside of me before they were gone and wrapped by his lips, the fires of desire had grown to such heights I could no longer control them. “Hmm… Delicious,” he hummed, dark eyes opening to meet mine only for a second before he was turning the engine on. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Chris’ P.O.V.

The second we were inside my apartment, I had to unbuckle my belt and curl my fist around my member - that’s how badly it hurt from the lack of attention. At least I wasn’t the only one desperate to get things going, her dress was on the floor just as I sat back on the couch, moaning both at the feeling of my jerking motions and the sight of her naked body.

“Come here, Miss. Y/L/N,” I instructed, beckoning her over while keeping my other hand occupied with my cock. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Join me.” She didn’t seem to need any further invitation, small frame quickly making her way over to where I was sitting before she dropped to her knees in front of me, right between my thighs that she held to support herself.

“God, you’re sexy.” She smiled up at me from underneath her eyelashes, hands reaching out to take my member from me before she began to lick at my already weeping head, and I had to take a deep breath in order to control myself. “Fuck.”

She was a tease, alright - but that much I knew, already. Instead of immediately starting to suck me off, she opted to get acquainted with the taste of my cock by licking it like a damn ice cream cone, until every inch of it was wrapped in a coat of her saliva and I was trembling underneath her attentions, hands curled into fists in an effort to let her keep her own pace but desperately wanting to gag her on me.

“You taste so good,” she teased, but it did sound more like an absentminded comment. It was just my need that made me believe she was doing it on purpose, trying to get me to break, but I wouldn’t let her win.

“Put it in your mouth, then. I promise I’ll give you more to taste.” If I had been worried I’d scare her away with how open I was about what I wanted, the smirk she gave me assured me it was well received, just as the way she finally wrapped her perfect lips around the head of my cock, tongue swirling over it briefly before starting to slowly suck more of it.

“Shit, yeah. Just like that. Swallow that cock, darling.” She did just so, all the while making sure to keep eye contact with me, which only added fuel to the desire I felt for her. I knew I couldn’t resist for too long, so I reveled in the feeling of her warm mouth, the sloppy blowjob easily the best I’d ever had, before I pulled her to me, making her climb my lap so I could fill my hands with her fantastic ass.

“God, I’ve dreamt about this ass,” I groaned, palming it and using it to rub her pussy over my member, that twitched at the slight contact, making us both gasp. “And this pussy…” the connection was obvious. Of course I’d imagined it too, but the little mynx wanted to hear it for herself.

“Did you think about it at night?” She asked, taking control of the motions I could no longer direct as she rubbed her wet cunt over my member, making me growl on her ear.

“At night, in class…” Maybe I should have felt embarrassed to admit it, but as it were, I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when it was the truth, and not when she was right here, ready to sink down on my cock, looking at me with those sinful eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She bit down on her lower lip to stop the grin from taking over her face, I could see that, but it didn’t stop mine as I watched her rub the head of my member between her lips before finally starting to sink down on it.

“Fuck!” My head fell back on the couch, and I had to hold on her hips to keep control of myself, but still, she was being too slow. Opening my eyes, I saw by the smirk on her lips it was purely to tease me, but two could play at this game. 

“Keep going,” I ordered, slapping her ass before sinking my fingers on it again, for good measure. She gasped, momentarily losing control and falling further down, which was really all I needed to fuck up into her until I bottomed out.

“God, you’re so big!” She really did know how to get a man going.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Once I relinquished the control to him, there was really nothing else I could do but to hold on tight and enjoy the ride. He fucked me like he was trying to cherish every single second of this act we were sharing, probably conscious that we’d never be able to do this again.

“Such a fucking great pussy,” he groaned, fingers now probably bruising my skin as he used his grip on my hips to force my movements to match his. “I bet I can make you even louder.”

I hadn’t even realized I was screaming until he said that, feet raising to the sofa so he could find even more grip to fuck me silly. “Hold tight, sweetheart.” My hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his neck, as I tried to keep my chest glued to his despite the brutality of his movements.

It didn’t take long for his thrusts to lose their rhythm, and I was dancing on the edge of my own orgasm too, watching a single drop of sweat make its way from his hairline until his jaw, where I leaned down to collect it with my tongue.

“Fuck.” His eyes met mine, holding my gaze hostage as the next words that fell from his lips brought me to my release. “Oh God, please tell me you’ll be mine. I need to know I’ll be able to have you like this whenever I want. Please.”

The aftershocks of my orgasm, paired with the way my pussy clenched around his member, milking his own release, had him cumming as hard as I had, eyes closed tightly and beautiful mouth hanging open as I tried to catch my breath and not lose the show at the same time.

“Do you mean it?” I had to ask, once both of us were able to speak again, still tightly embraced and deeply connected. I could feel his cum slowly seeping out of me and into his own lap.

“Of course.” His eyes searched mine for any inkling of my own feelings in regards to the revelation of his. “You’re worth the trouble it’ll be trying to keep this under wraps. Besides, Professor Stan had mentioned he’d like to seduce you, and I can’t imagine having to watch you be with another man.”

A giggle and a kiss sealed the deal, but we renegotiated the terms of our agreement a dozen of times before finally falling asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace. Thank God I was stood up today.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Cozy Sweaters

Jackson Neill x Reader

Sequel to Cold Hands, requested by @detectivebarba​ & written for @storiesofsvu​’s Fall Bingo! 

Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Fluff? 

Summary: Oh my god they were roommates.

3,350 words

September 8th

The living room of your apartment—what used to be your apartment—was abuzz with heated voices.

“We’re sorry, but you said you were moving out!”

“So you just gave away my room?! I’m allowed to change my mind!”

Your roommates glanced between each other, awkwardness thick in the air.

“Ed is moving here all the way from England on the promise that he would have a room. He already bought his plane ticket. We’d really be screwing him over.”

“But… where am I supposed to go?”

Jenny sighed and shook her head. “Listen, if this wasn’t so last-minute, I’d understand, but you were supposed to move in with your boyfriend next week. We already made plans to fill your spot…” She really was sorry, in other words, but you were stuck.

“Can’t you still move in with him?” Todd added, and Jenny shot daggers from her eyes.

“He cheated on me!”

“Yeah, but you said he didn’t want to break up, right? Just work things out.”

“I am not,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “ever taking him back after what he did.”

September 13th

Every one-bedroom apartment listing in the greater NYC area was out of your price range. You tapped your friend group, colleagues, and acquaintances for roommates and came back empty. You went on Craig’s List and met with a few strangers seeking roommates. The ones who weren’t terrifying never called you back.

Meanwhile, Jackson Neill had been blowing up your phone.

Well, not blowing up—the first night he got drunk and filled your inbox begging you to come back, sobbing and slurring into your voicemail, spamming indecipherable text messages. The next morning, a single text read: “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and it won’t happen again.”

And it didn’t.

But he sent another message a few days later telling you he’d found some more of your stuff, if you’d like it back. That you were always welcome to talk if you wanted to. He wanted to be there for you. You didn’t message him back.

September 14th

It was a cold, rainy day on campus, so you risked taking a shortcut to the dining hall. You turned the corner of an old brick building, and there he was, walking out of the Department of Religious Studies, jacket collar pulled up over his neck because the forgetful fool could never remember his umbrella.

He froze at the same time you did.

All you could hear was your pulse drumming inside your skull like rain. You knew you’d run into him eventually, but you hadn’t decided how to react, and your body wasn’t offering any suggestions.

He gave you a pitiful smile and lifted his hand. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

One leaden foot shuffled in front of the other, and you kept walking. He nodded with a wan smile and sad eyes and didn’t chase you.

The outdoor seating was closed because of the weather, so the dining hall was crowded and buzzing. You snatched a small two-seat table just as another student left, brushing a stale French fry off it onto the floor. Sinking down to enjoy your cheap sandwich, you glanced around the crowd.

A middle-aged man with a soggy jacket and salt-and-pepper hair, who had no right to be so breathtakingly handsome, was searching desperately for a seat while precariously balancing a tray of soup and coffee.

He felt your gaze on him, and you were fixed with a beam of frozen green eyes.

You waved him over.

“I wasn’t following you, I swear.”

“I don’t know, eating lunch? At lunchtime? That can’t be a coincidence.”

The corner of his lip wanted to smile, but he didn’t seem entirely sure you were joking.

“Just sit down and eat,” you sighed. “There’s nowhere else.”

He sat.

Silence crackled between you like the sky before a thunderstorm as you ate your lunches.

“So,” Jackson started cautiously, “how have you been?”

You gave a dry snort. “Oh, just fucking peachy. I’m going to be homeless in two days, thanks to you.”

“What?!”

Jackson listened with a deepening frown as you told him about your roommate plight. Then he offered you a room at his house.

“Go to hell. I’m not going to move in with you like nothing ever happened!”

“No, it wouldn’t be like that. I have a spare bedroom. It’s a big house, and I could use help with the bills. Please—it’s the least I can do. Just until you get back on your feet.”

September 17th

It wasn’t like you had much choice.

You moved into Jackson’s house as originally planned, albeit under different circumstances. Instead of sharing his bed, he cleared out the spare room he’d been using, in theory, as a “gym,” and in practice as a storage closet. There was plenty of space, and with how late he always worked at the university, you’d barely see him anyway.

This might just work out.

September 20th

This was never going to work.

Your heart broke all over again every morning you walked downstairs and saw Jackson in the kitchen making pancakes, because every time, you had to fight the urge to come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist like you used to do.

God, you wanted him back. If only you could erase the image of him with her from your mind.

October 7th

Jackson begged you to take him back.

One thing after another had gone wrong after he publicly confronted the Meyerist Movement. The cult pressured the publisher to pull his book. The university put him on leave while they investigated his alleged relationship with a student. You wandered into the living room that night and found him curled up on the couch, and his resolve broke.

There were tears in his eyes as he tried to pull you into a hug, and when you jerked away, they cascaded down his cheeks. He kept saying he was sorry over and over.

“Please. I need you. Everything is falling apart—if I could at least have you to hold onto… just one thing that wasn’t broken. Please, just tell me how to make it up to you. Haven’t I done enough? If I could take it all back, I would. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me? Please let me hold you?”

This was hard for you, too. Part of you wanted to give in, tell him it was all OK, let him kiss you, and see him smile. The worst part of all of this was that you still loved him, but you could never trust him again. He put on such a sweet, innocent act—he was a wonderful boyfriend—but now you knew he was a manipulative liar.

You should never have moved in.

“There’s no undoing the past. We both need to move forward, not back. I’m going to start looking for other places to live.”

October 8th

Morning brought a more sober Jackson knocking at your door. Dark circles hung under his eyes, but he hadn’t been crying recently.

“Please don’t feel like you have to leave. I can get my shit together. I’m calling a therapist today.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” He stared at his feet, shifting on the hardwood floor.

“Jackson… I’ll only hurt you if I stay. This is too hard on you.” For us. “Besides, I can’t freeload here forever.”

“You do pay rent, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“I only have the kids every other weekend, and it’s a big house. It gets lonely. You’re doing me a favor being here.”

November 10th

In the last month, Jackson convinced you there was no hurry to move out.

He was a great roommate. He cooked, cleaned, respected your boundaries. He was a truly decent man, if an unfaithful lover, but since you were just friends now, it didn’t matter who he fucked. The biggest concern was that he wanted you back, and living together was a constant source of emotional pain. But on that front, he finally seemed to be moving on.

Whenever the topic came up, he assured you that you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted.

“It’s just so hard to find a decent place in my price range.”

“I mean it,” Jackson reiterated, adding emphasis. “If you want to stay, I enjoy having a roommate.”

You searched for hidden motives in his voice, his expression. Was this part of a long game to get you back? But his tone was friendly and open. Knowing how quickly he jumped from his ex-wife to you to Sarah, there was no way he didn’t already have his eye on someone new. At this point, you were just roommates.

“You mean permanently? Isn’t living with an ex a recipe for disaster?”

He chuckled. “The last few years with my wife were much worse than this, trust me. We were trying to stay together until the kids went to college, but emotionally, we were already divorced. It was awful… sharing a room. Constant fighting.” His eyes took a dull, faraway look as he remembered.

Worry lines creased your brow. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through that again?”

He grinned, snapping out of it, and patted you on the head like you were one of his kids. “You are nothing like her. We’re friends.”

You liked the sound of that. Friends.

November 14th

The sound of screams greeted you as you opened the front door and hung your keys on their hook next to your jacket. Jackson was watching a scary movie marathon in the living room, apropos of the foggy autumn weather.

“Candyman. Care to join?” He patted the cushion beside him.

You stayed up past midnight in your pajamas, sharing popcorn, laughing, and hiding your eyes from the gory parts. Jackson remained on the opposite side of the couch, careful not to touch you.

November 19th

You caught Jackson having lunch with an attractive student. It made your blood freeze, then boil when he walked with her back to his office.

Alone.

Fists clenched, you pressed your ear to the closed door, and heard… an essay on the role of religion in perpetuating homophobia. He was helping her edit a paper. Like professors do.

You followed them all the way from the dining hall just for talking.

When did you become a crazy ex? Why would you care if he was schtupping a hot student? You wanted him to move on—you were glad he didn’t tear up every time you walked into the kitchen anymore. But you knew then that you weren’t over him yet.

If you saw him out with someone new, it would sting like he was betraying you all over again. So you tried hard to be the one to move on first.

November 30th

A car honked outside.

“Oh, that’s my date,” you apologized to Jackson. “Gotta go.”

You got a little rush of schadenfreude from the kicked-puppy look that flashed across his face as you left him mid-conversation, sitting at the kitchen table across from your abandoned teacup. It felt like a big fuck-you, letting him know you’d be fucking someone else. A dare: let’s see if you really meant it when you said we could be friends.

But the look had barely contorted his features when he swallowed it down and smiled, “Be safe.”

He was probably going on plenty of dates himself and just didn’t tell you out of consideration for your feelings. He didn’t want you to feel used, betrayed, and immediately replaced. You were both moving on.

After a string of Tinder hookups, you felt like Jackson was out of your system, romantically speaking.

December 17th

A light dusting of snow floated down through the pale morning air. Jackson woke up on the left side of the bed, as he did every morning, and as he did every morning, turned to his right hoping to find you there. The blankets were cold.

He shivered.

You had a date last night and didn’t come home. He waited up, but never heard your car in the driveway, your keys in the door. Since you weren’t there to see his red eyes, he allowed himself to cry.

February 14th

A dull, rhythmic thumping carried through the walls. The creaking of a mattress. You cried out a name, voice cracking as you came for the second time.

It was the same guy again.

Casual hookups he could handle, but it had been the same guy for weeks now. Jackson told himself he deserved this. This was what he did to you, only while you were together. When you trusted him not to. He deserved to hear the one he loved being taken by another man.

As much as he wanted you to be his, you weren’t. He had no right to feel burning bile rising in his stomach at each of your moans and gasps. You were doing nothing wrong.

“You live here. Of course you can have dates over. No, it’s not awkward. We’re friends.”

A hot tear slid from his eye as he buried his head in a pillow.

This guy better take care of you.

May 1st

He didn’t have a roommate anymore. Not really. You spent all your time at Rodney’s apartment.

Soon you would move out, and he’ll have lost you forever.

He wanted to warn you not to move so fast, but what right did he have to judge? He let you move at the same pace with him. Let you trust him, fall in love with him, have a spare toothbrush on his sink within a few months. All the while, he figured a little action on the side wouldn’t hurt. Did he think he could chase two of you at once and get to keep the winner?

Idiot.

Sinner. That’s what his mami would say.

The few times you were home, he didn’t express his concerns about your boyfriend. He would only sound jealous, and it would push you away. If he wanted to be someone you would still answer the phone for when you moved out, he had to be a good friend, not a jealous ex.

Fuck. He hoped it worked out between you and Rodney. He really did. He hoped you were happy.

October 2nd

You came home for the first time in weeks crying. Heavy tears rolled down your face, legs shaking as you crawled up the stairs to your bedroom. Jackson was off the couch in an instant, spring up to follow you.

“Hey… Hey, what’s wrong?” He gingerly touched your shoulder, palm spreading out to make comforting circles when you didn’t shake him off. “Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, sniffing as you slumped down onto your bed. Jackson sat beside you, worry etched into his features. He was so cute. After all this time, he still cared about you. You thought about all the times he’d begged for you back, in the beginning, desperate to hold you again. Fuck, you just wanted to feel that wanted again.

“Rodney and I broke up,” you mumbled.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear th—”

You gripped the hair at the back of his head and tugged him roughly into a kiss. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders tensed. A surprised noise was muted between your crushing lips. You could have sworn, for a moment, he started kissing you back, but then his big hands clamped like two vices on your shoulders, and he pushed you away.

“What are you doing?” His eyes were wide.

“What does it look like?” you purred, fingers clawing at the buttons of his cardigan. “I want you to take me, Jackson.”

His hands stopped you from leaning close again. “No. Stop it.”

“Come on, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“We can’t… I won’t take advantage of you like that. You’re just upset, and—”

“Fuck you! So you’ll fuck anyone and not give a shit—you’ll fuck around on me and break my heart, but you won’t fuck me when I’m asking you to?! The one time I just need you to be there, and now you’re on your high fucking horse, pretending to be a good guy?! I bet you’d screw Sarah! Fuck you. Fuck you!”

Your shoulders shook as your tirade broke down more and more into sobs. Deep down, you knew he was right. You’d regret it in the morning. But you couldn’t he just… want you?

“Why? Why not? Am I that… am I that unlovable?”

“Because you crying.” Tears were shimmering in his eyes as he said it, softly wiping a tear from your cheek. “You’re crying.”

With a gasp, you threw yourself down on the bed and buried your face in a pillow. You screamed into it, your own breath hot and wet against your face. Jackson’s weight shifted the mattress beside you, and your hand shot out in panic, blindly groping toward the movement. You felt pathetic. Needy. But you didn’t want to be alone.

“Don’t go.”

The mattress sank back down under him. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t take advantage of you, but if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. As long as you want.”

That was all you wanted to hear in that moment, to know someone wouldn’t abandon you. His warm hand rubbed your back in slow circles as you wept, patiently listening as you told him everything in disjointed, broken pieces. How you were just being paranoid—invading Rodney’s privacy when he left his phone unlocked. You were paranoid because your last boyfriend cheated. Then you found the lewd messages, and it didn’t seem real. Plans to meet at a bar downtown. You didn’t believe it until he was toweling off, telling you something came up with his mom, and he’d be out for a while. And you followed him down to the bar and saw them together.

“He was an asshole,” Jackson said.

“Am I doomed? Cursed? Why does everyone cheat on me? Is it my fault?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Shut up! You did it, too,” you snapped. “I’m just not special enough to hold anyone’s attention. I’ll never be enough.”

“No,” he growled with a ferocity that startled you, “You’re wonderful, and anyone would be lucky to have you. That guy was an asshole, and so was I for taking you for granted. You did nothing to deserve this. One day you’ll find someone who appreciates you… who learns to treat you the way you deserve to be treated before they lose the best thing to ever happen to them.”

You shifted to press yourself closer to him. The tears didn’t stop, but a warmth spread through your chest. Jackson felt like a cozy sweater—warm and familiar. Easy to cry into. His arms were surprisingly solid and thick, but gentle when they closed around you.

He was a comfortable old sweater you could slip back on after leaving it in the closet for a year.

***

Hours passed by, and you had no more tears left. No energy left to move. Jackson was still beside you, keeping watch, as promised. You were curled up with your head in his lap, his fingers in your hair.

When he was sure you were asleep, he carefully extracted himself from under you, gradually shifting your head onto the pillow so you wouldn’t wake up. He breathed, heart aching as he looked down at your sleeping form. You deserved better than tear-stained cheeks. He knew he had no right to be so angry, but he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt again.

You wouldn’t have been if he had just…

He let his tears fall silently. This was about you, and he didn’t want to make you console him, but you were asleep now. He could let go.

He ran his fingers through your hair one last time. Then, with a furtive glance, he bent and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @detectivebarba​

[sakiyo]

━ # ONE A.M EYELINER | suna rintaro

+ pairings: suna rintaro/reader

+ tags: best friends 2 lovers, suna being a pretty mf, mutual pining, uni!au.

+ warnings: none

+ word count: 2.2k

+ summary: suna rintaro has never let you do his eyeliner, simply because he’s afraid to let you get too close.

+ listening to: FLESH by miguel & A Warm Touch of Light by Isabella LeVan

+ note: nothing but me rambling on about how pretty suna’s eyes are and how they’re pretty enough to deserve a whole fic dedicated to them. dedicated to my dom @kiyoomae​ i hope you enjoy babe because i finished this shitty fic for you <3.

“i could get hypothermia if i go out there, you know.”

working with suna always ended up the same way, there was no doubt about it. by the time that the clock plastered on your wall hit twelve-forty five a.m, the project was finished, but completely half assed as a result of neither of you paying enough attention during lectures to actually know what to do. yet, somehow, the same desultory assignment would always receive an undeserving ‘A-plus’. mostly because your professor never cared to actually observe the material, as long as it was in, it was good enough for him. [but you would grade it a solid 64 percent]

there's one variable that’s different today; it’s raining. it’s one a.m and it’s raining, and suna decided that it would be a sublime idea to walk to your apartment today, of all days. [as much as you encourage him to do so, he still never checks the weather]. the disruption in your routine was anything but an easy adjustment. and as much as you wanted to kick him out, the rain was growing heavier and heavier and—

“okay fine! you can crash for the night!” 

he smiled, unaware of the fact that you would have said yes to him either way.

+++

you can’t help but notice that suna has pretty eyes.

honestly, you picked up on his bizarrely unique vulpine-like eyes years ago, when you had first met him. but now, as you sit on the couch that occupies the majority of your compact living room, you’re drawn back to them.

its an odd thought to think about your best friend at one in the morning. 

but...he’s admittedly pretty.

you think back to a random fact you learned in the biology course you took in your third year of highschool; you grow into your eyes. never in your life did you believe that such a miniscule piece of information would find its way back into your mind two years later, and because of suna no less.

it’s one a.m and your legs are situated in his lap, his fingers deftly toying with the tip of the anklet he bought you for your sixteenth birthday [he doesn’t believe that you still wear it, even after all the passed time], 

but you’re still fixated on his eyes.

if it was even possible, the creases accented them further, like each line was strategically placed to lure one’s undivided attention to them. it’s funny though, because suna was never fond of attention. [which was also why seven year old rin never took a liking to overly-exertive you.

you still share a laugh with him thinking back to your rock hard resolve as a child and his burning desire to stay away from you. 

it’s funny how easily time changes things.]

you almost feel like you’re dreaming as you watch his eyelids ghost over, his glassy skin reflecting the coral tint of the cheap ceiling light. but you’re not dreaming, he’s right there, in all his ignorant glory. suna doesn’t notice your residual gaze, he’s fixated on the ‘NBA playoffs highlights’ video streaming on his instagram feed. yet you feel creepy, overanalyzing him like this.

but you allow your mind to wander, just a bit.

“hey, rintaro?” you lightly dig your heel into his thigh. 

it’s merely a sporadic case of wishful thinking. you’ve known suna rintaro for many years, which was more than enough time to figure out his complex personality.

and if there’s one thing he never allowed you to do, it was his eyeliner.

six times. 

you had asked to apply the liquid to his eyes six times, and each time you had received the same answer. a simple no. he doesn’t say ‘no’ with malice, though. no...the last thing he would want is you thinking that he just hated you enough to constantly reject your proposals.

suna hums quietly, shifting to meet your gaze. “yeah?” 

he still thinks you haven’t caught on, but you picked up on his tendency to immediately drop his phone in a reflex to hearing your voice a while back— you like it.

“do you think,” you shift your legs from the comfort of his lap and move your body closer to him, “i could do your eyeliner?”

your question doesn’t register.

instead, suna’s hyper fixated on the inching proximity between you two— he doesn’t like it. it’s one a.m and you’re moving one couch cushion closer, your knee is brushing against his thigh, has your skin always been this cold? he can barely focus, but he still hears the droplets of rain assaulting the window and roofs, they’re getting louder and louder and—

“suna? did you hear me?” your voice is accompanied with slight confusion. 

you narrow your eyes as he blinks out of his trance. you’re not shocked though— his tendencies to space out were never limited to lectures alone. “wha?”

your shoulder rests against his, and he swears he feels his heart cease its rhythmic palpitations for a fraction of a second.

[no you idiot, that’s just your regular heartbeat.]

there’s apprehension in your voice, “can i...do your eyeliner…?” suna is a relatively simple man, the worst he can say is no, but you want a yes this time around. 

“i’ve already said—” 

suna’s breath hitches, as if his words are lodged at the back of his throat. your fingers grip onto the peak of his broad shoulders. [you’d rather die than admit it, but you always loved when he’d roll them back and inconspicuously stretch his neck]

suna stares at you squarely in the face. he can feel the outline of your fingernails lightly tacking into his skin. shit, he’s dreaming. his eyes shift around the room, it’s still one a.m, and he can’t get any words out of his mouth.

speak, speak, SPEAK—

you beat him to it.

“before you say no!” your voice rises as you try to appeal. “i’m letting you crash at my place for the night, i deserve a payment.” your words come out as more of a jumbled mess than a proper sentence. subconsciously, you take your bottom lip between your thumb and index fingers, biting it every now and then. suna lifts a brow at your familiar mannerisms— he likes to think he knows you better than anyone else, and he knows that you toy with your bottom lip before taking a test, receiving a report card, or going in for a job interview.

are you nervous?

he sighs.

“fine…” he whispers softly. suna doesn’t exactly know if he should regret agreeing to your question, but he doesn’t miss the way your eyes visibly light up when he does.

you look pretty. 

+++

he regrets it.

it’s one a.m and you’re situated on his lap, straddling him innocently as you dab the brush into the bottle of ebony ink. suna can’t help but feel like a putty in your hands, the same ones that gently grip his jaw to hold it in place. 

he’s still not sure how old he was when your touches started to feel like fire.

suna feels trapped, he IS trapped. between your legs, between your soft body and the tender cushion, between the thin line of friendship and-

he should stop.

[he still can’t believe he’s doing this]

“would you like thin, or thick eyeliner, rin?”

has his name always rolled off your tongue so effortlessly?

“thin, like yours.”

you hum with content, looking him over with a small smile etched onto your face. he doesn’t understand how you can keep eye contact with him so easily, especially while you’re moving closer and closer to his chest. 

he holds his breath as you exhale. he can still smell the lingering scent of peppermint from the gum you were chewing minutes before– usually he can’t stand it, but right now it feels like home. suna knows his eyes shouldn’t be trailing down to your cherry balm stained lips, and he knows that his chest shouldn’t swell at the sight of you wearing his old bleach stained t-shirt that stretched past your shorts.

suna knows that he’s not supposed to see his best friend in that light; so why is it all that he can think about?

“close your eyes for me please?”

he really doesn’t want to, afraid that if he opens them back up again, you’ll be gone and he’ll be in his bed [he still believes that he’s dreaming]. but he knows that he’d rather dance with the devil [the twins] than say no to you, so he complies.

you hum a light tune to yourself as you bring the fine-tipped brush to the edge of his eye. as the pen glides across his skin, suna can’t help but flinch at the intrusive feeling. instinctively, his hand darts up to hold your wrist, stopping you from drawing any further.

“that feels weird.” he can’t see, but he can feel the smile tugging at your lips.

“you’ll get used to it in a bit, rin.”

it’s weird, best friends don’t usually sit in each other’s lap with less than five inches of breathing room between each other. what if he were to do this with one of the twins–

that’s a disturbing thought. he immediately forgets about it. he shifts in discomfort mid-stroke, making your hand slip.

you groan in frustration; it’s at times like this that you can’t stand suna.

“stop moving! you made it smudge!” you lightly smack his chest [though, it’s just a pitiful excuse to touch him].

“sorry, sorry.” your giggles die down as you clean up the line, and suna quickly goes back to overthinking. 

tik

the rain is still pouring.

tok

he counts that you breathe twice every ten seconds.

tik

you’re getting closer to his chest. 

tok

he can still smell the leftover pizza on the coffee table from today’s takeout.

tik

the gel feels kind of nice now.

tok

its one a.m and suna’s falling in love with–

“earth to suna?” you huff as you lightly tap his shoulder, “don’t tell me that you’ve fallen asleep on me.” it’s quite funny to him when you say that; you’re actually what keeps him up at night.

you lean back as he opens his eyes, looking at the eyeliner from afar. you can’t help but get a bit jealous– even without trying, suna had always managed to look perfect. 

you’re so caught up that you don’t notice yourself starting to slip.

“watch out.” his hand slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

it’s one a.m and your hands are back on his shoulders. you know that your eyes shouldn’t be on his slightly chapped lips, and you know that you shouldn’t want to throw the hoodie adorning his body somewhere across the room. 

inhale

his hands are still around your waist.

exhale 

you watch as his tongue ghosts over his lips to wet them.

inhale 

you can smell the residual scent of the same cinnamon cologne you got him for a ‘secret santa’ event between your friend group.

exhale 

sometimes, you forget that you’re just friends.

inhale

has suna always been this attractive?

exhale 

the tipped over bottle of eyeliner is spilling onto your clothes.

inhale 

how would his lips feel against–

“wanna kiss you.” the hesitation in suna’s voice is clear. he knows better than anyone that best friends shouldn’t want to kiss each other. his heart is racing. when your eyes widen in surprise he wants nothing more than to push you off of him and leave without saying goodbye– but he’s already said it. 

“w-what?” you stutter out. you can’t help but wonder if you’re dreaming. you want to pinch yourself, but if it is a dream, the last thing you’d want is to wake up.

“i want to kiss you. will you let me?” he says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

little does he know that you want more; to touch him, taste him, love him–

you take the easy way out instead, “yeah...alright.”

he moves a stray strand of hair away from your face, is he doing this right? You move in closer, eyes slowly fluttering shut, but suna’s gaze still lingers on you. he thinks you look even more beautiful than before [he didn’t think it was possible]. It’s one a.m and he’s about to kiss the person of his dreams. 

shit. he should close his eyes.

the journey seems like forever, but you both finally feel each other.

no, his lips don’t ghost over yours.

they press together, full of pent up passion. it’s hot, too hot for even best friends. 

can you even call each other that anymore?

not with the way his hands claw at the tip of your shirt in a futile attempt of pulling you closer to him, not with the way you gather tufts of his hair in your hands, and certainly not at the way you both feel at home like this. you both can taste every last inch of each other. 

he swears that he hates peppermint, but he’s drunk on the taste of it on your tongue. 

you’re meant to be nothing more than childhood best friends, but you want more and more and MORE.

this shouldn’t be happening, but he wants more and more and MORE–

you both break for air after an eternity, pulling away with heat-flushed faces, heaving chests, and swollen lips. he rests his forehead against yours, peppering ghost-kisses between breaths that tickle your skin. 

“i’m not supposed to love you, but i do.”

it’s two a.m, and two best friends are melting into each other. 

they’re unaware that the rain has stopped.